Remorse

Chapter Eleven: Interlude

CHILD RESCUED FROM BLOODTHIRSTY WEREWOLVES

Heroic Mother Kills One Monster; Others Injured

Has Greyback Struck Again?

On the second page of the Daily Prophet, there was a box of tips for defending oneself against werewolf attacks; the third page carried an in-depth interview with the mother. Her name was Josephine McCarthy, Linus and Celia learned; the child was Katie. According to the mother’s account, the little girl had been able to get away because the werewolves had been fighting each other. The dead werewolf was apparently not identified at all; or at least, nobody thought the name would be of any interest to the readers of the Prophet.

Linus, still recovering from his own transformation, lay on the living-room sofa at Celia’s house while she paced and listened to the wireless. He wasn’t sure whether his presence did any good, but he was reluctant to go home and leave her alone. William and his family had returned home under the protection of a team of Ministry Hit Wizards, and Carlotta had decided to take an extended holiday in Ireland. As relieved as Linus and Celia had been to see them go, they were beginning to think that dealing with squabbling houseguests was nothing to the strain of waiting in silence for news.

One day passed, then another. The news reports still made no mention of the werewolf’s identity.

“Go out and get the paper,” whispered Celia on the third morning. “I ... I’d rather you looked at it first.”

Linus nodded and opened the front door. “Good God,” he said. “Celia, come here. Now.”

Remus was lying across Celia’s doorstep. He was shaking with fever, and when Celia and Linus brought him inside the house and removed the threadbare cloak that had been thrown over him, they found that he was painfully thin. He had a nasty bite wound on his shoulder, and his chest and belly had been raked with angry red claw marks. Several of the wounds were swollen and looked infected.

“Oh my,” said Celia, trying to clean his injuries with a towel. “He needs a Healer, but I don’t want word about this to get out. Do you know of anybody who might be discreet?”

“I might,” said Linus. “There’s the McRae woman who was mixed up in all that business with the Death Eaters last year – She’s still on leave from St. Mungo’s, so she wouldn’t have to report the attack, and I trust her. Of course, she’s an Alienist by training, and she has got a bit of damage from when she was Memory Charmed – but I think she’s still able to heal, as long as it doesn’t involve complicated potions...”

“Go and find her, please.” Celia’s face was determinedly calm, but Linus caught a strained note in her voice. He set off to find the Healer without delay.

 

                                                            *          *          *

Linus was relieved to see that Hope McRae was back to her usual brisk, practical self, although she did have one or two moments when she seemed to lose the thread of what she was doing as she examined Remus. However, she cast some charms to combat the infection with a practiced and competent air. “It’s good that you called me in when you did,” she said. “He might have been in a bit of trouble if you’d let it go for another day or two – but he’ll be all right with proper care. Let him sleep as long as he needs to, and give me another call if he’s still running a fever in forty-eight hours. And see that he has plenty to eat, he’s looking malnourished.”

This last instruction proved to be easier said than done, as Remus showed little interest in taking anything but tea and water during the rare moments when he was fully awake. Celia coaxed him into swallowing a few spoonfuls of soup, but he seemed unable or unwilling to face solid food. Even after the fever had run its course, he slept fitfully, occasionally muttering or crying out. They suspected he was suffering from nightmares.

Hope McRae agreed when she examined her patient a second time. “Physically, he’s recovering, although he’d have an easier time of it if you could get some food into him. Mentally...” She shook her head. “He’s been through severe trauma, and from what I could get out of him, he seems to be suffering from remorse about something. Do you know what it might be?”

“I don’t know anything,” said Celia. “He’s been doing undercover work, and he’s hardly talked to us in months. Will you ... will you have to Memory Charm him?”

The Alienist shook her head firmly. “I don’t believe in Memory Charms, except as a last resort. They’re a temporary fix at best, and they can damage the mind. I’ve given him some essence of rue and a sleeping draught, but potions can only do so much. See if you can get him to talk about what’s happened to him. And whatever you do, don’t make him feel that it’s his fault.”

 

                                                            *          *          *

Remus opened his eyes. “Hello, Mum ... Linus,” he said a little flatly.

Celia leaned forward and touched him on the cheek. “Are you feeling up to talking a little?” she asked.

“All right.” Remus struggled into a half-sitting position and took a sip from the glass of water that stood on the bedside table. “What about?”

“About what’s been going on with you, and why we haven’t heard from you in months,” said Linus.

Remus said nothing, but his eyes were wary. Celia warned Linus to be silent with a look, and tried a safer question. “We found you on the doorstep the other morning. Do you know how you got here?”

“I don’t know.” Remus frowned. “I think I remember Apparating – but I don’t think I did it by myself.”

“You couldn’t have done,” said Celia. “Not in the condition you were in.”

“No. I think someone brought me.”

“Who?” Linus asked.

Remus shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“How did they know to bring you here?”

“I don’t know that either.” His head dropped back on the pillow and he closed his eyes, apparently too exhausted to continue the conversation.

Over his head, Linus and Celia’s eyes met. “Cover blown?” Linus whispered.

“It sounds like it. Am I selfish for hoping so?”

“No, sweetheart. Of course not.”

 

                                                            *          *          *

“Do you remember much of what happened at the full moon?” Celia tried the next time Remus woke.

“Not really. Only bits of it.” He put a cautious hand to his bandaged shoulder. “I seem to be rather banged up, but in one piece, mostly.”

“You saved a child’s life.”

“Did I?” For the first time, Remus showed a spark of animation. “I remember trying to save one, but I thought ... I thought I – Never mind. I must have been dreaming.”

“This was no dream. It was in the papers. A little girl seven years old, named Katie McCarthy.”

“She’s all right? Was she bitten?”

“No, she’s fine. Not a scratch on her.”

“Good.” The smile he gave her was slight and wavering, but it was undoubtedly a smile, and Celia felt her knees go weak with relief. Greyback hadn’t claimed her son, after all.

“Would you like me to make you a sandwich? There’s cold roast beef.”

“Do you have anything that isn’t – well – bloody?”

Celia felt faintly chilled by this request, but she tried her best not to show it. “Would cheese and tomato be all right?”

“That would be fine. Thanks, Mum.”

 

                                                            *          *          *

Remus leafed half-heartedly through his father’s files of newspaper clippings about Greyback. They were faded and yellowing, and here and there “BOLLOCKS!” or “LYING COWARDS” was scrawled across some Ministry official’s statement about the matter, sometimes accompanied by choicer language in French. He didn’t expect to find any clue about June’s parentage – she probably hadn’t been born yet when his father was killed – but he might be able to identify the families of some of the older teenagers. Then what? he wondered. Even if he made it back to the Forest and persuaded them to escape into the world they had been raised to despise, it seemed unlikely that their families would be prepared to take in a half-wild and nearly full-grown werewolf.

His mother came into the room with a cup of the bitter-tasting potion Healer McRae had left for him and a slab of chocolate. “Ruth’s asked us over for Sunday lunch,” she said. “Do you think you can face it, or should I tell her you aren’t well enough? It will probably be rather dreadful, but I’d be glad of your company. Linus is invited, but of course he hasn’t any tact, so I’d rather you were along to smooth things over.”

“Who’s Ruth?” said Remus. He felt dull and stupid, and everything since his return from the Forest seemed vaguely dream-like. He couldn’t rid himself of the feeling that somewhere, in the real world, Katie McCarthy had died and he was roaming the wastelands with blood on his muzzle.

“She’s your cousin Jeremiah’s wife. I told you about her last week!”

“Oh. Right.”

“Honestly, Remus, I do believe you’re getting as absent-minded as your father.”

Abruptly, his mother fell silent, and he knew she was remembering that Dad had been damaged goods. René Lupin had been a prisoner of war under Grindelwald. He had never talked much about what had been done to him – or what he had been made to do. He took refuge from the memories by throwing himself into his Potions research and his campaign against Greyback, and becoming very forgetful.

“I’ll come,” said Remus.

The lunch was not a great success, although Remus did his part to steer the conversation around to topics that wouldn’t have Linus and Jeremiah at each other’s throats – which meant, mostly, the weather. He complimented Ruth on her cooking, but red meat still made him feel slightly sick and it was difficult to hide the fact that he wasn’t actually eating much except potatoes and carrots.

He would have enjoyed getting to know his young cousins under more normal circumstances, but just now he hadn’t the energy to deal with the children’s exuberance, and looking at Bonnie gave him a curious and unsettling feeling. He seemed to see the child as she might have been, lost in the gloom of the forest with Fenrir’s thugs for company, and not as she was, safe under Ministry protection and petted by an adoring family. She had fair hair and a wistful little face that reminded him of June. He wondered whether June was still coming to his cabin in the hope of more lessons, and what she would think when she found that he had deserted her.

 

                                                            *          *          *

Celia had entreated Linus to have a man-to-man, or possibly werewolf-to-werewolf, talk with Remus. “He won’t say much about what’s happened to him in front of me,” she said, “and I do believe he thinks I need to be protected. It’s absurd, but perhaps you can get more out of him.”

Linus wondered what it said about the family character that Celia thought he had a better chance than she did of getting a fully candid report from her own son, decided it was probably better not to ask, and waited until the week before the full moon. He was on friendly terms with one or two of the mediwizards who worked the Wolfsbane queue at St. Mungo’s. In theory, the potion’s distribution was strictly regulated, and it was all supposed to be consumed in front of witnesses. (Linus had once considered this an idiotic, bureaucratic rule, but when he thought of the damage that Fenrir Greyback would be able to do if he were in full control of himself, he began to appreciate that there was some sense in it.) In practice, like most Ministry regulations, it was easy enough to get around if you knew the right people. Linus signed half a dozen copies of Martin Miggs for the head mediwitch’s grandchildren and walked out of the hospital with his own potion and an extra dose for Remus.

“Cheers, mate. To your health.”

“Cheers,” said Remus, and took a sip of the potion. Linus hoped this would be an easy transformation for him; the hollows in his cheeks were beginning to fill out, but he still looked fragile. He had spent most of the day curled up on the couch, writing one of his seemingly endless reports to Dumbledore. Hopefully it was a debriefing. He had not said whether he planned to go back.

“What’s it like out there?” Linus asked after a moment.

Remus looked up from the parchment he was writing on. “It’s horrible,” he said flatly. “But it’s not ... It’s not who we are. You don’t need to hear about it.”

“You need to talk about it,” said Linus firmly. “Tell me.”

Remus put the parchment aside. “All right, but you can’t imagine it unless you’ve seen it for yourself. The whole organization is so bizarre that it makes the Death Eaters look like a sewing circle. They’re like overgrown children – only insane. There’s a Byzantine set of initiation rituals, and passwords and countersigns for everything – very cloak-and-dagger. And all of the officers have made-up titles like Lycurgist and Lycophone. I think Greyback was going for a sort of classical feel even though he’s nearly illiterate, but the words are complete nonsense. And he’s apparently under the impression that he’s running a school.”

Remus looked so outraged at this travesty that Linus found it hard to hide a smile. Celia was right: her son would have made a good Ravenclaw.

“He’s enamored of schools since he hasn’t been able to attend one, I reckon,” said Linus. “Interesting.”

“That sounds about right. He calls the organization the Lyceum, and he’s got this farrago of nonsense we’re required to memorize, all about the Ancient Myths and Traditions of the Werewolf. Most of it’s laughable. I don’t understand the point of it. He makes us stand around listening to him lecture for hours before every full moon, and it just tires everyone out before they transform and slows their reflexes. That’s a good thing from my perspective, of course, but I don’t see how it helps him accomplish anything.”

Linus shook his head. Perhaps Remus wasn’t Ravenclaw material after all. “It’s about the mystique,” he said. “The idea is to make werewolves believe they’re something bigger and better than a crew of social outcasts who get their kicks from violence. The more elaborate and arcane the ritual, the more they feel like they’re part of something special.”

“And as far as the outside world is concerned,” Remus said slowly, “I suppose it’s also about secrecy. Terror feeds off of secrecy. The Death Eaters themselves wouldn’t be half so scary if we knew exactly who they were and what they did at their meetings. It’s when people are confronted with the unknown and the inexplicable that their imaginations go wild. It’s like boggarts, in a way.”

“Exactly. And the best way to fight it is to bring it out into the light. Information is the most powerful weapon there is. Tell me what some of their passwords and things are, and I’ll see that they get published.”

“In The Quibbler?”

“No, in Martin Miggs.”

Remus laughed.

“That wasn’t a joke. From what you’ve been saying about Greyback, I don’t think anything will get under his skin half so much as being made ridiculous will.”

“Linus, you’re brilliant. It’s exactly like boggarts.” Remus was smiling, but the strain in his face had not entirely gone away, and his eyes looked troubled. “I’ll need to get permission from Dumbledore, but I think he’ll like the idea as much as I do.”

“Is there anything else you’d like to tell me?” Linus asked after Remus had given him a full account of the Lyceum’s secrets.

“No. That’s all that I can remember.”

“Not about the organization, necessarily. About what’s been going on with you.”

Remus hesitated a moment, then shook his head. But he had a look on his face like a guilty child, and Linus was not sure he had accomplished what Celia had wanted him to do, as serendipitous as the conversation had been in other ways.

 

                                                            *          *          *

On the morning after the full moon, Linus made his way up the cellar stairs gingerly, every bone in his body aching. He let the cat in, scooped up the Daily Prophet from the doorstep, and collapsed into bed.

When he opened his eyes again, it was noon. He knew that he’d feel better if he had something to eat – or at least a cup of coffee – but he didn’t have the energy. He reached for the paper and blinked at it dispiritedly, then sat bolt upright.

He’d scarcely had time to take in what he had read when he heard the key turn in the lock. That would be Celia, of course. He hadn’t really expected her when she had another patient to look after, but it was kind of her to stop by, and when she came into the bedroom she brought tea and toast.

“Has Remus seen the papers today?” Linus asked.

“I don’t think so,” said Celia. “He was still asleep when I left him. Why?”

Wordlessly, Linus handed her the Prophet.

WEREWOLVES TAKE ANOTHER INNOCENT LIFE

Scrimgeour Vows “Drastic Measures”

“Oh dear God,” said Celia.

Another victim of the latest round of werewolf attacks, a five-year-old boy from Scotland, was brought to St. Mungo’s Hospital yesterday evening. The Healers were unable to save him and he died half an hour later. According to hospital spokesman Mervyn Trewick, the child’s name has not been released as some family members have not been notified.

The creature that inflicted the boy’s death-wound matches Fenrir Greyback’s description, and Trewick stated that it may be taken for granted that Greyback and his allies planned and carried out the attacks.

The next few paragraphs contained the usual statement from the Minister: a ritual denunciation of Dark creatures and their ways, and a vow to pursue and destroy the perpetrators.

According to Scrimgeour, there is no evidence that any non-werewolves were involved in the attack, but the victim’s mother remains convinced that Greyback has allies in the wizarding world. She told reporters that she had recently quarreled with an old school friend who had stormed away, telling her, “Go your way, but you’ll live to regret it.” She refused to name her friend or discuss the subject of their quarrel.

“What do you make of it?” said Linus.

“I suppose it’s nothing we didn’t know already,” said Celia. “It’s always the innocent and the helpless. They’re cowards, the lot of them.” She folded the paper and got to her feet. “I’m going home. I should be with him when he sees it.”

“I’m going with you.”

“You’re not well.”

“It’s nothing. I’m used to the transformations now.” But his muscles were stiff, and by the time he had dressed and dragged himself over to Celia’s place by Floo Powder, Remus was already up and about. They found him upstairs, throwing some clothes into a battered suitcase.

“Where are you going?” Celia asked.

“I’m going back,” said Remus. “A child’s been killed, and I might have saved him. My work there isn’t done.”

Celia went very white and sank down into the nearest chair.

“Are you off your head?” Linus demanded. “Do you imagine they don’t know you’re spying on them? They nearly ripped you to pieces last time!”

“No, I don’t think they do know, actually,” said Remus calmly. “Have you ever transformed without Wolfsbane?”

“What has that got to do with the price of tea in China?” Linus asked testily. He did not particularly care to discuss January’s debacle. Celia was looking at the floor.

Remus, fortunately, seemed so confident that Linus would answer in the negative that he plunged forward without noticing this bit of byplay. “If you had, you’d know that you don’t have any real sense of identity while you’re transformed. You might have a few hazy impressions that there are other werewolves with you, you might even remember that much in the morning, but you wouldn’t know who they were. And Fenrir’s followers swear an oath not to take Wolfsbane. If the others remember anything at all, they’ll just think someone in the pack was fighting them over prey.”

Linus stared at him. Remus was, of course, absolutely right, but things still didn’t add up. “How is it that you remember what happened last month?” he asked.

“Wolfsbane. I have my sources.”

“And if you’re so sure none of the others is taking Wolfsbane – and nobody knows your true identity – how do you explain the fact that you ended up here, on your own mother’s doorstep?”

Remus shrugged. “Obviously, one of them does know who I am. And this person had a perfectly good opportunity to leave me to die, and chose not to. Whoever it may be, it seems that I’m in no danger from him.”

“Do you have any idea how this person might have known where to take you?” Celia asked faintly.

Remus shook his head. “Perhaps I told them where I grew up. I could have said almost anything – I don’t remember.”

Linus thought it was high time they got to the real point. “Well, what about your poor mother? Have you thought at all about what your heroics are doing to her?”

Celia caught Linus’ eye. She shook her head, almost imperceptibly.

Remus stepped forward and kissed her on the cheek. “I’m sorry, Mum.”

“You’ve got nothing to apologize for,” she said, almost in a whisper. “I understand.”

“All right,” Linus said, defeated. “Have it your way, and good luck to you. But this time, we’re staying in touch.”

“Of course we are,” said Remus. “I’ve got to keep feeding you the Lyceum’s passwords, haven’t I?”

“That wasn’t exactly what I meant,” said Linus, “but it’ll do for a start.”