A Season of Change

Chapter 18: The Silver Kiss

"Follow me, Mr. Lupin."

Remus trailed behind the tall, broad-shoulder wizard, their footsteps knocking eerily against the cold stone slabs. His lips set themselves in a firm, implacable line as he surveyed his surroundings. Step by step he found himself being led further away from the sunlight, locked against all sounds of the mortal world. The animated staccato of dripping water served as an undercurrent of timpani to the whorls of wind whistling though the crisscrossed timbres of the ceiling. Remus shivered and thought of other prisons.

At a large iron door barred by several sliding locks the width of a grown man's arm the two men stopped. Remus, not a superiorly tall man by any means, ducked under the frame and walked a few paces to the center of the room. His trunk sat at the foot of an old wood frame bed and an iron candelabrum cast a blue white glow to the four walls. Eyes narrowing he turned his face up towards the ceiling. Four square windows, one on each wall proved to him that it was still dawn, and yet even the brilliance of the sun was swallowed by the cold granite walls...walls which appeared capable of consuming warmth of any sort.

He estimated the windows to be several meters higher than he and the combined efforts of every scrap of furniture in the room could reach. With no wand Remus knew he was trapped. Locked away until later this morning when they would come for him.

The pillowcase was rough under his cheek and smelled of the moldiness unique to all prison chambers. Long legs curled forward up under his robes until his knees were pressed against his chest. The soft velvet lining of his cloak felt fresh and clean against the fevered flesh of his neck.

His stomach felt hollow.

Slowly he pulled his legs closer to his body, pressed hard with hands that seemed determined to shake, and squeezed until it dawned on him that perhaps he was holding on for another reason entirely. As if by stopping the tremors in his physical sense he would be able to control the trembling of his spirit.

The first finger on his left hand lifted, paused, and traced the line of his lower lip--the part of his flesh that had last touched Sirius. A drop of blood pooled and slid down his jaw. His bruised eyelids sank then closed as softly he began to breathe long, deep labored breaths...

His last coherent thought before he mercifully fell asleep was that if this was comfortable by Whitney's standards than the young man was in serious need of a new vocabulary lesson.

**********

In a corridor five stories below the exhausted man, Sirius began to pace.

Somewhere, he thought with a cold sense of despair, Remus was being held captive, tortured, ridiculed, hated. And with the mind of one who had been through every sort of torture, he knew it wouldn't be easy to find the words necessary for soothing once Remus was released. That at least was a comforting thought, for release was a matter of timing, not a matter of certainty in Sirius' estimation.

He paced. Somewhere out of the corner of his eye he became aware of Cecilia matching his stride, step by angry step. The violet ribbon tying her hair jerked with angry little bobs.

"Cecilia," he barked.

She raised mutinous eyes to his and said stubbornly, "I won't."

Sirius' patience hung on a thread. His hands twisted in the pockets of his charcoal gray trousers. "Cecilia," he began again, this time with a bit more control, "I need you--no I am asking you to please go wait with Molly and Hermione. I'm fine. I just need to be alone for a bit."

"You're up to something," she said accusingly. "I'm not completely daft."

He exhaled sharply. The knot on his tie was choking him. "I swear by the Marauder's Pledge that I am not up to something," he held up two fingers for emphasis. Cecilia scowled. "Try to understand. I know you mean well but--"

"You promised him!" she cried. "And I swore to him that I'd watch out for you." Sirius stared at her with surprise. "You've been watching that door for hours now and I'm not going to simply go back on my word so that you can get into mischief--"

"Fine, fine," Sirius muttered. "Don't fly into a fit," he paused, considering. "And I've not been staring." She shrugged.

"I'm not going out there where they're going to question and question me. I'm already going to have to explain my involvement. I don't want a bunch of bossy women picking on me all morning."

Sirius wondered what Molly and Hermione would think of Cecilia's assessment. Personally he sympathized with the girl--he, too, had escaped to this room to avoid their penetrating stares and inevitable round of questions. "They mean well," he said lamely.

Almost as if by intuition the door to the chamber burst open. Sirius turned with annoyance. Molly stood in the entrance, her face pale and lined.

"Oh my dear," she bustled into the room, a force of energy swathed in navy robes and a halo of honeysuckle perfume. Before Sirius could protest she wrapped him in her arms. Her knot of flaming hair tickled his nose.

"Molly," he protested feebly.

"No, not a word." Molly held him at arms width and eyed him critically. All at once Sirius was relieved that his fashion sensibilities had kicked in at the last minute. Still her well worn fingers smoothed barely perceptible wrinkles from the collar of his robe. "I've brought breakfast. You need to eat. Both of you," she glanced at Cecilia assessing her with the experienced eye of a mother. Cecilia squirmed.

"Hermione," Molly called loudly. "Drat," she muttered when Hermione and the food failed to appear. "Her--"

"Sirius!"

Hermione rushed into the room pulling in her wake a small wrinkled creature. "Sirius," she said breathlessly. "I've found him! It's Toopy. Culpepper's former house elf."

Toopy took a hesitant step. His knobby little legs shook beneath his shirt. Hermione gave his shoulder with a gentle encouraging nudge.

"Mi--Mister Black, Toopy is..."

Sirius was touched. He knelt on the floor and locked eyes with the little elf. "Toopy," he said solemnly. "I'm honored to meet you." His blue eyes met Hermione's quickly. "Toopy," he cleared his throat. "I've a favor to ask you, and before you say anything I want to assure you that you're not to be harmed ever again."

The elf's throat worked nervously.

"You see," Sirius continued in a manner he had learned from Remus, "you posses the ability to help us in a very special way. You know information about your former Master no one else does and that makes you, Toopy, very important."

"Toopy is important, sir?" his small smock puffed with pride.

"Indeed." Sirius drew from the inside pocket of his robe a small square picture. "My family." It was his favorite memory, a photo he had been carrying since Elizabeth's departure. It had been taken three days after Elizabeth's arrival, at a moment when he had snuck up on a sleeping Remus and stood watching with glee as Elizabeth colored the front of the sleeping man's shirt with a red marker. Toopy grinned at the expression on Remus' face as the marker was thrust up his nose.

Sirius laughed along with the rest of them.

Toopy smiled with glee. "Sir is getting in trouble!" And indeed in the photo it was quite clear that Remus was scolding someone outside the range of the picture even as he worked to extract the firmly lodged marker. Sirius pocketed the photo.

Finally the elf spoke. "Toopy knows what sir is wanting...and Toopy is willing to speak."

"Oh Toopy, thank you...thank you," Hermione cried softly. Then to the surprise of everyone present, she wrapped the little elf in a tight hug.

Sirius swallowed hard. His eyes caught a movement at the door and he nodded in acknowledgement. Whitney stepped forward.

"They're assembling."

His voice, while possessing not a trace of menace, managed to burst the levity of the moment. Crystal gray eyes widened with surprise at the sight of Toopy in Hermione's arms. "Toopy," Whitney said in greeting. "Glad to see you could join us." Toopy extracted himself from Hermione's arms and rushed towards the tall man.

"Oomph." Whitney rocked back on his heels as the little whirlwind of energy knocked into his knees. He awkwardly patted the wrinkled skin pressed against the fine fabric of his trousers.

"Master is too kind," the little elf wept. "Too, too kind to poor Toopy..."

"Err..."

Two wet spots appeared on Whitney's legs. "Toopy's friends are free! Free!" He rounded on the rest of the room and smiled a wide watery-eyed smile. "Master is giving Toopy's friend clothes! Toopy's friends is no longer serving Master Culpepper!" He let out a strangled high-pitched wail of glee and proceeded to honk his nose loudly.

Whitney flushed under the gaze of four very surprised sets of eyes.

"I knew Culpepper's mansion had been destroyed but I never thought..." Hermione breathed in stunned disbelief.

Sirius laughed shortly. "I reckon this has been quite an adjustment for your grandfather."

"Quite," Whitney returned dryly.

"Food," Molly fretted. "Whitney, dear, you must eat. How are you to help our dear boy on an empty stomach?" Sirius thought immediately of his mother. "...and furthermore," Molly was still scolding, "not a single one of you look as if you've slept! I should think you would know better...children..." She scurried about setting out plates of food and bottles of drink from a hamper Hermione had summoned.

Everyone gathered about the table obediently. Whitney's eyes flitted nervously towards the clock on the wall.

"Ma'am..." he began, one hand spreading butter on his muffin while the other stirred his tea sloppily.

"Nonsense," Molly retorted. "What's the difference? Either we sit in there waiting for hours, or you sit here out of the eye of that horrible woman with plenty of food."

Sirius' eyebrows raised in alarm. "Woman?" he choked on a bit of dry bread.

"That horrid Rita Skeeter," Molly nearly growled. "I swear that woman seems to hold a personal vendetta against every member of my family. All those times she's attacked my poor Arthur...and you don't even want to get me started on what she's done to my Harry." Everyone shook their heads. "And now you and Remus and that dear baby..." Sirius chewed quickly. Molly nodded with approval. "Good, then there'll be no more nonsense. Eat. Cecilia, you, too. I want to see those plates emptied."

Cecilia turned to Sirius. He smiled sideways and ate a spoonful of marmalade.

**********

"That's him..." Harry pointed to a man with a stern countenance leaning against the judge's stand talking quietly with Amos Diggory. Slicked back silver hair crowned a craggy face. Whatever Amos was whispering certainly appeared not to agree with him. "Sir Mortimer Harrington. The Ministry's lead counsel. He's a close friend to Robert Culpepper."

"So much for impartiality," Ron grumbled.

Harry sucked in his breath. She had arrived. The absolute personification of evil according to Hermione.

"Harry?" Ron nudged him impatiently. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Harry muttered. "Look there. It's Lancaster."

"Where?" Ron sat up with a snap. His eyes scanned the room quickly and rested on a tall woman who had joined Harrington and Amos' discussion. "But...but she's old!" he sputtered. Harry peered at him quizzically. "I--I--well, I just expected someone younger with the way you were all describing her."

Harry sat back on the hard wood chair. The sense of disquiet that had settled against his soul the instant he had stepped foot into the room had reverberated the instant Lancaster had entered the room. He knew this place...it resonated deep within the core of his mind and the memory of it yanked forth images of another trial, of another person fighting for his freedom. And while it was a different era and certainly a different situation, Harry couldn't shake off the foreboding sense of dread that whispered promises of yet another charade--a pretense of a trial with a pre-determined outcome.

"Voldemort wasn't young," Harry said quietly. Ron blanched.

"Look," Ron breathed. Harry's eyes shifted away from Lancaster and grew dark. Sirius stood at the mouth of one of the many hallways which cut between the rows of seats stretching up to the ceiling. The round room, mimicking the great amphitheaters of the old theatrical days, was the perfect staging for this spectacle. Harry watched as Sirius scanned the room. Even from this distance he could see the haunted expression on a face that had seen too many nightmares...eyes that had at another time born witness to a chain of events in this very place. Harry followed his gaze to the single wooden chair situated in the very center of the room atop a small circular platform.

Metal shackles glistened in the sunlight pouring through the skylights above.

A cold curtain fell across Sirius' haggard features, and suddenly Harry knew what it was that outsiders said chilled them most about Sirius Black. It was the way his face could be both void of expression and yet so singular in its intent with diamond sharp eyes capable of piercing the soul of the person trapped beneath their gaze.

Green eyes met blue; Sirius nodded his head at Harry and Ron.

"If I didn't know him, I'd say I'd hate to have him sit by me," Ron squawked. Harry smiled grimly. Sirius hadn't been able to scare him since their introduction nearly ten years ago, and yet he understood Ron. Sirius' countenance today sent shivers up his own spine.

"Harry, Ron."

They stood quickly, awkwardly, with the embarrassed air of one who had been caught gossiping. "Sirius," they chorused.

Many faces in the courtroom turned towards the three men and little flashes of white peppered the room. Sirius frowned. "Reporters? Here?"

Harry's face was grim. "Whitney's already issued a complaint with the council. Seems that someone leaked the pass code to the public and it's a zoo out there." Sirius' body shifted awkwardly to scan the doors leading from the room.

"I can't believe it," he muttered crossly. "No, I can believe it, bloody fucking reporters." With a disgusted snort he crossed his legs and sat with a petulant frown on his handsome face.

"Where's the lot?"

Harry and Ron exchanged glances. "Er...Dad and Charlie are trying to do damage control," Ron gestured towards the low rumble of voices clearly detectable through the thin walls. "And Percy's with Mary and Bridget and Ginny's..." he trailed off and looked questioningly at Harry.

Who shrugged and said with a trace of concern, "I'm not quite sure where Ginny is actually. I thought she was with your mum." They all looked towards the door Sirius had entered. In a small cluster were the bodies of Molly, Hermione, Toopy and Cecilia. Whitney stood off to the side speaking to a man none of them recognized. Ginny was no where in sight.

Ron scratched, Harry fiddled with his glasses, and Sirius twitched.

"Goddamn it..." Sirius plunked his foot angrily on the ground. "Where is he?" The pallor of his face alarmed Harry. Just as he was about to ask Sirius if he could get him anything, Sirius dropped his head in his hands. "Please," his strangled voice was muffled. "Please...I just need a minute alone..."

Harry and Ron stood quietly and walked down the stairs leading to the main floor. They approached the gathering at the door. No words were exchanged. Everyone stood about, uncertain whether to move or simply remain as they were.

Finally Harry broke the silence. "Have you seen Ginny?"

Molly's eyes darted about. "I saw her just before we went in for breakfast..." she patted Harry's shoulder. "Sweet Merlin, why am I so twitchy?" she complained plaintively. Everyone laughed nervously.

"Mum!"

Through the closed door they could hear the faint sound of Ginny's voice. Harry spun about and rushed forward, brushing rudely past Whitney. "Ginny?" he called pushing the door open. Immediately he was bombarded by camera flashes and the yell of vicious reporters.

"Harry! Harry Potter! What is your role today at the trial of the most deranged werewolf in all of England?"

"Harry! Who do you support--Remus Lupin or the Committee faction?"

"Harry! Which do you prefer? Death by an axe or by a silver steak?"

Harry halted in his tracks. His hand reached reflexively for his wand. Red swam in front of his eyes.

"Harry! Oh Harry!" Ginny pushed her way through the crowd. Tears streaked her cheeks. Just as she reached for his outstretched hand a reporter turned abruptly and pushed her to the ground.

With a roar of outrage, Harry's fist connected with the man's jaw, knocking the other man's glasses to the ground. "You idiot," he hissed as he pulled Ginny awkwardly into his arms. "You're more concerned with the hysteria than the truth. Look at you! Flocking like sheep to a trial that celebrates the mockery of human rights--"

"Harry," Ginny whispered. Her cheeks were stained red as she fumbled to straighten her robes.

"No! I've had enough," he said fiercely. "I know first hand the asinine stories these fuckwits dare to call the truth and--" Suddenly he couldn't continue. The words died on his lips. His eyes widened. How dare they...

"No, Harry," Ginny gripped his hand hard. "Look, it's Elizabeth."

Harry spun around in disbelief. There at the perimeter of the crowd stood Genevieve--her small frame slowly swallowed by a massive hoard of reporters like a typhoon of hungry locusts. Held in her arms was Harry's baby sister.

"I've been trying to find you but they kept pushing me and asking me questions and I couldn't get close..." Harry stared at Ginny and absorbed her disheveled appearance. Several sections of her robe were torn and her normally smooth hair was a flyaway mess. His jaw tightened. "Are you hurt?" his voice sounded strangled to his own ears. She shook her head. Grimly, he gripped her hand tightly in his and wove his way through the frenzy until he stood face to face with the nurse.

"What," he bit out furiously, "do you mean by bringing her here?"

Genevieve eyes were red rimmed. "Ms. Lancaster made me come."

"Made you come?" Harry asked in stunned disbelief. "What did she do? Put the Imperius curse on you?"

Ginny whispered softly, "Harry..."

Harry ground his eyes shut. He had read the truth in Genevieve's eyes. God, he had never felt such a strong urge to hurt somebody as he did Margaret Lancaster. "Give her to me," he ordered gruffly.

"I can't. She's bound to me."

"Fine," Harry's voice was frigid. "You're sitting with me. God," he raked his hand through his hair and stared at Ginny. "This is going to kill Remus...and Sirius. It shouldn't be happening like this." Ginny's lips were set in a thin line. All traces of disapproval towards Genevieve had been wiped off her face but for a sharp expression of hate fueled fury.

With one hand Harry guided Genevieve and Elizabeth before him, and with the other he held tight to Ginny. The crowd parted reluctantly as tight expressions of disapproval were their only answer to the frenzied questions sparked by the discovery that the baby was the child the werewolf claimed as his own.

"Harry! Harry!" Harry's eyes slid past all the unknown faces and settled on a flustered young man who had somehow managed to work his way through the hoards of people.

Christian Huber stood flanked by a good two dozen Hogwarts students all sporting their house colors and bright flashing "Families First!" badges. He smiled encouragingly, his curly brown hair framing his flushed face. The smile widened as Elizabeth cooed in recognition and reached out to grab his nose.

"Lizzie," he grinned down at the little girl. Doug, Clayton and Michael stared curiously at the baby.

"Is this she?" Michael asked. Christian nodded proudly. Michael looked past the baby and glanced at Harry appraisingly. "You're missing something, I reckon."

Harry glanced down at his person. He raised an eyebrow in question.

Doug stepped forward and quickly pinned a badge onto Harry's robes. "It's only proper, you know," he grinned in a friendly fashion. Harry smiled his thanks and watched as Clayton moved to do the same to Ginny. His grin faded as he watched Clayton's hands creep a little too close to a certain area of Ginny' chest.

"Oi!" Christian smacked Clayton on the back of the head.

Ginny blushed furiously and fumbled with her pin. Harry grinned wryly. The badge hung upside down. "Thank you," he said sincerely. The boys nodded and stepped back to let them pass, Clayton and Christian assuming the role of crowd marshals, pushing the greedy reporters to the side.

"Goodbye Lizzie!" Christian called after their retreating forms. The little girl lifted her hand. His smile ebbed.

Harry paused. He turned and walked back to where Christian stood watching, his hand fisting a stack of badges. "Christian," he said quietly so that no one could overhear. "I know what today means to you." Christian nodded jerkily. "And I wanted to give you a message from Remus."

Christian looked away. His eyes sparkled but for a moment and Harry wondered if perhaps he had imagined it.

He continued gently, wisely, thinking back on all the times people in his own life had offered their wisdom to him during the difficult uncertain times. "He said to tell you that he knows this isn't easier than the real thing but that he has faith...and that you, too, must believe. Be strong...for today, for tomorrow, and your uncle, through you, shall be redeemed," Harry paused. "He also said to tell you he's proud of you." Christian lowered his eyes. Harry placed his hand hesitantly on the other boy's arm. He felt awkward and out of place, but perhaps that was part of becoming a man. Silently he stepped away leaving Christian alone with his words.

*********

"Kill him!"

"The monster..."

"Despicable beast..."

Remus straightened his spine and tried to see through the thick wooden door that served as the only barrier between him and the vortex of madness. He cursed his lupine hearing that enable him with the gift of hearing each and every one of those damning words.

"Move."

He shuffled forward, his movements made clumsy by the shackles bound tightly to his ankles and wrists. He was all too aware of the silver edge stick held inches from his back should he make to run. Little did these asinine guards know that there was absolutely nothing he would do to satisfy their insatiable need for humiliating him. He had proudly born his scars these many decades past and would give no man the satisfaction of seeing him fall to his knees. Silver stick or not.

The door flew open as if by the force of a mighty propelling spell. Remus blinked in the harsh brightness of the room. Even though he had been secluded in the darkness of his cell for only a few short hours his eyes struggled to adapt to the brightness made worse by the endless camera flashes.

A roar of outrage flooded the room--cries of dismay quickly swallowed by the horrific screams of blood thirsty cravings. Remus trembled slightly. It seemed to his highly sensible way of thinking that to find the true monsters one only needed to look about the room.

Stumbling, he was forced towards the chair in the center of the room.

And then his heart stopped. No! His mind screamed. It can't be...Elizabeth. Panic filled eyes zeroed in on his daughter crying in Genevieve's arms. "Elizabeth!" he cried hoarsely. Rage unlike anything he had ever experienced threatened to snap his limbs in two. The main vein in his neck throbbed and pulsed. He was dimly aware of the guards hurling threats at his head.

"...move you beast!"

The din in Remus' brain subsided as the burly arm of one of his jailors shoved him hard in the back. Taken by surprise by the force of the contact and still off center by the shock of seeing his daughter, Remus felt his legs give way.

The most horrific sound pierced the roar of the courtroom. Remus crashed to the floor, writhing on the cold stone. The back of his robe bore the circular mark of the end of the silver stick; the singed curled edges of the frayed fabric smoldering. The overpowering stench of burnt flesh spiraled upwards and about, filling the room with a putrid odor.

Sirius' scream took over that of Remus' as the injured man lay panting on the floor. Harry, Arthur, Ron and Charlie held tight to straining, crazed man as he tried desperately to break free.

With a flash of white robes, Whitney hurtled over the wall separating his bench from the main floor. He sprinted to Remus' side and with a quick spell sent the bodies of the three guards sprawling to the floor into groaning heaps.

"Your Honor," Whitney roared, penetrating the thickness of Sirius' cries. "This behavior is completely unwarranted, unjustifiable and vindictive. I demand a minute with my client to ascertain the severity his wounds. Perhaps," gray eyes filled with a frightful hate narrowed in on Harrington, Lancaster, Macnair and Culpepper. "Perhaps because of the folly of these imbeciles the trial shall have to be postponed until my client is healed."

"Five minutes," the Lord Chancellor snapped. "And you," he rounded on the groaning guards. "Out of my sight."

Remus curled on his side and tried to breath through his mouth. His mother's words circled through his head as he tried to remember what she would say when the post transformation pains were at their worst. "Breath my little one...breath deeply, let the pain out with each breath of air. The pain just wants to be released, that's why it struggles so hard..." And so he gasped great bursts of shoulder racking breaths as he struggled to move past the attacking red purple army of pain.

"...Remus...Remus, can you hear me?" Whitney's voice was so very far away. "Remus we can ask for adjournment. They can't make you stand trial in your condition. Remus we can postpone--"

"...no," Remus managed to croak. "No...no postponement. Must go on. Need...to...start..."

"Okay, all right," Whitney's concern shattered a little more of the pain. "Remus, if this is what you wish you must allow me to bring in a Mediwizard to take care of your back and--" he broke off as Remus screamed again.

Through slanted eyes Remus could make out bare traces of frantic worry flashing across Whitney's face. If only the younger man would stay in focus. A sudden sharp flash of fiery pain slashed across his spine forcing his abdomen to press outward as if his whole body was trying to distance itself from the epicenter of pain. "Whitney," he moaned as his eyes rolled back, "The MediWizard...please...please...help me..."

Stumbling to his feet in a movement of frantic fury, Whitney scanned the crowd. "I need a MediWizard!" he cried hoarsely. Everyone froze. No one moved. Sirius no longer screamed but continued to struggle against the bonds of the men holding him back.

An unsettling feeling of hopelessness flowed though the crowd. Aside from the most staunch werewolf haters, the majority of the crowd suffered a ripple of remorse. But they could only sit and watch helplessly, none of them aware of the antidote.

Just as Remus thought he could bear the pain no longer, a high voice piped up in the crowd. "I'll help him." He forced his eyes open and struggled to bring into focus the slight figure that made her way down the staircase.

"Thank you," he sighed as the blurred movement went in and out of focus. "Dear god, thank you..." A cool soft hand touched his forehead. Almost immediately Remus felt the splitting tension in his head lesson.

"Professor Lupin, please, I need you to roll over completely," the gentle voice instructed.

"Professor...once I was a professor," Remus murmured through his haze as he did what she instructed. "...no longer..."

"You were always my favorite professor," the soothing voice gently peeled the scorched fabric away from Remus skin. He winced as layers of skin fell away with the cloth. "I'm sorry...I know it hurts but I need to expose the whole area before I can heal it properly."

"Do I know you?" the pain was making him loopy. Loony Loopy Lupin. Peeves... Remus smiled foolishly. He felt Whitney squeeze his hand.

"I'm Parvati Patil," she said as the last section of fabric was pulled away. "Now this is going to sting but I promise you it'll feel much better once I do this. Just exhale and let the pain go."

"That's what my mother said," Remus said dreamily. "Parvati Patil...you are a Gryffindor, aren't you?" She giggled then clamped her lips shut. "Ah yes...definitely Parvati." He opened one eye and tilted his face over his shoulder to see her better. She appeared as he remembered. Dark shiny black hair tucked behind her ears, black, black expression filled eyes that at the moment sparkled with tears. "It's good to see you," he murmured before pressing his face onto the cold floor. Dear god, the pain was excruciating--worse than a million transformations...

He could hear the sounds of Parvati and Whitney speaking overhead, but for the first time in his life he couldn't make out the words. Perhaps he was dying? "Am I going to die?" he asked dreamily.

Parvati gasped. "No!" she said ferociously. "You wouldn't let a little bit of silver cut you down, Professor Lupin, would you? C'mon, breathe out...exhale...that's it...deeper...again..."

Remus followed her instructions as best he could, and after awhile he felt something on his spine beyond that of the burning sensation of the silver. Something slick and cool pooled over and about his blistered skin, seeping deep into his pores. "Ahhh..." he could almost feel Parvati and Whitney smile with relief. But something needed to be corrected...two somethings actually. "Parvati, is there a course you could take in MediWizard school that would teach you the varying degrees of quantity because if this is what you would call a little bit of silver than I pray to god I never discover what a lot is... and Whitney," he turned his head to glare at the white faced man kneeling next to him on the floor. "Your vocabulary could you a bit of refreshing. Sweet Merlin," he shuddered. "I warned Albus of the danger of omitting courses in vocabulary and English from the curriculum. Your idea of comfortable on a scale of one to ten deserves to be ranked well in the negative side." He felt a burst of satisfaction at the stunned look spreading across Whitney's face. "Good...now that this has been settled..." he shut his eyes for a fleeting moment.

"There you are, Professor Lupin," Parvati uttered a quick mending charm and Remus' robe sealed itself over the bandaged section of his back. The blinding pain was diminishing rapidly.

"Help me stand," Remus croaked. Parvati and Whitney hoisted him awkwardly to his feet. Carefully they escorted him to the chair and removed the shackles that bound his wrists and ankles. Parvati transformed a bandage into a polka-dotted pillow, adjusted Remus against the soft feathers and smiled apologetically at the outlandish colors. She gave him a fleeting unreadable look then climbed back up the stairs to the viewing area.

Whitney appraised Remus silently. His haunted eyes moved beyond Remus' face to a spot just beyond the injured man's view. A minute passed, and then another. Finally he walked back to his bench without saying a word.

Remus sat gingerly in the chair and flexed his wrists. He grimaced as a lingering spasm of pain passed across his back. From the corner of his eye he could detect the very satisfied smiles on the faces of his accusers.

"May we continue, Mr. Whitney?" the Chief Counsel asked in aggrieved tones.

Whitney nodded.

"It is the order of the court on this day of November 25^th in the year two thousand--"

"Excuse me, your Honor, if I may interrupt..." All eyes riveted towards the steely haired man standing behind the Ministry's bench who dared to interrupt the Lord Chancellor himself. Harrington raised his hand in mock apology and moved through the little swinging gate separating his bench from the floor to stand in front of Remus. Remus eyed him narrowly.

With a condescending air, Harrington gestured towards Remus' chair. "Your Honor, I must insist that the accused be strapped in."

A cry of dismay filtered through the crowd as Remus' supporters protested this new outrage. Whitney sprung to his feet, his mouth poised to protest.

Harrington smiled smugly. The Lord Chancellor considered for a minute. "As you wish. Harrington, you can shackle the accused." Harrington's mouth dropped. He clamped his lips shut in disgust and grimly jerked the leather cords tight across Remus' ankles and wrists, snapping the metal bands tight.

"May I continue?" the Lord Chancellor asked dryly once Harrington resumed his seat.

On and on the cold steel of his voice droned a litany of charges set forth by the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures:

"...violation of Section 1521 outlined in the Werewolf Code of Conduct..."

"...past precedent clearly shows a disregard for the formality of rules..."

"...a biological hunger for human flesh that has been substantiated by centuries of formal medical studies..."

"...children are the most susceptible to the werewolf's cravings and should be protected at all costs. This werewolf's blatant disregard for the Ministry's platform for child safety violates Conduct Code 23 and 37..."

"...and lastly, it has been decreed as such that dangerous creatures under the monitoring of the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures lack any identifying human genetic makeup and are therefore prohibited from entering into parenting contracts or any other such behavior ruled to be strictly human in nature."

The Lord Chancellor's penetrating stare moved over the top of his glasses to settle on Remus. "Mr. Remus Lupin, you have been charged with five Ministry infractions of the most grievous nature. How do you plead?"

Remus voice rang clear throughout the courtroom. "Not guilty."

**********

Sirius unclenched his fists. Remus had been lead through the door to the antechamber not two minutes prior and already he felt physical loss at his absence. The pain was acute and all consuming. He wondered how much longer he would be able to rein in his fury. As it was...

"You're bleeding."

Harry's voice interrupted his mental litany of curses. Tiny red cuts lined the centers of both palms, smeared streaks of blood marring the calloused flesh.

"I want to see him." Sirius turned his eyes back to the closed door. "Did you see what they did to him?" he croaked, "How they laughed?"

A gentle hand touched the top of his tousled hair. Sirius didn't look up...wouldn't look up. He didn't want to witness the sympathy pouring from the eyes of his friends...friends who had no right to bear witness to Remus' humiliation. Suddenly Sirius was furious with the so-called "werewolf supporters." He wanted to punch something...punch something hard and not stop until sinew and bone formed as one.

He had long ago decided that death was far too just for Lancaster and Culpepper.

After a minute he felt them drift away. One by one they left his side, abandoning him to the misery of his thoughts. It was what he wanted, what he had asked for, but as he sat clenching and unclenching his hands, unable to look at his daughter who sat quietly in Genevieve's lap, Sirius allowed himself to wonder for the first time if things were truly going to work out. All traces of optimism had been discarded as exercises in futility; his hope halted the minute the guards stabbed Remus with the silver.

Sweet Merlin, the memory of Remus lying on the floor and he in the stands unable to help burned deep. It wasn't in his nature to bear witness as a helpless bystander. Only once had he intentionally failed his friends and for twelve long years he had punished himself. Closing his eyes he wondered how long he'd have to pay to make amends this time. Was life ever really long enough? Were there truly enough minutes in a day?

His head hung. In his state of consuming misery he was incapable of feeling anything but the fear. The prospect of losing the one constant in a life made up of connected patchwork squares was positively terrifying. Sirius lurched to his feet. "I need air." He stumbled past the row of chairs, over feet he was hardly aware of trampling, and down the steep flight of stairs. His heavy shoes were clumsy on the cold floor.

"Sirius! Wait!"

He could hear Harry calling after him, imploring him to stop. He tripped as a powerful grip grabbed his shoulders. "Don't go out there, Sirius," Harry warned. "You'll not like what you see."

Sirius tried to twist free and couldn't. "Let go of me," he hissed.

"I can see it in your face--you'll do something you'll end up regretting. I know you. I know how you operate. You think what you're doing at the time is the only way, but it's not. It'll cost you, Sirius."

"Cost me?" Sirius stared at Harry in disbelief. "Cost me?" he repeated. Harry's grip loosened. "You tell me what I should have done, what I should have felt watching them nearly kill him!" his voice escalated. Several people turned their way.

Harry glanced about uncomfortably and tried again. "I know, but Sirius it'll only make things worse for him if you do anything to incur the Lord Chancellor's anger and emotionally you--"

"Fuck the Lord Chancellor," Sirius flung back at him in shaking fury. "He sat there watching...watching...doing nothing. A man was dying in his courtroom! Call that impartiality if you want, but I call it bullshit."

"Your daughter--"

A tortured expression filled Sirius' stormy eyes. Furiously he broke free of Harry's hands and ran down the steps and out of the room. The doors crashed shut.

**********

The heat of the corridor combined with the presence of too many bodies made the air putrid and unwelcoming. Tired of running across people of little importance puffed up with pride to have been included at the trial of the century, disgruntled reporters lowered their cameras and closed their notebooks. An agitated hum pulsed throughout the crowd as the spectators grew antsy. Already the general complaint was that there weren't nearly enough audience seats in the courtroom, and along the long whitewashed walls lethargic, disgruntled bodies slumped.

Sirius slammed the doors shut and fell against the heavy frame. He breathed deeply and nearly choked. "What the hell...?" he muttered looking up for the first time. What he saw nearly robbed him of his breath.

Camped out in a corridor well beyond maximum capacity were two hundred sets of bright, frenzied eyes all turned on one point. Him.

He drew in a ragged breath and let his eyes roam across their faces. His gaze lingered on the signs they held, read the bright script, took in the detailed pictures. Whirling flashes of color shone on some of the spectators' robes while others, dressed in formal Ministry attire, bore the black ribbon of death.

It was as if the entire crowd had been struck dumb. Feeling as if he were in some weird alternate reality, Sirius wriggled his fingers alongside the folds of his robes until he found his wand. He looked uneasily at the men no more than five paces in front of him, cameras hanging limply from their necks. This is what Harry was warning me about, he thought, his mind puzzling over their strange behavior.

The unnatural silence was broken at last by the sharp, unmistakable sound of an axe splintering wood. It was as if a director's cue had been issued. Every single reporter's camera flew into action, questions tumbling from over-eager maddened lips. The werewolf supporters' chants rumbled and swelled only to be drowned out by the blood thirsty fracas from the Committee's faction.

Sirius stood stunned by the unmitigated hatred pouring forth from men he had no knowledge of. Men whose hatred was based on principles so ingrained within their very nature that liberation was not an option. These people with their signs of replaying execution scenes made him sick.

"My daughter! This was my daughter before--and this is what she was when her mother found her!" A man's anguished cry rang out above the ruckus.

A lovely little girl no more than five danced across a silver framed sign. Purple violets flitted from her hands as she twirled in a circle. Five seconds later the image morphed in a whirlpool of colors...purples bled into crimsons, whites were changelings as black dots pierced and devoured the almost tangible happiness of the child.

As if the sight weren't damning enough, the accompanying sounds served to underscore the message. Wild keening reverberated against the walls as a woman with long dark hair crawled across the picture to gather the broken body of her child against her chest. The little girl's throat was a slash of crimson against the cool white of her mother's robe. Lifeless, haunted eyes permanently frozen in time bore into the soul of every person daring enough to look.

Waves of shock and fury passed through Sirius. But the emotions were not for the little girl, nor were they for her parents--her father who stood in the center of a wide circle, tears pooling in his eyes.

Sirius could only think of Remus. Saw Remus' body lying there limply against his mother's chest. Felt the penetrating stare from Remus' golden eyes boring into his soul damning him for being normal, for being unmarked.

Sirius knew then what it was that had frightened Harry the most. It was not the violence that usually played hand in hand with the strongest of his emotions, but the guilt, the resulting self-hatred these reminders brought to a man's soul. And Sirius knew then that Remus must never see these pictures...would never see them. He'd burn them all, halt the words before they were ever uttered less they stir old ghosts.

Turning without ever uttering a word, Sirius opened the doors to the courtroom and left the tortuous reality of the outside world.

He entered without really knowing what he wanted to say, how he wanted to feel. Mindlessly, he crossed the wide distance, passed along the circular rows of seats, and up the stairs to where his friends were waiting. He could easily read the wary concern upon all their faces, could feel their eyes appraising his appearance for tell-tale signs of an altercation.

Sirius smiled ruefully as he squeezed his large frame along the narrow aisle. "Pardon," he said politely to a witch whose foot he had trod.

"Sirius," a voice called his name. The concern rang in Sirius' weary ears. He glanced up.

Albus Dumbledore stood before him, pale blue eyes assessing in their calm way.

Sirius swallowed. "Albus." For some inexplicable reason, Sirius felt icy fear starting to quake through him, as if his heart understood that something awful was happening. "I had not thought--I mean, I didn't think..."

A wrinkled hand was raised. "I know when I'm needed," was all he said. Mary McAllister stood next to him looking ashen and fragile.

Suddenly Sirius felt consumed with guilt. Here he had been thinking only of his own feelings while watching as Remus was tortured. He had not spared a thought for Mary. Tightness rose and took grip of his lungs. "Mary..."

Mary didn't even smile to spare his feelings, Sirius noted. She merely regarded him from frank watchful eyes. Bridget stood behind her, a hand resting on her mother's upper arm. She, too, seemed to be assessing him.

It hit Sirius then that they were telling him wordlessly that there was no reason to apologize. That they understood completely. Their silence was their way of ensuring not even the smallest of openings for Sirius to say the words that were already understood.

"They're returning..."

Sirius' eyes drifted down below to the floor. Eleven jurors entered the reserved seating area and robotically took their seats. On the prosecutor's side, Harrington and his smug posse whispered in a manner meant to be disconcerting.

On the other side, Whitney served as Harrington's foil. Sitting rigidly on his bench he neither spoke nor fidgeted. Were Sirius not so sure of Remus' unwavering faith in the young man he would have panicked. As it was, he wished Whitney would do something--anything--if only to set Sirius' nerves at ease. He suppressed the urge to throw something at that blonde head to see if he would get a reaction.

With great reluctance, Sirius took his seat. Sometime during the course of his observations Genevieve and Elizabeth had moved next to him. Mouth dry, Sirius ran his calloused thumb across his baby daughter's cheek. Elizabeth lay asleep in Genevieve's arms, her small mouth parted by soft snores. Already it had been explained to him the reasons why he couldn't hold his daughter, and for the time being, warned against provoking Margaret's wrath, he had held himself back. But the urge to snatch his daughter into his arms and never let go was overpowering.

He tried rather unsuccessfully to content himself by holding her hand. Margaret, he noted as they waited for the Lord Chancellor to arrive, sat off to the side next to Macnair. Almost as if she sensed his penetrating glare, she looked up and met his gaze, lips twitching. Sirius frowned.

Suddenly, his attention was diverted to the sound of an opening door. Remus entered the courtroom, pale and slightly green, but none the worse for wear. A different guard this time guided him to his seat and locked the shackles.

"Remus!" Sirius' heart cried. Trembling, he watched as Remus gazed about the room, assessing the audience, judging their intent. When those golden eyes found him within the crowd, Sirius smiled brilliantly and raised Elizabeth's tiny hand in his. Visible relief flashed across Remus' tired face. A small secret smile creased the corners of his eyes. They held each other's eyes as the Lord Chancellor took his seat, kept their mouths lifted in smile as Harrington and Whitney read their opening positions, and drank of each other's love as Harrington read the name of his first witness.

"The prosecution calls as its first witness Margaret Lancaster, Deputy Caseworker of the Infant Wizard Protection Agency."

Remus abruptly broke their connection leaving Sirius fuming in the stands.

Harrington led Margaret to the witness bench, his hand poised for support under her elbow. As she was sworn in, she passed a tiny smile to the Lord Chancellor.

"Miss Lancaster," Harrington folded his hands behind his back and hopped on toes his once. "You're doing well?" he smiled toothily.

Sirius could hear Ron and the twins groan.

Margaret's smile was icy. "I'm well."

"Good, good." Harrington looked pleased. Considering, he approached the bench where she sat. "Miss Lancaster, would you please state you relationship with the accused?"

Her eyes slid over Remus. "Against my expressed concerns, I authorized a trial visitation period with Mr. Lupin of one of my charges, Elizabeth Dougray. I've since successfully removed the child from his care." Her steely voice emphasized Elizabeth's last name.

"Your Honor," Whitney rose to his feet. A demeanor unlike anything Sirius had ever witness had fallen over his person. Cool, calculating, crafty, Whitney appeared a barrister born and bred. "I must insist that the witness answer only the question put forth by the council."

The Lord Chancellor nodded. "You've been warned, Miss Lancaster."

Margaret acquiesced a little too easily in Sirius' estimation.

Harrington eyed Whitney with ill concealed contempt. "So your relationship with Mr. Lupin is that he was at one time a prospective parent. Hmm...interesting. Miss Lancaster, at the time of the initial interview, were you aware of his status as a werewolf?"

"I was."

"And yet despite Section 1521 which expressly prohibits werewolves from partaking in parenting rights you allowed him to leave with a child? A registered, dangerous werewolf was allowed to bring a child unsupervised into his home?"

"Your Honor! I must argue the implication of the word 'dangerous' as this assumption is purely subjective in nature and--"

Harrington laughed. A slimy weasely little chuckle. "Come, my dear boy. Surely it has irrefutably been proven that a werewolf by its very nature is dangerous. Centuries of studies can support my claim. I hardly see how stating the truth can be deemed subjective."

"Sit down, Mr. Whitney, and stop interrupting the questioning," the Lord Chancellor barked.

Sirius' hands trembled.

"Now Miss Lancaster, as you were."

"What I was going to say before I was so rudely interrupted was that I was forced against my will to grant parenting rights to Mr. Lupin. I believe that the current Minister, while wise in his decision to issue a decree granting parenting permissions to Mr. Black as reparations for past...er...situations shall we say, made a mistake when he unwisely overlooked the situation at hand."

"Which is?" Harrington prompted eagerly.

"That one of the men petitioning for parenting rights is a deadly werewolf."

"And have you ever granted parenting rights in defiance of Section 1521?"

"Never. And I never will. The well being of the child is far too important. You've all seen what these beasts are capable of," Margaret turned her penetrating glare on the jurors. "Ravishing out of control monsters, throats ripped out, blood thirsty, insane...you know the type. Imagine if one of these beasts got hold of your child."

Sirius felt Harry's hand firm upon his knee. Why wasn't Whitney saying anything! His mind screamed in frustration.

Margaret moved back to Remus, her hate almost tangible in the dead silence of the room. "There are few things I can't stand in this world, and one of them is an animal who tries to be a chameleon in the human world. We've hunted your type out before, werewolf, and we'll do it again. When the axe falls the humans shall be vindicate. But mark my words, you shan't be the last."