Chapter Thirty:
Who Gets to Touch You
November 4th, 1996
Waning Crescent
Remus awoke to an ear-splitting crack of thunderous noise—the sound of wood snapping, metal buckling, a way being made where there was never meant to be one.
He jumped upright, ignoring the screaming in his joints and muscles as he whipped around to face the entrance to his makeshift cell. He could still feel the tightness of his scars, the aches of the bruises on his arms and ribs—but none of them mattered, now.
Bellatrix Lestrange stood breathless and wild-eyed in front of him, her wand clutched tightly at her side.
Was this what Sirius had seen, in that split second before he'd fallen away? Bellatrix like this, raging and boundless? Remus felt the idea run over him like ice water, and it left his voice shaking when he finally tried to say something.
"Bellatrix—"
"How dare you speak my name!" she screeched, raising her wand, sending a bolt of red light to the floor right beside Remus, a clear warning shot against him.
"What are you doi—"
Bellatrix cut him off with another warning shot, though this one was close enough to cut through his pant leg, leaving a burning trail along his skin. He jumped back, hand reflexively moving to retrieve his wand from his empty pocket. He hadn't duelled since his encounter with Lucius in the woods, but his body was at the ready within a second, old muscle memory taking over
"Sister, please!"
Another voice. Remus looked past the smoke of the demolished door—Bellatrix had blown it open, when she could've easily and simply used an unlocking charm—to find Narcissa standing there. Her wand was at the ready, aimed at him too, but she looked more stricken than infuriated.
"What, Cissy?" Bellatrix kept her wand and her eyes trained on her target, but her head tilted toward her sister, as if she might be heard more clearly.
"The Dark Lord hasn't given his orders, Bella—"
"The Dark Lord will want the creature punished after what he's done!" Bellatrix roared, turning her full attention back to Remus.
"What have I done?" Remus ventured, raising his hands in truce, looking past Bellatrix and straight at Narcissa. He knew she was a threat—she'd proudly identified herself as such back in the cellar—but she wasn't the one firing spells directly at him. Yet.
"You don't get to ask questions, you filthy mongrel! Not when your actions could've killed one of us!" Bellatrix roared, taking another step toward him. He wouldn't be able to avoid whatever jinx she fired next—there wasn't enough room for him to physically dodge at this close of range, with the back wall of his enclosure only a step or two away.
Remus wanted to ask what she was talking about, but he knew Bellatrix would only answer with violence, so he turned his head to try and catch Narcissa's eye again. With this second look, Remus realised that there was anger in Narcissa's face, too, and it clearly wasn't directed at Bellatrix. He felt a chill run up his spine.
"She's not going to help you, you fleafucker," Bellatrix interrupted, stepping to her left so that she was blocking Remus's view of her sister. "You almost had her husband killed."
This only confused Remus more, sending his eyes darting around the space again, desperate to find some kind of escape.
"Thought you could corner us, eh?" Bellatrix taunted, wand right in front of her as she advanced upon Remus, closing the small gap between them. "Set us up with some made-up Squib and then ambush us?"
Remus could feel his eyes go wide and his jaw slacken at the news, and Bellatrix noticed the reaction, roaring with anger and lunging toward Remus. With nowhere to go, he found himself pushed fully against the back wall, Bellatrix's wand dug into his chest like the blade of a knife.
"You dare to play coy with me?" the dark witch snarled, digging and twisting. They were so tightly pushed together that he couldn't even find a way to look at anything except Bellatrix's face. It was mutated by rage, nearly unrecognisable.
"Speak!" she roared, wrapping her free hand around Remus's throat.
Had the situation been any different, he might've been able to overpower her. He was far bigger than her, which would've been useful without his wand. He might've caught his arms around her, pushed her to the floor, pinned her hands behind her—but then he might've found himself at the end of Narcissa's wand, and the other Death Eaters after, until he was dead at Voldemort's feet.
It wasn't that he was particularly concerned with staying alive, but rather that he refused to die because of Bellatrix Lestrange.
"I didn't know," Remus choked, properly focusing on Bellatrix's face now, searching for some recognition of his words. "How could I have known? I'm trapped in here, B—trapped in here."
"Call me mistress you stinking halfbreed," Bellatrix snarled, tightening her grip on Remus's neck for a moment. Darkness popped in his vision and he was suddenly forced to remember the last time he'd been choked—by Lucius's hand. That reality felt so far away, now.
Her grip loosened. She wanted him to talk again.
"How could I have warned them, mistress?" he coughed as his vision returned. "Or receive news in return?"
"That is the question, isn't it?" Bellatrix sneered, digging her jagged nails into either side of Remus's neck. "A very good question, indeed. Why don't we find out the answer together?"
Perhaps he should've guessed what was coming next, knowing everything he'd ever heard about Bellatrix and her exceptional cruelty. Perhaps he should've remembered the way he'd been prepared for anything when he'd first allowed himself to be captured, before he'd known how weak of a target Lucius could be. Perhaps it would've made the next part easier.
Instead, it was one moment of trying not to struggle under Bellatrix's touch—and the next it was screaming, pain even worse than his transformation, the sense that every part of his body was being scorched by flame and acid and that his very muscles might explode.
He was going to suffer like this and then he was going to die.
He had failed.
Lucius could hear the agonised screams as soon as he and Severus stepped outside. They carried through the cold night air like a voice across a cool, calm lake, clear as if Lucius was standing right in front of their source.
"No," Lucius whispered, and he Disapparated as fast as he could, lurching through time and space to land directly outside of the stable doors. Severus was a few seconds behind him, less graceful in his magical dismount, stumbling forward in his surprise.
It only took a moment for Lucius to process what he was seeing in the shadowy space, once they'd stepped inside. His sister-in-law straddling Remus's writhing body at the end of the corridor, her wild hair shaking with the effort, vengeful laughter mixing with the werewolf's piercing screams.
"Bellatrix!" Lucius roared, rearing his wand up without thinking and casting a Knockback Jinx. She went flying away from the werewolf immediately, crashing into the now-splintered door frame of the cell, a mad screech pouring out of her as she struck the wood with a dull thump. It wasn't until she'd crumpled onto the floor, gasping for air, wand thrown down the aisle, that Lucius noticed Narcissa.
His wife was standing slightly to the side, her own wand out but not raised, looking stunned.
"Lucius," she breathed, eyes flickering back and forth between her sister, her husband, and Severus.
"Come with me, Narcissa," Severus interjected, stepping forward, his hand outstretched in invitation.
The witch looked toward her sister again, and then further into the stall. Her eyes lingered there a moment too long, beckoning Lucius to follow.
The werewolf was on the floor, crumpled in on himself, paler and slicker with sweat than he had been even on the night of the full moon. He was laying at an inhuman angle, and for a second, Lucius feared the worst—but then Remus took in a long, crackling, heaving breath.
Bellatrix breathed next, dragging herself up by her elbows, eyes wide and spittle flying as she screamed at Lucius.
"What are you doing?!"
"Getting you under control," Lucius refocused on her, wand pointed directly at her face, not an inch of hesitation present in his frame.
"You dare defy the Dark Lord's orders?" she yelled back, struggling to get her legs back under her.
"Are they? The Dark Lord's orders?" Lucius asked, narrowing his eyes at her and taking several steps forward.
Bellatrix refused to answer, scrambling to pull herself upright, and so Lucius turned to his wife, rage clear on his face.
"Cissy?"
Narcissa, standing just beside Severus, shook her head. "No," she answered. Her voice was shaking, but Lucius could tell that she was doing her very best to remain composed and brave. "That's why I came with her, I didn't—"
"You didn't what?" he growled. "Didn't want her to do anything stupid?"
"Lucius—" Severus interrupted, pointing his finger to redirect Lucius's attention back to his sister-in-law.
Bellatrix had managed to pull herself up onto her knees and was reaching out for her wand, although she couldn't seem to focus her eyes on it quite right.
"Don't," Lucius hissed, but she was trying to summon the thing anyway, and he had no time for her foolishness. He shot a binding spell at her, causing ropes to wrap themselves around her body, and he did not flinch when Narcissa made a small shout from where she stood.
"She acted without the Dark Lord's permission, Narcissa," Lucius snarled, looking back at his wife and Severus. "It must be done."
Narcissa didn't respond, only pinched her lips together and looked down at her writhing sister.
"You'll never get away with this, Lucius!" Bellatrix screeched from where she was struggling, bound, on the floor. "You can't turn on one of your own for a filthy half breed!"
Lucius finished crossing the space between them and then lowered himself to a squat directly in front of her, wand still aloft. It was a foolish choice; of any witch he knew, Bellatrix was the most likely to lunge out and bite or scratch or head butt. Still, it felt right to intimidate her like this, to violate her personal space and show her how utterly calm he felt. She snarled and reared her head so that she was looking at him out of the corner of her eyes, trying to play up an affected insanity.
"Would you like me to gag you too, sister?" he asked in a low voice. "I'm sure it could be arranged."
"You wouldn't dare," she growled, and Lucius shoved his wand toward her, as though he was going to jinx her again. She flinched and squeaked in frustration, and that was more than enough.
Lucius's heart was pounding as he stood back up, grabbing her by one of the ropes wrapped around her ribcage and beginning to walk back toward Severus and Narcissa. Bellatrix struggled, shouting curse words as she went, but Lucius didn't stop until he had shoved her toward Severus and summoned her wand into his own hand.
Severus grabbed her without blinking, but his face contorted with mild disgust, as if she had a stench about her or was oily to the touch.
"Would you be so kind as to escort the ladies back to the Manor, Severus?" Lucius asked, slipping Bellatrix's wand into one of his pockets. "I'll be right behind you."
"It would be my pleasure," Severus droned, casting a warning look at Narcissa, but she appeared to be too shocked to react in any particular way.
"Give me back my wand you stupid cunt!" Bellatrix screeched as she thrashed in her restraints.
Lucius looked at the dark witch with dead eyes, but colour in his face. "I'll let the Dark Lord decide whether or not you're worthy of your wand, Bellatrix."
She was still ranting and raving as Severus dragged her outside. It was too dangerous to Disapparate with her in that condition, so Severus and the two sisters would have to make the trek back to the house on foot.
Narcissa was the only one who paused in the doorway as they left, her eyes searching the stable, dancing between the werewolf and Lucius once more. Lucius couldn't remember the last time he'd seen her so distraught, but he also couldn't remember the last time he'd cared so little about her reaction, given what she'd allowed to happen.
She stared for a moment longer, frowned, and left—and Lucius burst back into action, spinning on his heels and rushing back to his captive.
"Mutt?" Lucius called out as he approached the makeshift cell, relieved to see that the werewolf had at least pulled himself into a slightly more alive-looking position while Lucius had been subduing Bellatrix. The creature was still breathing shakily, but his limbs looked connected and under his control again.
"Answer me," Lucius spoke gruffly as he dropped to his knees beside the werewolf, once again disregarding any potential risk that their closeness could bring. Whatever threat Lupin might've posed most of the time, he seemed utterly harmless after Bellatrix's attack, spent and useless on the hay.
When Lucius received no answer, he pulled his captive up onto his lap, ignoring the werewolf's displeased expression as Lucius moved Lupin's head into the rescue position and began patting him down, checking that there were no broken bones. Lupin moaned in discomfort, but he didn't scream, and that was good enough for Lucius.
"She's gone now," he said, not sure if some of the werewolf's mutism was out of fear of further retaliation.
"Nnn," Lupin grumbled, moving his head a tiny amount, seemingly unable to manage much more.
Lucius's mind ran wild, trying to remember anything to do to help bring someone back from the pain of a Cruciatus curse, but he drew a total blank. Time, he thought, and rest. Both of them would come once Lucius left, but he needed to know that the werewolf was okay now, before he could go back to the Manor and deal with his sister-in-law.
Lucius glanced back down, evaluating Lupin's mouth and breathing to see if he might be about to say anything. There was no sign of any communication, but there was a thin sheen of sweat above the werewolf's pink lips, and a quiver in each breath that suggested he was coming down from the intense adrenaline rush of the torture he'd just endured. Perhaps Lucius had been wrong; perhaps Lupin could be broken by torture just as easily as the next man—maybe even more so, run down as he was from the pain of his transformation.
Rage bubbled up inside of Lucius once more. He knew what it was to elicit those feelings from his prisoner, to watch the other man shake and be made breathless in anger or pain, fighting to recover—but it was something else entirely to watch him suffer from someone else's actions.
"Lupin," Lucius growled, using his gloved hand to poke sharply between Lupin's armpit and rib cage.
The pain was apparently enough to bring the werewolf back to his body with a jolt, his breath catching in his throat and then coming out in a low, annoyed tone.
"What?" the werewolf rumbled.
Relief cut through Lucius's frustration. He clenched his teeth, moved his hand away from Lupin's chest and instead clasped the werewolf's jaw, forcing him to face Lucius.
"Look at me," Lucius growled.
Lupin opened his eyes. Only a fraction, a slice, but enough. They were bloodshot, but they were still his eyes, and he was seeing Lucius.
"What?" the werewolf repeated, his voice coming out gravelly and thick.
"Are you hurt?"
Lucius's voice sounded embarrassingly rushed.
The question seemed to take a moment to register in Lupin's mind. He looked around with unfocused eyes, processing the words, hopefully assessing his own body.
"I don't think so," Lupin finally answered, accompanied by the tiniest shake of his head.
The weakness and softness of his answer kicked Lucius's fury back up again. He hadn't seen Lupin like this before, and Bellatrix had stolen it from him.
He kissed his teeth, lip curling as he tried to imagine some explanation for what Bellatrix might've been thinking.
"What happened?" he growled.
Lupin blinked, looked back at his captor with still-squinted eyes. "Something went wrong with the—" the words were caught out from his throat, replaced with a cough. "Something went wrong with the Squib."
Bile rose up in Lucius's throat. "So she sought to hurt you?"
"She thinks I lied. Set up an ambush," the werewolf replied, shifting his shoulders. The movement made Lucius realise that he'd clutched onto Lupin's jacket at some point. He drew in a sharp breath, pulling his hand back as if he'd touched something hot. If the werewolf noticed, he didn't seem to have the energy to react.
"Did you?" Lucius managed to reply after resting his elbow on the werewolf's arm instead, a pose that felt slightly less intimate.
"No," Lupin coughed.
"Not that'd you'd tell me if you did."
"I didn't," the werewolf pushed, voice strengthening slightly.
"Fine," Lucius growled, and it must've come out angry rather than accepting because Lupin's eyebrows furrowed. Lucius had meant it, though, so he cut the younger wizard off before he could pipe up again. "We can leave it there. I have to go… deal with her."
"Deal with her?" Lupin asked, his face softening.
The anger bubbled up again, a hot wave crashing through Lucius, and he felt his nostrils flare.
"She has to be punished."
The statement seemed to be a sharp reminder of what had just happened for Lupin, and he curled in on himself, face scrunching up with the memory. Lucius felt the heat intensify again as the werewolf rolled off of him, trying to break their contact.
"I won't let that happen again, mutt," Lucius promised, voice low and enraged. "I'm the only one who gets to touch you."
Lupin stopped breathing for a moment, and then Lucius stopped breathing too as he realised what he'd said.
Idiot. Absolute. Fucking. Idiot.
"I'll be back to check on you at some point."
He only just managed to remember to stop and repair the cell's destroyed entryway before leaving.
Remus felt shivers run down his spine as he waited to hear the sound of the stable door being locked. He did his best not to move despite the shivering, his body still screaming out in pain from the way all of his muscles had contracted at once.
His fear and shock were rushing in and out of him like the tide, and at some point, he noticed that he'd started to speak his thoughts out loud.
"Please," he was whispering, and he could hear his voice as if from far away, muffled by the earth it seemed to be buried beneath. "Please. I can't keep doing this. You have to get here. Things are going to get worse. Please."
He was not only thinking about Bellatrix's violence.
Lucius paused outside of the back door to the entry hall, taking a moment to collect himself before he walked into whatever fresh hell awaited him. His adrenaline had finally begun to plummet in the few seconds between leaving the stable and reaching the door, and it only took that small deescalation to realise that there was a 50/50 chance of him walking face first into his death.
Then he heard a scream. A woman's scream. For a split second, the very worst outcome sliced his mind in half, an image of Narcissa writhing on the ground like the werewolf had been only moments earlier.
It was the last prod that he needed to shove the door open and rush inside.
There was a woman on the floor, but it wasn't his wife. Narcissa was safely standing off to the side, arms wrapped around herself. She was clammy and her eyes had begun to gloss over in some sort of dissociative effort. Severus stood just to her right, his own arms crossed, a displeased expression plastered across his features.
Satisfied that Narcissa was safe, Lucius allowed himself to look back to the writhing figure, and the spellcaster who had set her there. Voldemort stood over Bellatrix, his face nearly expressionless as he tortured one of his closest followers. The witch's face was a sharp contrast, a vivid mask of suffering that matched the way her body was rolling and twitching and thrashing its limbs out in every direction. If it were anyone else, Lucius might've felt an ounce of sympathy, but seeing her on the ground like this filled him with a sense of dry satisfaction instead.
He was about to lift his gaze again, attempt to make eye contact with the Dark Lord, when he noticed something off in Bellatrix's apparent agony. It was subtle, seeming to happen in a split second, but he noticed it—her cheeks reddened, and her eyes rolled back in her head rather than frantically spinning around the room. He knew that face. He'd seen other people make it in far more indecent circumstances.
His rage blossomed anew, sending another wave of bile up into his throat, and he strutted forward, clutching his wand tightly but keeping it aimed at the ground.
The traitorous bitch was enjoying the Dark Lord's torments.
Severus seemed to notice at the same moment, and Lucius could see the other wizard bristle on the edge of his peripheral vision.
"My Lord?" Severus interrupted. Saving Lucius from himself, as always. For a brief moment, Lucius registered how absurd it was that Severus had somehow been forced to continue risking time away from Hogwarts for this.
The Dark Lord's control over the spell stuttered and stopped completely when he broke eye contact to look at Severus instead. Voldemort's face was calm, still, but his shoulders were rising and falling a little more deeply—he had put in enough effort to make himself slightly out of breath.
"Lucius has arrived," Severus explained, gesturing toward his friend. Lucius straightened his back and bowed his head out of habit, though he wanted to scream, instead.
The Dark Lord's eyes dragged themselves over Lucius's frame, squinting slightly when he saw the wand in Lucius's hand.
"Good of you to join us, Lucius," the Dark Lord finally sighed, lowering his wand a touch more. "I was beginning to worry that we might've lost you."
"Of course not, master," Lucius replied, and he was more breathless than he'd hoped to be. "I was simply making sure that she," he stared pointedly at the now twitching, breathless body of Bellatrix, "had not completely ruined our plans."
"And?"
"Damaged but not destroyed, my Lord."
Voldemort rolled his shoulders and neck, glancing at Severus and Narcissa for a moment before turning to Lucius again. "I regret having started without you."
"I'm sorry you've had to start at all, my Lord. It disgusts me that anyone would act without your clear instruction."
The Dark Lord narrowed his eyes again, remained silent for a beat. It was enough time for Bellatrix to begin trying to roll herself up into a seated position.
"Get down," Voldemort snarled, and Bellatrix obeyed with only the slightest pout, huffing out a dramatic breath before laying herself back down on the floor. It was more sass than Lucius would've expected her to be able to show—more evidence that she was less than bothered by what had been happening.
"It's unfortunate that she felt this rage in the first place," Voldemort continued, looking at Lucius again. "She wouldn't have acted out if your pet hadn't lied."
"Is there any evidence that he did?" Lucius asked, raising a brow. Narcissa's trance seemed to break long enough for her to lift her eyes up to him, a nearly invisible expression of incredulity. Of the potential responses available to Lucius, this one was certainly not the most advisable.
Voldemort looked similarly surprised. "The fact that your comrades were ambushed would suggest that he wasn't being entirely truthful."
Lucius blinked, pursed his lips. "I understand, my Lord. Do we have any way of proving that it was always a setup, though?"
"I haven't been told as much," Voldemort sneered. "Do we, Bellatrix?"
The witch made a dramatic sigh, arching her back so that she could look at Lucius, eyes wide and watery.
"No, my Lord," she answered before going limp again.
Lucius couldn't help but make a disgusted sound, looking away for a moment to try to calm himself and catching eyes with Severus instead. The wizard was staring at the Dark Lord, but he looked on edge, shoulders more tense than usual.
"He's hiding something from you, Lucius," Voldemort hissed, tone almost sing-songy, and Lucius turned back to his master. "The Order couldn't have known about this mission if they didn't have an informant."
Lucius wanted to push back, to ask how his prisoner could possibly be informing the Order from inside of Malfoy Manor, but a quick evaluation of the Dark Lord's body language told Lucius that he couldn't risk any further insubordination.
"I understand, my Lord," Lucius nodded, straightening his back. "You have my word that I will investigate."
"What use is his word, my Lord?" Bellatrix growled from her place on the floor, surprisingly lucid given the condition she'd been in when Lucius had walked in. "I thought he was going to kill me—"
"Severus?" Voldemort asked, glancing over to the dark-haired wizard. Severus lifted his wand and sprung into action without any further instruction, casting a new Cruciatus curse on his fellow Death Eater. Bellatrix screamed out again, but there was no colour in her face this time, only a desperate, screeching agony.
"Your dear sister-in-law," Voldemort continued, sweeping over the floor to stand between Lucius and Narcissa, his eyes remaining trained on the struggling Bellatrix, "has a rather remarkable penchant for pain. In many ways the perfect pair to your taste for delivering it, Lucius."
Lucius felt gooseflesh ripple down his neck, shoulders, and arms at the words. He didn't look at the Dark Lord, not trusting himself to be able to hide his thoughts to his master.
"But she likes it a bit less when I'm not the one hurting her," Voldemort continued, voice bland, as if he were making a simple observation about the weather.
No one else in the room spoke. They were silent in the face of Bellatrix's pain.
"I'm beginning to wonder if your wolf might not feel similarly about you," the Dark Lord mused, leaning toward Lucius, who kept staring at Bellatrix's now silently screaming face. He was insinuating… what? That Remus liked when Lucius hurt him, based on what he'd seen in Lucius's mind? There was no right response, so he simply clenched his jaw.
"And if that's the case," Voldemort continued, now raising a hand and resting it on Lucius's shoulder, causing the gooseflesh to become almost painful, "I think you should use it to your advantage. Get closer to him. I have a feeling he'll squeal and tell you everything under the right pressure."
Lucius ran his tongue along the back of his teeth and then finally brought his eyes up to look at his master, swallowing hard as he did so. Voldemort was still watching Bellatrix, a calm smile curling the corners of his thin, broken lips.
"Of course, my Lord," Lucius answered, voice shaking.
"I apologise for keeping your husband away even longer, Narcissa," Voldemort sighed, and then Lucius saw the Dark Lord's other grey hand reach up and clasp the witch's shoulder.
"We are in your service, my Lord," she answered, head bowed. Lucius could hear the tension in her voice, as if she was doing everything in her power to maintain her composure.
"I hope that remains true, Narcissa," Voldemort replied, and Lucius could feel the Dark Lord tighten his grip on Narcissa's shoulder. "I am… distressed to hear that you didn't stop your sister sooner."
"I know, my Lord. I underestimated her."
"See that you don't do it again," Voldemort hissed, and Narcissa's answer came in nothing more than a murmur of assent.
"Good," the Dark Lord spoke more loudly now, lowering his hands and clasping them together in front of his chest, as if he were about to clap.
"You may let her go now, Severus."
Severus dropped the spell immediately, and this time Bellatrix went limp in an entirely believable way, her breath coming out in tiny, struggling huffs rather than theatrical gasps.
"Deal with her and then convene a meeting for tomorrow," the Dark Lord continued, beginning to wander off toward the study. "I'm afraid I must tend to Nagini, now."
Narcissa was already on her way up the stairs, bolting away from them, when Severus and Lucius made eye contact.
They didn't speak. Lucius had the distinct impression that there weren't enough words to put to their thoughts, nor curses creative enough to capture Severus's frustration and fear and every other emotion. Instead, they kept their faces completely empty, holding gazes until Bellatrix let out her first shaking gasp.
"Thank you," Lucius managed, and Severus offered him a pinched smile before Lucius pulled Bellatrix's wand out of his pocket, handed it to Severus, turned, and left.