26: The Draw of the Moon
It was well into the evening before Remus succeeded in freeing himself from the well-meaning clutches of Poppy Pomfrey. He had to admit though that the selection of potions with which he had been dosed had indeed taken the edge off the worst of his symptoms; he no longer felt a barely controllable urge to vomit, although his stomach continued to roll and churn in protest against the food that Poppy had all but forced down his throat, the swirling whirlpool of dizziness had slowed to a disconcerting but bearable crawl and his vision was functioning to a useful degree at least. The only part of his wolfsbane-induced illness that Poppy had not been able to help him to moderate were the shivers. The cold washes than ran through his bones were something he would just have to live with.
All he wanted in that moment was to lie down and sleep for the rest of his life.
But first, he had to talk to Albus.
A part of him was wishing fervently that he had taken Minerva up on her offer of speaking with the headmaster on his behalf. But hiding from his responsibilities behind a cloak of sickness was the coward’s way. No, he would see Albus himself and face the consequences.
If, of course, he could remember the password.
He was fairly sure that it was some manner of confectionary. But details eluded him. Such a challenge of memory was a real problem for a professor who had managed to forget that he was in the middle of teaching a class just a few hours before.
A grinding noise tore at his ears as he rounded the final corner. The gargoyle that guarded the hallowed entrance to the headmaster’s office hoved into view, revolving gracefully in spite of the screech of stone on stone. Someone had just entered ahead of him.
Someone, who, unlike him, could remember the headmaster’s sweet of the week.
This was not an opportunity he could afford to miss. The softness of his pillow, his warm sheets were calling and the glorious slump of finally yielding to the persistent demands of his body to give way to gravity and halt at horizontal. He had no desire to spend his evening stop helplessly before an uncaring gargoyle dredging his tattered memory for Honeydukes products.
Ignoring the pulsing in his head and the shrieks of his limbs, Remus bounded quickly across the final few yards and pulled himself into the gap before it closed.
Footsteps echoed on the steps above him, a clatter of percussive sound. Shaking himself, Remus dusted off his robes and moved more warily in pursuit.
At the head of the steps, the entrance to the office was slightly ajar, the swaying door spilling golden light onto the small landing as it wobbled vaguely as though it had been cast roughly from the path of some hurried prior arrival. In the chamber beyond, there were voices.
Courtesy reared its head; Remus was on the verge of retreating to the bottom of the steps again and waiting politely out of earshot until whoever it was who had preceded him was finished. But then, a voice, and a name was spoken that froze even his shivers in place.
“…no doubt about it. Oldstaff was adamant that Kane is up to something.”
Severus Snape. The Slytherin’s words in the entrance hall, earlier that week returned in a rush “ important work, Order work, that searching for “ well him - has delayed. Severus had been tracking Kane’s Death Eater links for the Order.
And he had news.
Politeness was abandoned. Courtesy was beaten down. With as much stealth as he could muster, Remus abandoned his retreat and edged closer to the slightly open door, straining his ears to listen.
“Does he have any idea of what?” Dumbledore’s voice was unusually grave, echoing around the office chamber beyond with a ghost-like eeriness.
Snape snorted disdainfully. “Oldstaff? Ideas are things that happen to other people in his world. All he knows is what Kane told him when he showed up at his house last weekend “ the feral has a plan and he means to carry it out imminently. But he would not give details and now cannot be reached. As far as the Death Eaters are concerned, he’s vanished.”
“But not as far as you are concerned?” The headmaster offered perceptively.
Snape’s voice contained a hint of smugness. “Indeed not. A contact of mine has a confirmed sighting of Kane on Sunday night. He was visiting Knockturn Alley.”
“Why?”
The smugness wavered. “That, unfortunately, my contact was unable to establish. But he believes from the whisperings he’s heard that Kane has left London. That is all I know.” He sighed slightly. “But we know now at least that the feral was not simply in London to kick that damned fool Lupin around The Howling like a stray quaffle. He was working on something. His little interlude with Lupin was probably his night off.”
Remus quietly stifled his resentment at the unflattering comparison.
The sound of fingers drumming staccato against wood echoed from the room beyond. Remus could almost imagine the thoughtful look on Albus Dumbledore’s face.
“Interesting,” he murmured thoughtfully. “We know that Kane does not hold any real allegiance to the Death Eaters. He serves their purpose only because it suits him to do so. I doubt there is any way outside of his capture and interrogation under veritaserum that we will be able to decipher his plans before they happen. But with your warning at least, we shall be on our guard. Thank you Severus.”
There was a pained note to Snape’s tone. “There is something more.”
“Regarding Kane?”
“No.” Footsteps echoed from the chamber beyond. Severus was pacing. “I believe another attack may be imminent also. A Death Eater attack. Bellatrix Lestrange has been… making plans.”
The finger drumming stopped abruptly. “What do you know?”
“Almost nothing.” Remus could hear the frustration in Snape’s voice. “Azkaban has only increased her paranoia and she disliked her brother in law Malfoy intensely. And even with him locked away, most of my significant contacts have come through my association with him…”
“…So you are out of the loop, so to speak.” The gravity had returned to Dumbledore’s voice.
“Exactly.” The pacing stopped abruptly. “But she is clearly working towards something and it’s not just Malfoy’s old crowd “ she’s telling almost no one but the Dark Lord himself. Nobody I would feel confident in speaking with or trying subtle legilimency on is aware of her intentions. I have no way to glean further information, though I will of course continue to try.”
“I understand.” There was an almost soothing note to Dumbledore’s tone. “We can at least up our guard and stand alert and perhaps any attack can be dealt with more quickly than if it had been a complete surprise. Never doubt the importance of even the slightest warning.”
“Thank you headmaster.” Snape did not sound especially convinced, but he did not express it beyond a certain inflection of tone. “If you will excuse me…”
“Of course. Good night Severus.”
The strident slap of approaching footsteps drove Remus into an undignified retreat “fighting his dizziness, he just managed to avoid tumbling head first down the stairs as he grasped the stone wall and stumbled down a dozen steps to conceal his eavesdropping. Albus had made no effort to hide the fact that he was carefully shielding all knowledge of the situation with Kane from Remus “ to admit to listening in to a conversation that the headmaster would most likely have gone out of his way to insure his former pupil did not hear would be a fine prelude to yet another round with a pair of blue eyes that lacked twinkle.
Out of sight, he collected himself, catching his breath as best he could as he turned quickly on his heel and started back, stepping up onto the stone stairwell once more just moments before a sweep of black surged irritably round the corner and all but knocked him over.
Snape staggered backwards, his eyes flashing as he registered shabby robes and a pale face. “Watch where you’re going, Lupin!” he snarled fiercely. “Or perhaps you feel you have the right to drift along oblivious and expect others to dive out of your way?”
Remus, who had been a great deal more conscious of the approach of Snape than Snape had been of him, wisely chose not to contradict the aggravated Potions Master.
“I’m sorry Severus,” he conceded mildly. “I suppose I wasn’t paying as much attention as I should have been.”
Snape’s features compacted sharply around the prominence of his hooked nose. “What are you doing here anyway?” he grumbled unpleasantly. There was sudden smirk. “Come to beg for scraps of information about the feral, have you? Because, much as I’d like to see you beaten to a bloody pulp yet again, the headmaster is unaccountably fond of you. I doubt he will be forthcoming.”
“No.” The slow spin of dizziness was revolving behind his eyes once more “ Remus struggled to concentrate. He was damned if he was going to admit to fainting in class after Snape’s earlier snide remarks. “I just need to speak with the headmaster on a…personal matter.”
The smirk spread. “Would this be to do with your little swooning fit?”
He’s heard. Damn.
There was no point in trying to lie to Severus Snape. “Yes,” he admitted reluctantly. And then since Severus would hear soon enough, he confessed the rest as well. “Poppy and Minerva have ordered me to retire from classes for the rest of the week. I’m here to ask Albus for cover.”
Snape arched an eyebrow. “Shirking your responsibilities, Lupin? Now there’s a surprise. And I wonder who will be expected to provide that cover?”
Remus fought a surge of irritation. “This isn’t my choice.” He managed at least to refrain from snapping. “I would have gladly continued if I could but…”
“The ladies insisted you stop?” Snape interrupted with sweeping sarcasm. “That you should rest with your poor, delicate werewolf constitution? Making no mention of course that’s it’s your own damn fault you are in this state in the first place. If I were in your situation, I would not hide like a coward behind a couple of women to avoid the consequences of my actions. I would continue to teach.”
Remus smiled insincerely. “Your pupils will be sorry to hear that. At least my students don’t express a fervent desire for a sick colleague’s recovery in order to avoid an extra lesson with me.”
Snape’s eyes darkened. “Potter and his friends, I suppose.”
Remus felt his own smile fade as the strain of maintaining a civil front in a state of sick misery began to crack. “They aren’t alone.”
The Slytherin sneered. “Convenient, wasn’t it, that it was that class of all classes in which you felt ill? What was it Lupin? Felt the need to garner a little sympathy after a week of being exposed as a fool? Were you hoping to regain some of the trust you squandered by your old trick of twisting pity to your advantage? Did you miss being teacher’s pet?”
“Severus.” The stern voice from above cut in before Lupin had a chance to respond. “That’s quite enough.”
Albus Dumbledore stood silhouetted a few steps above, his white beard glinting in the spill of light from his office. He was frowning.
Snape scowled. “Apologies if I disturbed you, headmaster,” he said, his voice only concealing his irritation at the intrusion out of a lingering sense of respect. “Lupin is here to tell you that he wishes to foist his classes onto those of us more worthy to teach them.”
Remus’ voice was dangerous as he met the Slytherin’s gaze. “You know bloody well I’m not faking this.”
Severus chuckled nastily; his black eyes gleamed. “I know. And believe me I’m enjoying every minute. Good night, Lupin.”
Making no effort to avoid a sharp impact to his colleague’s shoulder, the Potions Master brushed roughly past Remus, pausing only briefly to incline his head in a brief nod of respect to the headmaster. A moment later, he swept round the corner and vanished from view.
For a moment, Remus stared in the wake of Snape’s bad tempered departure, his irritation with the Head of Slytherin House waging war with a resurgent sense of guilt. In spite of the obvious vindictiveness behind his words, Severus had still managed to make him feel bad.
He hated it when that happened.
With a sigh, he turned back to Dumbledore. Obeying the headmaster’s silent gesture, he turned and moved up the stairs towards the office. Guilt or not, he had no choice. His teaching for this week was over.
Kane was threatening havoc. Dangerous Death Eaters were making plans. And yet he couldn’t even manage to stay upright long enough to teach a class.
Helplessness was not something Remus enjoyed. But with the combination of his own position of disgrace, his wolfsbane sickness and the draw of the moon, there was nothing he would do but watch and wait.
He would have claimed it was not fair. But after last weekend, he was not so sure that was the truth.
* * *
The following two days were something less than fun.
Further doses of Wolfsbane only served to exacerbate Remus’ already unpleasant condition “ most of Thursday and a good portion of Friday were passed in bed, trying to read or sleep but mostly staring miserably at the ceiling. The occasional appearance of a house elf bearing food and the predictable arrival of Poppy Pomfrey soon after to check him over, dose him with potions and insure he ate it were all he had to break up the monotony.
Friday dawned. And as the moon waxed and drew ever closer, the wolf twitched in his mind.
If this had been a simple human illness, Remus would not have been at all surprised. Even on a normal Wolfsbane protected full moon, a little activity was to be expected, rising briefly mid week only to fade as the potion accumulated. But surely the whole purpose of his current purgatory had been to numb the wolf in preparation for the full moon; it was rare for his werewolf half to be so alert after a week of sedative. The fact that in spite of the impact of his potion, it seemed somehow livelier than usual was more than a little alarming.
But the conclusion to be drawn was inescapable. The wolf was closer to the surface because of its almost appearance the weekend before. For a moment the wolf had scraped the bars of freedom for the first time in years and now, Wolfsbane or not, it wanted out. It had been chained and numb for too long.
And Remus was in no shape for a fight.
It did not help that apprehension about his cousin’s potential attack was welling within him as the moon closed in. A werewolf, even a feral werewolf was at its strongest come full moon, immune to magic, powerful and driven, an almost unstoppable force. Kane would know that full moon would be the perfect time to strike against a foe that would otherwise have magic on his side, a chance to even the odds that fell for the rest of the month in a wizard’s favour. That he was making preparations in London the weekend before a full moon was all the more ominous.
Kane would strike this night. He was all but certain.
And there was nothing he could do about it.
He knew from Poppy that Harry was under heavy observation “ teachers, prefects, even his friends had been recruited to watch him like a hawk, ensuring that he did not give Kane or the Death Eaters any opening to remove him from existence once and for all. Remus could only imagine how much Harry would appreciate such attention. The poor lad would probably by now be nearly as stir crazy as he was.
Stretching sorely, Remus pulled himself to a half sit, starring out at the dusky sky as the setting sun cast an orange glow over the castle grounds. The goblet that contained his final dose of Wolfsbane sat steaming and repulsive on his bedside table where Poppy had left it after her dinner delivering check up; after their spat on the stairs, Severus had not deigned to deliver the final batches himself. The clock beside it told him that the end of his aconite self-poisoning was nigh.
Last dose for three weeks, thank Merlin…
Grimacing, he forced the disgusting mixture down in one gulp and leant back against the headboard with a sigh. He’d loved his mother very much but he wished she found time to do something about the taste.
Perhaps she might have done if…
No. Not now.
Shaking himself, Remus forced himself to think about something else but could find little else to dwell on but how dreadful he was feeling. He almost reached for his book but there seemed little point when in too short a time he would barely be able to read it. His bones throbbed, emphasising the imminence of his change.
Not long now.
Limping slightly, Remus pulled himself out of bed. He had been stationary too long and stiffness would only make the transformation worse. He needed to move around before he seized up completely.
Leaning forward, Remus rested his hands against the windowsill, gazing out blankly over the spread of landscape before him. The Forbidden Forest, its dark, gnarled hunkering trees blazing in the glow of sunset as though set aflame, the lake glistening and shinning in the retreating light. And further, nestled in a huddle of sloping Scottish mountains, Hogsmeade lay at rest, the crooked houses, the winding streets, the sickly glow over the rooftops…
Sickly glow?
Remus stared.
Remus froze.
And then his eyes widened with horror, his fingertips digging chunks from his window sill as the realisation of what he was seeing shockingly hit home.
Over Hogsmeade, the emerald Dark Mark gleamed.
For a moment, an icy, agonising, eternal moment, Remus could not move. And the glittering skull of the Death Eaters laughed at him.
But then he was running in spite of his dizziness, his pain, robes grasped from the back of a chair and dragged hurriedly on as he yanked open the door to his chambers and bolted in the direction of the Great Hall and Albus Dumbledore. This could not be allowed to happen. He had to raise the alarm before it was too late.
He could only pray he would have enough time.