Wolf By Ears

WOLF BY EARS

Part Eight: Beast vs. Being

By D.M.P.

***

We now ask ourselves: which of these creatures is a "being" - that is to say, a creature worthy of legal rights and a voice in the governance of the magical world - and which is a "beast"?

- Newt Scamander, Fantastic Beasts & Where to Find Them

***

Chapter 26

Bernard stood by the door to Claire's room. He was standing outside the door because it was locked, and it was locked because his sister hadn't unlocked it since yesterday afternoon.

"I'm leaving," he announced.

The door remained shut.

He crossed his arms. "I know you're in there."

Sighing, he drew back and threw his hands up. "Fine," he snapped. "If you are going to continue with your immature attitude, then so be it!"

Of course he didn't expect an answer. Claire was absolutely intractable when angered, and Bernard hadn't the patience to deal with his sister's constant hissy fits and bouts of PMS.

Only siblings can perceive the most realistic or the most jaded portraits of one another, and Bernard considered Claire to be an irate bitch - in both senses of the word. She didn't understand the responsibilities he had to take, the troubles he had to go through, the unbearable ingratitude he had spat in his face every single day. In Bernard's eyes, he saved her from the cruel, miserable fate of staying at the Bisclavret castle, that backward pile of stones where the crones still thought they were kings. She did not even seem to acknowledge that precious fact.

Bernard left the closed door, took three steps down the hall, and quickly returned. "I for one do not want to leave on a sour note," he restarted loudly. "And I expect us to act like adults." Still receiving nothing, he leaned his forearm against the door and put his head against it. "This is getting frustrating," he muttered. "Why do you always have to start this?"

Claire was his responsibility; why couldn't she understand that? He was her brother, he was her leader, and, according to Great-Uncle Léopold, he was her god. Louis XIV proclaimed it with, "L'état, c'est moi," Chinese emperors called it the "Mandate of Heaven," and the ancient werewolf clans referred to it as the "Divinity of the Blood." "It" was the supremacy of the established ruler by claiming his will stemmed from a higher power.

Bernard, however, was too busy dealing with mundane, earthly things to concern himself with his relation to the celestial forces. The divine blood was another outdated nobility concept that Bernard shrugged off, but the duty to his clan was a reluctant burden he carried. As anyone would admit, no matter how much he avoided his problems, the clan depended on his guidance. Some called it heavenly wisdom; Bernard thought of it as "leadership skills." No one in his clan would admit to having leadership skills and that was the problem! Handling clan affairs was like sending a crew of disgruntled office workers to one of those "group morale and teamwork" retreats with Bernard stuck being the director: everyone despised each other and looked to him for help, all the while despising him too. It wasn't that he didn't have leadership skills; it was just that he didn't want them. And maybe the skills he had needed serious tweaking; that he'd only admit to himself.

Yet, as his older relations kept reminding him, Bernard couldn't shy away from clan matters forever. After all, he was his father's son. They even shared the same name.

But his clueless sister was rebelling against all the things she should be grateful for! Oh, he would admit that he did love her - and he assumed that deep down inside, Claire did too; after all, they were family - but for once she had to understand that there was an order in life, and that she should listen to him.

Or at least say, "Merci," once in awhile.

"You are acting like a spoiled pup! I have had it up to here," he raised his hand over his head, despite the fact Claire obviously wouldn't be able to see the gesture, "with your selfish behavior!" Finally, he couldn't take her silence any longer. "This is it! I am leaving!"

The door opened.

Claire sat there with a blank face. "I'm leaving too," she declared.

This took him back a few thought paces. "Where?" he demanded, keeping his eyes squarely on her face, like he always did.

"I'm going to visit Caleb back at the castle when you're gone. He's sending a man over later to pick me up."

Hiding behind their little brother, was she? Bernard pressed his lips together and affirmed, "I'm sure you'll want to discuss Dr. D'Aubigne's program with him."

"Why should I?" Claire stared at him. "I only want to relax and visit his family. I am an aunt," she said stiffly. "I should see my nephews more often."

"Fine," he grumbled, turning away.

"And I do not want you to contact us while you're in Luxembourg."

He stopped mid-step.

"I do not want you to use Caleb as your little spy," she explained.

"Who are you to accuse me of spying?"

"I know you well enough," she retorted. "So, upon your honour, promise me that you won't call him while I'm there and that you won't speak of this to him afterwards."

"And why is that?" Bernard demanded. "Don't I have the right as your brother to know what is going on with my sister's life?"

"A test," his sister replied firmly. "To see if you can keep to yourself for once."

Keep to himself for once! What did she mean by that? Was she trying to hide something from him?

His expression said it all. Claire replied in low tones, "You ignored me for years, and now I can never get away from you. Why is that?" Then, she said it: the thought which he knew had been lurking in her mind all day. "If I could stand, would things be different?"

He didn't answer.

"You've been fostering a guilty conscience, haven't you?" she fired at him, almost accusingly.

"I will be late for my flight; these matters should not be brought up now..."

"It is not your fault. You had nothing to do with my condition."

Liar! He had everything to do with her condition. As her older brother, he should have protected her! If he had only been more competent, she would have been back in France before that full moon. He could have prevented--

Bernard blocked out the stabs of regret. He bowed his head, the feeling making him fidget. "We... we will talk about this later."

"We will talk about this now. Look at me," Claire said. "Look at me, Bernard."

Why was she attempting to order him about? Truth was, she hurt him. When he wasn't frustrated with her, Bernard was hurt by her. It hurt him to touch her, or talk to her, even to see her.

But that was why he had to live with her. Claire was his punishment; she was his failure in leadership.

And he would do anything to correct it.

Quickly, he snapped his head up and glared at her.

"This is my problem," she stated. "You could have not prevented it. No one could except myself. This is my mistake, Bernard. Mine, not yours."

Her words should have comforted him, but they did the exact opposite. "Nonsense!" he said, affronted. "You didn't know any better."

He saw her twitch at that line, but somehow, she didn't lash out like last time.

"Your words cannot exempt me from my duties. Maybe I should cancel this trip," he suggested. "You are in no state to be left alone."

Claire visibly struggled with her composure; she hesitated, then said, "You've been talking about nothing other than this conference for weeks. Don't let me hold you back." Her voice softened. "Maybe things have been too intense the past couple of months since I'd been here. Perhaps it would be better for both of us if we do not think about each other for the next fortnight. When you get back, I'll be here. We'll start with a clean slate. How about that?"

Relieved that all the tension seemed to fade, he gave a small smile, which Claire returned. "That... that sounds like a fair plan," he replied.

"Is it a deal? You won't speak to Caleb about my visit?"

"You life is your own," he said, stepping back.

"Then I will give Dr. D'Aubigne a little more thought." Claire took his hand and gave a clumsy grip, a sort of half-attempted farewell handshake. "Bon voyage, mon frère."

***

Trapped. He was trapped and couldn't move. The room shifted like when oil and water are mixed: shadows twisted and bent into a series of blobs and shapes. Nothing was stable, but fluid.

Except him in the darkness. Lupin felt unforgiving steel clamped over his forearms and ankles; he was fastened tight to the defendant's chair. Towering above was the podium. A hunkering figure stood the judge, wearing a hood over his black robes. "Guilty," he boomed.

Guilty? How could he be guilty? There wasn't even a trial yet! Where was his defense? Did he even have a defense?

Lupin looked, this way and that, feeling that his motions were bogged down by invisible weights.

"Isn't this what you wanted?" the judge boomed. He removed the hood and Lupin saw the face of Bartemius Crouch, grinning. "All hail the man with a conscience!" he laughed. "This is human justice for God-fearing men!"

The Dementor appeared as if risen from the stone floor. Its skeleton hand cradled the back of his neck. He should be fighting this, he should be rebelling, he should be screaming. But he wasn't, and the Dementor let the hood fall back. The monstrosity was moving in. The panic rose.

"Help me," he whispered hoarsely to the face of an abomination. "Oh, God, help me..."

Crouch laughed uproariously behind them. His laughter echoed and expanded and twisted into the hollow sound of dry bones on stone. Or like the hidden poisonous calling of a rattlesnake's tail.

Dry, mummified lips pressed against his. The Dementor's arms tightened around him. His jaw went slack as the Dementor inhaled....

"HELP ME!"

Lupin opened his eyes as the guards dragged off another accused wizard. "HELP ME!" the wizard wailed. "I didn't do anything!"

As the man passed Lupin's cell, he rushed out from the guards' hold in a fit of frantic terror and collapsed in a heap by Lupin's cell. He screamed, "Don't let them send me there! Dear God, don't let the Dementors get me!"

Lupin wished he could shut off his ears from all this. He stared with blank neutrality into the frightened man's eyes. "Don't let them, don't let them, don't let them," the man begged, as if Lupin had the power to release him, before the guards pulled him back.

The man let another wail of despair tear from his mouth. The guards gathered the wizard up from the floor and took him away. Lupin turned over in his cot until he faced the wall of his cell. The man's desperate shouts resonated throughout the jail block.

It was surprising how many of the accused screamed like this. The sheer terror brought on by the thought of going to Azkaban drove the weak-willed into hysterics.

Even the accused was held in Azkaban as they waited for their trials to be heard in court. Lupin remembered Rubeus Hagrid, the Care for Magical Creatures Professor. They had a conversation once, last year, where they were discussing Buckbeak's trial. The subject came to imprisonment and Hagrid mentioned in passing, "Well, I'm glad tha' Bucky isn't a bein'. At least he kin stay here at Hogwarts instead of bein' sent to Azkaban 'til his hearin' comes."

Lupin knew that Hagrid went to Azkaban during Harry's second year. The gamekeeper didn't mention it, but for a moment, Lupin saw a shadow pass over his eyes. Then, Hagrid shook his head and repeated softly, "Yea, I'm glad tha' Bucky isn't a bein'."

That same rule applied to Lupin. Since it was undetermined whether he would be considered a being under wizard law, he was kept at the Edinburgh Ministry jail. He couldn't even be sent to the Kennel (officially known as the Magical Sentient Creatures Penitentiary) until they determined his legal status.

For this, Lupin was privately grateful. Despite all his good intentions and his clear conscience, Lupin knew he wouldn't be able to survive two nights on that cursed island. Even Sirius barely salvaged his sanity by being an Animagus; Lupin had nothing. He knew that eventually, he would go to Azkaban, but he thanked goodness it wasn't then.

A week had passed since the arrest, but it seemed only yesterday since Lupin stood in the Department for Magical Law Enforcement and turned himself in. Everything had whipped by in a devil's whirlwind, moving more quickly than Lupin could comprehend. He would have probably understood more, if he were fully conscious at the time.

The Registry deemed Lupin "unstable" for management; officers keep him dutifully drugged throughout his court visit.

His initial appearance in court was a blur before his eyes; as of now, he couldn't recall the magistrate or even the courtroom he stood in. He remembered voices: some shouted, some sneered, some murmured, and some mused in questioning tones. The magistrate's voice came into his ears like and echo and left just as quickly. Words like "malice," "intent," "mens rea," and "indictment" reached his ears. On behalf of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, the Ministry had filed charges against him with enough evidence to have his case reviewed in front of the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures.

Nothing could be decided as yet. He couldn't even make his plea until his legal status was determined.

But, as he lay on the cot, Crouch's laughter returned to his ears. "This is human justice for God-fearing men!"

Lupin checked his watch. A conference about his case was scheduled for five o' clock. Since Lupin was bereft of any gold to his name, the courts appointed a barrister for him. Depending on how his legal status is decided, this barrister may only be a temporary one. Beasts usually don't have representation.

His barrister was now running fifteen minutes late.

A nondescript guard approached his cell. "Hey, you're out." Waving his wand, the latch to the cell door opened and Lupin got up. Another motion of the guard's hand and a set of shackles appeared floating in mid-air. He took those and locked up Lupin's wrists and feet, then latched a chain between the two shackles. Thus bound, Lupin was led out of the cell and through the cellblock.

Coming to a prisoner conference room on one of the upper floors, the guard opened the door and let Lupin walk past him. The room was of painted cinderblocks and dull lighting, with a scarred table in the middle and a couple of chairs. Another guard stood beside the door, arms crossed. His face wore a granite mask.

"One hour," his escort reminded Lupin's defense and shut the door. Lupin stood in the doorway, stunned as his barrister greeted him.

"Hello," Samuel Harper said. "Sorry I'm late, I had some business to attend to."

Lupin raised his eyes heavenwards. Someone must be laughing up there.

Harper held out his hand to him from across the table. Lupin accepted it with a feeling of repetition and he found that the barrister's hands were freezing. Lupin noticed that Harper's nose and ears were still red, as if he had just come back in from the cold.

They stood awkwardly for a few moments. Then, Harper pulled out a chair for Lupin and plunked himself across from him.

"I read your, um, your case file last week," he said, "And I was just conferring with the prosecution about the best course to take." He opened up his briefcase and took out the file, which he flipped open and lay flat on the table. Lupin noticed the slight rolling of the "R's" when he spoke; the Scottish tongue was slowly rubbing off on the Englishman.

Harper cracked a nervous half-grin. "We could... we could write up an affidavit...It's a start anyway." Drawing out a scroll, he took out a piece of parchment and laid it flat on the table.

"And on this affidavit, I write out my story?"

"Naturally. Well, at least everything you say. You don't have to second-guess yourself on anything. I mean, do you want to go over your story first? Wait, maybe we should go over what you want to put down..."

Seeing Harper fret, Lupin put a hand on the paper and said calmly, "I know my story well enough. Would you like to hear?"

"Most certainly. Sure, why not?" Harper shuffled through his briefcase and got out a Quick Quotes Quill. Licking the tip, he then balanced the point at the top of the paper.

Lupin cleared his throat. "I've never properly sorted anything out," he admitted. Other than with Sirius, he had never told anything about the night he bit Mary.

"Perfectly fine. The quill edits as it writes, and we'll give it a run down before you sign it." Harper said, gaining some assurance. Lupin had a feeling that Harper was used to writing up affidavits and stuck with familiar territory. "I'll ask you the questions, and the quill will write up the responses. Sound fair?"

"The fairest thing I've heard all day."

"All right then. State your name, age, birthplace and occupation for the record."

"My name is Remus Jacob Lupin. I'm 36 years old, born outside of Hogsmeade, and my last occupation was the Defense for the Dark Arts teaching position at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry."

"Where were you on October 17^th of last year?"

"I was in the town of Havenshire."

"What were you doing there?"

"I travel from town to town on occasion, and wanted to rest for a short time in the village."

"Why were you traveling?"

"Why?" Lupin paused in thought. "When one gets accustomed to being homeless, he has to find something to do with his time."

"You're homeless?" said Harper, surprised.

"No, I actually have a nice flat over by Southampton." Lupin gave a rueful smile, which relaxed both of them. "I mean, yes, I haven't owned property for some years now, since I had to sell my last flat ten years ago."

"But where did you live?"

"Around. The finest education is a journeyman's one." Lupin shrugged it off.

"How did you survive?"

"Surprisingly well," Lupin supplied. "I established a circuit of homeless shelters that I travelled to and fro. There was a system I used while rooting out jobs - Muggle or magical - where the towns I searched in had at least some form of refuge for the unfortunate. When I couldn't find any work, I would branch off from my normal routine and meander down the rustic train lines, looking for new opportunities."

"So you could never hold up a job long enough?"

"Nothing magical at least. I was a cab driver for half a year in London," Lupin answered wistfully. "And I tutored Professor Albus Dumbledore's great-nephews for a year or so."

"Really? Was that how you got the teaching job at Hogwarts?"

"A bit. I wandered for a couple more years before Prof. Dumbledore could track me down for the DADA spot. I wasn't sure why he wanted me for it, since I was fired from the tutoring position."

"Why were you fired?"

"Because of my condition. When the parents found out, I was fired. I didn't want Dumbledore telling them... Being a werewolf is not something I deny, but rather something I like to keep to myself..." Lupin cleared his throat.

"What d'you mean by that exactly?"

"Even if a person knows beforehand, even if they don't realise it, many... presumptions are made." Lupin explained. "I would rather inform a person when I feel that they are ready to handle it, and judge me then."

Moving on quickly, he said, "So I was greatly surprised that Prof. Dumbledore offered me the job when he did, considering how his relations acted towards me."

"I see." Both Harper and Lupin watched as the Quick Quotes Quill took that down. "So, you were in Havenshire. Then what happened?"

"I first I slept at their church until about... five o'clock. Then I left to get some provisions. The general store was closed, so I went to the tavern for food. Instead of getting food, however, I found myself drinking."

"Do you drink often, Mr. Lupin?"

"No. Only on the full moons, because I take alcohol with Phenobarbital to induce sleep. Drinking that night was the stupidest of mistakes; I regret it ever since." Deciding to toy with the barrister a bit, he said seriously, "I'm sure you don't drink much."

"No, never," Harper agreed vehemently, then: "Well, I do... during special occasions... I'm a social drinker." A pause. "Who happens to be very social."

"Certainly, Mr. Harper." Inside he was laughing.

Going on with his story, Lupin said, "I drank too much. I think I was under a depressed spell at the time - I remember that my thoughts weren't the brightest during that period. I had gotten fired from Hogwarts, and I had tried all summer to attain another line of work and failed. Everything was turning black for me, and the feeling of sadness only grew with the fact that everything was going relatively well beforehand."

Not to mention the fact that Peter was out there, working for Voldemort, and that his friend Sirius disappeared with his hippogriff for parts unknown. Lupin, essentially, had lost contact with everyone over the summer. He didn't write to Dumbledore out of shame for betraying his trust all year. He didn't send owls to Harry out of insecurity about whether he wanted to go beyond the formal teacher/student relationship they shared. Looking back, Lupin could see how everything had piled up, one after another, until he found himself thinking into ruts of loneliness and depression.

"I blamed my condition more so then than I had for a long time. So I got myself properly smashed in a way that only miserable people can."

Lupin saw that Harper was drawn in completely by his tale. Feeling somewhat self-conscious at such attention, he ploughed on.

"I stepped out of the bar, thinking I could go back to the church and sleep on the pews. I thought I could handle myself; never did I realize how drunk I was. Then, I saw the full moon; because of my depression, I...I didn't note the date. I remember falling into an alleyway... the transformation... then..."

Golden curls and questioning blue eyes. A little form, almost doll-like, approached him. Crouching down, reaching her small fingers to stroke his fur...

"Doggie, are you okay?"

Deep within him, Lupin could feel the wolf stirring, dark and foul beneath his skin. His eyes closed, trying to fight back the memory. The hunger and the pain and the urge to clamp down upon soft, human flesh--

"Mr. Lupin, are you okay?"

He opened his eyes and saw Harper half-out of his chair, a hand hesitantly reaching for his arm. Lupin was surprised at Harper's reaction; the barrister must have thought the same, for he sat back down quickly. "You looked faint," he explained weakly. "Like you were going to pass out."

Lupin cleared his throat. "I'm all right. Thank you."

"I should have got some water for you." Harper turned to the guard and began, "Um, could- could we have some water-?"

"Don't bother." He waved a dismissive hand. "She came to my wolf while it was passed out," Lupin finished. "He woke up and attacked her out of hunger."

"But you never had the intention for your wolf to hunt that night?"

"Absolutely not. The date completely slipped my mind."

Harper nodded as if in agreement.

Lupin's talk progressed into the next half hour. He explained his time with Mary - every single detail - from finding her following him in Cambridge three days later, to living at the Safehouse with Claire, to all the pleasantries they shared together.

The only exemptions he made dealt with any incidents regarding Sirius. For instance, instead of naming him as part of his motive for going to the Triwizard Tournament, he listed aiding Harry as his primary goal. The weeks spent with Sirius and Mary in Brighton was significantly shortened as well; Lupin didn't want any harm to come to Sirius that would stem from mentioning him in his affidavit.

Somehow, telling Harper about his friends made their memories clearer and happier to him. Before, those memories were gloomy recollections of things forever lost; now each shone like a private gem. Mary laughing as she splattered green paint all over their robes. Claire sitting next to him, her hand guiding his as they read some legal jargon out loud in her office. Sirius standing on the edge of Mary's bed, making faces as he told her bedtime stories.

The young barrister paid attention through it all, right down to the final moments, when Lupin spoke of taking Mary to the hovel on the Brighton beachside and shooting that silver bullet through her heart.

"It was the most painful moment in my life," he whispered. "I felt that a part of myself was extinguished at the moment." His eyes focused on a barren corner of the room.

The room was silent. Harper reached over and laid out another sheet of parchment for the quill to write on. Already, twelve pages were taken up in tiny script.

"What happened after?"

"I wandered. I took a janitorial job for a while." He paused. Would it be the correct to tell Harper about his other self? The decision was entirely up to him; he could either tell Harper about Ridley, or drop it entirely.

No, Lupin decided privately to himself. Ridley wasn't him. He was another person, a person whom Lupin didn't want to admit was part of him - and could very well still exist somewhere. But no, he didn't want to talk about Ridley. Ridley was dead.

Thus, Lupin moved on.

"Still, I wanted to know that Mary would be safe. She had been my concern for so long that without her, I felt... lost." Discomfort about revealing himself so openly quieted his voice. Lupin didn't speak for some minutes.

Harper scratched the back of his head nervously and tried getting the conversation started again.

"So...um... Why did you turn yourself in, Mr. Lupin?"

More than anything else, Lupin wanted to talk about the Ashwinders. Though his visions were almost gone by now, the effect they had upon him never left. He was eager to get this truth out of it; it burst at the walls of his brain with heart-pounding anticipation. For some reason, Lupin wished the stokers were there to listen to him; they would understand him so much better than Harper would.

He tried the same act he pulled on the psychiatrist at St. Mungo's. "Do you believe in miracles?"

"Yes," Harper answered immediately.

Lupin gave him a look of amazement. "That's the fastest answer I've gotten from you yet, Mr. Harper."

The barrister's face flushed. "Well, that's not a bad thing, is it?" He hesitated, before adding, "I was thinking the exact same thing just before our meeting. Miracles. Heh. What a coincidence." Then, he prompted, "Enough about that. What do you mean?"

Lupin wet his lips and took a moment to choose his words. Very carefully, he said, "I experienced a... a personal revelation, you could call it, before I turned myself in."

"What happened?"

He simply stated, "I saw my guilt. That I was wrong, and the only way to correct it was to repent."

"You saw your guilt?" Harper said. "Like, an abstract concept actually having a physical shape?" He moved his hands while saying this, trying to form some solid structure out of air.

"Yes."

"Well, you know, my, um, my master barrister used to have this saying, 'Try to hit the high notes.' Not that I really listen to my former master barrister anymore," he amended hastily. Lupin could sense the hint of disgust in Harper's voice at mentioning the man. "Well, what I'm trying to say is that elaboration is fun. You know, kick in that old creativity now and then wouldn't hurt. Where were you? What was your motivation? Did you see anything, hear anything?"

"Serpents."

"What?"

"I saw serpents," he repeated darkly. "And there was a burning stench in the air, like the smell of a thousand roasting corpses. In my ears were the screams of countless millions and the raspy stirring of scales rubbing against the cold, stone floor." Lupin rose from his seat, slowly, as he said this. "And there, lying racked in the deadening folds of agony, locked between two conflicting worlds, I saw something. A light. A glory. The truth. I was a child again and I was running through the woods."

Lupin was standing by now, leaning forward toward the young barrister with both hands pressed down on the table. "It was the night I was bitten, and I could hear the wolf - Lycaos - gaining," he murmured in a rough voice. "My heart pounded the drumbeat of my slipping life, as it grew weaker and weaker. In my eyes all I could see was the boggy ground outside Hogsmeade. I looked behind me and could see the monster overcoming five steps in one bound, his yellow teeth dripping with spittle and the blood of my father..."

And the cattails blowing in the wind, and Lycaos howling from afar. Lycaos was coming, he had to run! The ground swept beneath him - his laboured breathing thundered in his ears - his throat was going dry - and he fell - his father's cross tumbled out of his grip....

"And that was when I saw my guilt," he finished lightly. Lupin smiled. "Now how's that for the theatrical?"

Harper gaped up at him with wide eyes that made his few years even more evident. Quickly shutting his mouth, he gave a quick nod. "That'll do," he squeaked.

"Good." Lupin sat back down.

Harper straightened up in his seat, seemed to take quite adjusting his position and the lapels of his jacket before continuing.

"Mr. Lupin," he ventured. "How did you feel about Ms. Grisham?"

"I loved her," he replied sincerely. "There is nothing greater I can say about her, Mr. Harper, other than the fact that I loved her. And I still do."

"Did you view anything you have done to her with malicious intent?"

"Only my wolf. Never myself as a human being."

"I think we have everything we need," he said. Together, they reviewed what was written, which stick fairly close with Lupin's words. Then, Harper took the parchment from the table and picked up the quill. With a flourish, Harper scribbled on the end, "Signed under the PAINS and PENALTIES of PERJURY," along with the date.

"Just sign at the X," he said.

Without hesitation, Lupin signed his full name on the dotted line above. Instantly, the scroll rolled up and a wax seal was stamped on the edge. "There we go." Harper tucked it in his briefcase.

"May I ask a question, Mr. Harper?"

"Um, sure."

"Have you heard from her?"

"Oh... you mean, Ms. Grisham?"

"Yes." He waited.

"Well, um, I actually have received some information about her whereabouts..." Harper said not unhappily. "She's been shafted from place to place for awhile, when the Registry couldn't list her status, but I think she ended up at St. Anne's Home for Wayward Magical Orphans, down south."

"An orphanage?"

"The Ministry wanted to keep her as their witness. In the case you were ever found..."

Or perhaps they mean to keep her indefinitely, Lupin thought to himself. The Muggle world still thinks her dead, then... "And what of her parents?"

"No clue." Harper bit his lip and added hurriedly, "I've seen pictures. Of the Home, I mean. Nice place. Reminds me of an American homestead, with the big grassy lawn and the white picket fence. There's an oak tree in the front, with a wooden swing," he said helpfully. "It doesn't look like a terrible spot to live in."

Lupin stared off for a few moments. "I see..."

After all this time, and the answer was so simple! He had no idea where St. Anne's whas, but if he could get there....

The thought was trampled in its infancy. No, he would not try and see he. He couldn't.

"Now we move onto the second order of business." Running a hand through his thatched-cut hair, Harper explained, "The charges the prosecution are filing against you is malicious attack with intent to kill. It's a hefty charge, even if the victim was only a Muggle. Muggles rarely have any consideration under wizard law; this is one of the rare exceptions. But the prosecution wants to cut a deal with us."

"Already?"

"Eighty-five percent of all cases end with pleas bargains," Harper said, listing the fact as if reading it from a textbook. "They never see the light of a courtroom, never pass in front of the judge's eyes."

Lupin nodded, unsure what to expect.

"I can get eighteen years," he said.

"What?"

"Eighteen years, instead of usual twenty-five." Harper cleared his throat. His left hand tapped on the table anxiously. "You might get off sooner for good behavior."

This took awhile for Lupin to absorb. "Eighteen years?"

"Yes, Mr. Lupin."

Then, stillness reigned. Harper's fingers rapped out an aimless tune against the polished wood.

Lupin couldn't decide whether to believe Harper or not. Eighteen years? Sirius had suffered for twelve in Azkaban, and Lupin could recall how hollow and empty his friend's eyes had become at times, in the dark hours at night when they had been together in Scotland. Was he destined to become worse than that? Eighteen years was long, but if that was his time...

"That is, if we get what we want during the hearing," Harper added abruptly.

"The hearing."

Harper gave a stiff nod. His drumming increased in intensity and volume as time passed. "The, um, the courts are going to have a special hearing in about three days... to see if you qualify as a being under wizard law." Harper cleared his throat again; Lupin wondered if he needed a drink. Then, recalling the whisky bottle Harper kept in his desk, Lupin figured that he just might.

"Please, I need to have time to think about all this." Lupin propped an elbow on the table and leaned his forehead against his hand. "You're saying that I have a chance at avoiding the Dementor's Kiss if I qualify as a being and plead guilty?"

Harper nodded quickly. Now the tapping had progressed into rhythmic pounding of all four fingers against the table. Lupin tried to ignore it as the barrister explained. "You're, um, you're a really special case, Mr. Lupin, since your birth qualifies you as a wizard, but your, um... condition says otherwise." Finally, Harper slapped his hand on the table. "Listen, do you mind if I take a smoke?"

"Oh, well, no, I wouldn't."

Giving a sigh of relief, Harper took out a cigarette and lit it up by touching its tip to the end of his wand. "Thank the gods," he muttered, taking a drag. "I'm sorry about that. I've been trying to quit for awhile, but it's quite difficult."

"I see," said Lupin. The memory about how they first met, when Harper had let a smoking cigarette light his desk on fire came to his mind. "Bad habits are hard to break then?"

"You learn a lot of bad habits when going into law," Harper joked. Hastily, he added, "But I've had a lot of experience."

"Oh really?" Lupin couldn't help asking, knowing otherwise.

"No, not a, not a bad sort of experience. This is my sixth year here at the Ministry," Harper told him in an assured tone.

Six years was an awfully long time for one to be apprenticed, Lupin thought.

"I see," he replied dryly. "Can you tell me about any certain strategy you are going to use?"

"There hasn't been much case law to go on, but there's a clause or two which I have up my sleeve," Harper assured him. "And some documents that I'm pulling from your personal file. I hope you don't mind," he added quickly. "I'm not trying to snoop into your life or anything, but a barrister has to do what he has to do. Yet I can tell you this," he went on hastily, "once we've got you recognized as a being, then you can have every bit of confidence that I will get you as far away from the Dementor's Kiss as possible." He grinned as the smoke drifted in front of his dark eyes like dragon's breath. "Only eighteen years, you know. You'll still have the rest of your life to live."

***

" 'Only eighteen years, you know. You'll still have the rest of your life to live!' " Harper slammed down his briefcase at his desk and slumped into his seat. Smashing the stub of his cigarette into a half-filled mug of cold coffee, he then put his head in his hands.

"What kind of idiot says something like that?" It was probably enough to make a fool of himself in front of Mr. Lupin. Simply wonderful. He would bet that Mr. Lupin trusted him now.

Giving a sigh, Harper drew out his wand and flicked his wrist at the mug. Its contents disappeared. He still had to figure out a way to break the habit too; smoking was not allowed at Nemesis Courthouse.

Despite his higher standing, Harper still worked from his cubicle; only barristers who have earned their place at the Ministry get their own offices. Over his desk was a sign one of his friends had given to him as a gift for his new position at the Ministry. The sign was picked up while the friend was visiting relations in West Virginia; on it were the words: "NO TRESPASSING: SOLICITORS WILL BE SHOT."

Stacked on opposite sides of the desk to distribute the weight correctly were several large leather-bound tomes of case law he borrowed from the department's library. Harper had trucked through about half of them in the past week, and he came up with very little in favor of werewolves.

And what a werewolf he was defending! Harper had never met one before, and the thought of seeing Mr. Lupin rattled his confidence a bit. He didn't know who to feel sorry for more: Mr. Lupin or himself. He was surprised that the werewolf took the plea bargain so well. Then again, the werewolf was nicer to him than some of his own colleagues. For some reason, Mr. Lupin felt awfully familiar, but Harper couldn't place his finger on it. Déjà vu was a belief he didn't subscribe to though, so he quickly dismissed any odd feelings about his client.

Maybe it was his naïveté talking, but Mr. Lupin didn't seem so horrid as the charges made him out to be. When he spoke about Ms. Grisham, it brought out a side of him that would make him seem likeable to anyone. Mr. Lupin's eyes would grow distant and vague, and his voice became very gentle, almost reverent at time, and then loud and joyful at others. Harper wondered what kind of people Lupin knew who would bring such happiness to him in memory.

Pure rage was what Harper expected when he uttered Mr. Lupin's possible sentence, and look, he was still alive to say it again. Perhaps it was Fortuna's grace smiling down on him that prevented Harper from getting creamed upon proposing that his client should go stay with the Dementors for almost two decades. Harper should be thanking his lucky stars right about now.

Azkaban was the only option with any shred of hope. Harper dreaded the other option, and was glad that Mr. Lupin didn't inquire about it. Still, in the back of his mind, Harper knew this: if Mr. Lupin were to be judged under beast law, the circumstances would be entirely different. Beasts had no souls, and therefore, wizards justified more physical punishments. Most likely, Mr. Lupin would end up going to the chopping block at dawn if he went to trial as a beast.

The poor man, Harper thought. Or poor beast, um, person, creature... guy...

He lugged the first tome of case law onto the desk. A flurry of dust was sent up when he cracked open the cover. Coughing, Harper turned to the back of the book for the beast laws. He fished a cigarette from his pocket and lit it. It was going to be a long night.

Chapter 27

Time passed quickly, and on the day of the hearing, Lupin woke up and smiled. He didn't know why he did - maybe it was an expression of relief. No more waiting, no more uncertainties. Today was the day.

"He's neurotic," the guard whispered. "Look at him sitting there, smiling to himself."

"Finally, he's starting to break down," agreed his companion as they unlocked the gate. "I was starting to get worried for awhile."

They checked his shackles again, and then led him down into a small room outside the jail area called the "Transport Room." No Apparating in and out the courthouse was allowed, but transportation to and from the institution was made through a quick spell that lead to the "docks," a small area separate from the courthouse where prisoners came and went.

On the way to the Transport Room, Lupin saw a dumpy form down the hall heading to the elevator. It was Lottie Gordon. Lupin checked the time; she was staying much later than her usual shift. He wondered why.

He wished that he could have called out her name, but found that it would have been useless. Lottie had no idea who he was when he was Remus Lupin. Lupin wondered when she received Douglas Ridley's letter of resignation, or whether Mr. Burtman told her that Ridley had pulled a nutty in his office.

The three of them walked into the tight room, where another guard gave them the signal for Apparating. A wand was waved and the room swirled into mist and cold before appearing into a room identical only in appearance.

Stepping out onto the docks, Lupin saw the place packed tighter than a box of Fizzing Whizzbees. Wizards and witches came not only from Edinburgh but as far off as Cardiff and Belfast, where the other UK MoM branches were located. One could tell where each prisoner came from by the colours of the jailer's uniforms: orange and navy blue were from Northern Ireland, light blue and white came from Wales, and the Edinburgh guards sported black outfits trimmed with tartan red.

Walking through the crowd, Lupin could tell who were the defendants, not only by their dress, but by their looks; they were the ones with tense, worried faces. Only one or two were shackled like him with escorts. Lupin saw nothing but fear in their eyes.

From the docks, the group funnelled down through three large doors into the actual courthouse. Lupin expected the Nemesis Courthouse to have a regal, solemn air, like a church. He could never be more wrong. The Nemesis Courthouse was a sprawling stone and marble building with vaulted ceilings that made even the slightest noise echo. People swarmed thicker than flies on a week-old carcass, moving in and out. More MLES officers were escorting shackled wizards; others, presumably on bail, moved freely alongside their barristers. Everyone, except for the officers and those without bail, were dressed as if going off to job interviews. A low noise filled the air with a hundred voices murmuring and the rustle of starched robes and the dull click, click, click of shined shoes along the corridors.

All of them entered down a ramp separate from the lobby that lead to the basement of the courthouse. Here, the walls were cut dry stone and the floors were made of cold and clammy cement. The MLES officers moved them down a broad hallway to the large jail cell area the colour of dirty mayonnaise. The barred door was opened and they were pushed through, like cattle, and then locked up.

The few others with him quickly sat on the wooden benches facing away from each other. Lupin took his place at the end of a crowded bench. He tried not to look at the others. The prisoners had a dry, hollow presence around them, as if the legal system stripped all sense of hope from their spirits. All of them were older than Lupin, except for one girl, who looked no older than fifteen.

"Hey," she greeted, sliding next to him. "What are you in for?"

Lupin didn't even look at her. He didn't want to look at anything but the cold, hard cement. He wanted to be alone.

"No one talks here," the female prisoner continued lightly. "D'you wonder why?"

"Perhaps they have their own difficulties which mute them," Lupin replied shortly.

"I killed my Mum and Daddy," the girl said flatly.

Startled, Lupin turned. "What?"

"Daddy was mean," she insisted. "He deserved to die. And Mum just got in the way. She couldn't help it; she got in the way." The girl leaned in until her side pressed against his. Closing in so that her mouth was next to his ear, she whispered, "Now it's your turn. What'd you do?"

"I'd rather not say." Getting to his feet, Lupin walked over to the other side of the pen and sat on the other bench. The girl got up and followed him.

"Daddy didn't like me going out with other men. He said I was too young to be with them." She moved to sit in front of him and stared large, bovine eyes. "He said I shouldn't date. But I wasn't dating." She bent forward and Lupin shuffled back uncomfortably. "I was having sex. Lots and lots of sex." She said it so that the word hissed out between her cracked lips.

Then, she added lowly, "You look an awful lot like Daddy."

"Mr. Lupin." Harper was at the barred gate, tapping against it with one hand.

Lupin made his way over to the gate post-haste, trying not to acknowledge the psychotic teen behind him. "Are we up soon?"

"In about half an hour." Harper motioned for the guard to unlock the gate. He did, and Lupin said to the guard, "Thank you. Thank you very, very much."

They walked down the hall, following the guard past a wooden divider to a set of table and chairs for them to confer together one last time. As he sat, Lupin saw that Harper's face was flushed, and for a moment Lupin feared he had been drinking. "Are you feeling well?"

"Me? Well?" answered his barrister. "Yeah. Sure. Why not? I'm fine. Fine. Fine. Fine. In fact, more than fine. I'm finer." He paused, and then prompted, "Readytogo?"

"Um... yes..." He hesitated. "You look a bit riddled up today."

"Oh, if I was lucky, I'd get some gum," said Harper. "A swell mate told me about chewing gum to calm the nerves. He works at Edinburgh, somewhere, I think he's a janitor, but I haven't seen him around in a while, but anyway, I can't be chewing gum on my first case in Nemesis Courthouse oh no, oh no, I don't think so!"

Lupin said slowly, "I think you should sit down for a bit."

"Splendid idea! Simply splendid!" Harper slipped into his chair and fell forward, tucking his head between his knees.

"Mr. Harper!"

The barrister wheezed loudly for several minutes beneath the table before sticking his head up again. "I'm just peachy keen," he replied pleasantly. "And you?"

"Doing well," Lupin answered, giving him a wary glance.

His barrister's current state was far from court behaviour. "We could always delay the hearing," Lupin supplied.

"I can't do that."

"Call in sick, file a motion, anything. I'm not sure I want my counsel in near hysterics fifteen minutes before he goes in."

"I only have to relax." Harper breathed in and closed his eyes. "Some trick a janitor friend taught me. He helped me pass the bar exam, y'know. I haven't seem him around lately, though; I wonder where Doug Ridley went..." Giving his head a rough shake, he closed his eyes and mumbled a mantra to himself.

"It's all a waterfall... down at the ankles... rising up to the knees..."

Recognizing it as the waterfall exercise he once showed him, Lupin kept quiet.

"You should see me when I'm not stressed," Harper said. "I don't even know why I'm so apprehensive. I'm feeling great. Marvelous. Goddamn magnificent."

Trying to refocus his barrister's nerves, he asked, "Is there anything I should know when I go out there?"

"Oh, yeah! You're going to be there too, aren't you?" Harper put a hand to his temple and shook his head a bit. "Ye gods, I've never been this nervous before. It's giving me a headache... but when did I ever get headaches like this...?" He blinked rapidly and rubbed his eyes.

"Mr. Harper," said Lupin steadily. "Did you take anything before coming here?"

"Excuse me? Never mind, whatever I said." Harper straightened up and instructed, "There shouldn't be a problem at all. Just sit tight and look innocent. No talking. Be polite. Pretend that you're meeting your in-laws for the first time, then multiply that by a hundred and you won't have a thing to worry about." He was talking slower now, and looking more comfortable, though still feverish. Lupin decided not to rattle his barrister's composure further by asking any more needless questions.

"I'm... I'm going up," he prompted himself. "See you inside."

Harper rose, more or less unsteadily, and picked up his briefcase. Lupin gave him a nod before he departed.

When he left, Lupin remained with a pair of court guards. He looked at them and they looked at him. One nodded, then so did the other and Lupin was pulled out of his chair and stuck between them.

Moving past the pen, they received little notice from the other prisoners, except for that murderess who spoke to him earlier. She grinned and gave him a thumbs-up.

Someone called out behind him, "Dead wolf walking." Lupin arched his neck to catch whom it was, but was shoved forward.

He was brought back upstairs and walked down the hallway past other courtrooms. Some were overflowing; through court doors left ajar, he could hear attorneys arguing, and the courtroom clerks calling out announcements. Only one courtroom was unoccupied. The double doors were thrown back so that one could see its vast proportions. It was designed like a small stadium, with rows and rows of seats circling the small area in the middle. The judge's podium sat as if on great wooden haunches before the centre. There, right in the middle, was an iron-backed chair with steel rivets.

Lupin took a quick breath as he recognized the War Tribunal, the court where Bartemius Crouch presided over accused Death Eaters. It was where Sirius was sentenced to life in Azkaban, without even a proper trial. "This is human justice..."

Moving past the War Tribunal, Lupin came to the end of the corridor, where his hearing was being announced.

Stepping in, he saw Harper and the prosecutor sitting in their individual counsel tables on either side of the courtroom. Harper gave him a stiff smile as Lupin sat down.

The courtroom was vast and regally designed. The room was bright with the light of fifty witch fires coloured gold and red. These torches were always burning and emitted no smoke. Tapestries of wizards fighting various monsters hung over the smooth walls of stone. Etched into three marble columns along the back wall were smooth. A Chinese Fireball wrapped itself around the column to the furthest right. A unicorn with flowing tresses reared up on the column on the opposite corner. The middle column had the image of a phoenix pressed into the stone; set in its eyes were giant red rubies that broke the light into a hundred dazzling fractures. A little ways in front of this column was the raised judge's bench made of golden brown wood. The seal for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures was carved on the front of the bench. Beside it was a giant, gothic chair with for the witness, and located in front and off to the right was a smaller chair for the court clerk.

The bailiff, a graceful West Indies woman with her hair tied back in a bun, stepped forward. "All rise and remain standing!"

From a door by the bench, an immense figure in red-toned robes emerged. His build was more like a caddy cart with a sheet thrown over it than an actual body; he did not look obese, but simply immense, as if he could ram down the court doors with his head. The judge lumbered up to the steps to his seat and sat down. Unlike the British Muggle courts, he sported no powdered wig, and neither did either of the barristers.

"Hear ye! Hear ye!" said the bailiff. "This hearing of the Ministry of Magic is now in session, the Honourable Judge Solomon Minos presiding. All persons having business herein can now be heard. You may be seated."

As one being, they sat. Then, she announced, "Calling criminal case number 765-876-934: The UK Ministry of Magic vs. Remus Lupin. May the defense and prosecution please rise and approach the judge. Please state your appearances for the record."

Harper shot up from his seat.

"Samuel Harper, representing the defendant," he chirped.

The prosecutor rose and drawled, "Hogarth Borden, representing the Ministry's interests."

"This hearing is being conducted upon the matter of Mr. Lupin's legal status. Mr. Harper, what would you have to state?"

"My- my client respectfully asks to be considered under being status by wizarding law, Your Lord."

Borden turned his head and let a lazy grin cross his face. Harper flashed a shaky smile in return and stood up straighter.

This all gave Lupin a discomforting feeling. Was counsel supposed to share expressions during the hearing? Perhaps Borden was Harper's mentor?

The prosecutor lifted his statue with a lazy air and said, "Your Lord, Mr. Lupin's status as it stands now has always been under beast recognition and should not be ignored. Such a suggestion otherwise is preposterous."

"That- that is not true," Harper defended. "I have documented proof of Lupin's being status." He held up a small scroll. "Why I have right in my hand a birth certificate proclaiming my client's status as a human being--"

"A birth certificate is irrelevant information at this time, Mr. Harper," Borden cut off smugly. He gave Harper a disapproving eye. Seeing that, Harper drew back his extended arm. "I have a copy of Mr. Lupin's werewolf registration right here, which overrides your birth certificate."

Magistrate Minos grunted. "Let the defence and prosecution present both documents to the bench."

Harper promptly moved forward, but Borden lagged behind with easy-paced steps. The magistrate took both scrolls and unrolled them.

"As you can see, Your Lord, Mr. Lupin's registration as a werewolf is the mark of the beast." The prosecutor handed over a second scroll from his jacket. "And this is a copy of the Werewolf Code of Conduct agreement, signed at the time of Mr. Lupin's registration at the Registry by his guardian Murphy Brundy acknowledging his awareness of Mr. Lupin's changed legal status and his obligations to abide by the Code."

Magistrate Minos inquired, "The court assumes that Mr. Lupin was still a minor at that time and thus unable to sign himself?"

"That is correct, Your Lord."

Harper turned to Borden. "Were, um, there any other versions of the Code agreement?"

Lupin caught a moment of actual surprise on the prosecutor's part. "Not on record at the Edinburgh branch of the Registry."

"May the, the, uh, prosecution admit, then, that, um, Mr. Lupin did not sign another copy of the Code when he became of age because he was not considered under beast status?" Harper turned back to the magistrate and continued, leaving Borden with an affronted expression on his face.

"And here- here's a copy of Mr. Lupin's school registrar," countered Harper, presenting another scroll, "which acknowledged his acceptance to the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in 1971. It's signed by Albus P.W.B. Dumbledore, who became his new guardian when Mr. Brundy passed away. According to Code of Wand Use, Clause 3, no non-being is allowed the use of a wand. Mr. Lupin, however, had been accepted and taught at the school under consideration as a being. His beast status was then changed, as marked on the registrar."

It looked like Harper truly knew something after all! Lupin watched from his seat, more reassured than before.

The judge took all the documents at hand adjusted his spectacles. Looking through them, he asked, "Have these documents been sent in duplication for court records?"

"Yes, Your Lord," the barristers said in unison, and Harper shrunk away from Borden's gaze. By now, Borden's fat face changed from sincere mentor to something not quite as friendly.

"Your Lord!" he burst out, chins flapping. "We must keep in mind the circumstances surrounding the case. A girl was brutally attacked, and no--"

"Which, um, brings me to another point," said Harper. Borden shot him a dirty look beneath the judge's nose and Harper flinched. "Well, um, I would, um, uh...."

"You are saying?" the judge grumbled.

"That- that- that-" His stammer got worse while Borden pasted on another cheerful face to replace that one which rotted on his features.

"Your Lord, the defendant's counsel does not acknowledge the basic facts of the case," Borden said in a voice so sweet that one could drip it on his pancakes for breakfast. "Under the Werewolf Code of Conduct, it states that 'all attacks against humans, whether accidental or otherwise, should be the fault of the werewolf, for it is the werewolf's responsibility to ensure the public's safety from his or her wolf.' Now, granted, although Mr. Harper's legal documents may have some validity to them, they cannot supersede an established Code which the creature has to abide by since he had been bitten."

Lupin noted the stress on the word "creature" and turned his eyes to the ground, containing his emotion. He glanced up again to see Harper visibly upset over those words, almost foolishly so. The fervour was drained from his face, and Lupin could see his face shining with sweat. The poor boy--! Lupin clenched his hands around the edges of his seat and almost willed with his soul for Harper to gain back some of his assertiveness.

Harper swayed a bit, as if it were a physical strike against him, and put a hand on the bench. "Your... Your Lord, may I bring up the recent case of the UK Ministry of Magic vs. Ianikit," he said in a wavering voice. He quickly wiped his brow with his sleeve. "In that case in question, the werewolf, Mr. Jarohnen Ianikit, committed a crime while in human form that was not held against his wolf--"

"And that crime was murder, just as Mr. Lupin almost committed murder," Mr. Borden pointed out.

"O-objection! The prosecution is going into the findings of the case! Murder was never my client's intent."

Both men stared at him. "You don't object during a hearing," the judge said dryly.

Harper could only nod. Lupin wanted to stand up and say something - the boy looked as if he were going to be sick, possibly out of frazzled nerves - but Lupin didn't dare break court rules. He wasn't supposed to say anything.

"And anyhow, those may be fast words, Mr. Harper, but hasty assumptions are quickly disproved." Turning a sly eye in the guise of a concerned look, Borden added, "I believe that the counsel's suggestion can barely hold water." The syrup returned as the prosecutor appealed to the judge once more. Harper, breathing in shallow breaths, could only focus on standing as Borden's argument overwhelmed the court.

"This case involves the welfare of a child, Your Lord. You must concern yourself with setting the precedent for attacks upon minors. May I bring up the case of Mansfield vs. Longfellow, where the victim in question was a thirteen year-old boy."

"How unfair are you going to be if you base this case on an incident that occurred 200 years ago!" Harper snapped, his face gone almost sallow.

"By my knowledge, the Werewolf Code of Conduct was written almost four hundred years ago and it's still in valid use," the magistrate rumbled.

This was all too much!

Lupin stood up. "Excuse me, Your Lord," he said.

The three of them stared at him in surprise, as if they had never expected to see him sitting there, listening as they discussed his fate.

"I would graciously ask for a few moments to speak with my counsel," Lupin said. "If that is allowed."

Judge Minos moved his great head. "I deem that a reasonable request." He cast a pitying eye upon Harper, who was floundering so much that he didn't even notice. "I'm granting a ten-minute recess to contemplate the presented evidence." He moved out of his seat and into his chambers with the scrolls, but not without a backwards glance at Harper. Borden settled back down at the table, trying to appear busy.

Lupin went over to Harper and pulled him into a chair at his table.

"Do you want to go on?" Lupin asked bluntly. "Maybe you need to go outside and take a smoke."

"Oh, it feels like Thor's pounding on my skull..." Harper shook his head exaggeratedly. His breath was coming out too slowly for Lupin's liking. "I don't need it. Seriously," he said, giving a scoff, "I have enough nicotine pumped into my system that a fag is the last thing on my mind." He gave a weak laugh, before taking out a handkerchief out to mop his brow again.

"What are you talking about?" demanded Lupin.

His barrister gestured to his left arm, which lay limp on the table. Lupin rolled up his sleeve and saw five small white patches along the inside of his forearm. "What's all this?" he demanded.

"Nicotine patches," Harper replied. "It's a Muggle thing I found. Pretty clever, isn't it?" He slumped back in his chair and watched him through half-lidded eyes.

"How many were you supposed to use?"

"Um... I dunno..." Harper put a hand to his forehead. "The instructions said one at the start of it..."

"One?"

"But one didn't work - I do a pack a day, you know - and so I thought if I upped the dosage a bit more..."

"When did you put those on?"

"This... this morning..."

"Mr. Harper, I suggest you take those off immediately!"

"Nonsense. This is the first time in months I've gone on this long without a cigarette..." Harper propped himself up against the table and stared at the empty bench. "Your Lord, if you may excuse me-"

Thump!

The barrister collapsed.

Oh God.

Lupin leapt from his seat and knelt by Harper's side, along with the bailiff. He jerked off the nicotine patched from the young man's forearm. They left sickly grey splotches on his skin.

"Merlin's beard, what happened?" the bailiff exclaimed.

"Call a doctor," Lupin said.

From across the room, Borden mildly asked, "Is there something wrong with Mr. Harper?"

Harper overdosed on nicotine. Lupin blinked in disbelief. If he had been someone else's attorney, Lupin would have thought it hilarious. Really, he would have.

The judge didn't seem shocked when he returned into the courtroom to see wizard paramedics put Harper on a stretcher and float him away. And from the pudgy grin that adorned Borden's face, Lupin had a sinking feeling that his legal status was not in his favour.

Chapter 28

The hearing's investigation stated that Remus Lupin, charged for malicious aggravated assault with the intent to kill, would be granted beast status for his upcoming trial. The judge declared the trial to be held in about six weeks.

All decisions made during the hearing were final. Legal status could not be reconsidered once the judge made his decision.

Since Lupin would be tried as a beast, he did not need legal representation anymore. And since he did not have legal representation anymore, he couldn't file any legal protest against his beast status.

Not that protesting mattered much by then. Lupin wasn't even sure if his legal representation (or was it former legal representation?) was coherent at the moment.

His footsteps echoed heavily in the sterile, white hallways. He was back in Edinburgh and the Registry was sending him down to the dungeon, the ancient stone and slime pits as old as Edinburgh itself. It was standard procedure to put potentially dangerous creatures in the most secure part of the building.

Lupin wondered how many werewolves before him were sent to the dungeons.

Up ahead, he saw a long figure standing in a closed hallway, mop in hand. His head lifted up for a moment, and then settled back down again. With the guards on either side of him, he passed by Lottie Gordon.

Lottie wasn't mopping, however. Her hands were locked stiff on the handle; she stood as frozen as if she saw a headless ghoul and not Remus Lupin. Raising his eyes a bit, he caught her gaze. Her face had gone stark pale, and her mouth was shaped in a perfect "O."

Why was she looking at him so? Was this her reaction upon seeing a werewolf and a criminal in the flesh? Or did she finally associate him with her former employee Douglas Ridley? No, the latter was impossible; Lupin had taken the greatest pains in preventing his true identity from being revealed. She couldn't know he had been her "Dougie."

Ruefully, Lupin gave Lottie a weak smile, as if sharing an inside joke, though only he knew the whole truth. Lottie's face didn't change; instead, she plopped her broom back into her suds bucket and gathered the whole thing in her arms, running away as fast as her boots could go. For some reason, Lupin felt a pang of sadness. A lass who had treated him so warmly by another name now shunned him.

Soon, they reached the subterranean level of the building, even lower than the Incinerator was. The walls were damp and the air reeked of mould. Lupin coughed once and hesitated on the stairwell, but one of the guards pushed him downwards.

Stumbling forward, Lupin nearly tripped and fell down the steps, but the other guard jerked him upright. "Lumos," came the whispers, and two lights filled the gloom. Quickly, Lupin was escorted down the narrow stairwell to the bottom where the dungeon was. A mounted torch of green flame was the only source of light; outside the sickly luminescence, was little more than a black void.

Was there a guard here? Lupin never realized this place existed; its location wasn't even pointed out on Lottie's maps. This place wasn't a dungeon; it was a tomb.

The guards' lights led them to a bolted steel door that was rusted along the edges. A small barred window near the top looked into oblivion.

Instantly, the revulsion rattled through his soul. This place of darkness, no light, no light... Oh, even the Incinerator was better than this, this Ministry pit of ashes! At least the Incinerator had light!

Lupin's stomach twisted in knots, and he took in a shaky breath. He stared upwards. Not even a grate looking up towards the sky was there, only nothingness.

"What about the full moon?" he asked the guards, addressing them for the first time.

"That matter is not of our concern," one of them replied. Then the door was shut.

For the first time since he turned himself in, Lupin felt his resolution slip. He sat down on something hard and slick and cold; a wet, sticky feeling seeped through the seat of his pants and touched his skin. Lupin jumped, then wiped sludge off his clothes, and then wiped his hands clean. He tucked his hands beneath his elbows, feeling anxiety forming in his chest.

Never before was there this darkness; not even when he was locked up in the tumbled-down Shrieking Shack in the days of his youth was it ever this dark. Lupin shut his eyes and swore that his sight remained more comfortable that way.

How long would he be in this mess? Until Harper recovers? That could take days, even as much as a week. For some reason, Lupin pondered whether the Ministry planned on leaving him in this dungeon indefinitely; a werewolf trapped in the eternal night. The thought put him in an uneasy state; Lupin began to pace, hunching his frame like an old man. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven - thump! His shoe hit the wall. Only seven paces wide? And how long?

Lupin turned around and looked about blindly, trailing his hand along the slippery walls until he felt the crack of the door once again. Lupin turned his head and saw nothing; the curiosity within him died. He didn't need to know how long this cell was at all. In fact, Lupin could remain right here near the door, closest to that faded witch light and be comforted. There now, take those seven paces - one, two, three, four, five, six, seven - no, it wasn't so bad!

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. Twenty-one paces so far, he thought. And endless paces more.

Lupin was well aware he was probably in the safest place in the Edinburgh branch of the Ministry; a place so secure because few people knew about it, and even fewer went down there. So he had no logical reason to feel fear. And no, Lupin wasn't afraid of darkness, he never had been. But the thought of being trapped here... alone... for eternal hours... not a comfort to his name except a waning light beyond his reach....

His steps quickened. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven...

No, not so bad... not so bad... Lupin thrust his hand out into the depths until he touched the wall again. His heart slowed with this touch. Slowly, he took in a breath, counting in his mind. Then, he exhaled, counting again. Just count and breathe and pace, count and breathe and pace, Lupin thought determinedly. Concentrate on that and I will survive.

And so he did for an immeasurable amount of time; at times, his steps began to lag with fatigue, but the thought of sleeping was shunned from his mind, and he hurried forward. Then, the thought of rest greeted him again, and Lupin thought of how futile it was to waste his energy doing meaningless activity, and he slouched down against the wall. But the wretched texture of the dirty stone and the sharp dampness that numbed his skin made him bolt up again, wary, and in tired nervousness he paced. And paced. And paced.

Hours eroded away in the passages of his mind, but Lupin wasn't even sure if midnight had come upon him. Stirrings of hunger came to him, and his throat became dry and stinging from the unventilated air. Lupin ignored his body's cries for attention and kept on moving. He was determined to wear himself out until he collapsed senseless; unconsciousness was the only way to cope in this dank pit.

Quietly, after awhile, Lupin began murmuring to himself. A soft prayer worked itself from under Lupin's breath and into his routine. Where would Mary be now? he wondered. She was probably at an wizarding foster home. What had Harper mentioned to him once? St. Anne's Home for Wayward Magical Orphans. Harper had seen pictures of the place; there was an oak by the front door with a small swing. The imaginings of Lupin's mind conjured that image and locked onto it. There, the wind gently rustled through the branches and the sun made spotted shadows on the grassy lawn. The swing swayed gently.

It was swaying because she was on it. Kicking her feet back and forth, back and forth, learning how to pump her legs and sustain the swing's motion by herself. Her clothes were much cleaner and newer than anything Lupin ever gave her; a new rose pink dress with white stockings. And ribbons in her hair; she always liked to have her hair done.

Mary was on the swing humming a little tune as the sunlight made white highlights through her curls. She was happy and safe. There were other children for her to play with. She had good meals and a roof over her head.

And Lupin was trapped underground for her sake. Because he knew that, despite the sweet songs he imagined her singing, despite the friendly house and the warm sunshine, he knew it was just a fancy in her mind. But he wanted her to sing. He wanted her to be happy. So this was the only way he knew how to bring it about.

Lupin was determined to bring Mary home so she would never have to feel alone. And he must face the penance for the sins he had wrought. He owed her that. He owed Him that.

Remus Lupin made a promise. Now he was going to keep it.

Then, quite suddenly, he realised that he wasn't alone. Distant noises were heard from above his head; footsteps were coming down the stairs. They were quite loud. Lupin supposed it was because a) the person was stumbling in an attempt to climb the steps or b) he wanted to signify his presence.

Lupin wondered who this person approaching was; he has a vague hope that it was Lottie, though he didn't know why. Perhaps it was Harper, recovered already. The brighter side to that was that he could probably find a way to help Lupin out of this place.

"Mr. Harper, is that you?" he called.

No answer.

The brightness of a lantern's light reached the bars and he looked out. A figure appeared before him, but the brightness of the lamp blinded him from seeing exactly who it was. The figure moved hastily away from his view and positioned itself against the wall by his door, on the hinged side. The lamp it carried was covered, and the world was plunged into darkness once again. Lupin felt his way to the barred window and looked about. The figure was still, as if anticipating something.

"Who are you?" he inquired, but was met with another silent reply.

Moments later a small sound, like a vacuum starting up, echoed in the chamber. Lupin turned around. What was that?

A subtle glow filled the room - an empty hollow expanded a few metres away from him - the rustle of newspapers reached his ears - Lupin could see another set of vague outlines, which become more and more defined - someone was singing aloud in a slurred voice -

"The rank is but the guinea's stamp
Bu' a man's a ' man for a' tha'!"

Three men stood in his cell. The leader folded up the newspaper he used as a Portkey and raised his hand in a gesture of greeting.

"Hello comrade," said one of them. "Nice to see ya face again."

"Jarohnen?" Lupin blurted out.

Jarohnen Ianikit said smartly, "Statin' the obvious: a sign that my good wolf still has his mental capacities."

Behind him, Ulysses held a lantern. He put down the lantern and dimmed the light. Another man leaned against him; the third clung to Ulysses's side as if depending on his support. The Freedom Hound leader gave Lupin a nod, then moved off to the shadows with his companion.

Jarohnen tossed him a bundle. "Change quickly. We don't have much time."

Reflexively, Lupin caught it. "Clothes?" He drew them out; they were old Muggle army fatigues.

"You don't want to wear a jail robe outside of jail, right?" Jarohnen put an arm around him. With the other he drew out a bottle and shook it with one hand. "It'll only be a pinch."

"What?"

"Here," Jarohnen said, taking out a switchblade strapped to his boot. "I'll prink your hand."

"Three minutes!" said Ulysses.

Jarohnen took hold of Lupin's arm and jabbed the inside of his palm. "Just a drop."

"Ow!" Lupin recoiled, but Jarohnen grabbed his hand and squeezed several drops of crimson into the bottle. When he let go, Lupin closed his fist to hold back the bleeding.

"Good enough," the Russian wolf said, passing off the bottle to his partner.

"What are you doing here?" Lupin asked.

"You're not makin' it any easier, Comrade Remus, but then again, ya never knew. Time?"

"Two forty-five," came Ulysses's voice from the shadows. He slumped the drunkard against the wall. "Cheers to you," he said, tipping the bottle.

"Wha' is this?" Wha' is-?" The man's voice was drowned out as he choked down the liquid.

"What is going on?" The smell of rotting eggs and prune juice filled the air. Lupin backed away, hand over his fist.

"Security is down, but the magical monitors are still up. We don't have much time," Ulysses explained.

"Time for what?"

"Things would be easier if ya listened. Come over here, get the paper!"

Ulysses fetched the Portkey as Lupin moved back against the door. "What is that man doing here?"

"No questions now," Jarohnen snapped. "Time?"

"One minute."

"Escape? This is an escape?" Lupin's voice rose. "I won't allow this!"

The old Freedom Hounds kept on working, regardless. "The shock has ya down, but hurry up."

"Forty-five seconds." Ulysses had a hand around the drunkard's shoulders and stepped into the light.

Lupin gazed into his own face, flushed with alcohol. Instantly, he understood. "No," he whispered.

The Russian wolf ordered, "Hand him here."

In Lupin's voice, the drunkard said, "I feel funny..."

Jarohnen put a hand around the man's waist and another clutched the top of his skull.

"Wha' are you-?"

Crack!

Lupin's double fell limp in his arms. Jarohnen took Lupin's belt and hooked it around the man's neck.

"Take my hand," Ulysses said. "We'll be making the jump soon."

"No." Lupin replied, louder. "Leave me."

Lupin's reaction finally sank in. "You don't want to go?" Ulysses said.

The two older men exchanged glances, and a silent communication passed between them.

Jarohnen dropped the body to the ground and did a low kick. Lupin tripped. Ulysses looped his arm around his neck in a headlock. A rag appeared in his free hand that he clamped over his mouth and nose. Lupin tasted dry cotton. Stinging, bitter fumes entered his nostrils. Immediately, he bit down, but got nothing but cloth. Bad move: Ulysses forced the stained rag down his throat; Lupin felt his eyes water. He gagged, felt his feet moving out from under him, then--

Wham!

Slimed stone collided with his skull in an explosion of pain. Lupin saw black stars and flashing light. Then, he remembered. There was someone outside the door! There was a witness to all this! "Help!" he yelled in a muffled voice at the top of his lungs. You there! Get help! Get help!"

The choking smell made his head spin; it was so strong he could taste it on his tongue. Chloroform, it must be; it made his vision swim. Lupin fell into Ulysses's grip and let his head slump forward.

Another blackness crept over his eyes, like someone had spilled a bottle of India ink over his vision. Lupin could make out Jarohnen in front of the door, throwing the belt over the crossbar. "Time."

"Ten seconds."

The body hung in front of him like a piece of meat in a butcher's window. Slowly, it turned and Lupin stared into his own dead eyes....

Vaguely, Lupin heard Jarohnen's voice. "Who was he talkin' to?"

And then there was nothing.

Lupin awoke to light: a dull luminescent glow. The glow expanded and became clearer, purer. He stared for a long time. Slowly, it dawned on him that he could see. The darkness of the dungeon was gone, replaced by the empty stillness of an unfamiliar room. The ceiling and walls were whitewashed, but were dirty and cracked in many places. Old dust attacked his nose; he coughed, painfully, being in need of water to quench his parched throat.

Then, as if someone read his thoughts, a thermos cup was lifted to his lips. Lupin drank the cool water and let his head fall back on the stiff pillow. He moved his gaze to the bedside.

His lips whispered her name. "Claire?"

She smiled generously. Her grey eyes glistened like polished silver in the lamplight. So much time had passed since he had seen her that Lupin had forgotten how wonderful she looked when she smiled. His eyes fell upon her simple attire: a loose dark green jacket zipped up with a blanket over her knees. The blanket seemed terribly out of place.

Impulsively, he smiled back weakly and asked, "Where am I? What happened?" He tried to straighten up, but Claire put a finger to his lips.

"No questions now," she whispered. "You're safe." She moved back. "I want to look at you."

He could hear the breath in his ears as her stare penetrated him. There was something searching in her gaze, as if all the solutions to her hidden problems lay trapped beneath his eyes. Her hand moved, as if to touch him, but drew back and rested itself on her knee once more.

Her eyes shifted to the floor, re-orienting herself, then guided themselves back to him. "Je me souviens," she whispered with startling realisation.

"What?"

"I remember," she repeated in English. Her face lit up and it seemed that all the pieces fell into place. Her hand reached out and brushed the sleeve of his shirt, touching like he was a fragile being, or no more than a dream. He sat up again, slowly, and her hand travelled up his sleeve and rested on his shoulder.

"It's you..." Claire hesitated, and then, in a sudden outpouring of emotion, took him in her arms.

Shocked, Lupin didn't react at first. He also had forgotten how it felt to be held.

Something hard and binding was between them; something Claire was wearing. Gingerly, he wrapped his arms around her waist and felt the outline of unforgiving metal and plastic underneath her jacket.

Claire's grip tightened. He smelled lavender in her hair; he felt her chest rise and fall against his, and he stared ahead, his face expressionless in his confusion.

Instantly, his hands froze.

A brace.

Why was she wearing a brace? What happened to her?

Now Lupin noticed how stiffly Claire had moved toward him and how rigid her body felt against his. Seeing over her shoulder, Lupin spotted the wheelchair propped against the wall.

His arms dropped.

What.

Happened?

His mouth opened slightly, then shut. Lupin turned his eyes away.

"We saved you," Claire murmured in a broken voice.

We saved you. Saved? Lupin's eyes travelled around the room. How was he saved? Where was he? What happened to her? These questions became more urgent in his mind, growing larger and larger. Where was he? How did he escape the Ministry? What did she mean by "saved?"

His memory recalled its last recordings. The eternal night, the stranger by the door, Jarohnen and Ulysses, calling out for help.... And that dead body with those eyes glazing over in the darkness....

Claire let go and gazed into his face. "What is wrong?" she asked.

Lupin looked at her but could not say.