Dark-typical content. There is scary crap and a good amount of unseen-monster-violence.
Jon gets pretty banged up - but, as Jon does, he will not give up.
Consider yourself warned.
(Masterpost including playlist)
*
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
He stumbles, goes still.
The Eye is gone.
It does not feel anything like he thought it would.
Weakness is first, sapping strength from his body and his bones, and he is amazed and breathless at how much pain he is in, absolutely everywhere, as he falls to his knees.
There is a weight to the darkness.
It presses against every inch of his body, drills into his pores, sharp and hungry, and the air is cold and musty and bad, like old towels stuffed in a closet and forgotten.
And… there are fingers, just for a moment, a dozen or more, pattering along his face in search of his eyes.
They do not find his eyes. They go away.
He cannot yet stand.
There are sounds, quick, sharp sounds, like claws on earth, something large, running past him very fast. He knows if he makes noise, they will catch him.
But it’s so much worse than just that.
He hasn’t forgotten anything. He still knows what he knows, who he is, why he’s there—things he could not hold if he were not the Archivist, even cut off.
But he is alone in a way he has never been.
A way that tells him no matter how lonely he thought he was before, as a child, as a teenager, as a miserable adult flying through uni, he was never truly alone.
The Beholding is gone. There is no watching, there is no sharing, there is no enjoyment, there is no curiosity apart from his own, and his heart feels weak, tendons slit.
Hearts don’t have tendons, he tells himself, trying to amuse himself, but it hurts too much.
He has never felt so… less.
He puts his web-kissed hands over his mouth and tries not to cry, not to catch the attention of whatever moves in the dark (rustles and whispers and claws).
There is a weight to the darkness.
Standing is the hardest thing he’s yet had to do; every injury and scar has awakened and hates him.
Something moves, not far away at all.
A small, precious tug.
He is not alone.
He obeys.
#
Jon thinks, some unknown time later, that if the Web was trying to acclimate him to obeying its calls, this would certainly do it.
Darkness seeps at him, in him, under his clothes and around his tongue. It is not the absence of illumination; it is its own thing, enveloping, ravenous, a thing made to swallow suns and moons and mortal flames.
It makes him feel neutered, somehow, though that isn’t the right word—some secret part of himself, cut off from everything.
The Web’s tugs are infrequent. Twice, they urged him to walk into a freezing cold, viscous something that could never have been water, that came high to his chest, and he could not stop his noisy gasps as he made his way through.
He paid for it.
Something—
Some thing —
Came in the darkness, running toward him, unseen and with too many limbs, and a tiny, tiny tug urged him left just in time so it did not completely knock him down.
But it severed one of the webs. It galloped on, making sounds only nightmares make, a cavernous chortle because it was playing and he was damned and it was going to come back.
That single web is gone, gone, gone. Jon fights with everything he has not to cry out in horror.
There are webs left. But it happened so fast.
Tug.
Shaking, Jon follows.
#
Close calls keep coming.
Can they actually see him? Do they actually want him?
No, they want his fear, and they’re getting that in buckets. They are every closet-beast that ever scared a child, every imagined scrape from underneath a bed, every creak on the stairs that wakes an adult with heart racing, struggling to remember if they locked the front door.
They are the tendrilled, hideous thing that stalked Benjamin Hatendi to his death, that allowed him the falsehood of safety under his covers for months before tearing his flesh and whispering, crisp and clear, the blanket never did anything.
They are everything humanity has feared since peering from fire-filled caves into the unknown night.
Each time a monster reaches him, they snap a web.
And every time, they cause him pain. Not big injuries; nips, swipes, drive-by-nibbles. Teasing.
He knows they will soon take much more.
They are building his fear.
He’s tried not to bring attention to himself. Tried not to make sounds. Discovered it is not natural for him to make no sound. He is, he’s now realizing, a deeply vocal person.
The darkness clings to him, makes his clothing heavy, makes his feet sticky and tired. He is bleeding from a thousand tiny, tiny cuts.
He checks his webs, closes his left hand around them.
He won’t let go.
#
Something knocks him completely down and it shreds him, claws his back, gouges his shoulders and his spine, and he screams.
#
When he comes back to himself, his back is burning. He is shaking; gasping. Possibly in shock.
There is blood, gone cold and tacky.
He is not being healed, fed, by the Beholding. He’s being sustained by the Dark, because they keep their victims for years.
For one moment, he fears he cannot stand—that he has no strength left.
Save Michael. Stop the Unknowing. Save everyone.
He has to.
Has to.
Does.
His steps are uneven, and he cannot make them quiet. An unfortunate numbness has taken over his right arm; he feels with his left, and discovers all the webs on that side are gone.
Terror rises; he tries to tamp it down.
There is a deep, blood-scented chuckle, somewhere behind him.
Is that Mister Pitch? He has no idea. He can’t know anything. Whatever it was, it meant him to hear it.
Jon refuses to run.
(Not that he could.)
He wonders how time dilates in here, if it’s an illusion like in Michael’s corridors. Michael apparently kept Tim and Martin in there for two weeks, but when it let them go, they’d hardly been gone any time at all.
Not for the first time, Jon wonders why it let them go.
He wonders if it’s because they’re his friends.
(No. That’s just self-indulgent. The world doesn’t revolve around you, Sims.)
Three webs remain—
And all three tug straight down.
Jon stops.
Hears his clothing dripping, can’t recall if it’s from horrible fluids or his own sweat. Very carefully, kneels.
There is a book at his feet. Innocuous; thin. Nubbly leather, slightly warmer than it should be.
He tries to grip it with his right hand, but that hand no longer obeys him. Jude Perry’s damage has finally taken hold.
Will that hand ever come back? Jon doesn’t know.
Clumsily, he opens his shirt, tucks the book inside, buttons up, all with his left hand. Awkwardly, he tightens his belt so it will be secure.
He knows the web to this book has been severed.
His heavy breathing brings another beast.
#
Jon wakes with his face in something cold and wet.
He startles, slightly spraying himself as his breath disturbs it, and manages to sit up. He feels ragged; something has gone to town on all of him, everywhere, every inch, even under Michael’s book—everywhere except behind Annabelle’s blindfold.
He wonders if he should have just asked for a damned catsuit of the stuff.
Couture spider-silk, fashionable protection for the worst of fools, he thinks, and almost laughs.
But he does not laugh. He has learned his lesson.
There are two webs left.
The Mother is patient, or Annabelle is. They don’t tug until he begins to move again.
The book bruised his ribs when he fell; he’s going to have a very interesting pattern there, if he lives.
Water splashes on his right side, but every time he tries to shift left, the web tugs him over again.
There must be something worse on the left.
Keep walking, he tells himself.
Keep walking, as he holds his breath so the things roaring far and hissing near will hear neither gasps nor whimpers.
Keep walking, he thinks, as tears slide down his face, and he realizes he has dried, crusted blood all over, and that he has soaked the blindfold through.
He doesn’t take it off, of course. He’s not stupid.
Something is coming.
Something taking its time, walking barely faster than he, practically pacing him, gaining just a little, and whatever it is, it is singing some horrible tune in a voice so low it makes his nerves ache, an eager and jaunty thing that Jon knows (not knows, but is told by his fear) has something to do with butchering.
It’s Mister Pitch, because Jon has the book.
If they knew who he was, they’d already have killed him.
If he draws attention to the webs, they will both be gone.
Mister Pitch is catching up, an inevitable reckoning.
Jon cannot stop his fear. He cannot be unafraid; he does not want to suffer, to die.
If he fails, everyone will pay for it—they need him at the Unknowing.
Don’t they?
He realizes he’s beginning to wheeze, his lungs betraying his location.
(They already knew where he was, but now he knows they know, and that is enough.)
Something stabs him from behind.
Sharp, going in, right where he thinks his kidney might be, and then vanishes like smoke.
Hurts. So much.
More than he ever thought anything could.
Jon shakes, seizes. The pain short-circuits him, sends him into brief disconnection.
Burning inside; bleeding internally. He would be dead, if the Dark did not want him alive for his fear.
The book is warm, and he clutches it against his skin, relishing the solidity of it, the other-ness.
It is not of the Dark, this book. It is a reminder that there is life outside of this world. That he hadn’t dreamed it.
He is the Archivist. He will not forget.
There is one web left.
Jon almost laughs. It’s like all those shows, bombs counting down and stopped on the last second, but this is not a show, and if this web snaps, he does not think he can find his way out.
How long has it been?
He is hungry. He is thirsty.
And suddenly, he realizes this place has changed.
There is something like sand under his feet. He bends down (wobbles), touches it.
Sand?
Oh, no.
He knows what realm he’s in.
Der Sandmann, the thing that drove Algernon Moss to blind himself to escape it. A tall being, edges invisible in the darkness it brings with it like living shadow, spewing coarse black sand from its mouth as it comes. In the original German tale, it would throw that sand in the eyes of naughty children, which would then bleed, and it would take those eyes away for food.
In reality, Moss knew it had come for him (nevermind that he was grown and married), and believed it had put him in its sack and was carrying him away.
It must have been, because Moss had blinded himself with its sand, and been set free. He’d written that it hurt, worse than anything in the world.
Jon reaches up, touches the blindfold. It is still there, still secure.
Surely, Jon’s eyes are safe.
There is a sound coming toward him, a gentle hiss, the falling of sand along the floor.
Tug.
Jon moves.
Faster than he dared before, not foolish enough to run, but too afraid to keep his cool, driven by the sound of falling sand and the imagery Moss put in his head, though he hadn’t even read the damned statement—just listened to Martin’s recording.
Faster.
Faster.
Tug—
His legs are cut out from under him.
A dog? A wolf? A monster pig? Who knows? It was hot and fast and bit at him as it went by, sweeping him off his feet and down hard.
It knocks him out, for a minute or two.
And the single web is still there.
It’s a miracle, a damned miracle, and he cradles that hand to his chest—it’s the one connected to his mutilated left pinky.
He is grateful that the Spider, aware of his less than optimal fingertip, made this single strand a little more secure.
Tug.
Please don’t break, he begs it, elbow pressing the book to his skin, right hand useless and dangling. Don’t break, don’t break, don’t break—
His foot goes through a crust of ice into the shock of snow, and he falls.
#
Jon tumbles down an icy slope. It is deep snow, but light, absolutely fluffy, and though he is cut by the icy crust he breaks through, he hardly feels it at all.
He feels only joy.
The Eye has him.
Jon lands on his back, gasping, not from pain but from a floodworks unleashed, power channeling through him and tutting at all his new wounds, getting to work on his stabbings and scrapings and tears, and he lies there, in a him-shaped, sharp-edged hole, getting very wet as his clothes soak up the snow.
But that’s not the big thing.
He feels like him again. So much more complete. So much more, period.
Also not dying, not chased, at least not by anything that could hurt him that way again.
He feels his kidney reforming, and it is a weird, uncomfortable sensation.
He can remove the blindfold now. He knows. Shaking (and with a right hand that finally obeys him), he slides it up. It is stiff with blood and damp with tears, but it did its job, and he stuffs it into his pocket.
He’s out. Out of the Dark, and into someplace very cold. Funny, how even the middle of the night can seem so bright after such a terrible darkness. Green sky, washed with black.…
Jon sits up in ice-crusted snow, shivering, his mind coming online slowly as if recovering from catastrophic failure.
He takes out the book.
How the hell does he use this?
The final web is gone. He knows it was removed on the other end, rather than by his fall.
The Mother kept her word. He’s completely free.
He clutches the book. It is warmer than he is, now.
Leitner books are never stable, never safe, rarely easy to understand. If he reads it, he could be sucked in. If he opens it, it could do nothing, or it could erase the one trapped inside. There’s no way to know how to use it without knowing how to use it, and—
Why doesn’t he know how to use it?
Oh, good, it’s one of those objects.
Salesa probably sold it to Elias and told him how. That would figure.
Jon will not risk Michael’s survival, so he keeps the book tucked in his shirt.
Against his skin. Which he doubts Michael can feel, but Jon needs the contact. He suspects his own dreams will take on some fun new components tonight.
He stands, slowly. Unsteadily; he’s still tired, hungry, thirsty. It’s taking a lot of power to heal him, and the bill always comes due. He’s hungry in other ways, too.
There are no city lights.
There is an aurora borealis.
“What?” He says, his booting-up brain finally realizing what all that green is.
Jon squints, focuses, and the Eye tells him where he is: Norway.
Fucking Norway. Because why would any part of this be easy?
Jon checks his pockets. The phone is there.
It is badly cracked, has no signal, and works just long enough to inform him that it is now eleven AM back home.
He was definitely in the Dark longer than an hour.
Also, Elias will probably want him for lunch.
He laughs. “Too bad,” he says. A lot of people are going to be disappointed today.
Jon starts walking.
It is frighteningly cold, and deeply unpleasant, but he doesn’t feel like it’s harming him. He can move and feel his toes; he’s breathing all right, and his face doesn’t feel like it’s cracking.
Though his clothing is going stiff with ice, still carrying whatever liquid that was in the Dark.
He never wants to go back. “It was awful,” he informs the book, though Michael probably can’t hear him, but it doesn’t matter.
The Beholding flows through him.
Did it miss him?
He can’t tell. He also can’t care right now.
But he does listen.
Wait. This wasn't just Norway.
It is an island, Spitsbergen.
It is also half a mile from a research station in a small, currently unoccupied town called Ny-Ålesund.
The Spider got Jon out half a mile from the Dark’s chosen ritual location.
“Why would it do that?” he mutters, secretly glad to be verbal again.
But the ritual failed, hadn’t it?
Why was he here?
He knows which way the research facility is, but… it’s hazy.
Not hidden. Just… obscured.
Their ritual failed, but the Eye helpfully reminds him what Manuela Dominguez was working on for that ritual—a dark sun, an impossibility, a masterpiece of ridiculous physics that should not work and only did because she had help from the Lonely and the Vast to power it.
His heart sinks. If it’s still there…
He can’t leave it. It’s like a nuclear bomb, waiting to be used.
“So much for one apocalypse at a time,” he tells the book, still too happy to have found it to feel embarrassed.
He’s not going back into the Dark. It shouldn’t do any harm to just… look.
Their ritual failed. Their prophet, Maxwell Rayner, is dead. Basira’s people killed Rayner—with Jon’s advice as key. He’s very glad that they did.
The People's Church of the Divine Host was just in London, when Rayner was trying to raise up a new prophet and transfer his consciousness to a child. How guarded can this place be?
“I may be doing another stupid thing,” he tells Book Michael, and then hits on a solid excuse: he needs a phone.
There should be one in Ny-Ålesund. Somewhere.
“I think Elias might really shoot me after this,” says Jon, so happy to have the book that he isn’t thinking clearly.
All he can see is the green of the night sky and the dark line of the horizon, but that’s okay. He knows which way the facility is, and begins to trudge through the snow.
The first time you came to Hogwarts you were 18, freshly graduated from a different school, and about to start a 6 month long artist residency. Not only did you learn how to paint portraits that move, but you also became close friends with the marauders. You would have never guessed that 15 years later you’d return to Hogwarts, commissioned to paint each faculty member’s portrait, and be reunited with Remus Lupin as the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Read this on A03 here!
PART I - PART II - PART III - PART IV - PART V - PART VI - PART VII - PART VIII - PART IX - PART X - PART XI - PART XII - PART XIII -
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PART I - PART II - PART III
|| Author’s Note ||To those of you who have been with me for over a year now, thank you for your patience! I didn't realize when I started this story that seeing people enjoy it would give me so much happiness and motivation. As we near the end, I hope you find that the story continues to do your attention justice. And thank you for letting me know what you think, it is a huge joy in my life. Though many people love the world of Harry Potter, J K Rowling has been making problematic statements for a long time and I am glad to see people taking her most recent ignorance seriously, as the gross, transphobic, hate speech that it is.
There is so much beloved content that contains problematic, dangerous or inappropriate elements. Or, the author sucks. If we don’t learn to accept the good content while learning to acknowledge, highlight, and stand against the problematic content, we are throwing away most of the creative stories in our world. And that’s a shame, I’d rather we reclaim it and make it better. So even though this is Harry Potter fan fiction, I stand up for trans people. Any trans folks and gender queer folks who are here, reading, as I ramble on- Hi. You are welcome here. Thanks for giving me your time. <3
As the eight of you headed towards Hogwarts, the dark grounds pressed in around you; the only light came from the distant windows of the castle. Without a word, you all set off in its direction. Peter was still wheezing and whimpering in terror.
“One wrong move, Peter,” Remus warned, his wand still pointed at Peter’s chest.
Silently you all tramped through, the castle lights growing slowly larger. Everyone seemed to hold their breath until you could all safely reach the castle, for fear of celebrating prematurely. But then a cloud shifted and there were suddenly dim shadows on the ground. Your party was bathed in moonlight.
You stopped abruptly as Remus tugged on the chains binding you both to Peter. Behind you, Sirius flung out one arm to make Ron, Harry and Hermione stop. You turned your head to look at Remus, to see him standing there rigidly, as his limbs began to shake.
“Oh, my-” you heard Hermione gasp, “He didn’t take his potion tonight! He’s not safe!”
“Run,” Black whispered. “Run. Now. Leave it to me- RUN!”
You gasped in horror as Harry leapt toward you, but Sirius caught him around the chest and threw him back. You turned to look at Harry, Ron and Hermione, as you and Sirius both yelled in unison,
“RUN!”
There was a terrible snarling noise. You stood, frozen to the spot as you stared at the way Remus’ skin stretched until it darkened, blood bruised, before hair overtook any visible skin. The look of pain, horror, and shame that bent Remus’s face disappeared as his head lengthened. Your body shook as the manacles that chained you and Peter to Remus began to bend as he reared, snapping his long jaws.
With little effort Remus wretched himself free of the manacle binding him, bending it as easily as if it were grass. You and Peter were thrown to the ground by the force of his strength. You glimpsed Sirius transform as your head slapped against the earth, he bounded toward Remus as the enormous, bearlike dog. Sirius seized Remus around the neck and pulled him back from you and Peter. They were locked, jaw to jaw, claws ripping at each other.
You pushed yourself up, looking in horror as you watched Remus and Sirius. Beside you, Peter whimpered, shaking so much the manacles between the two of you rattled.
Everything was happening too quickly. In the periphery of your vision you glimpsed Harry, Ron, and Hermione standing still with fear and uncertainty. It was too much for you to take in at once- you were transfixed by the sight of Remus- the matted fur that faded seamlessly into shadows, the golden moon colored eyes, the long white teeth gleaming brightly.
Distress tore through you as you recognized Remus’s expressions in the wolf’s face, how his paws articulated as if there was a hand puppeting them, how the growls sounded like Remus’ voice, if his throat had been stretched and torn.
It was Hermione’s scream that alerted you-
Peter had dived for Lupin’s dropped wand. “NO!” you screamed, darting toward Peter. There was a bang, and a burst of light-
-X-
All but the seventh years had left on the Hogwarts Express that morning. Your eyes swept over the gardener’s cottage. Everything was packed back into the paint stained luggage you had arrived with. It was uncanny how simple it had been to pack up, when you felt like you were so much of a fuller person than who you had been upon arrival.
You placed the rabbit ring on the wooden table beside your favorite stained glass. You wished you could have kept it as a memento of your time at Hogwarts. What if you never came back?
The sun had begun to set, casting beams of rainbow light upon your hand. Outside you could hear birdsong and the humming of garden insects. It was a beautiful time to say goodbye to the cottage.
A hard, fast knock against your door brought you out of your thoughts. “What are you doing here? It's nearly time!” you warned before you even finished opening the door. James Potter and Sirius Black stood before you, both in their finest robes.
“Awh!” you gasped, throwing your arms around James’ shoulders. “You two look amazing!”
Sirius pulled you into an embrace next, kissing you on the cheek. “It’s not too late to make a good impression, is it?” he teased, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.
“Aren’t you going to be late?” you asked, looking at the two of them curiously.
“Doesn’t matter that we’re late if you’re not with us!” James said, sharing a grin with Sirius.
“What do you mean? I’ll be watching with the faculty and families!”
“No you will not!” Sirius sang, nudging James on.
“You see,” James started while reaching into his dress robes. He pulled out a large silvery cloak. “You’re coming with us.”
You looked between the two of your friends, wondering when the last brain cell they shared had finally given out. “Um.. James? Sirius? I’m not a student?”
“We’re that daft to you, hm?” Sirius threatened lovingly, running the back of his finger down your cheek. “It’s as if our full marks mean nothing to you. You're coming with us love. Doesn’t matter that you’re not a student here.”
“But wha- how? WHY.” You asked, struggling to speak through an emotion rising in you that you could not place. Your hands were sweaty and shaking a little, you felt tears in your eyes.
With a playful flourish James carefully draped the cloak over your shoulders. “Like that!” He said with great satisfaction. You looked down at yourself and were shocked to only see the floor beneath you.
“What is this?” You exclaimed, laughing. You twisted around, marveling at your invisibility.
“Well it’s an invisibility cloak isn’t it?” James laughed, stepping closer to delicately place the hood over your head.. “Now c’mon!”
The three of you ran towards the Great Lake, as you neared you could see the rest of the seventh years huddled by the shore, with Hagrid’s enormous silhouette at the center. Breathlessly, Sirius and James tugged you towards where Peter, Lily and Remus stood, looking anxiously around.
“You made it!” Lily cried under her breath, squinting through the air for any sign of you. She looked up into Sirius’ face. “Right? You pulled it off?”
“Of course we did!” James grinned, whispering loudly. Remus shot Sirius, James and Lily a confused expression, but before he could ask anything Hagrid began to speak.
“A’RIGH SEVENTH YEARS!” Hagrid roared joyously from the front of the group. “COME ALONG!”
Taking great care not to bump into anyone, you rose to the balls of your feet to look at the lake. Huddled among the shore were the same boats the first years used to get across the lake on their first journey to Hogwarts. James, Lily and Sirius, among many other students, cheered loudly as you all made your way onto the boats.
Your mind raced as you and your friends got closer. Little first years could file in four at a time, but only two or three the seventh years could fit in one boat.
“Wait-” you tried to whisper to the group. “Where am I going? Who am I going with?”
You didn’t get to see the exchange of glee that passed between Sirius and Lily behind you. You didn’t notice how, as they scooted along with the rest of everyone else, they maneuvered their group so that James, Lily and Peter were climbing into one boat while Remus, you and Sirius climbed into another.
As the three of you got closer Sirius grinned darkly. He picked up one of Remus’ hands by the wrist and set it against your shoulder. Remus jumped back, bumping into another student as he looked up at Sirius, wide eyed.
“Who is that?” Remus stammered.
“You didn’t tell him?” You hissed at Sirius.
Sirius watched Remus’ expression change as he recognized your voice as if it was the most delicious thing he’d ever seen. Remus burst into a blush, looking clearly flustered that he could not see where you were, only feel you.
“Surprise!” Sirius whispered cheerfully. “No idea what you’ve got me for my graduation gift Mooney, but I doubt it beats this!”
“Alright Remus? No need ter be nervous! Looks like you’ve seens a ghost.” Hagrid called out as he placed one heavy foot inside a boat, holding it steady for Sirius and Remus to climb inside.
Sirius climbed in, moving up to sit at the front of the boat. You did your best to cause as little disturbance as possible as you followed, while Remus took an absurd amount of time getting in with the hopes of making space for you between himself and Sirius.
With a mighty kick, Hagrid pushed off your boat with his leg, sending the three of you forcefully on, into deeper water. Sirius laughed victoriously, looking over his shoulder through you to Remus. You were suddenly grateful to be invisible, as you snuck a glance at Remus as well and held back a laugh at his crimson cheeks and wide eyes.
Remus cleared his throat, sitting as far back in the boat as he could to give you enough space. “Well,” he murmured, “It is nice that you’re here with us instead of over there.”
You turned to look towards Hogwarts, where Professor Flitwick had enchanted instruments to play a coronation march and was conducting them with enthusiastic bravado while faculty mingled with families.
The sky was a wash of rose and purple hues as the sun disappeared. As your boat made it further into the lake the air cooled significantly, you shivered and wrapped your arms around yourself.
“Remus!” Sirius chided, smiling everstill, “Don’t you have any sense of decorum? You can’t let our secret guest be cold!” Sirius reached over to where he assumed your chest would be and pushed you back forcefully, sending you leaning into Remus’ lap. Remus jumped, almost fully standing, but the boat rocked so widely he was forced to sit back down.
“OI MOONEY!” James called from a boat just ahead of yours, “Don’t go rockin’ the boat! You’ll ruin the ceremony!”
“...Would do…” Sirius said under his breath. He looked back over his shoulder to Remus, who began to shake his head.
“Padfoot, don’t do an-”
Sirius pulled his wand from his dress robes and with a sharp flick, pivoted James’ boat into a boat full of Ravenclaws. It seemed as if James had been prepared for this however, since your boat jerked into a neighboring boat of Slytherins directly after, causing them to tailspin into two other boats.
A chorus of angry heckling and laughter echoed over the lake as the uniform group of boats all jammed together. You could even hear distant groans and laughter coming from the faculty as they watched you all depart.
Stars were beginning to wink into the darkening sky as you came to the center of the lake. You heard Lily laugh, before she and James stood up in their boat with their wand arms raised to the heavens.
“You two ready?” Sirius whispered excitedly, shakily standing up. “C’mon, up you get.”
“What for?” You asked, nearly falling onto Sirius as Remus stood. Sirius caught you in his arms. He pulled the invisibility cloak off of you, his dark eyes shining brightly as he looked into your face.
“Grab your wand, mate.”
You watched as the silhouettes of all the other students shakily stood as well, James had to catch Peter from falling out of the boat as it rocked under his weight. Your heart leapt in your chest as you stood, pulling out your wand and raising it to the sky.
“PERICULUM!” Lily yelled, half laughing. Red sparks shot from her wand high into the night sky, bursting and glittering in the atmosphere. All around you the other graduates called the same spell, their voices echoing over the water.
“Periculum!” You shouted in unison with Sirius and Remus. You felt a tear run down your cheek as you watched your magic fly high, bursting into crimson light that glittered away, mingling with everyone else’s. The sky shimmered bright red amongst the dusk, as everyone cheered and sat back down in their boats.
You shivered again, and you felt Remus’ hand rest on your shoulder, inviting you to lean back into his lap. You obliged, wishing you were still invisible as you leaned your head against his thigh. You wondered if Remus was looking down at you and you wondered what he was thinking.
-X-
Above you, you could faintly hear a deep, hushed voice. “Rennervate.”
It felt as if you were covered by a silk blanket, your eyes opened and your mind began to slowly make sense of where you were.
“Ah, you’re alive.” Snape said coolly as he leaned over you.
“The children-“ you started, panic seizing you as you sat up.
“There, there…” Severus cooed flatly, his hand came to rest on your back to support you. “I’ve sent them all up to the hospital wing. The three of them were unconscious but otherwise uninjured… surprising really, who knew that leaving students alone with a werewolf and a deranged murderer could ever lead to harm…”
With a grounding, exasperated sigh you stood up, taking your time to get your bearings. Severus’ hand stayed on your back as your knees shook feebly under your weight. You shifted on your feet uncomfortably as you tried to ignore the dull ache around your mouth and wrists, the heavy pain in your head, how your balance wavered.
“Remus?” You asked, groggily.
“Ran in the direction of the forbidden forest from what I gathered.”
“A-and Sirius?”
Snape answered with a smile so wide it seemed to uncomfortably stretch his small, narrow mouth. Your eyes fell to Sirius, who was unconscious, bound, and hovering in mid air beside you.. You looked from Severus to Sirius nauseously.
“You should see yourself to the hospital wing...” Snape continued in a satisfied tone.
It was if you couldn’t concentrate enough to panic. Even as Severus began to make his way up to the castle the fear that had gripped your heart yesterday did not return. You fell into step beside Severus and Sirius, distracted from the reality of your situation by how weightless you felt, the world around you was dreamlike and quiet as you seemed to glide over the Hogwarts grounds and up to the castle.
The first light of morning was cresting over the horizon. Severus glanced at you, annoyed as you followed along while he guided Sirius’ unconscious body into the closest office. He glared at you as you peered in at Sirius from the corridor before he closed and locked the office door with an irritated jab of his wand.
“You're just going to stand there...?”
“I am not leaving.” you replied calmly.
"Fine." he sighed, stepping back from the door. Without another glance at you, Snape headed in the direction of Dumbledore’s office.
The moment you were alone a wave of panic and sadness broke through the calm dullness you had felt. A shudder rippled through your body, your balance faltered and you leaned your forehead against the door separating you from Sirius. A sense of dread filled you as you wondered if you were in the right place… shouldn’t you be in the Hospital Wing with Harry, Hermione and Ron? Or now that night was almost over shouldn’t you be out in the Forbidden Forest looking for Remus?
“I’m glad you’re still here.”
You pivoted towards the voice and quickly wiped your face with one dirty, bloodied hand. Dumbledore stood before you, his head tilted softly to one side, his eyes seemed to be a brighter blue than normal, wetter.
You had a horrible sinking feeling as you realized what Dumbledore’s presence meant for Sirius. You planted your feet in front of the door. You could imagine Sirius on the other side of the castle wall, unable to help himself and your heart hardened with strength.
“You must listen to me Professor Dumbledore, Sir, I-”
Albus began to nod as you paused to think of the words you needed.
“I want to hear all of what you have to say.” he assured, voice soft and even. “Though may I suggest that the hallway will not do our conversation justice?”
With a wave of his hand, you heard the office unlock behind you. You felt cool air against your skin as the door parted open. Albus gestured for you to go inside.
You stumbled over to Sirius, you could breathe a little more fully now that you were able to touch him, check his pulse, his wounds. With another wave of his hands, Dumbledore undid Sirius’ bindings and then, pulling out his wand, held it over Sirius’s head.
Reflexively you covered Sirius with your arms, looking up at Dumbledore.
“We won’t have much time,” Dumbledore said patiently, waiting for you to move out of the way. “Rennervate.”
With a groan, Sirius’ eyes fluttered open. You watched the same sharp panic that you felt upon waking grip him as he sat up. Sirius glanced at you and then to Dumbledore. “Har-”
“Harry is alright, Sirius.” Dumbledore assured, gesturing for Sirius to stay seated.
Sirius gave an enormous sigh of relief, his hands coming up to wipe his face. He pushed his knuckles into the corners of his eyes and took a big, long breath before he sat back into the chair, his hand reached for yours, intertwining his fingers with yours tightly.
Some young part of you expected to watch Sirius collect himself and then launch into his story with enchanting flare, but it didn’t come. A silence blanketed the room that panicked you, as your surroundings became dimly lit by dawn.
“Sir-” you started, squeezing Sirius’s hand, “Sirius is innocent. He was never James and Lily’s Secret Keeper… he told Peter to do it because it would be less obvious and Sirius could act as a decoy… but Peter was a spy. He… Peter was the one that betrayed James and Lily to Voldemort.”
You felt a shudder go through Sirius as you explained, your voice sounded weaker than you had hoped it would, but you felt an urgency to continue no matter how many times your voice broke or wavered. Albus’s expression sharped into one of keen interest as you continued.
“You never knew this… I think. I didn’t know this until last night but James, Peter and Sirius were-” you glanced down at Sirius, who nodded back to you, jaw set.
“We’re animagi.” Sirius said. Dumbledore raised his eyebrows.
“To keep Lupin company.” Albus finished the thought, enthralled. “And you were confronting Peter Pettigrew the night of James and Lily’s death…”
“Because that- he was the only one who knew where they were.” Sirius’ voice shook as he replied. You thought for a moment that he might cry but his face was eerily neutral.
“He has been the Weasley family’s pet rat for the last 12 years. Ronald Weasley has taken care of him since coming to Hogwarts. That’s why.. That’s why he was able to make it look as if Sirius murdered him. He cut off his own finger, caused that explosion, killed all those people and transformed… then he ran off into the night to find a place to hide.” you added.
“And that is how you have escaped and remained undetected.” Albus said to Sirius, who nodded.
“Fudge brought me a newspaper last summer,” Sirius growled, “in Azkaban. The Weasley family won some trip that put them on the front page… and there he was in that boy’s hand, missing finger and all.”
“And so you came here to get revenge.” Albus concluded.
“Only me.” Sirius corrected, glancing at you. “Neither of them had any idea.”
“I have no doubt about that.” Albus replied calmly.
“Snape thinks that Sirius is guilty of it all, and that Lupin and I are complicit in a scheme to kill Harry.” you said.
“We do not have to entertain Professor Snape’s beliefs within this room.” Albus interrupted, one eyebrow raised. “From the looks of you both, I would wager that you have survived a werewolf attack. If that is true I do not need to fear for Lupin’s immediate safety. What happened to Peter Pettigrew?”
You and Sirius glanced at each other, a great pain reflected in both of your eyes.
“Then he has not been killed, but has escaped us.” Dumbledore concluded. The room went silent as the night before steeped bitterly in your thoughts.
“I was going to but-” Sirius shook his head, “Harry is good, and true. Just like James. Just like Lily. He wanted… he wanted Pettigrew to be brought to justice. He wanted me to be pardoned-”
“There are a few things I must address.” Albus interrupted, lacing his fingers together. “The first of which is this- I do believe you, Sirius. I do. However, you have not acted like an innocent man.”
You could feel Sirius bristle beside you as Dumbledore continued.
“As we have been speaking, Professor Snape has arranged for Cornelius Fudge to come to Hogwarts. No doubt by now he has told Cornelius his account of the last several hours and they are waiting for Dementors to arrive.”
Albus was watching Sirius carefully as he continued. You braced yourself, expecting to see Sirius break down in dismay of all that had failed, but his demeanor did not change. Sirius sat quietly, his sunken countenance neutral.
“All that is to say, we do not have much time. Sirius, if the morning goes well for us, I do not expect to see you for some time.”
Alarmed, you looked from Albus to Sirius. They looked at each other for a long moment before Sirius nodded once. Then, Albus turned to look at you.
“It is time for us to go.” he said, “I’d like you to come up to the hospital wing with me.”
“But-” you looked from Albus to Sirius. Sirius was already looking at you, his eyes wide. “But is this-”
“Come here.” Sirius said, his voice thin with emotion.
Of all your friends, James Potter’s hugs had been the ones that made you laugh. His arms were too sore from Quidditch to ever stretch out fully and his attention was so frayed it seemed he was already going to do the next thing mid way through the hug. Remus’s hugs had felt like he was half decided on picking you up, maybe it was an impulse he had to make things easier on himself, since he had to bend his knees significantly for your arms to come over his shoulders. Sirius’ hugs had always been your favorite. There was never a period of awkwardness where you had to find what was comfortable. He wrapped his arms around your shoulders, cradling you to his chest, a protective hand always coming to rest on the top of your head.
Now, as you felt his fingers smooth down your hair, your eyes stung with hot tears. It was outrageous that Dumbledore would expect you to walk away from Sirius now, without knowing if he was safe. You pushed your face against Sirius Black’s shoulder and your mind erupted with panicked scenarios where you contrived a way to sneak Sirius out of Hogwarts and hide him.
After a long moment, Sirius breathed your name, his tone solemn. You didn’t move. Sighing, he gently detangled himself from you. His brow trembled as he took another long look into your eyes. “Think…” he started, voice cracking, “Think of the face Snape will make if it all works.” Sirius grinned, a tear falling down his face, “It’ll be brilliant.”
“Sirius-” you started, voice trembling. But all you could do was shake your head as your throat seemed to close up with heaviness.
“I’ll be locking you in, Sirius.” Dumbledore said as he made his way towards the door.
It was as if you couldn’t accept leaving Sirius Black was an actionable option. Your mind went blank as your body moved of its own will, following Albus out of the room. Sirius smiled after you, eyes wide as you left. It was only in your periphery that you saw his shoulders fall, and then the door was closed and locked.
“Now-” Dumbledore said to you in a low voice, “We must hurry.”
Albus began to take large strides. You followed, and by the time the two of you were in the corridor to the hospital wing, you could hear Harry shouting from past the door.
“WE’RE NOT CONFUNDED!” his voice echoed down the hall.
You looked up into Albus’s face. He did not return your gaze and he swiftly pushed open the doors.
“For heaven’s sake!” cried Madam Pomfrey hysterically. “Is this a hospital wing or not? Headmaster, I must insist-”
“My apologies, Poppy, but I need a word with Mr. Potter and Miss Granger,” Dumbledore said calmly. You stayed by Albus’ side as the two of you walked into the room. You took in the triumphant expressions on Harry and Hermione's faces, the twitching irritation on Severus', and the polite shock on Cornelius Fudge's. Dumbledore continued, “I have just been talking to Sirius Black-”
“I suppose he’s told you the same fairy tale he’s planted in Potter’s mind?” spat Snape, glowering between you and Albus. “Something about a rat, and Pettigrew being alive-”
“That, indeed, is Black’s story,” said Dumbledore, surveying Snape closely through his half-moon spectacles.
“And does my evidence count for nothing?” snarled Snape. “Peter Pettigrew was not in the Shrieking Shack, nor did I see any sign of him on the grounds.”
“That was because you were knocked out, Professor!” Hermione earnestly called from her bed. “You didn’t arrive in time to hear-”
“Miss Granger, HOLD YOUR TONGUE!”
“Now, Snape,” said Fudge, startled, “the young lady is disturbed in her mind, we must make allowances-”
“We would like to speak to Harry and Hermione alone,” said Dumbledore abruptly. “Cornelius, Severus, Poppy- please leave us.”
“Headmaster!” sputtered Madam Pomfrey. “They need treatment, they need rest-”
“This cannot wait,” said Dumbledore. “I must insist.”
Madam Pomfrey pursed her lips and strode away into her office at the end of the ward, slamming the door behind her. Fudge consulted a large gold pocket watch dangling from his waistcoat.
“The dementors should have arrived by now,” he said. “I’ll go and meet them. Dumbledore, I’ll see you upstairs.” He crossed to the door and held it open for Snape, but Snape hadn’t moved.
“You surely don’t believe a word of Black’s story?” Snape whispered, his eyes fixed on Dumbledore’s face.
“We wish to speak to Harry and Hermione alone,” Dumbledore repeated.
Snape took a step toward you and Dumbledore.
“Sirius Black showed he was capable of murder at the age of sixteen,” he breathed. “You haven't forgotten that, Headmaster? You haven’t forgotten that he once tried to kill me?”
“My memory is as good as ever, Severus,” said Dumbledore quietly.
Snape’s eyes widened. He glared at the five of you before turning on his heel and marching through the door Fudge was still holding. As it closed behind them Dumbledore turned to you.
“Now,” Dumbledore began, “By the time you’re far enough in the forest, he will soon turn human again.”
Harry and Hermione turned to look up at you, as you exchanged meaningful glances.
“Right-“ You drew yourself up taller, the manacles still attached to your arm clinked together dully. “I’ll find him.”
You started to pivot away, but Dumbledore took your hands in his. With a gentle squeeze the manacles broke off your wrist and hit the floor.
“Thank you, Albus-“ you nodded, rubbing your wrist. There was a beat of quiet between the four of you. All you had come to know was gone, you thought, as Harry and Hermione looked up at you hopefully. You had to actively ignore the sinking feeling in your chest as you looked at them. “Thank you Harry, Hermione! I… I’m sorry. I’m sorry that it's happening like this-“
“Go!” Harry and Hermione urged. Dumbledore smiled softly at the two of them.
“Bring back Professor Lupin!” Harry called to you, looking as if he was about to jump from his bed. Your heart fluttered as a burst of jittery energy filled you. With a final nod to everyone, you pushed open the doors to the hospital wing and set off.
It was unbearable to quietly walk through the castle. You wanted to run, to push over anything in your path. With every second the sky grew brighter. Any moment now the sun could appear beyond the horizon and Remus would become himself again.
At this thought you broke into a run, your feet pushing heavily off of the ground, your heart beating wildly in your chest. The forest before you was dark and deep. Your legs began to shake as the glow of dawn disappeared under the cover of the trees.
“Remus!” you called loudly. You were surprised to hear the sound of your voice, cracked, low, unfamiliar. You called again, his name bounced off of every tree, disorienting your sense of direction.
Nothing returned your call.
“Shit.” you hissed, slowing down to a walk. You searched for freshly scratched trees, for blood. “C’mon… Remus please…. Please don’t be too hurt.”
Your exhaustion transformed to anger. You continued to trudge through the bracken.. “How did this happen…?” you muttered bitterly as a branch scraped your cheek. You snapped it with a flick of your wand. “Severus fucking Snape, that’s how! How am I going to keep myself from murdering him? That’s our real trouble. Not that I traumatized Lily’s child or got my best friend reincarcerated… it’s that I am about to become his cellmate.”
You pushed through a particularly dense bramble, eyes tearing up as you realized too late how thorny it was. “Ouch- bloody hell-“ Tears stung your eyes, your face felt hot as you struggled to free yourself from the bramble of thorns. “It’s all my fault isn’t it?”
Your robes tore as you lunged yourself free of the last thorny twigs. With a final tear you fell flat on your stomach, knocking the wind out if you. “Oof-“ you coughed as you rolled to your side.
Before you could fully register what was happening you burst into tears. Your mind reeled as panic and pain overtook you once more. The option to forever lay on the ground and cry felt increasingly attractive.
“REMUS?” you called again, voice breaking. Still nothing.
A pressure grew in your throat as you wondered how long you had taken already trying to look for him. How much longer could your body handle going from pain and exhaustion to coursing with anxious energy? You ached like never before as you pulled yourself up into a kneeling position, already you could feel the muscles in your legs contract, bracing to run.
You felt weightless again, your chest stung as you gulped in breaths of cold air. It felt as if you were nearly out of time. You had to run. You had to do everything you could to keep running. You thought of Sirius’ gaunt face as you pressed on, doing your best to ignore the pains that grew worse with every heavy footfall.
Occasionally you would realize you weren’t thinking of anything that mattered at all; What types of trees you were passing, an amusing joke you had heard a student tell, and your pace would falter as you winced with shame. You were only allowed to think of one thing, Remus. Finding Remus.
As you approached a creek bed the treeline opened up, allowing dapples of morning light to scatter against the ground. Your eyes fell to an odd shape that caused you to stop- a huddled mass within the shadow of a rock jutting out from the creek bed. You stopped, your foot falling over a thin, dry twig that snapped sharply in half. The sound rang through the nearby trees and shadow recoiled.
“R-Remus?” You didn’t recognize your own voice as you spoke. It felt as if you were watching yourself from somewhere nearby, instead of controlling your movements as you took several steps forward.
Eyes the color of a golden moon reflected suddenly towards you. A low growl came next, it rattled your chest as you took another step forward.
“No-“ The growl bent it’s cadence to say. “No, no, no, no-“
You could hear your heartbeat in your ears as you peered into the shadow to get a better look. The almost-voice caused a shiver to run through you.
“I’m not- no, no- It’s not safe!”
As if your world tilted forward, you fell to your knees in front of Remus, eyes filling with tears as relief consumed you. “Oh my- Oh Remus, Remus!” You reached your arms forward, pulling him out of the shadows.
The clawed, mangled arms you pulled into the sunlight retracted with a strength you’d never have expected. You were pulled closer by the force of Remus pulling his arms back towards himself.
“No, no, no, no-“
“Remus- Remus it’s over!” You cried as you leaned forward, wrapping your arms around his chest tightly, you pulled him into the sun.
You closed your eyes as daybreak swept over the two of you, holding Remus to you as tightly as you could. You felt Remus shudder against you and move to pull away as a terrible crack rang from his spine. With a cry of pain Remus’s hands, still clawed and curled, gripped your shoulders so tightly you gasped. You noticed the sensation of warm blood running down your arms momentarily before another crack rang painfully from Remus’ hips and then his legs.
He cursed loudly, his fingers pushing into the torn skin of your arms deeper still as he bent over you, eyes squeezed shut in agony. You fell under him, looking up into his face as his nose and jaw bones cracked and pushed themselves back into his skull.
Remus winced fearfully as the dappled light swept over him and his body broke itself back into the form you knew. His face, red with pain, came to rest against your chest. Remus pushed his forehead against your clavicle as you watched his legs rejoin into the anatomy of a human’s. You could feel his jaw tremble with how tightly he clenched his teeth.
“Oh, God-“ Remus panted your name, his weight pushed you into the ground. You could feel your robes slowly become heavy and damp with creek water.
“Remus-“ you cried hoarsely, holding him to you. “You’re going to be alright.”
“No-“
“Yes.” You said, voice low and clear. Remus shook his head against you, still hiding his face against your chest. You did your best to keep your breathing steady.
“Did I kill them?” he asked, voice trembling.
“No!” You exclaimed, “All alive. Everyone is alive and unharmed.”
“You’re alive.” Remus sobbed, his cries shook you.
Your eyes stung with tears as you kissed the top of his head. It was only then that you realized most of the water welling up around you was red with blood. You took a deep breath and shifted underneath him. “Alright, I’m going to roll you over to lay on your back.”
With a bitter expression Remus rolled to his side and you held in another gasp as his fingers pulled away from your skin.
"Good-" you cooed, taking off what remained of your cloak to cover Remus' midsection as you looked over his wounds. Now that he was fully in the morning light, you could see just how bloody he was. The punctures he left in your shoulders were nothing compared to the torn flesh covering his body.
"Okay, you're okay..." you hummed softly, bringing your left hand to shield Remus' eyes from the sun. "This will sting but you're not in danger, okay Remus?"
Remus gave the faintest smile under your hand. He seemed too weak to do much else. It would have to be enough, you thought, as you lifted your wand up to the worst gash.
With great effort, Remus' hand rose to wrap around your wrist. "Werewolf injuries-" he breathed, "can't be helped along by spells."
It took all of your strength to not be overwhelmed with anxiety. "Right..." you acknowledged, forcing yourself to sound calm.
"Is Peter...?" Remus started.
"We can't focus on Peter right now." you said while tearing the bottom portion of your robes between your teeth. With an aggressive tug, you ripped off the fabric and began to tear it into strips.
You saw Remus' brow tremble as he came to understand your response. You tenderly began to wrap the strips of your robes around the worst of his wounds, tying them off as tightly as you could get away with.
"Do you think you can stand?" you asked, picking your cloak back off of him to dry it with a spell.
"I'll have to-" Remus replied, grimacing as he rolled back onto his stomach and slowly rose to a standing position. You pulled your cloak around his shoulders as his hand darted out to grip your arm for purchase.
"Alright?" you asked, fitting your shoulder underneath Remus' arm for support. He blushed, a flicker of shame passed over his face.
"You don't have to do this-" he said, his tone tense.
You ignored it, looking instead forward towards the thick woods you had traveled through. "Are you ready to try walking?"
Remus nodded. You watched as he did his best to center himself though his legs shook even as he mustered composure.
You took a step forward, but Remus didn't budge. “What is it?” you asked softly.
He took a slow breath in, his expression went from ashamed and irritated to forced neutrality as he glanced down at you. “We need to go to the Shrieking Shack.”
You couldn’t allow yourself to focus on Remus’ face, the darkness around his eyes, the sallowness of his skin, the constant trembling of his brow, the fevered glint in his bloodshot, glossy eyes. With a small shake of your head, you did your best to remain present.
“But that’s so out of the way-“ you frowned, perplexed. “Why?”
“We forgot Harry’s invisibility cloak last night… as well as the map.”
You blanched, turning your upper body to fully face him.”Remus-“ you began, incredulous, “We can get it later? You need to go to the hospital.”
“Where is Sirius?” he asked, evenly.
“He is being held in Hogwarts.”
Remus nodded and shakily pivoted left. “He may need it to go freely.” he explained, his voice eerily casual.
Your heart sank as you watched him, it unnerved you how both Remus and Sirius’ forced calm reminded you of how they acted during the worst of the war. The fact that they both had felt the need to carry on that way this morning made you feel heartsick. Nevertheless, you couldn’t help but smile faintly at what Remus said. He had hope if he was thinking of Sirius’ escape.
You allowed Remus to lead you towards the Shrieking Shack as you had little sense of how to get there on your own. The journey was very slow and quiet. You couldn't help but watch Remus’ face flicker between stoic determination and brief pauses where it seemed as if there was something he wanted to say, but couldn’t fathom the words.
As you reached the Shrieking Shack, Remus magically unlocked the front door with an impatient wave of his hand. “Can you tell me what happened?” he asked as you stumbled inside and he closed the door behind you.
You shook your head. It felt impossible to recount what had happened since Snape had revived you. Your mind conjured your last glance towards Sirius in that office as a dry sob escaped you. Remus flinched at the sound, but continued to look at you expectantly. “Please tell me?” He asked with thinly veiled anxiety.
You sat on the corner of the broken bed where Ron’s blood had dried onto the sheets. Remus limped over to a wardrobe that was half torn through, weakly opened a remaining drawer, and pulled on the moth-eaten robes he found inside.
Your eyes traced the room as your mind cruelly repeated the scenes of last night in your thoughts. You didn’t notice how fast your breathing had become until Remus sat down beside you and gingerly rested a warm hand on your chest. He murmured your name with great affection, and looked at you with trained calm.
“Dumbledore-” You started, frowning. “Dumbledore wants us to hurry.” You swallowed dryly as you fought your panic and exhaustion to reliably convey all the information he needed. Remus kept his hand against your chest, your heart fluttered against the tips of his fingers.
“I think he has some sort of plan, but he didn’t have time to tell me much of anything. I- I woke up after you- after Peter um….” You took a deep breath. “When you began to change, Sirius got you to chase after him and Peter took advantage of our surprise. He grabbed your wand, and that’s the last thing I remember.”
Remus’ eyes widened as you spoke. You continued the story even as you distracted yourself in the color of Remus’ eyes. Forest greens- reddish undertones, greens made from cadmium, madder, and king’s blue. Midtoned and bright, reflective, especially when his eyes were bloodshot, the green of his eyes seemed to glow.
“Snape found me there some hours later. He had already recovered Ron, Harry and Hermione and sent them up to the hospital wing. He bound Sirius and brought him to the castle… since I knew Harry, Hermione and Ron were safe I didn’t want to leave Sirius so I just followed.
“He’s locked up in Flitwick’s office. Snape went to fetch Dumbledore and get Fudge over. Dumbledore spoke with Sirius and I, then, privately. I did my best to explain everything but Dumbledore seemed to make up his mind pretty quickly. We left Sirius in there and briefly headed up to the hospital wing before he sent me to find you.
“I was worried Harry was going to try and follow me.” You shook your head, smiling despite yourself. “He seemed really worried about you, Remus.”
The look of grief on Remus’ face deepened when you mentioned Harry. His lips parted to say something, but nothing came of it.
“When Dumbledore and I were leaving Sirius, Albus told him that if things went well it would be the last time they would see each other for a while.” You pondered. “So he must have some sort of plan?”
“Yes.” Remus agreed, eyebrows arched. “I think you’re right to believe that.”
“Are you ready to head back?” You asked, standing from the bed to stretch your legs.
Remus rose from the bed, coming to stand behind you. After a long silence you felt his heavy hands weigh down against your hips as his arms encircled the small of your waist. Bowing his head, Remus rested his brow against your shoulder, pulling you tightly against him.
“A moment.” he sighed against your skin.
You closed your eyes as the warmth of Remus’ arms washed over you. A wave of gratitude overtook you as you leaned against him gently. You knew it couldn’t be easy for him to be anything right now other than full of self hatred and loss, so the embrace was surprising but very welcome. You wanted to tell him how much you loved him, how relieved you were that he was alive, and how proud of him you were for not pushing you away in such a vulnerable state. But you couldn’t, fearing that any spoken acknowledgment of it would break the spell.
He has done a lot of work on himself, you thought as your hands reached up to run your fingers through his hair. He trusts me, you smiled in secrecy as you recalled his words, even if he doesn’t know how.
Remus sighed again, but the breath caught in his throat and transformed to a rough growl.
You had to stop yourself from jumping at the sound of it, so similar to the snarls he had made as a wolf. Instead, you pushed your fingers through his hair more deeply, massaging your fingertips against the back of his neck.
You pouted dejectedly as Remus’ arms unwound themselves from you, but a shock went through you as he instead moved to run his hands over your chest and down the sides of your waist. His thumbs slowly traced the curve of your hip bones, you felt his breath against the skin of your shoulder deepen.
“We should get going.” You started, untangling yourself from him to turn around and look up at him. It would have been easier if you hadn't.
Remus looked down at you with an expression you had never quite seen. The slant of his brow and his lips was vulnerable. He focused on you intensely with wide eyes, his pupils expanded in the dim light. He gazed down at you, achingly.
His lips met yours with a desperation that startled you. You jerked to move back, but Remus’ hand had come to cradle the back of your head, his teeth dragged over your bottom lip as he hummed into the kiss, a deep and satisfied sound.
Your legs, already hardly able to hold you, felt like they were about to completely give way as Remus deepened the kiss. You reached up and wrapped your arms over his shoulders, as Remus’ other hand wrapped itself tightly around your waist, hiking you up so that your legs found their way around his hips. He held you against him with one arm, before he took several careful steps backward and sat down on the bed.
With great, unmotivated effort you pulled away from the kiss, looking down at him. Remus sat beneath you, staring into your eyes hungrily.
“Better than any chocolate-“ He rasped dryly.
By the time the two of you could see Hogwarts Remus was leaning most of his weight against you to walk. Your knees had given way several times, throwing you both into the damp soil. The morning light finally crested over the treeline of the forbidden forest as you helped Remus into one of the beds in the hospital wing.
The hospital was completely empty, except for the flickering of light within Poppy’s office. “Okay-” You groaned, pushing Remus’ legs up onto the bed. You fell into a chair beside him. “You’re okay…” You said, resting your elbows on the mattress, you ran your hand over his forehead, Remus’ eyes were already closed.
“Pomfrey?” You called feebly, unable to pull your upper half away from the mattress. You leaned your head against the mattress corner, your hand still pressed cooly against Remus’ brow. Despite your best efforts, your eyes closed and your world went black.
-X-
There were angry voices growing louder and louder. You woke up slowly, in a bed beside Remus. Your wrists were bandaged, the punctures Remus gave you as he transformed back into a human wrapped in a poultice made from Aconite leaves. Your whole body felt sore and as you yawned awake you felt the skin on the sides of your mouth stretch painfully from the scratches Snape’s gag had left.
“HE DIDN’T DISAPPARATE!” Snape roared from past the door. “YOU CAN’T APPARATE OR DISAPPARATE INSIDE THIS CASTLE! THIS-HAS-SOMETHING-TO-DO-WITH-POTTER!”
“Severus- be reasonable- Harry has been locked up-”
BAM.
The door of the hospital wing burst open.
Fudge, Snape and Dumbledore came striding into the ward. Dumbledore alone looked calm. Indeed, he looked as though he was quite enjoying himself.
“OUT WITH IT, POTTER!” he bellowed. “WHAT DID YOU DO?”
Remus started awake and sat up with a snarl on his face. You saw Dumbledore give Remus a wink.
“See here, Snape, be reasonable,” said Fudge.
“THEY HELPED HIM ESCAPE, I KNOW IT!” Snape howled, pointing at Harry and Hermione. His face was twisted; spit was flying from his mouth. You glanced towards Ron, who mirrored your shocked expression back and shrugged.
“Calm down, man!” Fudge barked. “You’re talking nonsense!”
“YOU DON’T KNOW POTTER!” shrieked Snape. “HE DID IT, I KNOW HE DID IT-”
“That will do, Severus,” said Dumbledore quietly. “Think about what you are saying. Madam Pomfrey, have these students left their beds?”
“Of course not!: said Madam Pomfrey, bristling. “I would have heard them!”
“Well, there you have it, Severus.” said Dumbledore calmly. “Unless you are suggesting that Harry and Hermione are able to be in two places at once, I’m afraid I don’t see any point in troubling them further.”
Snape stood there, seething, staring from Fudge, who looked thoroughly shocked at his behavior, to Dumbledore, whose eyes were twinkling behind his glasses. Snape whirled about, robes swishing behind him, and stormed out of the ward.
“Fellow seems quite unbalanced,” said Fudge, staring after him. “I’d watch out for him if I were you, Dumbledore.”
“Oh, he’s not unbalanced,” said Dumbledore quietly. “He’s just suffered a severe disappointment.”
“He’s not the only one!” puffed Fudge. “The Daily Prophet’s going to have a field day! We had Black cornered and he slipped through our fingers yet again! All it needs now is for the story of that hippogriff’s escape to get out, and I’ll be a laughingstock! Well… I’d better go and notify the Ministry…”
“And the dementors?” said Dumbledore. “They’ll be removed from the school, I trust?”
“Oh yes, they’ll have to go,” said Fudge, running his fingers distractedly through his hair. “Never dreamed they’d attempt to administer the Kiss on an innocent boy… Completely out of control… no, I’ll have them packed off back to Azkaban tonight… Perhaps we should think about dragons at the school entrance…”
“Hagrid would like that,” said Dumbledore, smiling at all of you. As he and Fudge left the dormitory, Madam Pomfrey hurried to the door and closed it again. Muttering angrily to herself, she headed back to her office.
“What- what happened?” Ron groaned, “Harry? Where are we in here? Where’s Sirius? What’s going on?”
You, Harry, Remus and Hermione all exchanged tired glances at one another, and helped yourselves to some chocolate. The five of you spend the rest of the morning resting and recanting your sides of the tale to one another. You were so happy to hear of Sirius’ escape that you nearly fainted, and Ron fanned you with his hands in a panic.
You sensed Remus struggling to disguise the shame he felt as he listened to everyone’s stories, but when Harry mentioned the Patronus he used to save himself and Sirius, Remus brightened and his eyes turned glassy.
“Your father was a stag when he transformed,” he said, smiling softly. “That’s what we called him Prongs.”
By sunset, Madam Pomfrey had given you all enough potions to stock a hospital. You felt restless to get out of bed. There was so much you wanted to discuss with Remus privately- how he felt about himself, what the two of you were going to do to help Sirius.
Ron, Harry and Hermione were discharged first. Madam Pomfrey broke off large pieces of chocolate and handed it to them as they exited. You could hear Ron complain about how hungry he was as the three of them walked down the corridor and headed to the Great Hall for supper.
“Let me do your bandages one more time-” Pomfrey said, already carefully undoing all of Remus’ poultices. She made quick work of it. Poppy and Remus seemed to be quite used to the process and each other.
“And now you!” She said, undoing the dressings at your shoulders. Remus’ eyes widened as he looked at the markings on your shoulders, the blood leaving his face.
“It’s alright-” you hushed, imploringly.
“Those will scar…” he replied, bereft. He looked away, face filling with anger.
Suddenly there were fast knocks rapping at the door. “Oh!” Madam Pomfrey stamped her foot frustratedly. “Hold on-” She told you, stomping her way to the door.
Remus leaned over his bed and traced the wounds on your shoulders with his fingertips. His face was full of stern anger. “I suppose,” he said low, “it was bound to happen.”
“Is it true?” You heard a young, drawling voice call from the other side of the door. “Is it true that Professor Lupin is a werewolf?”
I wish I wasn't so naturally opted to lean towards violent reactions. Even in good things, like. My brains filled with just how much I love him, that I wanna sink my teeth so hard my phone shatters. He flirts with me in that sweet cheesy way, and I need to punch a hole in the nearest wall. I can't talk about him without needing to slam my fists into my thighs, cause there's!!! Too many!!! Feelings in me!!! My body has to get them out!!! I don't wanna hurt nobody, my hearts gonna burst outta my chest if I don't tear this house down!!!
bane really has a face only a mother could love, huh?
“Ya know that’s real fuckin' funny comin’ from one of you faceless mother fuckers.” setting down her wine glass, she cracks her knuckles. “Also, Did I fuckin’ ask for your opinion? Don’t think I did.”
She takes a few steps closer to the faceless intruder, beginning to loom over them golden eyes shining with irritation. “For ya fucking information ya pea brain, I like his face it’s fucking sexy and if ya got a problem with that, guess what Bitch? I don’t fucking care!”
“If ya gonna talk shit ya should at least grow a fucking spine and talk it without ya little mask, Pussy.”
“But no you’re right, a mother does love his Face. The fuckin' mother of his child and that’s the only one that fuckin’ matters! So, why don’t ya go find a nice sharp spike and shove it up ya fucking tight ass and spin? In other words, In case that was too complicated for ya to understand. FUCK. OFF.”
He’d spent hours planning and enacting his plan, but then, if he was going to rise from the shadows, it had to be done with flare and style. He did nothing by halves. It had taken almost a week of visits to set the stage so to speak. Fortunately, the concert hall had been shut down for repairs only to run into funding problems. It had been the perfect venue for his first attempt at luring Alastor into a more determined game of cat and mouse.
From the street the concert hall was little more than a slowly deteriorating point of interest. The marquee was empty and the ticket booth collected dust and little else. He’d needed to lure his guest in, so the faintest strains of music could be heard lilting into the crisp night air, although it was clear that there had been no symphony planned. With every step his guest took, the magic he’d woven would bring the hall to life, lighting up the sconces and creating a soft glow that was only amplified by the haunting strains of Bach’s Cello Suite No. 1 being played by an charmed cello in the orchestra pit.
Once his guest reached the center of the hall, the stage would light up, drawing focus to what in his mind, he now referred to as his sculpture. A blood traitor and popular cellist, Evan had gone all out. This was to be his first statement after all. Even now just thinking about how Moody would react when he saw it—how innocent little Mary MacDonald would help fling him into new heights of mystery and obsession was enough to get his heart pounding with excitement.
Franklin Donohue was a pureblood from an unimportant family (well they all were if they weren’t from the sacred 28) who’d been seen supporting muggle rights. He was a known associate—and well honestly he’d just drawn too much attention to himself. Now it was his turn to draw attention to what happened to blood traitors. This… this was why he’d joined the dark lord. To express and create—to send a message that could not be misinterpreted.
Of course he’d left his mark. It wouldn’t do for people to give credit to someone else. Not when he’d worked so hard on it. And so, like many other kills, he’d carved ‘A.M.’ into the man’s flap of flesh where he’d opened up the man’s throat to create his true masterpiece: a cello the world wouldn’t soon forget… In the breast pocket of the cellist’s tuxedo a note was tucked away for Alastor. No more secretive notes. The aurors would know he existed. He was tired of Moody ignoring him—stuffing him into a drawer to be forgotten until the next kill.
“Enjoy the show Miss MacDonald.” He whispered before he sent the random owl winging toward her office. It was late, but that was his intent. He’d started watching her more closely and she kept sporadic hours, but she was consistent—she’d check her desk before her day was done, and then the show was on. There was a simple ticket stub with the concert hall address. The rest was up to Miss MacDonald’s investigative reporter instincts. He just hoped she was up to the challenge...
