Mordant

Chapter Three: Company and Cats

It was Christmas Day. The hospital ward glittered with golden stardust and strings of icicles; a mediwitch with a puckish expression had even hung mistletoe over Linus’ bed, although he thought his chances of getting a kiss (then, or in the future) were slim. He hadn’t had so much as a Christmas card, and although the rational part of his intellect told him that the post-owls had probably delivered them to his house, another corner of his mind was filled with a cold black fear that nobody would ever want to have anything to do with him again.

There seemed to be even more people crowded into the ward than the last time Arthur Weasley’s family had visited; perhaps they had friends visiting over Christmas, or perhaps Weasleys simply multiplied very rapidly. Linus, torn between irritation and envy, curled up on his side and hid a smirk as he listened to Arthur describe Healer Pye’s latest experiment – which had not been entirely successful.

“Well, they’re called stitches, Molly, and they work very well on – on Muggle wounds...”

The wife, who seemed to be a hysterical type, let out a piercing screech and launched into a tirade that gained volume and pitch at an alarming rate.

At this point, Arthur’s three oldest sons abruptly decided they wanted a cup of tea, and a slightly built, shabbily dressed man who did not appear to be part of the family detached himself from the group and meandered over in Linus’ general direction. He had a nondescript but vaguely pleasant face and a faintly absent-minded air; his brown hair was beginning to go grey, and Linus put his age at around forty-five at first glance. Then, noticing that the stranger had a quick, fluid step and slightly boyish features, he revised his estimate downward by ten years.

Just then Molly hollered, “WHAT DO YOU MEAN, THAT’S THE GENERAL IDEA?!?” in tones that made every other ambulatory person in the room duck and cover; but the stranger nonchalantly inspected the portrait of Urquhart Rackharrow with the detached air of a visitor to an art gallery.

At last he turned to Linus and remarked, with a vague smile, “I was just wondering, what is a portrait of the inventor of the Entrail-Expelling Curse doing in a hospital ward?”

“I’ve been wondering that for two weeks myself,” said Linus. “I thought it was a gruesome way to die at first, but perhaps it’s some sort of extreme enema?”

The stranger stared at him for a moment and then burst out laughing, a sound which at once warmed Linus’ heart and made him miss Friday afternoons at the Quill and Quirk acutely. “But why the dangerous beasts ward, of all places?” he asked when he could speak again.

“Maybe a beast swallowed someone whole, and they used it to rescue him,” suggested Linus after a moment.

“Can’t you just see it,” said the stranger, “somebody brings in a Lethifold with a huge bulge in the middle, and this Rackharrow bloke does his stuff, and ... They’d have a job cleaning up the ward after that one. How does one come to invent such a curse in the first place, I wonder? What do you experiment on, and why do you bother?”

“Because you can?” said Linus, who had been a Ravenclaw at school.

The stranger shrugged. “Can’t think of a better reason, myself. I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Remus Lupin.”

Linus recognized the name at once. It had been all over the papers a year and a half ago. Ironic, he thought. The only normal conversation he’d had in the two and a half weeks since he was admitted to the hospital had been with another werewolf.

“Linus Berowne,” he said a bit reluctantly. There was a good chance Lupin would recognize his name as well.

“That sounds familiar ... Martin Miggs, right?”

“Right.” Linus blushed and tried to remember exactly how biting the issue of Martin Miggs he’d drawn after Lupin’s resignation had been. It wasn’t that he’d had anything in particular against werewolves; he was in the business of poking fun at the wizarding world’s prejudices, not giving in to them. It was just that the whole situation was ripe for mockery.

As far as he could remember, the comic in question had featured the half-senile Professor Stumblebum being required to attend a seminar on “Common Signs That You Might Have Hired a Dangerous Beast.”

ACROMANTULA: Worker’s optometrist charges four times as much as normal. Other staff members mysteriously disappear.

BASILISK: Workplace is decorated with statues that nobody can remember commissioning. Other staff members, if any are left alive, take to wearing mirrored sunglasses and carrying shields.

CENTAUR: Insists that all staff meetings be held on the ground floor. Secretary files sexual harassment lawsuit after new hire tries to make small talk about the unusual brightness of Uranus.

And so on through:

WEREWOLF: Accepts payment only in Galleons and Knuts. Funerals of other staff members take place at four-week intervals.

“You needn’t look so embarrassed,” said Lupin. “I thought it was funny. Dumbledore enjoyed it too. He’s one of your biggest fans.”

Linus’ opinion of Professor Dumbledore, which had never been as low as he pretended it was, went up another notch. It took a wise man to laugh at himself.

“The silver allergy business is a myth, by the way. Bit of good news for you.”

“First bit I’ve had all month,” said Linus gloomily.

Lupin nodded. “I suppose they’ve been telling you it’s not as bad as you’ve heard, and you’ll be able to lead an almost normal life and all that?”

“Yes. That was exactly the phrase both of the Healers used.”

“Well – they’re right and they’re wrong. Medically speaking – it can be rough, and you can expect to feel tired a fair bit of the time and very ill at the full moon, but it’s no worse than any number of other conditions. It’s the social and legal aspects that ... Oh hell. Has anybody counseled you about your legal position?”

Linus shook his head. “Too busy trying to persuade me being a werewolf is the most fun you can have with your clothes on.” (Or off, he added mentally, as the case might be. He wondered what you did with your clothes when you transformed. He didn’t think he knew Lupin well enough to ask.)

“I see. I’m a bit rusty on some of the laws themselves, so I shouldn’t like to say anything very specific until I have a chance to look them up – but I’m afraid things are looking bleak at the moment. And I suppose I don’t have to tell you that people with our condition aren’t exactly popular dinner guests, at any time of the month.”

“Do I know it! I’ve been in this hellhole for more than two weeks, and I haven’t heard so much as a word from anyone.”

“How did it happen?” asked Lupin. “That is – if you don’t mind talking about it?”

Linus didn’t; he launched into the story of the night he was bitten, gaining animation and fervor as he went on and doing a credible impression of the stupid mediwitch. He was a natural raconteur, and one of the things he’d missed most over the last two weeks was having an audience.

Lupin was frowning slightly by the time he finished, as if something about the account didn’t quite add up, but all he said was, “You live alone, then? Any family?”

“Just my daughter, but she lives in Montana. Says she likes the wide open spaces. I get along with her all right, but I don’t reckon she’ll be back any time soon. Haven’t spoken to the ex-wife in years, so she doesn’t really count.”

“I see.” Lupin looked thoughtful. “Do you have any pets? The transformations are easier if you’ve got company. You probably won’t be comfortable having a human around, especially if they’re still adjusting your dosage, but you won’t pose any danger to animals.”

Linus sighed. “I had a cat. He may well have starved to death by now. Bloody cleaning woman decided she wanted nothing more to do with me when she found out why I was in hospital, so he hasn’t been fed in more than a week.”

“Oh. Would you like me to check –”

Linus pounced on the opportunity before his visitor had a chance to think better of it. “Please. Nice of you to offer. If you wouldn’t mind, would you be able to stop by every couple of days to fill up his food dish and make sure he’s all right?” He gave Lupin his address and fumbled around in his dressing table for his key ring. “Actually, I’m not sure the place will be locked – I’m pretty sure I didn’t lock it after I was bitten, and my cleaning lady forgets half the time. Forgot, I mean. But here’s the key if you need it. Make sure he has plenty of water, and you’ll find everything you need in the kitchen. Thanks so much, it’s very kind of you.”

“Not a problem. I’m fond of cats, myself. ‘Til we meet again, then. And merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas to you, too.”

Linus settled back against the pillows and reflected that Arthur’s werewolf friend was really very likeable, after all.

 

                                                            *          *          *

Perched in a window seat at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, Tonks toyed with a bit of holly and frowned. “Did he mention whether anybody from the Division of Magical Law Enforcement had been around to see him?”

“He didn’t say so,” said Remus. “Why? Should they?”

She nodded. “The usual procedure would be to send someone around as soon as he regained consciousness to take his statement. How did the bite happen, what did the werewolf look like and did he notice any identifying markings, and so forth. Spreading lycanthropy is a pretty serious crime, and it looks a bit funny if they haven’t made any effort to identify the other werewolf.”

“I don’t know that they haven’t. Perhaps Berowne simply didn’t mention it.”

“Perhaps. But I haven’t heard any reports of werewolf attacks at work, either, so I have a feeling something’s gone wrong somewhere. See if you can find out whether anybody’s spoken to him next time you see him.”

“Will do. To tell you the truth, I thought something was off about his story, myself. I mean, what was a werewolf doing out on a full-moon night without Wolfsbane? And after his first Stunner missed, how did he manage to survive the attack at all? It sounded like the other werewolf must have aimed low, going for the leg rather than the throat, but they ... we ... don’t usually do that. It’s against instinct.”

Tonks bit her lower lip and looked thoughtful for a moment. She said, perhaps a shade too brightly, “Would you mind if I come with you when you feed his cat? I’ll take over at the full moon, if you like.”

“Sure. I was planning to go there right now, if you’re ready.”

They Apparated to Linus Berowne’s house, which was nestled at the edge of a forest, a good half-mile from his nearest neighbor. Remus tried the front door and discovered that it was unlocked; Berowne’s outdoor cloak was thrown carelessly over a bench, and the place had an untidy, lived-in feel that betokened its owner’s hasty departure.

The cat dishes that stood on the kitchen floor had long since been licked clean and dry; Tonks refilled the water bowl at the tap, while Remus rooted through the pantry and found a large sack of dry cat food. There was, however, no sign of the cat himself.

“I hope he hasn’t starved to death,” said Remus.

“Cats are resourceful. I reckon he could fend for himself for a while.”

“Maybe,” Remus said doubtfully. He began to make cat-calling noises.

“D’you know what he looks like?”

“Berowne didn’t say, but he’s sure to be black and white. His name’s Chess.”

“Here, Chess. Puss-puss!”

This time Remus thought he heard a faint meow, but no cat appeared. “Perhaps we’d better have a look around the place.”

They made a short tour of the house. There were some wet paw-marks around the toilet, and a smear of blood and mouse fur on the cellar stairs, but still no cat in sight.

“Does his desk look wrong to you?” Tonks asked when they reached the study. “I mean, it seems too neat and tidy, compared with the rest of the house.”

Remus nodded. “And he said he had been working on the latest Martin Miggs when he got up to let the cat in, and now everything’s all cleared up ... The cleaning woman could have done that, of course. It’s probably nothing.”

Tonks cast an intensified version of Lumos and inspected the room. Her eyes fell on a smear of mud on the carpet. “Somebody’s been here after the cleaning woman,” she said. “I’m willing to bet this place has been burgl– OOF!”

“What happened?” Remus asked as he helped her off the floor.

“I just tripped over something invisible. This place is starting to give me the creeps.”

“You’re always tripping over invisible things.”

“Am not. I can usually see them just fine after I’ve fallen over them.” Suddenly she drew in her breath and gripped his arm. “Look.”

Remus found himself staring at a magnificent set of gleaming, pointed teeth in the semi-darkness. They were fixed in a broad grin, and they did not seem to be attached to anything. The hairs at the back of his neck prickled, and he felt a drop of cold sweat run down the side of his face.

Without another word, both Order members reached for their wands ... but what sort of spell did you use to defend yourself against a mouthful of disembodied teeth?

Very, very slowly, a whiskered nose and a pair of pointed ears appeared above the grin. The fuzzy outline of a large, ginger-striped cat materialized, beginning with the face and ending with the tail.

Remus waited for his heart rate to return to normal. “A Cheshire cat,” he said, feeling unspeakably foolish. “Of course. ‘Chess’!”

“Funny creatures, aren’t they?” said Tonks with interest. “I’ve never seen one before.” The cat rubbed against her legs and purred ingratiatingly as she bent down to stroke him. He was thin, but seemed otherwise healthy. “Been lonely, haven’t you, mate? We’re here to take care of you.” She looked up and said to Remus, “Why don’t you take him downstairs and see that he gets a bite to eat, and I’ll try to make a list of everything on the desk and take some photographs. Then you can ask Berowne if anything’s missing next time you see him.”

“Mmm. Do you really think we should be going through his papers?”

“Well,” she said, “it sure does look like we won’t be the first, doesn’t it?”

 

                                                            *          *          *

Linus Berowne laughed heartily when he heard about his visitors’ adventure with the Cheshire cat – a shade too heartily for Remus’ comfort, although he was relieved that his new acquaintance seemed to be in good spirits. “I’m sorry I forgot to warn you – I’m so used to him appearing and disappearing that it completely slipped my mind. Cheshires make wonderful pets, you know, very friendly and intelligent, but some people do find them unnerving.”

“I don’t mind about him now that I know. Just startled me a bit, is all.” Remus sat down beside the bed and tried to work out how to approach the subject of the suspected burglary. “Er, I didn’t mean to pry, but we had to go all over the house to find the cat ... and there’s something else you should know. I think someone may have broken into your place. Or walked in, anyway – it wasn’t locked.” He described the appearance of the study and showed Berowne the photographs Tonks had taken and the list she had made of the items on the desk.

The older man looked grim. “Someone’s been there, all right. They’ve taken the latest Martin Miggs.”

“Odd thing to steal,” remarked Remus.

“Perhaps not so odd. This issue was a bit politically sensitive, to say the least.”

“Ah. As a side note, has anyone from the Division of Magical Law Enforcement contacted you about the bite?”

Berowne shook his head.

“I’ve got a friend who’s an Auror, and she tells me they’d normally take a statement from you and try to identify a suspect. See if you could remember any of the markings on the wolf who bit you, that sort of thing.”

“Oh, that’s right, there’s a Registry somewhere, isn’t there?” Berowne appeared to be thinking this over, and suddenly asked, “Have I got to register? Just what are my legal rights, anyway.”

Remus ran a hand through his hair; this was the bit he had been dreading. “Yes, you’ve got to register. They’ll send someone around the first time you transform to take photographs, and then you’ve got one week to go around to the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures and place your name and address on file. As for your legal rights in general – it’s a long story, but basically, most of the discrimination against werewolves was social rather than legal until two years ago, when Dolores Umbridge pushed the Werewolf Protection Act through the Wizengamot.”

“Tabitha the Toad Lady.”

“Yes. And Tabitha-speak being what it is, naturally the law doesn’t protect werewolves from anything at all, except the danger of possibly being able to find paid work or pass as a normal human being. You’ll be issued an identity card with a little scarlet W on it, which you have to keep on you at all times and present to anyone with whom you have business dealings, including your landlord and any prospective employers (who can’t, in any case, employ you unless they can demonstrate that there are no non-lycanthropic candidates willing and able to do the work). If you take the wording of the law literally, you’ve got to show it to shopkeepers as well, although there isn’t one in a hundred who cares.”

“In other words, they’ll take your money gladly enough, they just won’t let you earn any?”

“Exactly.”

“How is that going to work for me, as a cartoonist?”

“That’s the big loophole,” said Remus. “We can still publish, even if we can’t do anything else. You’re lucky in your choice of career. So am I, in some ways, although I expect Martin Miggs sells better than scholarly essays about the migrational patterns of the hinkypunk.”

“Is that what you do? Sounds fascinating.”

“Oh, it is. Only nobody else seems to think so, for some reason... I’m afraid the publishing business is all the good news there is, though. Everything else is pretty bleak. Under the Werewolf Protection Act, we face stiffer penalties for most crimes than the general population – everything from being drunk in public to manslaughter...”

“So much for supplementing my income with a life of crime. Got it.”

“And any Ministry official can search our homes, detain us for up to seventy-two hours, or force us to take Veritaserum – all without a warrant. Also, we’re obligated by law to take the Wolfsbane potion every day for a week before the full moon. How are your potion-brewing skills?”

“Rusty. I haven’t used them much since I was at school.”

“It’s tricky stuff. Easy to poison yourself if you don’t know what you’re doing. Unless you’ve got a friend or acquaintance who can brew it for you – I’ve been fortunate that way – you’ll have to get it from St. Mungo’s. It tastes vile, and it gets worse the longer it sits around. And the law says it has to be taken in front of a witness. So much for privacy and dignity ... Have I cheered you up enough yet?”

“Oh, exceedingly,” said Berowne. “Let me see if I can sum this up. Everything not compulsory is forbidden, and everything not forbidden is compulsory. Is that about right?”

Remus laughed. “Spot on.”

He had, in fact, given a highly simplified and clinically detached description of the legal consequences of lycanthropy; it was the best he could do to soften a picture that included an unspeakable amount of human misery. He’d known people who lost the will to function after they received the bite, some who had even committed suicide. But Linus Berowne was going to be all right, he thought with a growing feeling of relief. He had a ready sense of humor, and he seemed to be taking it for granted that life would go on, if not precisely as before.

“One question.” Berowne was no longer looking him in the eye. “You said werewolves got heavier penalties for most crimes. What happens when the victim is another werewolf?”

A small chill ran up the back of Remus’ neck. Perhaps Berowne was not going to be all right, after all.

“If you’re thinking of revenge, don’t. It’s not worth it. Bitterness isn’t worth it. Besides, whoever bit you can’t be said to bear any responsibility for it, not in human terms. A werewolf who hasn’t taken his potion has no reason, no will, and no control over his actions – only the instinct to kill. And if you deliberately reduce yourself to that, you are letting the beast win.”

He decided not to mention his own doubts about the location of Berowne’s wound. The possibility that this might have been a deliberate attack, by a werewolf in full possession of his senses who intended to infect rather than kill, didn’t bear thinking about. And it would certainly do no good to Linus if he started to brood about it.