A/N: This chapter contains my first cliffhanger and some mild violence. Neither could be helped; you know what they say about people getting hurt when they play with sharp objects…*veg*
7: A Walk in Hogsmeade
Pulling his cloak tighter against the autumn chill, Remus glanced along Hogsmeade’s largest street at the hoards of Hogwarts students laughing and chattering as they darted from Zonko’s to Honeydukes, Dervish and Banges to the Three Broomsticks, revelling in this, the first Hogsmeade weekend of the year. The sun was bright against a washed out blue sky, clear but icy cold, the consequence of sunshine in autumn, as hands were rubbed and scarves were tightened against the cruel nip of approaching winter in the air. The odd sharpness of the sunlight lent a strange glint to the melting remains of the early frost that set the thin air sparkling.
The hairy head of Rubeus Hagrid towered head and shoulders above the crowds of children as he headed for the Three Broomsticks with Minerva McGonagall and Poppy Pomfrey “ Remus responded to his wave and hearty hail with a broad smile and a friendly nod. A little further down, clustered together outside Honeydukes exchanging warming Pepper Imps, Harry, Ron and Hermione grinned at him as he blew on his hands and rubbed them fervently. It was definitely time to buy a pair of gloves. With actual wages in his pocket, he could, for once, afford them.
Pulling open the door into Gladrags Wizardwear, Remus almost collided headlong with the emerging Seamus Finnegan. The sixth year boy grinned cheerfully at his teacher.
“Sorry Professor Lupin!” he exclaimed as he hurried out into the cold air. “Didn’t see you!”
Flashing him a final smile, he dashed off. But it was too late. The voice alone, the voice that had previously asked a simple question, had been enough. Remus had been reminded.
Curse it. He’d managed not to think about it for almost half-an-hour. This was getting ridiculous.
Remus had dealt with the uncertainty of the circumstances of his bite for almost all of his life. He had grown used to not knowing. The wall in his mind was a part of him, and he understood perfectly his parents’ reluctance to talk about what both had referred to “ when they thought him out of earshot “ as the worst night of their lives. That at some point on a chilly November evening not long into his third year of life, he had found himself in dark woods alone and been set upon by a passing werewolf was something he had reluctantly come to accept. After all, it was not as though he could do anything to change it.
But the vivid horror of his dream combined with the innocently asked questions of a class full of sixteen year olds had lit a fire in his mind such as he had never encountered. He was no longer content to just to acknowledge it had happened; he was not prepared to shrug his shoulders anymore and declare it didn’t matter because it was all in the past. His life had been changed forever that night. Surely he had the right to know why.
That’s a pretty big thing to forget. Ron Weasley’s words. And he had a point. Was his youth really an excuse for such a total blankness? There were several spells that could retrieve a lost or forgotten memory from early childhood “ he had experimented with most in his early twenties after his encounter with that rogue Dementor had dredged up the first of his vague recollections. But nothing it seemed could catch the edges of this memory deliberately “ he was forced to live with nothing more than glimpses gleaned from dreams. It appeared his mind was not ready to give up its secrets and it made Remus wonder why.
He couldn’t help but feel slightly aggrieved that the entire world and its wife seemed determined to keep him in the dark. Albus Dumbledore, Alastor Moody, his parents “ now even his own mind was getting in on the act. He still didn’t know why but he had a sneaking suspicion that the words “for your own good” would feature in it somewhere. However with the recent passing of his thirty-seventh birthday, Remus liked to feel that he was old enough to decide what was good or not for himself.
A cold chill struck at his heart. His birthday. It had been just over a fortnight ago. That meant this weekend… How could he have forgotten?
Two weeks and three days after his birthday. Tomorrow was the thirty-fourth anniversary of his bite.
So much for forgetting.
Absently rubbing his side, he selected a warm looking, reasonably priced pair of gloves, paid the obliging assistant, pulled them over his chilly fingers and wandered back into the cold of the street. He spotted Harry and his two friends a little way ahead, having moved on from Honeydukes to admiring the bright and feathery display in the window of Scrivenshaft’s Quill Shop, along with a huddle of Ravenclaw third-years, a plump woman with a basket, and a man wrapped warmly in a long cloak who leaned casually against the glass. On another day, he might have joined them.
Remus sighed. He had suddenly lost his taste for a day in the village. Perhaps he would head back up to the school, make a start on those fourth year essays about defensive hexes that needed to be marked by Monday. Plus he needed to owl his father about getting hold of a Grindylow before the end of next week “ his dad’s backyard menagerie in the old garden lean-to, once the bane of his tidy mother’s existence, did at least have some uses…
There was no warning. And this time there was no Firewhiskey. But in spite of the endemic coldness of the day, there was no mistaking the icy chill that shot the length of his spine with a suddenness that made him gasp, the tingle in his blood, the echo of his heartbeat against his skull and the sharp, vivid pain that laced his scar and stopped him in his tracks.
Remus froze on the spot. What the hell?
“Professor? Professor Lupin? Are you all right?”
He turned his head sharply to the left to find three pairs of curious eyes fixed firmly upon him. It was Hermione who had called out to him, forward a few steps now, with her friends, from the cloaked man beyond, as she gazed at him quizzically from beneath a lopsided woolly hat that she had apparently knitted herself. Judging from their looks of concern, the three of them had clearly seen the expression of shock on his face as he had so sharply halted.
Remus immediately rearranged his face into his best reassuring smile. “Just a bit of a chill, Hermione,” he lied casually, avoiding their scrutiny as his eyes wandered to the window display behind their heads. “It caught me a bit by surprise, that’s all. Probably stepped right into a draft…”
His voice tailed off. His brain had just registered something that his eyes had been screaming at him.
The man in front of the quill shop window. The cloaked man. The man who was no more than six yards away from Harry James Potter, the Boy-Who (had up until now at least)-Lived. He was leaning on the glass, relaxed, at ease, his fingers splayed against it and gently tapping.
A dark, curved claw protruded from every tip. A reflected pair of golden eyes glinted.
Oh. Bloody. Hell.
Whether Kane had seen him, or whether he had coincidentally chosen this moment to strike was never clear. All Remus knew was that even as he went for his wand, roaring at the three teenagers in warning, the feral swivelled lightning-quick on his heels and dove forcefully at Harry’s still vulnerable back, teeth bared and clawed hands reaching. His hood whipped back, exposing short, dark, tightly curled hair shot with silver, a solid but well scarred face and an expression of fanatical, determined pleasure.
Which faltered only slightly at the solid thump of book meeting bone. Judging by the weight of the bag she had swung with all her might into Kane’s path, it appeared that Hermione had found time to visit the bookshop that morning.
The feral staggered sideways, his momentum shifted only briefly. But it was enough.
Remus had drawn his wand.
“Impedimenta!”
The force of the spell flung Kane backwards, lifting him from his feet and hurling him through the fragile pane of the quill shop window. Remus winced in spite of himself at the unintended damage as multi-coloured feathers whirled and danced into the air to the accompaniment of the tinkle and crash of falling glass. His eyes fixed upon the still shocked and bewildered faces of Harry, Ron and Hermione.
“Go!” He ordered sharply. “The Three Broomsticks, now! Get Hagrid and McGonagall! Call the Aurors!” He hoped he did not have to specify which Aurors he meant.
“But…” Ron was stammering as he switched his gaze rapidly back and forth between his teacher and the shattered window. “That was a… That was a…”
“Feral.” Hermione supplied impatiently.
Well at least he’d taught them something.
“Now!” he repeated forcefully, catching Harry’s shoulder and shoving him with rather more force than he’d intended up the street. “Run!”
They ran. The word feral had caught alight and was spreading like wildfire along the rest of the street. Shocked faces were staring at the shattered window and the Hogwarts professor advancing on it. Screams were rising behind him.
Remus ignored it all, ignored even the strange sensations running through his body that he was now certain were not connected to Firewhiskey at all, but to the presence of Abraham Kane. The fall through the window had been a nasty one, but ferals were irritatingly tough and the thick cloak he had been draped in would have protected him from the worst of any harm. And the spell to immobilise him would not last long. Any moment now he would…
Kane flipped upright from the debris, casting off his glass-strewn cloak as he balanced precariously for an instant on the window still. His golden eyes fixed on Remus even as the professor raised his wand.
“Well, well,” he drawled with icy grin, his golden eyes gleaming with an emotion his adversary could not quite place. “If it isn’t the Lupin brat.”
Remus froze with shock. It was not a clever thing to do in the circumstances.
Kane pounced instantly. Remus grunted with shock as he was hurled into the cobblestones, the breath shoved from his body by the force of the impact “ it was only through great presence of mind that he managed to keep hold of his wand. The screams around him rose to a shocking crescendo as he caught a glimpse of another figure flung aside as Kane’s heels vanished into the dark alley that wound between Scrivenshaft’s and the Post Office.
Shoving himself violently to his feet, Remus swore fluently and took a risk. He apparated.
Disorientation caused his head to swim “ the alley was darker than he had expected. Grasping his wand firmly in one gloved hand, Remus paused for an instant, allowing his eyes to adjust to the shock of sudden shadow after bright autumn sun, straining his ears for any hint of sound that might imply that Abraham Kane was upon him. The alley was slender, less than the width of his arm span, scattered with bent feathers and discarded paper. He could smell owl droppings.
His eyes focussed, taking in the dark bricks on either side, the rubbish bins, the divergence of the alley ahead as it encountered the rear of a smaller side street. His ears tuned in to the distant chaos of the panicking masses in the street twenty yards behind him. But there were no footsteps. No breathing. No sign of flight.
This was the right alley. So where was Kane?
Remus could feel his spine tingling. Firey eyes seemed to burn against his skull.
This alley was less than an arm span wide. Oh bugger.
He looked up.
Braced above him, spayed spread-eagle between the two walls, Kane grinned.
There was no time to dodge. There was no room to dodge. Two booted feet swung solidly into his back; for the second time in as many minutes, Remus was hurled to the ground and this time his grip on his wand faltered, leaving him to watch helplessly as it bounced into the shadows and out of reach. Desperately he clambered into a half-crouch, scrabbling for something, anything he could use as a weapon.
He was far too slow.
Clawed fingers closed around his throat, lifting him off his feet and slamming him against the wall. The twin galleon eyes of Abraham Kane gazed at him up the length of an arm. His smile was a baring of teeth.
“Move and I squeeze,” he drawled softly.
“Let me go.” Remus was quite astonished at how calm his voice sounded, considering he was pinned to the wall by his neck by a vicious killing machine. “Others are coming.”
Kane regarded him for a moment. And then he began to chuckle, a low roll of sound that somehow managed to be utterly devoid of humour.
“Oh that was good,” he exclaimed, savouring each word as though tasting it. “Very convincing. If my hands weren’t full, I’d give you a round of applause.” His clawed fingers teased the skin of Remus’ throat in painful little circles. “You apparated, boy. I heard it. No one saw where you vanished to. No one knows you’re here.”
Remus ignored the icy chill as the truth of these words sunk in. “What do you want with me?” he gasped, his mind racing as he tried desperately to think of some way, any way that he could get free without Kane tearing his windpipe out.
Kane shrugged easily. “Haven’t decided yet. Who says I’m not just in the mood for a little family reunion?”
Remus felt his eyes widen. What the…?
“Family?” he rasped, trying to ignore the desperate pain in his neck and praying he would live long enough to digest any answers he received. “What do you mean by that?”
It was the turn of Kane to widen his eyes. “Don’t you recognise me, boy? Can’t you feel it?” He stared for a moment at the blank expression on Remus’ face and a wicked light seemed to ignite within his eyes. Laughter spilled from his lips once more, a cold, tangled sound that bounced from wall to wall and skipped away into nothingness. Lowering Remus carefully back down onto his feet, he leaned closer until their faces were mere inches apart; he could smell the older werewolf’s putrid breath.
“You don’t know who I am, do you?” Kane’s voice was barely more than a whisper, a hiss of air against his cheek. “You don’t remember and he hasn’t told you. It seems that your dearest daddy has been keeping secrets from his precious little boy.” Kane’s smile was mocking. “Doesn’t say much for your father-son bond, does it? Perhaps he’s not so keen on having a monster for a son as he pretends. Like father, like son it seems.”
Remus bit his lip, bracing his back against the wall as he fought not to scream with frustration.
“How do you know my father?” He managed to choke out. “What are you talking about?”
The grip of Kane’s claws had not lessened “ if anything they tightened slightly. His icy malicious smile had not faded. “How sickeningly like them you behave. Mummy and daddy would be proud.” He chuckled coldly once more. “But they wouldn’t be so proud if they knew what you were really like, would they?”
His eyes gleamed fiercely. “Look at you. All indignant, all defiant, disgusted by the dreadful feral, Professor Lupin, the respectable werewolf. What a waste.”
He spat and shook his head. “But I know better than that face you paint for the world. I saw you, boy, saw you at The Howling.” His grin widened at Remus’ involuntary gasp. “What have you to say about that? Slumming it, were you? Seeing how the other half live? I’ve been asking the barman about you. Three times that week, he saw you. Told him you were getting fond of the place. And then suddenly you get your nice cosy job back and you’re too good for the likes of us all over again.”
Remus didn’t speak. There was absolutely nothing he could say. Oh yes, I was there, but I was spying on you for a secret organisation against Voldemort? That would go down a storm to a feral werewolf with his claws dug into his throat…
But Kane had not finished. “Do you really think you can just walk away?” His words vibrated with hidden energy. “You’ve tasted it before, touched the power. You can deny it all you want, but the wolf is in your soul. I know what kind of werewolf you are. I know what kind of werewolf you want to be. Some tamed milksop herding kiddies all day long, Albus Dumbledore’s favourite pet? I don’t think so.” His unblinking yellow eyes buried themselves into Remus’ stare. “You want to be like me. And I can help you with that. Just like I tried to before…”
“There, down there! That’s where he went! Behind the Post Office!”
The sudden voice echoed down the narrow alley; Kane’s head whipped round, his grip slackening slightly and Remus took the only chance he was ever likely to get. Bracing his back against the wall, he leaned as far back as he could from the feral’s grasp and slammed both feet into Kane’s stomach, smashing him with all his might into the opposite wall of the alley. Pain tore through his throat as Kane’s claws closed instinctively before being violently ripped free; toppling to the floor, he could do little but desperately gasp for breath as blood spurted from the nasty wounds and trickled down his neck, staining his gloved fingers as he grasped the damaged flesh. He heard Kane swear obscenely, saw a mass of shouting figures bundling and crowding into the narrow gap, heard the whistle and whine of spells thrown above him. But the feral was quick “ taking to his heels he vanished into the darkness beyond. Thundering footsteps rushed past him, over him; he caught a glimpse amongst others of the bald dark pate and golden earring of Kingsley Shacklebolt and a head of shocking orange that could only have belonged to Nymphadora Tonks as they hurtled down the alley in hot pursuit. If Remus hadn’t been in so much pain, he would have smiled. Good kids.
An alarming amount of blood was pooling against his cheek, soaking the rough earth scarlet. The alley was starting to swirl. Black sparkles danced eerily in front of his eyes. Oh, that’s not good…
The pain he could handle “ it was no more than he was used to. But breathing was becoming a challenge. And the blood loss…
More footsteps were approaching rapidly; Remus struggled to stay conscious as a dark figure hurried to his side and dropped to its knees beside him.
“Lumos!”
The concerned face of Minerva McGonagall appeared suddenly from the darkness. Her stare fixed on the expanding pool of blood and her eyes widened with horror.
“Remus, can you hear me?” she exclaimed. He felt his blood-soaked hand being carefully pried away from his damaged throat; something soft, Minerva’s tartan scarf he suspected, was pressed gently but firmly to the wounded flesh in its place.
He tried to speak but found he lacked the strength “ no more than a gasp escaped. His eyelids felt as though Hagrid was sitting on them, the light and shadows dancing and twisting eerily as black and silver stars rose like a veil before his sight. He tried to nod instead. It hurt like bloody hell.
“Don’t move!” The Deputy Headmistress commanded, a shrill note of alarm in her tone as she supported his head with her free hand. Gods, he must look a sight if the unflappable Minerva was getting so upset. “Hagrid!”
“Professor?” The gamekeeper’s West Country lilt drifted from the far end of the alley “ of course, Hagrid would be too large to safely manoeuvre in such narrow confines.
“Fetch Poppy from the Three Broomsticks immediately! Remus had been badly hurt!”
“Professor Lupin’s hurt?” Harry. Oh, no. Don’t let him come down, don’t let him come down, don’t let him…
“Harry Potter! Get back onto that street immediately! We don’t know it’s safe!”
Curse it. Too much like James for his own good.
Harry was no more than a blur, a glint of light against his glasses as he dropped down beside an irate McGonagall. The two gyrating shadows behind him he assumed to be Ron and Hermione. Poppy really did need to hurry up.
Footsteps sounded in the opposite direction “ Remus didn’t even try to see who was approaching this time. Minerva looked up, now no more than a shadowed outline.
“Did you catch him?”
“Lost him.” The weary and alarmingly distant voice belonged to Tonks. “Tricky git. Snuck around the back of Madam Puddifoot's and slipped off into the woods near the Shrieking Shack. Kingsley and a few others followed but…” She sighed. “I found Remus’ wand just up there. How’s he do… Oh bugger.”
“Quite.”
It was no good. The voices were far away and fading fast, his vision no more than a curtain of black and silver fireworks. His eyelids slipped closed. He knew he was losing consciousness but there was very little he could do about it.
“Professor Lupin?” Harry’s voice was a shrill murmur, all but tuned out. “Professor, Tonks, he’s…”
“I can see that.” Someone, Tonks he assumed since she was the last to have spoken, was violently tapping his cheek. He could barely feel it.
Sleep. Sleep is good.
“We got taught healing spells in Auror training. I know what we can…”
What Tonks could, Remus did not find out. The silver gave way to a wave of black that engulfed him utterly and dragged him into nothingness.