Windmills of Time

November 1979

It was well into the wee hours of the morning before Peter arrived at the front door to the block of grey London flats where he lived. Really, the wrong side of midnight to be getting home, he grumbled to himself.

But such was the way of life these days. There was so much paperwork to be processed each day at the Ministry, especially in the Committee on Magical Deaths and their Causes where he worked. Peter found it rather morbid, to say the least, to be working in such an office during the height of a war. It had been rather disconcerting at first to have seen numerous names, names belonging to people whom he had known, filling his in-tray on his desk. There had been the Prewetts, Meadowes, the Robertsons, the Bones...

Over the past few months, Peter had learnt to shut down his emotions as he dealt with his daily work. He had to, or he would have cracked under the strain of it all. The subject matter was draining enough as it was.

His thoughts drifted to Derek Perry. His name had found its way to Wormtail's desk that particular day. Perry had been the Gryffindor Quidditch captain for four of the seven years Peter had been at Hogwarts. James especially had revered him, claiming him to have been the best coach anyone could have had. The report had stated that Perry had been killed while caught in crossfire between a group of Aurors and Death Eaters in a pub up in York.

Peter wondered if James had heard the news yet.

Heaving a leaden sigh, Peter chased the thought out of his mind as he focused on disabling the wards protecting the flats. Taking care to re-set them upon entry into the building, he slowly dragged himself up two flights of stairs to his flat on the second floor, turned the key in the lock and stepped into the darkened room.

"Lumos," he muttered. The tip of his wand ignited and he went about lighting some of the lamps that lay about the place.

As he prepared for his shower, he heard ole Stormy (no one knew his real name), the wizard who lived on the ground floor come home, belting out a song at the top of his lungs. The singing was so off-kilter Peter couldn't decipher the melody or the words. His neighbour was permanently inebriated. Wormtail was used to seeing the tippler swaggering home on a nightly basis, bellowing raucously. He was harmless really, though Peter admitted the nocturnal attempts at opera were at times irritating if he was trying to sleep.

Peter cast his eyes over to the clock on the mantelpiece as he wrapped a dressing gown round himself following a quick nip in the shower.

It was two-forty two in the morning.

Another five hours, and he would have to be back in his office.

Downstairs, Stormy was still singing. Loudly. Very loudly.

Peter was about to shout down to him out the window to shut it when his heart skipped several beats and he froze in his tracks.

There, in the centre of his living room, were three hooded figures, their faces shrouded by a mask of black cloth - tall, dark and eerily silent, standing in the dusky light of the room.

Death Eaters.

Peter opened his mouth, but no sound came out. A gasp was stuck in his throat.

"Greetings, Mr Pettigrew," said the Death Eater in the middle. His tone was calm, soft. Polite even.

Despite the door and windows being shut, Peter felt the temperature in the room plummet several degrees.

"I suppose you must be wondering the circumstances regarding this house call?" asked the same Death Eater, filling the silence.

Still Peter neither spoke nor moved. Not only could he physically do neither, he found he had no intention to negotiate with Voldemort's brethren. He remained tenaciously mute.

The Death Eater (Peter assumed he was the leader of the three) was not deterred.

"We wish for you to join us, Mr Pettigrew."

The words filtered through Peter's ears but they made no sense. Instead, when he found his voice a fraction later, he demanded (rather rudely in his mind), "H-how did you get in h-here?"

"Apparated, my friend."

Peter flinched at being referred to as a 'friend' by the Dark wizard.

"There are wards around this b-building!" he countered, surprising himself with his boldness.

He could see the two Death Eaters flanking their leader shift impatiently and could almost picture them rolling their eyes underneath their hoods.

"There were none," their leader told Peter coolly.

Damn ole Stormy! Peter thought furiously. He must have left the wards down after coming in. Drat that drunken bastard!

As there was nothing to say in reply to the lack of security, Peter held his tongue.

"Would you care to come away with us, Mr Pettigrew? The Dark Lord awaits."

Peter's head snapped up and he forced himself to face the cloaked figure towering before his own short stature. He bit his tongue in an effort to steady himself before replying.

"No," he said. "Sorry," he added as an afterthought in an attempt to break the tension-filled silence that had descended upon the living room, and to maintain the current civility the Death Eaters had been displaying towards him so far, though why they were extending him courtesy above and beyond the norm baffled him.

The Death Eater to the left clicked his tongue impatiently. He and the other on the right retreated into the shadows of the room where the flickering lamp light could not reach them. The negotiator remained in his spot.

"You choose to decline this offer, my friend?" he questioned calmly, his tone betraying none of his emotions.

"Y-y-yes," stammered Peter. Just go away, he thought desperately to himself. Leave me alone!

"I do not deny that you have valour," remarked his tempter, a filigree of subtle approval delicately lacing through his voice. "It comes as no surprise you were placed in Gryffindor."

What?

"How did you-- " began Peter when the Death Eater cut him off.

"We know things, dear friend. The Dark Lord knows all."

His words, chilling and haunting, hung invisible in the air.

Peter felt an ice-cold shiver dribble down his spine. He wished for Sirius' bravery at that moment. Sirius, who never lacked in courage and who would be able to defend himself much more competently than Wormtail was doing now.

The thought of Sirius made Peter think of what his friends would do if they were in his situation right now.

"No," Peter said, more firmly this time. "P-p-please leave," he continued as brusquely as he could, emphasised with what he hoped was not a feeble gesture towards the door.

Wormtail sensed what must have been intense scorn directed at him through three pairs of masked stony eyes. He fought hard against his ardent urge to bolt.

"Our Master does not look kindly on non-compliance, little man," one of the back-up Death Eaters finally spoke up, vitriol saturating in his voice. He and the third of the Death Eaters slunk back into the light. "He values deference."

"He is not my Master!" cried Peter recklessly. He knew if he paused to analyse the situation, he would be far too unnerved to stand his ground.

"Pity," murmured the leader in a low, mysterious tone, with the slightest tinge of underlying sneer. "The Dark Lord treats his faithful well. He would have been so pleased with you."

The last comment completely threw Peter for a loop. He felt flustered, but hurriedly banished the comment from his mind.

"G-go to h-hell," he retorted, the words shooting forth from his mouth before he could engage his brain. Years of being in close proximity to Sirius had engrained certain colourful phrases into his subconscious.

The two lackeys made to tackle Peter, but their leader held up his hand and aborted any action instantly. He surveyed the paunchy wizard before him, and Peter could feel an invisible pair of eyes boring into him like laser beams.

"Very well, suit yourself," the Death Eater said mildly, still preserving utmost civility in his manner of voice. "But should you ever change your mind, Mr. Pettigrew, do not hesitate to inform us."

Peter thought he heard a snicker come from the direction of one of the back-up Death Eaters. It's just your imagination, he told himself sternly. It looked as if the Death Eaters would be leaving him unscathed. He was thankful. He wanted them gone now.

The three Death Eaters gathered round the centre of the living room where Peter had initially spotted them.

"Thank you for your time," acknowledged the leader.

Peter thought it a rather twisted show of gratitude.

The Death Eater flicked his wand.

A heavy cloud of black smoke snaked out from the tip and encircled Peter. Peter tried desperately to escape from its suffocating grasp and the pungent smell, but he remained rooted to the ground. The ominous haze looped forebodingly round his head, and he could feel it infiltrating him through his eyes, his nostrils, his ears and his mouth. It arrested his breath, causing him to splutter, and for a brief moment, Peter thought he would choke to death.

Upon recovering, he drew himself to his full height in readiness to shoot an accusatory look at the Death Eaters, but found he was glaring into empty space. The three figures had Disapparated as clandestinely as they had come.

Wormtail shivered. He was cold, but not from the wintry November weather. He screwed up his courage (Gryffindor courage indeed!) and went about his flat, lighting every lamp and fearfully searching for the presence of any more Death Eaters lurking amid the shadows.

There were none.

Peter set up triple the wards around his flat that night, though he dared not step out of the confines of his flat to enable those wards which surrounded the building itself. He tumbled into his bed, but despite his bone exhaustion, he could not drift off to sleep until ages later. And even then, the slumber had been fitful, with shadows flitting in and out of his dreams.

Wormtail was extremely relieved when his alarm rang at seven o'clock. It was the first time in his life that Peter Pettigrew was thankful he had only been given three hours' worth of sleep.

~ * ~

Christmas Eve, 1979

Christmas was beckoning around the corner, he could sense it in the air. Remus could never quite put into words exactly what constituted the Christmas atmosphere. There were the obvious signs of course. Crowded shops decorated with ribbons of crepe paper and mistletoes; Christmas trees stationed everywhere dressed in tinsel, with sparkling ornaments hanging from each of their branches; snatches of carols bursting forth either from the radio or gramophones indoors, or the gatherings of carollers out on the streets; and of course, no one could escape the '______ (insert relevant number) More Days Till Christmas!' banners that had adorned the windows of the shops since early November. But there were the subtler signs too, ones which his more reflective nature would pick up, and just the general ambience of it all. Snow falling lightly from the sky and forming a velvety white layer on the ground; the crisp, frosty air intermingled with the rushes of warmth escaping from the heated confines of shops and cafes; the sound of merry patrons pouring a bit tipsily out of pubs; the smell of heated coal wafting over from where the street vendors stood roasting chestnuts; the traditional scent of holly and pine; even, as bizarre as this may sound, the smell of books, newly bought clothes and wrapping paper, which Remus associated with Christmas presents. Overall, there was just the sense of openness and joviality one associated with this time of the year.

The city centre was bustling with wizards and Muggles alike, all out to complete their last minute shopping in readiness for the following day. Remus was amused to learn that accomplishing tasks at the eleventh-hour was not solely confined to wizards as he heard a Muggle teen announce to her shopping mate that she had only just begun her quest for presents late that morning. Remus silently wished her good luck in obtaining the stuff she needed for her twenty-seven friends in the chaos that called itself town.

Despite the plethora of reminders one had scribbled on their foot-long task lists, the majority of those thronging the streets of Edinburgh had plans to return to their cosy homes before darkness fell.

For the Muggles, it was because they wished to spend Christmas Eve at home with their families; gathered by a crackling fire with chocolates and sweets, laughing amongst themselves as they watched a Muggle contraption called a television. People also wished to return to their kitchens to prepare the turkey, stuffing and sherry trifles in readiness for the following day's family dinner. Take-away outlets were thriving with business as shoppers opted for the convenience of ready-cooked meals on this particular evening.

For the wizards however, their reason for wishing to have an early day was much more sombre. As Death Eaters had taken to happening upon unsuspecting civilians as well as prominent Ministry members at night, people had been warned to stay indoors with the proper protection wards once past nightfall. It made for a restricted, dreary lifestyle as nightfall occurred as early as half past three at this time of the year, but they all knew it was in their best interests to heed the Minister's warning. The nightly attacks by the Dark Side were a caveat as to what could easily happen to anyone. Christmas for nearly the past decade had not been the delightful, comforting and warm affair it was meant to be. Each Christmas just seemed to get darker and bleaker than that the previous year as Voldemort increasingly dominated the wizarding world and cast fear, trepidation and division among the magical community.

Remus briefly revelled in the nostalgic moments of blissful Christmases prior to the emergence of the Dark Lord before entering a small, quaint shop called Thornton's - a renowned Muggle establishment which could possibly rival Hogsmeade's Honeydukes for fine chocolate specimens. He browsed around the clustered shelves for several pondering moments before making his choice on a beautifully gift-wrapped box of Belgian pralines.

Handing over the Muggle money for the chocolates, he exited the shop, slipped into a deserted alleyway and surreptitiously Disapparated with a faint 'pop'.

He appeared in the outskirts of Cambridge, and found himself standing just by the hedge lining the Potters' fence surrounding their house. He wondered what wards Lily had constructed over the place, and was debating whether or not to chance disabling them with the most commonly used spells when the front door of the house flung open and Sirius stood framed in the entrance.

"Moony!" he cried exuberantly. "Merry Christmas, mate!"

Lily appeared beside him in the doorway smiling as she wiped her hands on an apron tied round her waist. Reaching into the pocket of her trousers, she pulled out her wand and proceeded to deftly disable the invisible wards enacted over the residence.

Remus smiled as he made his way past the front lawn and up to the door.

"Merry Christmas to you too, Padfoot," he said as he was welcomed by a bear-like hug from Sirius. "And you, Lily," he added as he extricated himself from Sirius' grip.

He pulled out the box of Thornton's chocolates from one of the shopping bags he held in his hand and presented them to Lily.

"Thanks for the invite," he said, handing her the confectionary as he stepped into the Potters' hallway.

"Oh Remus, you shouldn't have!" exclaimed Lily, but Remus could see her eyes light up at the sight of the pralines. James had often informed his friends of his wife's weakness for such sweets.

"Shouldn't have what?" came a voice behind them.

"Prongs!" greeted Remus jovially.

"Hey Moony!" James turned back to Lily. "Shouldn't have what?" he repeated.

Lily waved the Thornton's box before James' eyes.

"Chocolate," nodded James approvingly. "Always welcome." He turned to Remus as Lily shot him a disciplinary look. "Don't listen to her, Moony. Silly female Muggle habits of false politeness." He ignored Lily's indignant cry. "Chocolate is always welcome in this house."

"They are for Lily," Remus clarified, but not without a smile.

"Oh, I'm sure our marriage vows included something about her chocolate being my chocolate," quipped James. "Come on in," he said, propelling Remus in through the door. "Want a drink? Mead? Butterbeer? Firewhiskey?"

Remus shrugged out of his thick winter cloak and hung it up on the cloak stand that stood at the foot of the stairs leading up to the first floor.

"I wouldn't mind some apple cider if you have any," he said.

"Sure thing," answered James cheerily as he disappeared into the kitchen. Remus could hear the clinking of glass as his friend set about fixing him his drink.

"Where's Peter? Is he not here yet?" he enquired as Lily ushered him into the cosy living room where a lively fire was crackling merrily in the fireplace.

Sirius shook his head. "I think you ought to re-set those wards Lily," he reminded his host. "It's a pain to have to take them down again when Wormtail joins us, but better safe than sorry."

Lily complied while Remus watched with interest as the witch muttered spell after complex spell as she built up the protection. No sooner had she completed the tedious task of replacing the every one of the fourteen wards - her Divination friend Margaret, she told Remus, had refused to allow her use thirteen as she claimed the number to be the devil, so Lily ended repeating one of the wards twice - than a short, pale-faced wizard Apparated across the road from where they stood.

An exasperated curse escaped from Lily's lips. Remus, on the other hand, found the timing hilariously entertaining.

"Should we just let him work his way through those wards?" he suggested to the resigned witch beside him. "Upon success he gets a double shot of Doctor LeFeu's Firewhiskey."

Lily gave a tinkling laugh. "Unfortunately the Firewhiskey would be waiting for him until next year if that was the case," she chuckled. "Oh, I'm not implying anything other than the fact that these wards are my own and newly developed," she explained hurriedly off Remus' teasingly raised eyebrows. "So I doubt if anyone would be able to work their way through them."

With an exaggerated sigh, she muttered the reversal spells to disable the wards yet again. Peter entered the house oblivious to the fact that Lily had just enabled and disabled a total of forty-two wards within the past fifteen minutes, and was just about to reset them all up again.

"There you are Wormtail! How about a drink?" cried James, turning up with Remus' apple cider. Remus accepted the drink gratefully and began to sip when he noticed Peter was looking paler and more drawn than usual. Must be the overtime at the Ministry, he thought to himself. That paperwork would get to anyone.

"A-A b-butterbeer would b-be g-g-great," replied Wormtail, his teeth chattering incessantly from the cold. Lily prodded him into the living room and settled him by the fire.

"So, any news from London?" asked Sirius.

A smidgen of colour drained from Peter's face and Remus saw him quail visibly before mumbling hastily, "No. No, no. Nothing new."

"Are you all right?" Remus asked him in concern. "You look spent."

"J-j-just overworked, I g-guess," stammered Peter, attempting to appear casual. "Haven't been s-sleeping that w-well lately either."

Indeed, Remus saw his friend had rather large dark circles under his eyes. He wondered if there was anything more which would have contributed to Wormtail's pale, drained appearance besides overtime and the cold weather, but decided to not push it for now.

Lily excused herself to prepare the turkey filling and sherry trifle for the following day as James entered the living room and handed Peter his Butterbeer. Wormtail gulped down the steaming, frothing honeyed drink in gusto, and was soon warmed up enough to stop his teeth from making a clattering noise.

The four Marauders started up a lively, cheerful conversation, and were soon joined by Lily who had finished her preparations in the kitchen. Banter continued into the early hours of the morning where they finally turned in at the prompting of a multitude of prolonged yawns, accompanied by the sight of Peter's slumped figure in an armchair, his eyelids drooping, his head toppling forwards onto his chest with a trickle of dribble just leaking out from the corner of his mouth.

"C'mon Wormtail," called Sirius, shaking his slumbering friend rather roughly in the shoulder. "Time for bed!"

Peter grunted gutturally before snapping his eyes wide open. With a sudden alacrity, he leapt to his feet, whipped out his wand and cried out, "Incendio!"

Remus leapt out of the way just in time to avoid being hit by the jet of coloured light that erupted from Peter's wand. The lamp sitting on the coffee table absorbed the spell instead, bursting ferociously into flames before spontaneously combusting, leaving behind its charred metal frame, smouldering amidst a plume of teeming smoke.

Shaken, Remus tried not to think of what might have happened.

"Merlin!" exclaimed Sirius, taking a leap back, alarmed. "What was all that for?"

Peter blinked, looking confused. His eyes rested on the incinerated lampshade and the colour on his face oscillated from chalk-white to pillar box-red.

"E-e-errrr, s-s-orry!" he stuttered out, still seemingly trying to work out what he had just done.

"What were you thinking of?"

"Umm. ... Er, what?" Peter fumbled about distractedly.

James rolled his eyes. "Wormtail, you just blew up Mrs Evans' favourite lamp," he said slowly and deliberately, emphasising each syllable of the sentence. "And if Moony here didn't have quicker reflexes, it would have been one of my favourite people."

"Do you make it a habit of hexing anyone who tries to wake you up?" asked Remus mildly.

Peter rubbed his temples vigorously. "No. N-no, of c-course not. It was j-just a nightmare. Sorry." He still looked slightly perturbed.

Sirius frowned. "Some kind of nightmare you are having," he commented.

"It was... Acromantulas," gabbled Peter hurriedly. "I-I was trying to get rid of them."

"Ah," noted Sirius, breaking into a wicked grin. "Never knew you had arachnophobia. Anyway, I was waking you up to get you into a bed. Do you want the guest room bed or the sofa?"

Peter glanced towards the sofa that was positioned across one length of the living room, three feet away from where he stood. Then he peered out the doorway and up the flight of stairs which led to the first floor where the guest room was. It was obvious to all where he preferred to sleep.

Ten minutes later, Remus and Sirius made their way up the stairs to the guest room which housed a bunk bed, leaving Peter going back to being dead to the world on the sofa downstairs.

Remus woke the next morning, blinking at the sudden sunlight which flooded the room. Cranking his neck towards the window, he saw Sirius tugging at the curtains and tying them back at each side of the window.

"Merry Christmas Moony! Rise and shine!"

Remus groaned inwardly. If there had been any day he could have had a lie-in....

"What time is it?" he mumbled groggily, feeling as though he'd dropped off to sleep just a few minutes before.

"Nearly ten," answered Sirius cheerily.

Clanking sounds from the kitchen downstairs informed Remus that Lily must already be up and about, and the aroma of herbs and spices wafting up the stairs told him that she must be in the process of cooking the Christmas lunch.

Remus headed into the kitchen a quarter of an hour later to offer his culinary services and immediately found himself handed a towering mound of potatoes in a huge ceramic bowl. He surreptitiously helped himself to several inviting-looking chipolata sausages on a nearby plate as he got down to mashing the potatoes. That was until Lily caught on and removed the temptation out of sight.

Christmas lunch was a delightful affair, with spirited conversation carrying over the delicious cooking, though Remus noticed yet again, that Peter appeared lacklustre and less talkative than usual. He wondered a bit about that, though argued with himself that the small wizard was just reaping the effects of months of overtime.

There were four courses that meal: a melon starter, followed by bowls of thick steaming vegetable soup. The main course consisted of succulent roast turkey, with its traditional stuffing; mounds of potatoes, both roasted and mashed; boiled carrots, celery, Brussels sprouts, broccoli and cauliflower; all smothered with thick juicy gravy and richly-flavoured cranberry sauce. By the time dessert rolled around, those who had taken third helpings of everything thus far - which was everyone - were loosening their belts and waistbands underneath the table. But there was no way any of them would be refusing the sherry trifle with its dollop of freshly whipped cream.

As the last crumbs of sponge cake were consumed, and the final droplets of whipped cream were lapped up, James and Lily exchanged glances, a shared smile and nodded before standing up together.

James cleared his throat. "Now that you have been fed and watered," he began earnestly, sounding to Remus very much like Professor Dumbledore at the welcome feasts at the start of each year. "Lily and I have an announcement to make."

He gazed steadfastly at his friends. "Lily--" he paused and took a deep breath for dramatic effect. "--is two months along."

This was followed by first a confused, then a stunned, silence. Sirius found his voice first.

"Prongs! Lily! This is fabulous! Is it a boy or a girl? When is it due? When did you find out? Have you picked out names yet? Who else have you told?"

Lily laughed as she tried to answer his barrage of questions.

"We don't know yet whether it's a boy or a girl. It's due towards the end of July."

"We only found out yesterday morning," James injected eagerly. "Lily insisted for tests to be done by a Muggle doctor..."

"So we went to Guy's Hospital in London," Lily finished for him. "So far both our parents know. And now you."

"Congratulations to both of you," Remus smiled sincerely. "I never thought I would live to see the day you would be a father, Prongs," he continued, sneaking an impish grin in Lily's direction. "You would teach your child so many roguish habits. Let it get away with just about anything."

"Yeah," agreed Sirius. "You might even be helping to make up excuses for him..."

"Or her," inserted Lily.

"When he, or she, gets caught by McGonagall at Hogwarts."

"Our child would get accepted right?" James checked anxiously with the others sat before him.

"Of course!" scoffed Sirius. "I can almost see that magical quill now, writing down the name of your child on that honour roll at Hogwarts seven months down the line."

James relaxed and grinned with relief. They all then turned to Peter, who had remained wordless up till then.

"Y-y-you are p-pregnant?" Wormtail gasped out finally, flabbergasted.

There was a moment's quiet, and then the other four burst out laughing, even Peter grinned sheepishly.

"You'll be an uncle then, Wormtail," said Sirius jovially, clapping a heavy hand on Peter's shoulder. "In a manner of speaking."

*

Remus returned to his Edinburgh home that afternoon swathed in a warm, cosy feel, and he knew had he encountered anyone in the streets, they would have caught sight of a stupidly dreamy smile spread across his face. He was so thrilled for James and Lily. They had the perfect life, at least in his mind - an intimate, loving relationship; respectable jobs where they earned steady (and very enviable) incomes; a beautiful cosy home; and now the joy of starting a family, a child to complete what already had been an ideal picture. It couldn't get much better really.

Remus Apparated several hundred yards away from his house, having slightly misjudged the distance due to his thoughts still being centred around the pregnancy news. Realising, he scolded himself for not being more attentive. You could've splinched yourself! That would have been very painful indeed.

He ambled along the path that led up to his house, and had just disabled the last of the wards surrounding it when a black piece of cloth was clamped roughly over his mouth. Before he could even fight back, a wave of chloroform engulfed him and caused him to suddenly go very light-headed. He felt himself being dragged several feet. A jolting sensation of being yanked forwards in the navel was the last thing he was aware of before blacking out.

*

When Remus blearily regained his consciousness, he found himself in what appeared to be a deep forest. Gigantic trees loomed overhead, ominous and sinister, masking from the ground what feeble light the pale, shimmering moon cast overhead. Through his blurred vision, he registered the presence of several masked figures milling about outside a deserted shack, so rickety it looked as if the slightest gust of wind would reduce it to a rubble.

Death Eaters.

The blood in his veins turned to ice. His limbs suddenly felt like lead, and the acid in his stomach churned nauseatingly as the situation into which he had been thrown sank in.

Keeping still, Remus observed his circumstances. He was surrounded by a misshapen circle by no less than ten Death Eaters. Although this was the first time Remus had been present at what appeared to be a meeting of Voldemort's inner circle, the air was so saturated with Dark Magic and foreboding that Remus could almost taste every nuance of their intent and emotion. The tension in the air among the Death Eaters was so palpable, it could be sliced with a knife. The sense of antagonism among them so thick, it was suffocating. Vicious scrutiny and a thirst for power was so eminent, it rippled through the atmosphere. It was a web of greed, egoism, forced formality and cold-blooded cruelty, where trust, compassion and understanding were foreign entities.

Remus involuntarily gave a violent shiver at the frostiness of his surroundings. The sudden movement caught the attention of his captors, and Remus quailed as ten pairs of eyed fixed themselves upon him.

"Welcome, Mr Lupin," said one of the Death Eaters. Remus didn't recognise the voice - not that he had thought he would. The voice was decidedly male however. "Welcome to the Supporters of the True Cause."

Despite the chilling predicament he was in, Remus couldn't stifle a cynical snort. True Cause?

There was a stony silence as the Death Eaters observed him with heightened distaste. Remus reminded himself to remain impassive if he hoped to escape from there alive.

"Mr. Lupin," began the same Death Eater once more. "We understand that you are a Dark Creature who would be most useful to us, who would be much appreciated by the Dark Lord."

The chloroform must have befuddled his brain more than he had thought. The Dark Lord appreciate him?

"You are a werewolf, is that not true?" snapped a second Death Eater, standing three places down the left of the first who spoke.

A gasp rose from those gathered round the clearing. Remus' mouth suddenly went very dry. He ran his tongue over the parched lips and croaked a quiet answer in the affirmative.

A rush of murmurs undulated the circle, translating a mounting fusion of both wonder and apprehension.

The first Death Eater turned to the one who had just spoken.

"You were indeed correct, Snape," he said. "Thank you."

Snape? Severus Snape?

It shouldn't have come as a surprise really, Remus guessed. He and his friends had always said that the former Slytherin would end up assisting the Dark Side. And they were not the only ones who harboured this notion. Still, it was somewhat disconcerting to personally face the fact in real life. Nothing strikes home as brutally as being confronted with reality.

"We have the pleasure of extending an invitation to you. One which we would like you to accept, werewolf."

The Death Eater's tone, although devoid of any trace of fear or disgust, was knitted with contemptuous superiority.

Remus took in the breadth of opinions exuded by his captors, which spanned from dread to hatred to condescension, all generated through centuries of bigotry. Surprisingly, he felt none of the self-loathing that usually accompanied these thoughts being directed at him. He found that he in truth did not care what these minions thought of him. He did not possess the respect for them to care.

"Whatever it is, I assure you the answer is no," he replied, as firmly as he could given his weakened state.

There was a pregnant silence.

"The Dark Lord requests that you would join our ranks in supporting his cause."

The Death Eater's glacial voice sliced in, so chilling it almost left a trace of frost lingering in the night air. It was a command, not an offer.

"Never."

Remus could almost hear the sharp intake of air from the Death Eaters in response to his obdurate reply. He then heard the same cold voice ring out, "Imperio!"

At once, Remus experienced the most wondrous feeling. The haziness and confusion caused by the chloroform and the abrupt change in location lifted off him. The disturbing fact that he was surrounded by Voldemort's inner circle was gently wiped away. He felt the happiest he had been in quite some time. Now, if he could just revel in this blissful vagueness for a while....

Say yes.... Say yes...

Yes? Why, of course. Why not?

You don't want to do that, a voice warned, probing its way through the recesses of his mind.

I don't?

Answer yes, Lupin. You know you want to. Just say yes.

Yes to what exactly?

Yes to alleviating all of your current problems. Yes to being accepted.

Being accepted? Indeed, then yes it should be...

It is a trick! A trap! Don't give in to it. It sounds too easy...

Well, okay, no then. No...

Say yes, werewolf! You are classified as a Dark Creature by law. Loathed and rejected by the Light Side; feared and shunned by the general population. Yet you shall find acceptance among us. Recognition. Support. Reverence.

Reverence? Support? Acceptance. Thank you, I shall...

But what about Sirius? And Peter? James and Lily? Not all harbour the bigotry against werewolves. There are others who see through the cloud of ignorance. Those who take the time to care. Dumbledore....

Say YES Dark Creature! Yes! YES! YES! Say yes to power!

No, thank you. I don't think it is necessary. I do not crave power....

Say yes to being at the forefront of fighting for the True Cause! Yes to end the era of human weakness caused by the infiltration of Mudbloods.

Mudbloods?

The offensive word rudely jolted Remus out of his trance. The mere use of such a word betrayed the darkness and hatred that lay within the faction. No longer was Remus enticed by the lure of promises, the whispering of sweet nothings into his mind.

No. I refuse. NO, I said!

Remus felt a ripping sensation shooting up through his throat. He realised that he had shouted out the last sentence.

Another stunned silence such as the one beforehand followed. The lead Death Eater seemed to be assessing Remus, engrossed in deep thought. He then lifted his wand.

"Crucio!" he hissed softly.

A spasm of pain hit Remus and he crumpled to a heap on the sodden, earthy ground. The millions of sharp pinpricks he felt all over his skin rapidly increased in intensity, until it seemed as if he was being branded with rods upon rods of white-hot pokers, mercilessly lashing against his body. The pressure inside his head built up to intolerable levels and he felt as if it would burst from the strain. He could barely register the callous laughter coming from the observers, entertained by the ruthless spectacle.

Jagged knives now appeared to be tearing through his flesh, accompanied by the shattering of several ribs. Remus screamed and writhed desperately on the moist grass, mud smearing onto his robes, his face, in his hair and into his eyes. His throat was raw and dry from his shrieking. The cries of pain and terror reverberated through the air, but sounded oddly distant. He prayed for it to end soon. Whichever way. At several points throughout the torture, he was driven to the point of begging for mercy. It was only the presence of a sliver of sanity during the torment that prevented him from doing so. Pleading for mercy would be a sign of weakness, a sign of vulnerability in which the Death Eaters could exploit.

Remus would rather die than to swell Voldemort's ranks. He would rather be killed than to betray the Light Side.

The blinding pain vanished. Remus forced his eyes open to see that the Death Eater had lifted his wand off him for the time being.

"The Dark Lord desires for your acceptance into his circle," he demanded once more.

Remus gathered as much strength as he could before returning the man's unbroken stare.

"You can tell the Dark Lord that I staunchly refuse to acquiesce to his request."

Another spasm of pain hit him. This time, more intense than the first. It was pure, undiluted pain, dealt by one who thrived on seeing the suffering of others. Remus gasped as wave upon wave of agony surged through him. He tried to block it out, as he did when he dealt with his monthly transformations. But that pain was no match for this. He silently begged to be killed, his mind still firmly refusing the invitation being extended.

"It's no use," came the cold voice. "He is stubborn as a mule."

The pain lifted off Remus once more. He found his eyes watering from the pain, his body so weak and drained he could barely lift his head off the ground.

A thick cloud of black, swirling smoke was floating towards him. Remus stiffened and held his breathe, summoning the very last wisps of his reserves to repel the vapour, to impede its penetration into his skull.

"Interesting," observed the lead Death Eater. "Take him back," he ordered the others almost lazily.

Remus felt himself manhandled roughly to the edge of the clearing. A tug at his navel told him he was being transported via a Portkey. Upon arrival at the other side, he saw his own house looming up before him. The two Death Eaters who had accompanied him dragged him up to the driveway and unceremoniously deposited him in a heap just inside the front door before Disapparating.

It was a good half an hour before Remus could pull himself up off the cold floorboards and sink into the sofa in the living room. His mind was a hurricane of thoughts and emotions.

First and foremost of those was the sinking acknowledgement that he had been singled out personally to be recruited by the Dark Lord. That Voldemort and his ring of Death Eaters knew of his secret and its vulnerability was worrying.

Second, he felt an inordinate amount of shame to have been offered the invitation, even though Remus knew he had done nothing to instigate it. Voldemort simply did not go round to supporters of the Light Side and request them to change the direction of their loyalties. Was there really something within Remus that Voldemort saw that was so worthy of his interest? Was being a Dark Creature what Remus actually was about, and his human façade was just a show? Was there something which the Dark Lord could see, but even Remus himself could not?

Those thoughts whirled uneasily round Remus' mind despite him trying his best to argue against them.

Lastly, Remus thought of James and Lily, and their upcoming addition to the family. They really were such a perfect family, he thought, thinking back to the announcement the couple had made earlier on in the day (it seemed like a century ago now). So much joy and love and happiness. It wouldn't do to have it thwarted. If the Death Eaters captured him again... if they used the Imperius and the Cruciatus curse on him again... if Remus' defences broke down from the incessant torture and he spilt information regarding his friends or the Order without knowing it.... i Voldemort himself performed Legilimency on him....

It simply wouldn't do.

Remus then made the conscious decision to detach himself from the rest. He couldn't afford to be a liability to the Order. He couldn't afford to be a danger to an unborn child. He would gradually extract himself from being the recipient of the current state of affairs within Dumbledore's circle. Therefore, should he be captured and tortured again, he would not be able to supply the information relating to Voldemort's resistance should they begin to interrogate him.

And with that, Remus planned how the best way to surreptitiously distance himself from those he worked for and the cause he fully believed in.

~ * ~