Cry Wolf

Part 2: Moon Dance

Consciousness returned, slowly and painfully, with the spreading sunlight.

Remus lay very still, feeling the concrete floor beneath him, making cautious contact with his arms, his hands, his legs, his feet. His back ached as if he had been dropped onto the concrete from a height - but then, he reflected, he probably had. He let his mouth slide open, drawing in the scent of petrol and new hay. A barn, perhaps, or a cellar.

He lay motionless, listening for any sound which might indicate that he had company. Hearing nothing, he opened his eyes and began to take in his surroundings.

He was in an outhouse of some kind. The smell of petrol drifted across from a lawnmower stowed in one corner; in another, stacked hay bales rose into the eaves. Light streamed through a small window set high in one wall. If I were a vampire, he thought, I'd have burst into flames. He grinned. The idea of bursting into flames at the moment had a certain appeal. Hay. Petrol. He climbed unsteadily to his feet, confirmed that the door was locked and the window too small, and began searching for matches.

Two minutes later he was doubled up, his body convulsing as he vomited over and over into the hay. When the shaking passed, he grabbed an oily rag and used it to wipe his mouth. There were no matches and the petrol fumes were making his head spin. He crawled back to the corner where he had woken up and considered his options.

It had been a bad transformation. He didn't need to look at the blood staining the concrete floor to know that: the evidence was written in welts and scratches all over his body. There were claw marks in the wall below the window and his clothes lay in shreds around him.

The blood under his fingernails was his own, he decided: there had been no blood on the rag when he had wiped his mouth, and there were no signs in the outhouse that another person had ever been present. Signs, he thought, with a humourless laugh. Bones. Clothing. A head. Signs.

The door rattled as someone turned a key in the lock. A muttered Alohomora and it flew open. Remus blinked, dazzled by the brightness of the sunlight. It must be nearly midday, he realised. He pulled himself into a sitting position.

Three men stood silhouetted in the doorway. Remus recognised Greyback at once. The other two were strangers.

'Good morning,' Greyback greeted with a cheerful smile. 'You look dreadful.' He squatted beside Remus, tipping up his head with a dirty fingernail to stare into his eyes. 'You missed dinner,' he said softly. He picked a shred of flesh from his teeth, contemplated it and tossed it aside. He stank of fresh blood. Remus tried not to gag. 'Two adults, two children. The adults ran, the children hid. We found them all in the end.'

How nice. Remus said nothing.

Greyback stretched lazily, once, and rose gracefully to his feet. 'Don't you have any questions?' he asked. Remus could hear the smile in his voice. One of the strange men laughed.

'Only one,' said Remus. 'What happens next?' He was aware of Greyback standing there, watching him. He didn't look up. Finally Greyback said, 'What do you think happens next?'

Remus raised his head. 'I imagine you have some questions to ask me.'

Greyback laughed and a chill ran down Remus' spine. 'About the Order of the Phoenix? Hardly. Your friend Snape has been most helpful, Remus. Everything you could tell us, we already know.'

Another reason to kill Severus, if I ever catch up with him. Remus shrugged. 'I'm sorry I've wasted your time.'

'Oh, you haven't. Not a bit.' His captor's face was suddenly in his, suffocating Remus with the reek of blood, sweat and filth. 'I know what you've been trying to do, you filthy traitor,' Greyback breathed, 'and I'm going to make an example of you. I'm going to take you apart, piece by piece. I'm not going to ask you questions. I won't need to. In the end you'll tell me everything you know, over and over, because you think it'll make me stop. But it won't, and we can use what you tell us to check up on Snape.'

He rose to his feet and stood towering over Remus, then spat accurately on the concrete floor next to Remus' right hand.

'That's what happens next,' he said.

--

They came for him in the afternoon. He had dragged himself into the pile of hay, shredding a bale and curling up in the nest he had made. Not as good as a bed, not as bad as the concrete floor. He lay there, drifting in and out of sleep until a brutal kick to the stomach brought him back to reality. Remus doubled over, gasping.

'Get up,' growled a voice he did not recognise.

'Bugger off.'

A laugh. Another kick. Tears sprang to his eyes. Hands reached under his armpits and yanked him to his feet. He kicked one of them as hard as he could in the groin and heard a muttered imprecation before he was thrown backwards, his head meeting the concrete floor so hard that he saw stars.

'Petrificus Totalus.'

They carried him into the farmhouse and threw him on the floor.

'How would you like to start?' Greyback asked. 'Magic or something more... personal?'

'I didn't realise I had a choice,' Remus said. He shrugged. 'You're the expert.'

'Magic, then.' Greyback raised his wand. 'Crucio.'

The first spell had him arching backwards like a bowstring, shoulders, ankles and head drumming on the stone floor as he trembled and shook in ragged agony. Greyback played his wand like a baton: here calm and slow, there a crescendo of pain until Remus felt he might drown in the white noise of his screams. More than the curses themselves, he learned to fear the intervals between them, when his nerves shrieked with the memory of pain past and the anticipation of agony to come.

He never knew when Greyback finally lowered his wand. At some indeterminate moment he had lost awareness of anything other than his own pain. He felt himself slide back into his skin and wondered where he had been.

A piano tinkled and he opened his eyes at the unexpected ripple of notes. Greyback was leaning on an old upright, dragging one hand carelessly along the keys as he looked down at his prisoner. On top of the piano a candle burned. It was quite dark outside.

'Bored?' Remus asked. Or at least that was his intention. Blood bubbled at the back of his throat as he tried to speak and the words were lost in a paroxysm of coughing. Greyback watched, unmoving, as he spat blood onto the floor and gasped for breath.

Remus wiped tears from his eyes with an unsteady hand and swallowed, exploring the back of his throat with a cautious tongue.

'Bored?' he said again, more clearly this time.

Greyback bared his teeth. 'Not at all.'

--

If it's Crucio, it must be Tuesday. Remus dragged a shaking finger up the concrete wall, leaving a streak of blood beneath the window next to the other three. Four days. At times it seemed like four months, at other times four minutes.

He had not expected to lose track of time so quickly and was grateful for the way his bloody marks kept him anchored to reality. He had no illusions about being rescued - if it was going to happen it would have happened by now - but knowing what day it was in the outside world gave him some semblance of control. He would lose it eventually, he knew. Time enough for that when it came.

He propped himself against the outhouse wall and listened to the sound of approaching feet.

--

'Do you like knives?' Greyback held up an ugly-looking kitchen knife and curved a finger along the blade.

Remus suppressed a shudder. 'Not particularly, no.'

'No.' To his surprise, Greyback put the knife down on top of the piano. 'I didn't think you would.' He crossed the room and knelt down on the rug, breathing deeply. Remus forced himself not to react, staring straight ahead and willing his limbs to stay still.

He felt the fingernail run down his back, exploring a long, thin welt. 'It doesn't have to be like this,' a voice breathed in his ear.

He hesitated between 'Like what?' and 'What doesn't?' and chose silence.

'Transformation,' the voice continued. His hackles rose at the hot breath on the back of his neck. He knew that Greyback's head was lower now, studying the scars that crisscrossed Remus' back in silver and in red. 'Give in to it, Remus, and it doesn't have to hurt. Make it part of you.'

'As you have?'

'As we all have.' With a long fingernail, Greyback ripped a line down Remus' back. His other hand was hard around Remus' waist, holding the other man against him as Remus arched forwards.

There was silence in the room then, punctuated only by Remus' gasps as he sought to control his breathing. Behind him, Greyback ran a slow finger down the wound he had made, and Remus trembled in his arms. Greyback leaned forward to whisper in Remus' ear.

'I don't like knives, either,' he said. He dug his fingers into Remus' back and Remus heard himself scream.

--

Remus lay on his side in the outhouse contemplated his bruises. They were a riot of colour: red, purple, yellow, back, and he grinned inwardly. I'd like to see Tonks try and get this one right. At the thought of Tonks, he felt a sudden, sweet surge of pain. Well. She'd get over it. It wasn't as if she was going to have a choice.

He sat there, under the window, and began to put his thoughts in order, as if he were emptying out an old filing cabinet. One by one, he conjured memories of the people who were dearest to him. Kingsley. Alastor. Tonks. Arthur. Molly. Bill. Ron. Hermione. Harry. He let their faces float before him for a moment in his mind's eye, and said his farewells.