Trapped

Chapter 9: The Scent of Blood

Remus Lupin was ripped out of an uneasy sleep by a strange piercing cry, followed by the inevitable shrieking of Mrs. Black's portrait. His eyes flew open in alarm, but then he saw the familiar glow of red and golden feathers.

"Ah, it's you, Fawkes. You did startle me, you know. What's up? Order business?" The Phoenix held out his leg for Remus to remove the parchment that was attached to it. Ignoring the noise from downstairs, he quickly read through Dumbledore's short note. He furrowed his brow, increasingly worried.

"You are to take me to Hogwarts immediately? Has something happened to Harry?" The bird shook his head, and Remus sighed with relief, leaned back in his pillows and closed his eyes again.

"Ok, ok, I'll come with you. Just let me put on some clothes," the wizard said, stifling a yawn, as Fawkes pecked at him impatiently. He got up. When dressed and washed in a hurry, Remus grabbed the Phoenix by one leg and with a soft 'Plop' they both disappeared from number 12 Grimmauld Place.

The sensation was something between Apparating and traveling by Portkey, and Remus didn't like it much, especially not when all he wanted was to go back to sleep. But Dumbledore didn't send Fawkes on errands without good reason. The bird was too precious. It had a will of its own, too, and would just refuse to help with trivial matters. What could be so important in the middle of the night then if it wasn't Harry?

"There you are. Well done, Fawkes," Dumbledore greeted as they suddenly appeared inside the headmaster's office. "Please follow me. We need your help, Remus."

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Madame Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall were still busy washing the blood and grime off the Potions master and carefully cleansed his many wounds when Dumbledore and Lupin entered the room. Heavy tremors were running through the unconscious man's body, and he was moaning softly.

"Gods, this looks bad," Remus murmured as he approached the bed. On their way to the hospital wing, the headmaster had told him what had occurred but nothing could have prepared him for the sight of his former classmate's battered body. The scent of blood was almost overwhelming for the werewolf's sensitive nose, however, there was a strange quality to it. Dumbledore was right, there was Dark magic involved. He could smell it all over the Potions master. The scent was somehow familiar. He had smelled it before, in the depth of the Forbidden Forest. Silver splashes on green leaves glittering in the soft light of the full moon. The stag and the huge black dog had been with him. And the rat that clung to the dog's shaggy fur. They had found it lying in a patch of moonlit lilies, dying. It was so beautiful even in its death that not even the bloodthirsty monster that was he could touch it. He would never forget the saddening sight, nor the smell.

"Unicorn blood," he muttered. "They've been feeding him unicorn blood."

"But this is horrible," McGonagall exclaimed, paler than ever. "It's a terrible thing to slay a unicorn, and whoever drinks its blood will lead a cursed life thereafter. He ... he might be better off dead."

"I'm not sure, Minerva, but it appears to me that the slaying of the unicorn is what draws the curse upon the perpetrator, not the drinking of the blood itself," Lupin said thoughtfully. "I'll better read up on this, and check with Firenze. At least, Severus won't die as long as the effect of the unicorn blood lasts, no matter how bad the injuries."

"And how long will that be?" Madame Pomfrey inquired.

"I have no idea," answered the werewolf. "The scent is pretty strong; so I'd say he'll be safe for another few hours at the least. But, Poppy, you better not use any potions on Severus. They don't mix well with unicorn blood. Spells should be safe, though. I'll be in the library doing some research on the matter, in case you need me. Good luck."

The mediwitch frowned at Lupin's words. No potions. How in Merlin's name was she supposed to heal Severus's many wounds without potions? She would need a lot of luck, indeed. And strength. Performing healing spells effective enough to repair all the broken bones alone would tap a lot of her energy. Worst was his chest. It was badly crushed as if struck by many curses simultaneously, and the shattered ribs had pierced both lobes of Severus's lungs. It was a miracle he could breathe at all. Then, there was a broken jaw, and his knees. At least, the chest injuries were fresh, whereas the others were weeks old already. And the older the more difficult to heal. The knees were heavily swollen and festering. Besides the lung bleeding, there was a ruptured spleen and considerable damage to liver and kidneys. Add a badly burned and infected stump, a severe Pneumonia with high fever, numerous cuts and bruises, severe malnutrition, and a tremendous loss of blood to the picture. And the tremors were undoubtedly caused by liberal administration of the Cruciatus. Those bastards. It was an absolutely impossible task.

"Albus, I don't think I can do this. Not without potions," the mediwitch said. "He'd be much better off at St. Mungo's, though I can't see how we could transport him there without causing additional damage."

"St. Mungo's is not safe for Severus, anyway, Poppy, now that Voldemort knows," Dumbledore sighed. "Think of what happened to Broderick Bode of the Department of Mysteries last year. No, we just have to try our best here, though it might not be enough."

"Well, then I better get started." The mediwitch exchanged the wet cloth for her wand and concentrated. It would be a long and strenuous night.