Acts Infernal

Above them in the sky it bends
Empty and grey and dread.
To-morrow night 'tis full again,
Golden, and foaming red.
Vachel Lindsay

It was not yet sunset, and the tourists had begun to flock, once again, to Wayland's Smithy. Sun did not set until late, these days; it was summer, and Remus Lupin, for one, was grateful for the short nights that meant even a little less time spent as a werewolf. He had too much to do to bother being patient with his own lycanthropy.

He sat on the low fence, working a chunk of loose, soft wood with a little knife he carried -- most wizards didn't carry weapons, a wand would do the trick, but his father had given him this knife when he was a child and he carried it everywhere. After all, a wand is a fickle thing, but a sharp knife is a sharp knife.

He wondered about the people coming to visit, about what drew them there, or how anyone could be less than fascinated by this place, as some of the children seemed to be. Didn't they feel it? Perhaps Muggles didn't. He wondered about their stories. About whether Harry would have stories in this place. About whether he would see Harry and Draco again.

He had his own stories to consider, knowing what he knew about why Harry was bound for the underworld. Of course he didn't know everything, but what he didn't know he could guess at.

After all, he had harrowed hell in his own way, hadn't he? Being a werewolf was nothing in comparison. There was nothing left of that but the bitterness, which was easier to swallow than Snape's Wolfsbane potion.

He always wondered if he could have stopped it, if he hadn't been living with Muggles. If he hadn't been living as a Muggle himself, running a listening post for gossip and rumour while holding down a cover job as a bartender in a pub in the north of England. It was so easy to live among Muggles.

***

He smelled like liquor and stale ice and sweat, but Remus Lupin was happy; he had a steady job that showed no signs of being affected by his unique disease, he had a flat to himself and the landlord lived just above him so there were never any problems with guttering or leaky roofs. He worked all evening, slept, woke in the morning and did his research for the Order. It was a simple, clean, a very good life for a young man of twenty.

As he walked up the front step, well past midnight, he noticed a note on the door. Remus, a friend of yours came to see you. Great bearded bloke. He said he'd wait, so I let him into your flat. Don't forget your rent.

Remus grinned and pocketed the note. Dumbledore, to see him, that was a nice surprise. He wondered if the older man had stayed, or had gotten tired of waiting and left. He'd been at the bar all day today, putting in extra morning hours to make up for his three days' "sick leave" last week, so he hadn't heard anything from anyone in two days.

"Dumbledore!" he called. "Hallo, are you still here?"

"In here," came a soft, sober voice, from the little kitchenette. Remus pulled off his coat and tossed it on the sofa, moving into the kitchen and grinning.

Dumbledore sat at the little table in what Remus rather optimistically called the Breakfast Nook (Breakfast Wall was more like it), head bowed, hands folded in his lap.

Something was very, very wrong.

"No," Remus breathed softly. Dumbledore looked up at him. "No, I know why you're here now," he whispered. "Who...?"

"Sit down, Remus," the older man said quietly. Remus, obedient to the last, sat in the other chair, and didn't take his eyes from his Headmaster's face.

"It's my father, isn't it?" he asked, feeling a chill creep into his bones. Dumbledore shook his head. "Then who?"

"Voldemort is vanquished," Dumbledore murmured. Remus started up, knocking over his chair.

"But that's great news!" he cried. "Are you sure? Who did it -- I bet it was Sirius, wasn't it? That ballsy bastard!" he laughed. "Tell me. It was Sirius and Moody, right? Am I right?"

He was halfway through pouring a celebratory mug of whiskey for himself, to be followed by one for Dumbledore, when the older man spoke again.

"It was Harry Potter."

Remus paused. He set the bottle down.

"James' son? But Harry's just a baby -- oh." His heart, which had leapt into his throat, plummeted again. "Oh God. James...?"

"James and Lily," Dumbledore said, his face creased and weary. "Voldemort found them."

"But they were in -- "

"Their Secret-Keeper betrayed them."

Remus' hands began to shake. "Sirius would never -- "

"Sirius is in the custody of the Dementors."

"The Dementors?" Remus repeated, numbly.

"He killed thirteen people. Muggles," Dumbledore added. "On a crowded street. Peter had tried to track him down, and -- Peter is also dead. Sirius was the traitor, Remus."

Remus, mind reeling, leaned back on his counter for support. He tried to gather his thoughts, but only two came in with any clarity.

"But you say Harry's still alive?"

"In the custody of his Muggle relatives."

"And Voldemort...gone?"

"As far as we can tell."

Remus nodded. The second thought fell into place.

"Then it was worth it," he said, and hated himself for saying it.

His eyes began to roll up in his head, then, and the last thing he saw before he fainted was Dumbledore starting up to catch him. He heard a thump, and felt the glass in his hand shatter when it hit the ground, and knew nothing more.

***

Remus' hands worked the soft wood, slowly, carefully. They did not shake now. Not since he'd seen James and Lily and Peter in the ground.

Well.

He thought he'd seen Peter in the ground, anyhow.

So if you could save the world from darkness by killing three of your friends and imprisoning the fourth in a torture house, would you? he thought. He often asked himself that, and the answer was always the same:

I wasn't given a choice.

It would have been worse if he had been, because he was certain he would have done it.

If Harry did come back, what could he say to the people he would bring back with him? Lily and James?

I was glad you died?

I went mad and was committed to St. Mungo's?

And what terrified him more was that he might not have to face James and Lily at all.

How would he look Harry in the eye if it was Sirius that the boy had gone to find? If Harry chose Sirius over his own parents?

Which was nonsense.

Of course it was nonsense.

But this was deep magic, and mortals didn't often understand it. He'd given Harry all the blessing he could, and sent him off with a Death Eater, a spy, to the realm of the dead. When he came back --

-- if he came back --

How could Remus Lupin not be there to witness? Who had come through the beginning and the end unscathed?

So he sat, and waited for the sun to set, and carved, and watched the people come and go.

***

When the rain of dirt and stones finally stopped, Harry was curled on the ground, hands protectively over his neck, knees tucked up underneath him. As it became obvious that the earthquake had ended, he lifted his head, shook his shoulders to dislodge the soil that had settled there.

Then he looked up.

And further up.

There was a body emerging from the ground, seemingly made of dirt; it stretched, and Harry could see that it ended at the waist, and rose a good thirty feet, at least, into the air. From his crouched position he could see curling ram's horns, goat's eyes, a flat elongated nose, and a sneer.

"ANUBIS!" the thing cried, angrily. It looked around, and Harry could see the ripple of muscles, as if under the dirt there was a living thing. "ANUBIS, COME TO ME!"

"He...he vanished," Harry said, hesitantly. The eyes fixed on him instantly, and he flinched.

"Another one?" said the great deep booming voice. "Another boy? How many wilt the Aboveway send to invade my home?"

Harry stared.

"Well? Art thou deaf?"

"I...didn't come to invade, exactly," Harry temporised.

"Thou art here," the thing said, crossing its arms. "Thou hast attempted entrance and pestered my judge, hast thou not? Is't not invasion? Art thou a hero?" it added, in angry but slightly hopeful tones. Harry ducked his head.

"Sort of," he admitted.

"Of what place and manner art thou? Soldier? Scholar? Artist?" the creature asked.

"I'm a student," Harry answered. "At Hogwarts."

He realised it was a stupid thing to say; something in the back of his mind told him this was Hades, and Hades probably didn't care much about where he went to school.

"A scholar of magic," Hades sniffed. "Thou shouldst well know better, scholar. But thou art a boy. Begone and I forgive."

Again. Harry'd had just about enough of this.

"I have to get in," he said stubbornly.

Hades threw back his head and laughed, eyes flickering with amusement.

"Go after thy friendling? He belongs to me now. All are mine who pass," Hades chuckled. "Thou amuseth me, boy. Get thee gone."

"That's not what Orpheus says," Harry answered. Hades stopped laughing abruptly.

"And what does thou know of Orpheus? Who art thou to speak to me thusly?"

"My name is Harry Potter," Harry said, stammering a little under Hades' intense stare. "I've come for Sirius Black."

Hades reached out a hand and flicked the scales aside; they toppled with a crash that shook the earth, and his eyes flared red.

"Thou cheater of death?" he demanded. "Thou who foiled the messenger to Hades? THOU art the sable boy?"

Harry was staring at the scales, which had come within feet of crushing him when they fell.

"I didn't mean to," he said finally. "I was just a baby."

Hades narrowed his eyes, and the ground shook slightly as he bent to place his hands on it.

"Thou art a curiousity," Hades rumbled. "It will pass some time, and I say who comes and goes. Thou shalt come to the Museum."

He began to sink back into the ground, and Harry watched, fascinated, until he realised that a glowing gate, traced in white-hot light in the rock, was appearing in one wall of the cavern.

"SEE TO THY DUTIES, ANUBIS!" came the final rumbling command, as Hades vanished entirely. "Drop the scales from his eyes, Jackal."

Harry turned to see Anubis emerging from quite a different area of the cavern altogether. Anubis bowed, and waved a hand at the gate.

"Hades has said you shall enter," he said, in a confused voice. "And that I should...give you a gift..."

One of the creature's hands darted out, and Harry had just enough time to register the cruel claw on the end before it slashed him across the face -- a light scratch, just barely enough to draw blood and turn his head sharply to the left.

"You will see as the dead see," said Anubis, as Harry touched the burning cut. Then he looked up, and his eyes widened.

There were thousands of bodies in the cavern, greyish forms that were shaped vaguely like men and animals, filling, thronging the chamber. Each seemed to have a glowing centre, and it was obvious they were waiting...for something...

"Do not think that they are not there, simply because you cannot see them," Anubis reminded him, shoving him none too gently towards the white gate in the wall.

***