CHAPTER 13: The Game That Moves As You Play (Part 6)

There were only a few more nights before the full moon. Two or three. It couldn't be more than four. It had been years since he'd lost the need to track the calendar and constantly beware of the cycle. Dreading it. Feeling it creeping behind him, his own shadow slowly disentangling from himself, only to turn against him. In his worst moments, he'd hung calendars on every wall of his creaking, tattered flat. His eyes never leave them. When he cut open his can of beans, when he rinsed the grime and sweat from his body, it was even the last thing he saw before he slept, that enlarged parchment stuck to the ceiling, counting down the days to his transformation. He didn't have need for them any more, his body was enough warning as the full moon started forming.

For days, he felt the way his bones were painfully stretched, every second of the day they grew just a little bit longer. His muscles strengthened. Patches of hair haphazardly grew throughout his body. A few of his nails enlarging days earlier than they should. And how did he know the actual day the full moon would loom over him? He'd wake up that morning, rushing to the loo so that he could spit half of his teeth into the sink before the vile overcame him, and he spewed them all over the floor. During those first few months, he hadn't been able to look at himself. He was half deformed, just hours before the sun would set. Even his cranium seemed to grow and stretch unevenly to accommodate the new changes to his body.

During those first few months after he'd first been bitten, Remus had been sure he'd lived the worst there could be to being a werewolf. It took years, but life showed him, it could very easily get worse.

The feeling stuck with him, crushing his lungs and heart and guts until they were all about to burst. He stared at the forlorn structure. Nothing but fields and woods around, its only connection to the rest of the world was the faded, granite path that disappeared into the darkness. There was light from the inside. So dim it barely escaped through the gaps on the edges of the door. The silence was oppressing, absolute. That, more than anything, proved that he was in the right place.

The beasts inside were cubs. Freshly bitten, inexperienced even in the worst cases. But the shadows still tickled at the edges of the moon. They were not like Greyback, they were not like him. They were human, at least for the night, at least in the ways that mattered. No, Remus thought, his back straightening, his jaw setting. They weren't human. If they were, he wouldn't be here.

The fiery bolt hit the door in its centre, shaking the entire house as it was blasted off its hinges. Remus bolted inside, a growl tearing itself from deep within his stomach. He was overcome with the smell of flesh, of blood, and all he wanted to do was tear and kill. The curses were at the tip of his tongue, he felt all reasonable thought leave his body as he raised his wand again. But there were no enemies inside. The walls were coated in red and brown, gruesome corpses littered from the staircase to the kitchen. He breathed in deeply, breathed in the stench of the air, and somehow, breathed his soul back into his body just the same. It pushed its way back inside, smothering the wolf, desperately fighting and winning back control over his own body.

He was fighting for every breath, his gaze racing from left to right as it fully took in the extent of the carnage. And there, at the very back of the entrance corridor, stood a single man. He was covered, drenched in blood, from hair to face to every inch of his clothes. His arms were long and lanky, and they made his short legs stand out. He had his right foot pressed against one of the werewolf's neck, and a wand, sizzling with sparks, trained on him. Remus' wand shot upward again, his arm shaking, the curse for some reason unwilling to leave his lips. A second later, he was too late. There was a booming sound before the man's face exploded into a billion pieces. Blood and brain matter splattered every which way, and through it all, Remus couldn't even remember seeing the light of the curse that blasted the werewolf's head clean open.

The man turned, unconcerned, unbridled satisfaction written all over his face. It made Remus feel like an intruder, a stalker spying into the neighbours' window and watching the couple laugh and moan and fuck. The man shook the excess blood off his arm, scrubbing it against his clothes and then wiping at his eyes. "Are you here to kill me?" He asked. Remus blinked. A cold wave washed over him, his soul finally fully settling in his body. This was no man.

He lowered his wand. He wouldn't need it. Even if he did, he didn't think he could do anything with it.

"I needed them alive," Remus said. He walked over the bodies. The walls wept red tears, the gore stuck to the bottom of his shoes.

Harry shrugged. A simple scouring charm would have cleaned away the blood, and dried his clothes, but he didn't bother on using it. "Remus Lupin… vigilante…"

His lip curled. "Private investigator."

"Hmm, yes, that would help with the hypocrisy of it all, wouldn't it?"

Harry paid him no mind. He went about the room, softly kicking the corpses in his way. His breath slowed, and his fingers twirled his wand in a hypnotic, repetitive motion.

"The Ministry doesn't forgive everyone's crimes," Remus said. "Not even the innocents'."

"Because killing people is alright so long as you do it with an Auror badge stuck to your robes."

The room got just a bit darker. His hands were heavier. "Killing werewolves is. For that, you don't even need the badge."

Harry looked down at his chest before turning his mocking face back to Remus again. "It seems you don't."

"What are you doing here, Harry?"

"Me?" His eyes were as dull as ever. A robot whose switch had been turned off. He hadn't stopped twirling his wand. "I'm Britain's big, scary serial killer. I'm just doing what I do, I suppose. What are you doing here?"

"Don't act as if you don't know."

"I don't."

"You've had Albus whispering in your ear the entire summer."

"A bit too close sometimes."

"Then you should know."

"Humour me," he gave him a wide smile. "I'm feeling quite charitable tonight."

For the first time, he saw James in that boy. That smile that had marked his years at Hogwarts had never looked so twisted. It squeezed at his stomach, raised the vile to his throat. It was more disgusting than the stench of the dozen corpses.

"You don't even care, do you?" Remus whispered. "Sirius was at the Department of Mysteries because you forced him there. You should have been at my side, searching for him, since before the summer started, instead of cosying up to the Ministry and parading your bird like a war prize."

"If Black was caught, he has no one to blame but himself," Harry replied coldly. "He was sloppy, useless. The both of you were. It fell on me to do everything all by myself, but you don't hear me whining about that, do you?"

"That still… he was- I was…"

"Right, it's never your fault," Harry cut him off, his face darkened. He abruptly stopped twirling his wand and stared deep into Remus' soul, "There's always an excuse when it comes to the two of you, isn't there?" He kicked at the corpse in front of him. "What did you want with them?"

There were so many things he wanted to say, none of them congruent with the next. But he didn't. None of that mattered now, did it? What was done was done. No amount of words could change that.

"Wormtail," he replied.

"Pettigrew?"

Remus nodded. "If anyone knows where Sirius is, it's him."

"And you think the werewolves will help you find him?"

"He's coordinating them. Greyback answers to him. I saw it the night of-" The words got caught in his mouth. "One of them should know."

"And you'll… what? Torture them? How else will they talk? Or will you use the imperius curse and just get it over with." Remus couldn't reply, and he got the sense that pleased Harry. "I've done my fair share of torturing. It's not pretty, but, you do learn things."

"Are you saying you'll do it?" Remus asked, maybe a bit too eagerly. Harry's cold eyes forced him to look away.

"I'm saying, there's always a leftover." This time, when he raised his leg, he raised it properly. The kick was brutal, hitting the corpse directly in the face. Remus was surprised when it moaned out in pain. "He is hurt, so I suggest you start patching him up before he actually dies." Remus looked up at Harry but couldn't hold his gaze for long. "If you want him to talk, torture him yourself. I'm not your lapdog, Lupin."

Harry shut the door behind him and left him alone, in the centre of his carnage. The werewolf was crawling on the ground, trying, miserably, to get away from him. Remus couldn't help but think Harry had done him a favour.

The Weasley family clock hung a few steps away from the front door. It never stopped, forever chiming, its hands moving from place to place all throughout the day. And yet, it was worthless to Ron. It left him casting the Tempus charm over and over again. Not that it always worked, sometimes three hours would pass and yet the spell would mark the same time.

"I thought the Minister lifted our restriction of underage magic only for educational or emergency purposes," Ginny commented dryly.

"I don't think Scrimgeour's going to arrest me for using the time-telling charm."

"Like that? He'd probably figure you were trying to make one of those muggle bombs with the time thingy."

"How exactly am I supposed to make a bomb with a bloody Tempus?"

She raised her hands, the perfect picture of innocence. "I didn't say you were doing a very good job."

Ron rolled his eyes and decided he would ignore his sister for the rest of the year. She didn't understand how important this was; how could she? She wasn't one of them. She hadn't spent the past five years with Neville and Hermione constantly at her side. Ginny had her friends, and her classmates for her own year. He, Neville, and Hermione were the backup group to the backup group of her backup group. Yes, things had changed after the Department of Mysteries, and yes, she was in the same boat as him, at least for now, but she'd only boarded it for a while. Ron had been the one to cut down the tree that was used to build the keel of the ship. Even Harry had more seniority over it than her, he realised. It was weird thinking of it that way, less than a year ago he hadn't even remembered Harry Potter existed at all. But he'd been there on that first train ride to Hogwarts. It had been the four of them in that carriage.

Ron shook his head sharply. Today wasn't about Harry. But despite this, thoughts of what could have been kept lurking in the edges of his mind.

Neville was the first to arrive. The floo flared green, the flames absent of any heat, and then he had stepped out. He barely said a word. Even as Ron's mother fretted over him, forced him into a chair and hurled him a plate overflowing with beans and chips and sandwiches across the kitchen, Neville only gave a curt reply of decline before he pushed it away. Any attempts of small talk were effectively batted away, and after a while, even his mother gave up. She left to the living room, summoned her yarn and needles, and began knitting away. Ron missed her the moment she was gone.

For as long as he could remember, the Burrow had seemed unable to manage more than a few seconds of silence. Even the nights were noisy with the loud snores of six boys. Now, it was a strain just to keep a single conversation going. Neville turned to stone before his very eyes. Like those statues, Bill had shown him when they visited him in Egypt. All solemn and stiff and lifeless, staring at him with blank eyes and threatening to move the moment he turned away from them. Ginny kept casting glances at the two of them, looking like she was just about ready to jump onto the table and sing the Hogwarts school song while marching like one of the Muggle guards who wore the funny red uniforms.

Thankfully, Hermione arrived before Ginny broke. She'd shyly said "Hello," her voice just above a whisper, and before she could even turn to greet Ron's mum Ginny had pushed the three of them out of the house. "Have fun, you three! Buy lots of stuff. Don't come home too early."

"Wait, Ginny-"

The door was shut in his face, the lock clicked soon after, and before Ron could even think of peering through the window, the curtains flew closed.

He turned, feeling a bit sheepish under the gaze of his two friends. "Ummm… I think there's a floo somewhere in Ottery St Catchpole."

Hermione shrugged and offered half a smile, something Ron was sort of thankful for, even if it wasn't remotely helpful. Neville didn't even blink.

It was a little over half an hour from the Burrow to the village, and Ron had begun to dread it before they even left the yard. For the entire journey, Neville refused to say anything. He was a miniature troll, communicating through grunts and glares and occasional scoffs. Ron talked to Hermione for most of the way. Not with Hermione, to her. He understood why she was reluctant to speak, even sympathised with her, but Hermione could only smile and nod and bump his shoulder for so long. And that was when she was in her happy mood. Occasionally she'd drift off. She would be looking at him, but Ron saw she wasn't really listening. It was eerie how much like Neville she looked in those moments.

The village had its own pub, The Twisted Wand. It was cheaper than the Leaky Cauldron, and Hermione seemed curious to try out the food and drinks in this new place. She and Neville began seeking a table as Ron fetched the group their drinks. After he failed at procuring something slightly stronger for himself, he grabbed the three butterbeers and brought them back to the others. They drank and ate and listened to the sounds of their chewing. Ron, as usual, was the first one to finish, but without any food on his plate or beer in his mug, he felt more than ever how thick the air was around them. He got himself another butterbeer, taking a sip whenever the silence between the three of them would become too much. He got another one and then another one, and then he pushed the two of them towards the fireplace, even as Hermione scolded him for not letting her finish her food.

Diagon Alley proved to be the much-needed remedy. Ron felt very much at home in the middle of the crowds, surrounded by running children and shrieking mothers. It was emptier than it had been the last year, even something as sacred as Diagon Alley was not immune to You-Know-Who's effect. The shadows seemed darker, the street wider, and there was nothing innocent of the men whose eyes flittered over the crowd. But it was still loud, still whimsical, still enough to distract the three of them from the void that followed them around, swallowing all their words before they even left their mouths. Swallowing their friendship and warmth and fondness and everything in between.

Neville and Hermione seemed to have no problem ignoring it, now Ron could too.

They went in and out of every store, and their formation broke as they each sought out the material pleasures that would remind them of better days and their stronger selves. They'd occasionally bump into each other. Hermione with a book in her arms, cradling it as if it was her newborn child, her fingers gently stroking the cover. Neville brooded over the plant shop, looking almost willing to stick his hand into the dirt even without any gloves on. For his part, Ron retired to Quality Quidditch Supplies. He browsed through the broom service kits and team jerseys, but his eyes were fixed on the Firebolt displayed at the centre of the room. He stayed on the edges of the store, even as the crowd gathered and argued and fawned over the new model. Ron didn't even try to get a glimpse of the tags hung around the cheaper brooms. Instead, he picked up a second-hand service kit for his Cleansweep and used the last of his coins to pay for it.

Hermione was pale when he found her. Her hair was wilder and her eyes almost sunk back into her skull. Neville wasn't doing any better. At least I'm not the only one, Ron thought.

They walked around the alley for a bit longer, but their book lists had yet to arrive, they really had no business being here other than to waste time. But the sun was still high, their stomachs were still full, it was too early to go back home, no matter how much Ron wanted to. It was stupid to think this would fix things. The three of them could barely talk to themselves during Harry's lessons, why would this be any different? Neville was too busy locking himself in his room to care about their friendship, Hermione barely even sent them letters any more. Why was he even trying when the others had given up months ago?

Sadness turned to anger. It sat on his chest, heavy, corroding him from the inside, fed by the lack of any trying from the other two. So when they crossed paths with Madam Malkin's shop, and Neville's face darkened, and the large picture of Harry, with his short wild hair and the smile on his face as he flaunted the expensive robes stuck to his body, suddenly burst into flames, Ron had had enough. He turned around sharply, not even turning to look at Neville or Hermione, and pushed his way back towards the Leaky Cauldron.

"Unbelievable!" Hermione finally spoke, her voice as loud as it used to be. It was too late for Ron to care. "What were you thinking? And to Madam Malkin of all people- reckless, stupid, inconsiderate. H-How are we supposed to go back and… and ughh."

Ron pushed the door to the pub open. He snatched the powder from its vase and flooed back to his house. His mother was surprised by his sudden appearance. His eyes sought out Ginny, but she was long gone already.

"Oh, dear, back so soon?"

The floo flared again and Hermione stepped through, Neville following soon after.

"Oh, Ron, you didn't even pay for the powder," Hermione berated him. "You- you- you're lucky Tom let us pay for you. After what Neville-"

Ron stopped listening. He climbed up the stairs, ignoring his mother's shouts and Hermione's protests, and shut the door to his room so hard, it made the walls shake. Not that it mattered, it didn't stop Hermione and Neville from bursting inside.

"You- I… I… I can't believe you, Ronald W-Weasley-"

"Oh, so you talk now?" He finally snapped. His tone made Hermione shrink back from him for a second, even Neville seemed surprised. "Where was all this earlier? Or is nothing worth saying unless it's shitting on me and Neville."

"You- you know why I don't."

"No, I don't," Ron groaned, he raggedly ran his hands through his hair. "I think you should go."

"Ron," Hermione whispered, but it was overshadowed by Neville's scoff.

Any hopes of letting them leave and acting as if today had never happened immediately left him.

"Got something to say, Neville?" There was no answer. "No, please, speak your mind. Merlin knows you want to."

"What do you want me to say?" He challenged.

"Nothing, really. We're all rather tired of you bitching about Harry every time you open your mouth."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah."

"So what, you two are all buddy-buddy now?" He turned towards Hermione. "The both of you."

"It's not like that," Hermione pleaded.

"What do you care?" Ron talked over her. "Hermione was tortured until her brain snapped. Fred's in a wheelchair. George doesn't even dare leave the house these days."

"So now it's my fault?" Neville asked. "And I suppose Potter is your new hero, right? I'm done being useful, so now you're ditching me for him."

"You're the one who's ditching us! I don't care whose fault it was, or it wasn't, I'm pissed that you haven't checked on any of us. We followed you, we were there because of you, and you've spent the entire summer treating us like shit. You've been obsessed with Harry you can't even that, maybe, he managed to do a good thing and that you fucked up. And you," he turned to Hermione. "You haven't been any better. You've ignored me and Ginny. You don't answer our owls, don't even leave Sirius' manor. Except when it's time for Harry's lessons, then you're the first one there."

"I've worried about my OWLs," she argued.

"So you can't answer a bloody letter? Can't even come here for half an hour. For Merlin's sake, Hermione, we've been begging you to let us help, and it's like you don't even care."

"I- I didn't need your pity!" She was pissed now. Good. He hoped her day turned as shitty as his. "I passed my OWLs. All by myself. I didn't need anyone treating me like a child."

"Well congratulations, Hermione," Ron gave her a sardonic bow. "We are all so proud."

Tears began coming out of her eyes. She began hyperventilating, stuttering and stammering, mixing in with sobs. "You in-insensitive, gormless, arse! You- you- you don't understand. You can't possibly know what… what this- what it means to me."

"You're not the only one who's fucked up, Hermione," Ron thundered, his voice cracking. He didn't know when he'd got so close to her. He didn't care. "Just because I didn't come out of the Ministry without a stutter or without an arm doesn't mean I sleep any easier- you, you have no idea what is going on with my life right now. But I'm still here, aren't I? Wasting my bloody time, trying to act as if you two hadn't tossed me aside."

His legs gave out on him, he stumbled against the rail of his bed. Hermione looked like she was about to reach out, check if he was alright, but she didn't move.

"What a fucking idiot I've been," his whisper was the last word said in his house that day.

It had only been forty-seven minutes since she had gone to sleep, and yet, Pansy was still up and about. It had begun happening not long after she had returned home for the summer. As by her grandfather's rules while she stayed at the manor, Pansy readied herself for bed at ten o'clock sharp and was asleep, at the latest, in only half an hour. She would be up exactly eight hours later to begin the day, doing whatever her grandfather required of her. She had her spare time when she'd work on her homework or do whatever else she wanted, but so long as she lived with her grandfather and she was part of his crusade, she had duties that could not be ignored. While the rest of her friends took the summers as two straight months' worth of weekends, Pansy worked harder at home than she did at Hogwarts.

It was a routine she had grown easily used to and had never broken. At least not until that day. She'd found it weird at first, waking up so soon after she had slept. She felt tired so she turned around, closed her eyes and went back to sleep. The following night, she woke up again at the exact same time. 11:17 p.m. And then again, on the third day. 11:17 p.m. It continued, always at the exact same hour, and somehow, without knowing, she knew it was the exact same second. As the nights went on, it began getting harder to ignore. She wouldn't fall asleep right away, and by the end of the first week, she had begun getting out of bed and pacing in her room until the tiredness overtook her again. It was only after three weeks that she gained the courage to leave her room.

With no one awake, she was free to roam the house as she pleased. Pansy didn't think much during those times. Her brain was still foggy, half-asleep, dreaming of yellow-green lights, blond hair, and blood. She walked to the dungeons, the kitchen and living room and ballroom and everywhere in between. She walked until her legs ached, and she felt she would be able to sleep again. Pansy didn't know why she walked so much through the fourth floor. But every night, she felt like she was spending more time there than anywhere else. It was the study, she realised. Her grandfather's study. It called to her. A few nights ago she had stopped walking by the house altogether, instead, she'd stand a few feet shy of the door. Here she was, in the one place she had been forbidden to enter, staring at it for hours on end. It didn't matter how tired she was or how much she'd suffer for it the next day, she'd stand and stare at the door.

But she never touched it. Never reached out and opened it. Whenever that thought would rise inside her mind, it would suddenly evaporate, fade. It wasn't even something she would discard. She just forgot what she was thinking.

Tonight wasn't any different. She pushed away the sheets and stood up, heading out of her room with no shoes on her feet, still in her nighty. Her room was on the fourth floor, so she didn't have to walk far. But there, already waiting for her in front of the study, sat her grandfather. He had conjured a chair and was calmly drinking tea as he waited for her. Pansy's body turned rigid, unwilling to move, to breathe, as if she would disappear from the naked eye if she stood still enough. Her grandfather took a final sip of his mug before it vanished from his hand and stood up.

She was in danger. She didn't know how she knew it, but she had never been certain of anything else. She needed to run, scream, pull out her wand and blast a hole in the wall and jump out of the manor and summon a broom and fly away and never come back. But instead, she stayed still. Her grandfather pulled out his wand, black and twisted and aimed right at her. "Imperio," he whispered. And then everything went away. She was floating in green and yellow clouds with a wide smile spreading over her face.

Her grandfather stood in front of her, studying her solemnly. She didn't understand why he wasn't smiling. There was nothing to be sad about. There was nothing but bliss and euphoria.

"You're stronger than I thought," he complimented her. Her smile widened. "Remind me to check up on you every fortnight. Continue with your previous instructions, nothing has changed."

"Yes, grandfather," the words came naturally.

A soft click echoed in the hallway before Kieran peered out from behind the door. "Grandfather, what…" Her grandfather's eyes darkened. He still had his wand in his hand. Kieran looked between the two of them, becoming more uneasy by the second. Pansy didn't understand why. Her grandfather slowly lowered his wand, but his expression did not change.

"You should be asleep."

"I, uh, I heard voices," Kieran's eyes flickered to Pansy. "Is she alright? She looks a little bit-"

"Your sister is quite alright," her grandfather replied. "Nothing a good night's sleep won't fix. I suggest you do the same."

But Kieran kept looking at her. "I- yes. Of course, grandfather."

Her grandfather moved away from her, but instead of going back to his room, he stopped in front of Kieran's door, putting a hand on her brother's shoulder. "Don't concern yourself with what is to come, it does nothing but take away your focus from what is important. So long as you are with me, you'll be protected."

"Y-yes. Thank you, grandfather. I'll go right back to sleep."

"Good lad." Her grandfather left without another word, his footsteps filling in the silence that had descended upon them. But when Pansy began making her way to her room, she felt her brother's grip on her arm. She turned to him. It was odd, that look he was giving her. She wanted to reach out, cup his face, maybe even hug him. Anything to take away that pain so clear in his face. But she couldn't. It wasn't part of her instructions.

"Pansy, I… I…"

"Good night, Kieran," she said, the soft smile still on her face. "I'll see you tomorrow."

That's it for this chapter, thank you all for reading!

By the time I'm posting this, I'M THIRTEEN chapters ahead, and starting the first arc of the Hogwarts Fall Term titled Claustrophobia! If you're interested in learning how to get early access to the chapters, join my discord server using the following link: discord . gg / jyPfbGqhJT

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