8: Back and Forth
Remus’ reception on his arrival with Aylward in the outer chamber of Kane’s cell was about as warm and friendly as Severus Snape’s dungeon. Croll, who was measuring what Remus suspected was a powerful sedative into a vial, honoured him with an oily smirk and a nod. Rebekah, who was gazing through the clear glass with a strange intensity, raised one eyebrow as he entered but otherwise failed to acknowledge him at all.
As Aylward closed the door behind them, Remus lingered awkwardly for a moment, his eyes straying to the glass pane and the imprisoned feral beyond. Kane’s chamber looked much different than it had before “ the blankets and pillows had been restored to an unruly pallet in one corner, the wooden bowl and what appeared to be a chamber pot sitting battered if intact on a small shelf on the wall opposite. The walls bore the scars of past temper tantrums but the damage was slight and easily ignored. After the previous chaos, the calm within was almost eerie.
And in the centre of the floor sat Kane. He was cross-legged, his robe ragged at the cuffs and stained with food, his hair tangled and his eyes wide as he gazed down with intense concentration at the scruffy red ball that he was batting between one hand and the other. He seemed utterly absorbed by the motion.
“The ball calms him.” Although Rebekah’s gaze did not shift from the feral, her voice drifted out towards Remus and his quizzical stare. “We’ve no idea why. But it does at least mean we’ll be able to enter the cell today. He rarely loses his temper when he’s playing with it like that.”
Remus felt himself shiver slightly. Memories tugged against his mind, Kane’s claws at his throat, his full moon teeth tearing chunks out of skin and fur… Although he had quite decisively come to terms with the events of the previous autumn, it was hard to shake the overhanging recollections of all that the feral had done. He had not realised until that moment just how much he had been hoping that Kane would once again be too upset to disturb.
Croll’s eyes fixed upon his suddenly pale features. He smiled unpleasantly.
“No need to worry, professor,” he drawled unctuously, tapping one long finger against the vial he had just filled. “Mr Aylward and I will be standing by if Kane becomes unruly. This sedative induces a rapid stupor in even the most hardy of feral constitutions.”
“We’re wasting time.” Abruptly Rebekah turned on her heel, wheeling towards Remus with a stern and unyielding glare as though he and not she had been the one delaying. “Croll, make sure to take notes. Professor, if you’d join me?”
In spite of private flare of resentment at being so commanded, Remus bit his lip and fell in at Rebekah’s side. “What exactly is the plan?” he asked softly, carefully concealing any hint of nervousness or discomfort from his tone. “Just walk in, wave at him and see what happens?”
Rebekah’s lip curled slightly in the corner. “Essentially, yes. We need to look for any sign of recognition, any hint that his previous feral personality may still be present, however fractured, within his mind. We need to establish whether or not he still poses a danger.”
“By confronting him with me.” Remus fought back another shiver. “The one person whose presence is most likely to enrage him to the point of violence.”
“It’s sound scientific method.”
“It’s waving a red rag to a bull to find out whether or not he’s blind.”
Rebekah’s smile was more than a little unnerving. “But we’ll certainly know the truth afterwards. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Oh yes, Remus thought sardonically to himself. If he rips me to pieces, he remembers me. An indisputable truth indeed. And somehow, I doubt she’d mourn me.
But he prudently chose not to voice these thoughts out loud. And Rebekah simply absorbed his silence and smiled again.
At the small, heavily locked door that led into Kane’s cell stood Aylward, his wand tapping out an intricate pattern to release the spells that bound it. Bracing himself, he gave the door a final rap and stepped back.
The door opened.
And then Rebekah Goldstein stepped inside and beckoned him to follow.
The smell of Kane’s cell was less than inviting. Stale sweat, old food and a hint of blood mingled with the stench of ammonia and just the slightest tinge of fur that implied that this was also the place where Kane endured his transformations. Remus gagged briefly in the doorway, bravely fighting down the urge to retch as his mind flashed up unpleasant half-remembered images of the Shrieking Shack. The odour there, born of too many moons alone, had been much the same.
Rebekah waited in silence a few yards inside as he joined her, still fighting to ignore the stench as he clenched his hands at his sides. Aylward did not close the door behind them but stood, looming, wand at the ready by the entrance. Behind the invisible glass, Croll could not be seen.
Kane did not move. He did not look up. He did not make any sign that he was aware that he had company.
Back and forth went the ball…
Rebekah cleared her throat. “Abraham,” she said, her voice low but firm. “Abraham Kane. Look at me.”
Kane did not look. He did not even twitch. Back and forth went the ball, back and forth, back and forth…
“Abraham Kane.” Rebekah’s was louder now, more strident, more commanding. “You have a visitor. Look at your visitor, Abraham.”
But he did not. He did not look. He did not care for anything, it seemed, but back and forth, back and forth, always back and forth…
“You see?” There was frustration and annoyance in Rebekah’s tone. “He doesn’t respond. He doesn’t even recognise his name.”
But Remus knew why.
It wasn’t his name.
It was sometimes easy to forget that the full truth of his family’s history with the feral known as Abraham Kane was not public knowledge. Thanks to the work of the ever-charming Rita Skeeter, most of the wizarding world was aware that Kane had been responsible for making Remus a werewolf at the tender age of just three years but few if any knew of Kane’s true motives for the attack and both Remus and his father were happy to let it stay that way. He’d been accused of collaboration with the feral in the past and knowing they shared a link by blood would have been fuel to feed a fiery blaze.
But with that link concealed, as was Kane’s true name, the name he had only abandoned after being bitten by the werewolf Hel. And with his feral mind now gone…
“May I try?” The query was soft.
Rebekah shrugged. “Be my guest.”
Carefully, quietly, Remus leaned forward, resting his hands against his knees. “Abel,” he said quietly.
Back and…
The ball rolled unheeded, unstopped, away into the corner. Brown eyes fixed upon him with an intensity that was alarming.
He heard Rebekah gasp. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the shock and confusion that registered on her features.
“Hello Abel,” he repeated softly.
The eyes did not leave his face. They burrowed into him beneath frowning brows, deep, sharp, piercing, searching his expression with a sudden dawning, a hint, a twist and then a flare of something Remus had prayed he would not find within his gaze.
Recognition.
“You.” The words were low, uncertain. “I know you.”
He knows me. Oh Merlin.
But how can that be? Unless…
“Aylward.” A step behind him, Rebekah’s voice was filled with alarm.
“Wait.” Remus raised a hand that forestalled that security wizard’s advance, desperately fighting down the urge to get the hell out of the room with all the strength he had. Appalling as the prospect was that some part of Kane remained, something was nagging at him, a sense, a feeling, that this wasn’t right somehow, that things weren’t quite as they seemed. A suspicion was whispering within his mind. And in this of all things, he had to be sure…
Ignoring Rebekah’s distinct look of fear, he turned back to face Kane’s bright eyes. “How do you know me?” he asked gently. “Where have you seen me before?”
“You came.” Kane spoke the words almost as though he was unaware of them, as though speaking thoughts out loud. “You came to the place where many children were. You came to see me there.”
“Hogwarts.” Rebekah’s voice was agitated. “Professor, he clearly remembers, we need to leave before…”
“Just a minute.” He heard the researcher’s huff of anger as he raised his hand once more. “I don’t think he means Hogwarts.”
He turned back to Kane. “Why did I come?” he said, maintaining his quiet and level tone as best he could. “Why did I come to see you?”
Kane’s voice was suddenly sharper, harder, almost accusing. “A home. You said I could have a home. You said I could come home with you.” His eyes narrowed. “You said you were my uncle.”
Dad.
Of course.
The anxious hand that had closed around his heart released its grip abruptly. Kane wasn’t remembering him at all. Abel had mistaken him for the uncle who had come one day to the children’s home and asked if he’d like to be adopted. He had mistaken Remus for Reynard…
“Uncle?” There was a strained note to Rebekah’s voice now. “Professor, what…”
“He doesn’t remember me.” Remus’ interruption was quiet but firm. “There’s no need to worry, Rebekah. This isn’t Kane the feral; it’s the ten-year old boy. He’s mistaken me for my father.”
“Your father?” There was an acid note to Rebekah’s confusion. “Why would he do that?”
Remus breathed deeply. It was safe to say that Rebekah Goldstein was one of the last people alive with whom he wished to discuss his family history.
“We look very alike,” he remarked vaguely.
The dodge did not go unnoticed. “That isn’t what I meant. How does he know your father, Professor?”
Remus sighed. It seemed there was no avoiding it. “Because my father almost adopted him once,” he admitted, carefully dancing around the fact that the adoption had been offered because Kane had been Reynard’s sister’s only son. “When he was orphaned, my father considered taking him in. He changed his mind.” He pursed his lips wearily. “That was one of the reasons his feral self later targeted us so deliberately. Or rather targeted me.”
Behind him, there was silence. Rebekah, it seemed, was at a loss for words.
“You didn’t come back.” The words, low but distinct, drew Remus’ attention instantly back to Kane. The feral was half crouched now and something unpleasant was gleaming in his eyes as they roamed over Remus’ face with gradually swelling hatred. “You left me there.”
The cold fist clenched around his heart once more as he realised the sudden danger. Mistaken identity was no protection. Abel had hated his father before he had ever turned feral.
He rose slowly, carefully, his eyes never leaving Kane’s contorting features as he took one soft step back. His eyes flickered towards Rebekah.
“Time to leave. Now.”
Rebekah could read the danger signs as well as he had. “Agreed.”
“You went away…”
“Aylward.” This time Remus did not forestall the security man’s approach, as he backed with agonising slow caution in the direction of the door. Now was not the time for sudden moves.
“You went away and never came back.”
“Aylward!” Rebekah’s voice was shrill. Kane’s eyes glowed with rage.
“I hate you.”
Three yards to the door…
“I hate you!”
Two yards…
“I hate you!!!”
One…
“Hate you!!!” With a scream of fury, Kane launched himself forwards with fingers outstretched as though to tear the very air apart and cast its shards against his foe. “Hateyouhateyouhateyouhateyou!!!”
“Stupefy!” Aylward’s curse caught Kane squarely in the chest, hurling him backwards with violent force, but it was immediately clear that whatever his mental state, his feral resilience to magic remained; with only a slight shake of the head, he came back to his feet, face filled with hurt and rage. Aylward’s normally impassive expression blanched slightly but he held his ground, wand extended against the fresh charge as the feral barrelled forwards once more.
“Hateyouhateyouhateyouhateyou…”
Half through the doorway, Remus fumbled for his wand. Behind him, Rebekah’s was already drawn.
“Impedimenta!”
“Imperio!”
And everything was still.
Aylward’s Impediment jinx had slowed Kane. But the Imperius curse of Rebekah Goldstein had stopped him dead.
Remus stared in disbelief. But Rebekah’s eyes never left Kane.
“Croll,” she said sharply.
Still half-shaken by shock, Remus stepped hurriedly aside as Arcadius Croll strode through the doorway, vial of potion extended in one hand before him. He held it out to Kane.
“Drink it,” Rebekah commanded. “Drink it all.”
Mindless and obedient, Kane took the vial from Croll’s fingers and downed it in a single gulp. For a moment, he simply stood. But then his eyes rolled towards the ceiling, he swayed and teetered on his feet and then collapsed in a heap on the floor.
With a brisk motion, Rebekah shook herself and sheathed her wand. “Aylward, put him on his pallet,” she ordered with a remarkably casual air. “Croll, check his vital signs. Professor, join me please.”
Remus was only to happy to step out of the cell as the two men moved to obey Rebekah’s commands. He could feel his heart thumping; his mind was racing with shock. How could that have happened? How could…?
“Professor, don’t look at me like that.” Rebekah’s brusque interruption cut into his confusion. “I have the permission of the Minister of Magic to perform that curse. If you insist, I can show you the documents.”
“It’s not that.” Things were clicking into place in Remus’ mind, settling into a pattern that filled his chest with icy dread. It had not occurred to him before, not even crossed his mind for it was such an absolute, unshakeable fact of lycanthropy. But Rebekah’s theory explained that fact too well and now…
Now it would work. For Kane, the dubious safety net was gone.
And maybe that was just what the Death Eaters wanted. Just what they needed in fact.
And the implications of that were appalling.
Abruptly, Remus turned to face Rebekah, praying his eyes did not expose the shakiness he felt. “I’m not shocked that you used an Unforgivable, although it was rather a surprise,” he said, his voice resonating through the small chamber. “I’m shocked because it shouldn’t have worked in the first place.” He breathed deeply. “I’m shocked, Professor Goldstein, because you are the first person who has ever successfully used the Imperius curse on a werewolf. And that is quite a feat.”
Rebekah’s smile was cool and calm. “Well, Professor,” she replied. “Not, it seems, anymore.”
A/N: For anyone who hasn’t read Oblivious, or can’t remember this particular factoid from that vast ream of information ;), here is a quick summary of Remus’ speech on the subject of werewolves and the Imperius Curse from way, way back in Oblivious Chapter Six:
“Now, the Imperius Curse, as I’m sure you’re all aware, puts the human mind into a dreamlike state in order that it be more pliable, more open to suggestion. The victim must then watch helplessly as his or her body performs acts that they themselves do not wish. I have been told that the experience is quite blissful at the time.” Remus paused, resting one hand against the wall. “Excepting the bliss, being placed under the Imperius Curse is very similar to what occurs with the mind of a Wolfsbane-free werewolf at full moon… The human part of the mind fades, drops into a kind of numbness as the wolf’s mind takes control… But the human mind is, in some part, still aware. The senses of a werewolf are very different to a human’s, very difficult to interpret and comprehend, so the images the human takes away from the full moon are confused, half-forgotten, vague impressions, no more. But you always know that you are trapped “ that this is your body, what’s left of it, and you have no control. The wolf can do as it pleases and you can only watch… The same, as every werewolf knows, applies to the wolf during the rest of the month. It is, to some extent, aware. Waiting. And that is why the Imperius Curse is ineffective. The moment the victim’s mind succumbs to the curse, it replicates the numbing of their mind at full moon. The moment the human mind shuts down enough for it to be controlled, the wolf steps in and takes over.”
Hermione gasped. “It makes you transform?”
“No, there is no transformation. A werewolf can only change form under the full moon… It is a kind of inverted Wolfsbane effect. The wolf’s mind takes over the human body. And there are few forces on earth more powerful. If the caster of the Imperius is lucky, they are simply thrown backwards by the force of their expulsion. If they are unlucky, the power of the backlash could kill them.”