remus lupin is finally at peace. (moonstricken) wrote in blurred_lines, @ 2009-08-14 19:19:00 |
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Entry tags: | ! [1980-08] august, alastor moody, remus lupin |
Who: Alastor Moody & Remus Lupin.
What: There are still more tasks to carry out...
When: 14 August 1980, late afternoon.
Where: Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom in Hogwarts.
Song: http://www.box.net/shared/6jyucxhzy
Status: Complete.
Rating: Rish.
He missed his parents -- but most of all, Remus missed his mother. No matter how bad things became, she had always been there to tell him that everything was going to be alright, that he was strong and could pull through anything. It didn't matter that he didn't always believe her; that she believed in him was what helped him the most. What was left, now, to believe in? Victory? They would have none, even though the Dark Lord himself had been defeated -- the world around them all had already been destroyed, and in the aftermath, they would find themselves all alone with nothing to celebrate. Remus had convinced himself of this, and the deaths of Alice and Frank only solidified his beliefs. And Sirius... Remus could barely bring himself to think about him; every time he did, all he could see was his friend's body bleeding out beside him, and he no longer remembered Sirius' voice outside of the last word he spoke: Traitor. The pain of the memory was just as bad as any Cruciatus Curse, but as much as he tried to forget, the images were popping into his head day and night. They had all left him, and they had all blamed him. Did Marlene blame him, too? Had she died hating him? Would her last words to him been filled with the regret of wasting her life with him? There was no one who could answer these questions for him; James already blamed him, and Lily... he was afraid to be near her and Harry, anymore. Afraid that he would get them killed or captured, too. The orders to leave the Lestrange family alone were conditioned into him, but even if they hadn't, there would be no point in it anymore -- nothing he had ever done has effected that family. He withdrew further and further from the Order every day, no longer interested in the war, no longer interested in doing anything, and he wished that he could leave -- but there were still things he needed to do. Still things he had to do. He needed to save James and Peter, and... There was nothing to think about anymore. He pulled the curtains open from around his bed, swinging his legs over the side and bending down to pull on his trainers. His wand was slipped into the pocket of his robes, and his dagger was hidden beneath, stored safely in the sheath attached to his belt. He pulled the Marauder’s Map out from the trunk at the end of his bed, searching it's worn and familiar pages, and when he located the person he was looking for Remus stood up, letting the map fall to the floor. It wasn't important. He left the boy's dormitory, left Gryffindor tower (and the Fat Lady's portrait greeted him on his way out, but he did not respond), and made his way through the stone corridors of Hogwarts until he was standing in front of the door to the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. He didn't knock, pushing the door open until he could slip inside (there was no point in trying to act polite or move quietly, as Moody likely saw him coming before he reached the door). He walked through the rows of desks, past the professor's desk and toward the short set of stairs in the back leading up into the rear office to stand in its open doorway. "Moody -- do you have a minute?" Given that the Order had spent the last several weeks in spaces that were unappealingly confined, it hadn't taken Moody long to get restless, even though there was much work to be done. Aside from the brief post-battle siege several months earlier, he had not set foot inside the castle since he was a student there. He'd already visited his old haunts and spent a good deal of time pillaging the kitchen when it had occurred to him that they were in Hogwarts and there were likely a good amount of things within its walls that could be useful. As far as he was concerned, there was no better place to start than the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. He'd started with the supply cupboards and after only a few minutes, he had already amassed a sizable collection of things that might come in handy. When he finished there, he moved on to the vacant desk at the head of the room. While the drawers were filled mostly with old parchment, assignments that must have 'disappeared' into the fray at some point and defective Sneakoscopes, he did find a few things of interest, among them some particularly fine quills, a Foe-Glass and a silver knife, which he laid out on the desk in front of him. It was difficult not to feel somewhat guilty, even though he was an adult and no one would be using these things, going through the previous professor's personal drawer fillings. It was likely a side-effect of having spent so many years as a student in the class, but there was something distinctly off-limits about rummaging through a professor's desk. When Remus entered the room, Moody was busy reading through a stack of notes detailing some vaguely interesting defence spells, which he quickly replaced when he heard the door open. Slamming the drawer shut, he immediately straightened and chided himself for not having paid more attention to his surroundings. After everything that had happened, it wouldn't do for anyone to be able to sneak up on him. "Hello and yes," he said, still looking as though he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "What do you need?" Remus had never felt entirely comfortable to be in this area of the school -- while Defence Against the Dark Arts was a class he had excelled in, he could remember making himself ill with nerves on several occasions in fear that someone would figure out what he was, and how much he'd had to struggle through writing essays on dark creatures and werewolves (none of which ever seemed to focus on anything positive). His eyes fell to look at the objects Moody had laid out on the desk, forgetting for a moment why he had come down here at all. "What were you looking for?" Moody glanced down at the objects as well and resisted the urge to guiltily shove them back into the desk. "Anything useful," he said, putting his hands on his hips. "This place is a treasure trove." He gestured to the pile of things he'd collected earlier to prove his point. With their limited resources, they were going to have to use whatever they could to their advantage. The Defence classroom would not miss what they borrowed. He nodded, and if Remus was bothered by the fact that Moody was stealing things from the desk he wasn't showing it. They had all done much worse, and if Professor Dumbledore had still been around, he likely would have given them all permission anyway. But that wasn't why he was here. "About the plan for the Rehabilitation Centre tomorrow... I don't know how confident I feel about it," he said, he right hand flexing at his side. "Since Marlene -- and then Sirius -- I haven't been practising. I don't want anything to go wrong. I wanted to ask if you could help me with some of my spell-work. I just -- I want to be ready for anything." And it would be easy to write off his nervousness as caused by how unprepared for tomorrow he felt. "I'd be happy to," Moody said, pushing up his sleeves. "Think there's anything specific you need to work on? We could start with some defencive spells and make sure those are up to par. You never know when you're going to need a good Shield Charm or something to repel your enemies. You see this leg --" He paused to pull up the hem of his robes and reveal the prosthetic limb beneath it. "I didn't see it in a shop window and think 'gee whiz, I really wish I could have me one of those snazzy thingamajigs.' Just a consequence of fighting -- a present from a nasty cur. Gotta be prepared for these things." He put his hands back on his hips and gave a quick nod. "So, let's get to it." As soon as Moody agreed, Remus had realised in hindsight that perhaps asking for help with his spell-work might not have been the best plan; he had wanted to be able to draw his own wand without raising any suspicion, but this also left the opportunity open for Moody to draw his as well. But he hadn't done so yet, and while Remus listened to him talk he used that time to take out his wand from his robes. He knew this was not going to be as easy as it had been with James and Sirius -- far from it. "I was thinking more of working on offencive spells, but I wouldn't mind warming up with some defence spells. I think the strength of my shield charms need work," he said, extending his arm out in front of him -- and with his wand pointed in Moody's direction, he tried to keep his hand from shaking as he spoke. "Avada Kedavra!" When one made it their career to fight against dark wizards, he practically invited his enemies to use the Killing Curse against him and Moody was fully aware of that. What he hadn't expected was some one he trusted -- some one on his own side -- to ever utter those words against him. Without his wand and only the briefest period of time to come up with a solution. Adrenaline surging through him with a jolt, Moody reached for the Foe-glass on the desk and held it up in front of him to block the curse. There was a chance it could break, that it could fail to stop the curse and Moody would die right there in the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. The thought burrowed into his mind with urgency -- it might only have a moment or two more to reach the core of his paranoia. It wasn't until the curse hit the glass with a blast of green light and deflected, barrelling through a row of students desks before it hit the wall and was gone, that Moody let himself breathe. By then, his hand was already half-way to his wand and before the Foe-glass even hit the floor, he had the tip of it pointed at Remus. "Drop your wand," he said, his mouth drawn into a thin line. This couldn't possibly be who he thought it was -- it was an impostor, some one Polyjuiced to look like Remus. Or he was under the Imperius Curse. There had to be some explanation. "Who are you and what the hell do you think you're doing?" As the spell smashed through the desks, Remus threw a shield charm up in front of himself, prepared for the retaliation he expected, but when nothing happened he hesitated, keeping his wand trained on his opponent. Why couldn't anyone make this easy? He did not respond Moody's questions, instead concentrating on his task; none of his answers were any better than when Sirius had tried questioning him. "Depulso!" The charm was aimed down at the desk, shoving to backwards toward Moody's legs, and with an upwards flick of his wand he followed his previous spell up with a disarming charm. The desk collided with Moody's legs, sending him up and over it to where he toppled to the ground on the other side, the disarming spell that would have been his undoing narrowing missing him in the fray. Immediately, he righted himself and held his wand steady, aimed at Remus' arm. "Remus John Lupin!" he shouted, the typically straight line of his mouth curving downward in a vehement frown. "I swear to Merlin's mother if you don't drop your wand right now I will not hold back when I'm teaching you some respect." He knew that wouldn't work, so he gave the tiniest flick of his wand and silently summoned his wand. Remus was already taking several steps closer to him as he spoke, his wand remaining pointed at Moody, and his lip twitched as he snarled: "Sectum --" but before he could finish, his wand slipped out from his fingers and he was left tightening his grip on nothing but air. A momentary look of panic crossed his face, and then he reached into his robes to pull out his dagger (which still had flakes of Sirius' dried blood on the blade), more comfortable now that he wasn't unarmed even though he was too far from Moody for it to be useful. And so Remus lunged at him, his arm extended awkwardly in a clumsy attempt to sink the blade into Moody's chest. In order to catch Remus' wand, Moody had to drop his walking stick and so, he was unsteady when Remus came at him with the blade. Abandoning the wand, which flew over his shoulder to the front of the room, he reached to catch Remus' arm, gripping it tightly in his hand. Before he could stop him, the knife had pierced through his robes and pushing it away had caused the blade to drag across his skin, leaving a thin trail of blood in its wake. Moody suppressed the urge to retaliate still, hoping this was not as it appeared. Simultaneously yanking him closer and digging the point of his wand into Remus' side, Moody spoke to him in a voice just above his usual growl. "If this is the curse, you can fight it off. Stop and think. Remember who you are. Know that I'm going to hurt you if you don't." He dropped his free hand down to grab Moody's wrist, trying to shove the wand away from his side while struggling to pull his right arm free, refusing to release his grip on the knife. Stop and think? He didn't need to stop and think. Remus knew who he was. He knew what he needed to do, and he knew that Moody wouldn't understand, just like James and Sirius. He jerked his body backwards, twisting as he tried to pull away, growling through his teeth -- and when that did not succeed, he immediately pushed forward and made to bite down at the base of Moody's throat. "Oh, hell no," Moody said, craning his neck even as he winced to try and see how bad the damage was from Remus' teeth. He could practically hear teeth slicing through skin, not to mention the excruciating pain that came along with a werewolf bite. He'd felt it once before when he'd lost his leg and he was damned if he was going to let anything like that happen again, let alone at the hands (or rather, the teeth) of some one he once thought he could trust. "I did not leave the safehouse for this -- Repulso!" Pain shot through Remus' side before the spell knocked him off his feet, sending him to the ground several feet away, and his dagger clattered across the floor out of his reach. He pushed himself up to his hands and knees, rubbing his sleeve across his mouth to wipe off the blood. Now disarmed of both his wand and his dagger, Remus found himself defenceless -- he would either have to retrieve one of them or try to wrestle Moody's wand out of his hand, and he couldn't decide which was a more unlikely scenario to actually work. A glance down and he saw a smaller knife not far from where he was, and as Remus pushed himself to stand up he reached out to grab it -- only to immediately drop it again as the silver burned his hand. The only other object close to him that he could see was Moody's discarded walking stick, and so he grabbed that instead -- he needed to use whatever weaknesses he knew against him if he wanted to stand a chance. He gripped the walking stick as if he were holding a bat, and he ran to close the distance between them again, swinging the stick as hard as he could at Moody's prosthetic leg. Upon impact, the side of Moody's wooden leg cracked and began to splinter, which was the least of his worries when balanced so precariously. He felt himself immediately beginning to topple, the upper half of his body's weight forcing his feet out from under him. He reached out to catch himself on the desk beside him, keeping his eye on Remus the entire time. He still didn't want to hurt him, but he was being left very little choice in the matter. He had warned him, after all. Using the desk to push himself back up, he aimed a coiled fist at Remus' face -- maybe he could smack some sense into him. Remus recoiled as soon as Moody's fist struck his nose, hearing the bone as it cracked, and he brought one hand up to cover his nose. There was blood on his fingers when he pulled his hand away, and he rubbed his sleeve under his nose to wipe the blood off his face again. When he sniffed, all he could smell was the salty, metallic scent of his own blood -- and instead of revulsion it only seemed to strengthen his resolve. At least Moody didn't seem to be interested in asking anymore questions. For the first time in his life, he wished he had claws, but without that option he continued to hold onto the walking stick, lunging forward again and swinging it toward Moody's head. If this is how he had to kill him, it'd have to do. By now, Moody was expecting practically anything from his opponent -- the opponent that he hoped would somehow crumble back into himself, if only he fought hard enough -- so, the stick coming at his head was hardly a shock and he levelled his wand at it, using a Blasting Curse in hopes of dislodging it from his hand. Without waiting to see if that worked, he practically crouched low to aim an Incarcerous at Remus's ankles. The walking stick splintered and flew out of his grip, and before Remus could attempt to retaliate there were ropes snaking their way around his legs, and he was unable to keep his balance when the ropes pulled his feet close together. He fell away from Moody and onto his back, head cracking sharply against the stone floor, leaving his vision blurred and feeling disoriented even as he pushed himself back up into a sitting position. He pulled at the ropes with his hands, loosening them but not removing them completely -- but just enough so that he could push himself up onto his heels and surge forward, nothing but short nails and fists and teeth as he tried to pin Moody while they were both still down. Moody attempted to throw himself out of the way, but instead, found himself on his back, fending off Remus' startlingly animalistic attack. He responded with fists and knees, aiming first for his face before re-evaluating his tactics and aiming for a significantly more sensitive area. Fortunately, his knee was in the perfect position to make impact and when Remus inevitably recoiled, Moody took the opportunity to roll him over, pinning him to the floor of the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. Feeling confident that he had regained the upper hand, Moody grabbed onto the loosened ropes around Remus and pulling with all of his strength to tighten them. "Are you under the Imperius Curse?" he asked, leaning down to glare directly into his face. "Answer me." Remus was still gasping in pain when he found himself on his back, and he was finding it harder to struggle the tighter the ropes constricted around his body. He really, really wished people would stop kneeing him there, and he grit his teeth, attempting to focus on anything else -- which, unfortunately, was Moody's question. "No, I'm not -- let me up!" he snarled, and he jerked his head forward in an attempt to headbutt him against his nose. The impact of Remus' forehead against Moody's nose was something he heard rather than felt -- at least for the first few seconds, until he felt the warmth of blood trickling down his upper lip and then finally the agonising pain of the nose itself. Like Remus only moments before, Moody balked and recoiled, raising his hands and wand to fix it, consequently letting go of the ropes keeping his opponent bound and leaving himself vulnerable to further attacks. He could barely keep his wits about him long enough to consider the answer to his question -- if Remus wasn't Imperiused, then what was he doing? This obviously wasn't the two of them practising spells. Somewhere in the back of his mind, behind his indignance at having his nose broken, he had to wonder if perhaps he had been the spy they'd been worried about all along. Maybe James was right and Remus had betrayed him to the Death Eaters. Maybe he had killed Sirius himself, just as he was trying to kill Moody now. He had too many questions that needed answers and not enough opportunity to ask them, particularly not if he kept trying to attack him. "Who put you up to this?" Moody asked as soon as he could focus enough to do so. "What are they offering you that's important enough to justify your fucking over everyone here -- your friends, family, me. We trusted you." He had been left dazed from hitting his head against Moody's nose, but Remus still noticed the loosening of ropes around his body, and instead of replying to more of his questions immediately he took advantage of this. He tugged his arms roughly out of the ropes and in the process he twisted his left shoulder in an awkward angle -- at least he could still move it, but there was a twinge of pain every time he shifted. One hand grabbed Moody's shoulder and the other went for his throat, fingers digging against the bite he had given him not moments ago and, as a last second decision, Remus decided to return the favour from earlier and brought his knee up as hard as he could manage with ropes still loosely wrapped around his legs. Moody should have seen the knee coming but he was too busy trying to pry Remus' hands away from his throat and the very tender wound at his collar to anticipate or do anything to prevent it. Unlike his nose, this reaction was simultaneous, causing an immediate wince and growl of pain as Moody rolled off Remus to curl around himself -- an instinctual act he performed without even thinking, since if he'd even had the ability to think at that moment, he'd have realised what a horrible idea that was. Even so, Moody only allowed himself a few seconds to react before he forced his thoughts elsewhere -- to Remus. He pointed his wand at him again, taking steady breaths as he tried to scramble back to his feet before he could do anything else. He glanced at the notes he'd been reading that were sitting back on the desk and gave a flick of his wand, launching them into the air where they folded themselves into paper aeroplanes and burst into flames before zooming straight toward where Remus was laying. Remus sat up as soon as Moody rolled away from him, pushing the ropes down his legs and kicking them off -- and before he had time to consider a retaliation there were flaming paper aeroplanes flying toward him. He rolled out of the way, a few of the aeroplanes crashing onto the stone floor, but one of them still managed to hit his shoulder and another against his side, catching the fabric of his robes on fire. He could feel the heat of the flames on his skin through his clothes, and he cursed as he tugged his sleeve up over his hand so he could slap at the fires, trying to put them out -- and when that didn't work he rolled across the floor to smother the flames out. He struggled back up to his feet, eyeing the damage caused by the fires -- he just needed a wand. That's all, and then he could end this whole thing much faster. Maybe he could distract Moody somehow and steal his... "What they give me is something the Order never could --" but was it enough to justify betraying so many people? Yes. It had to be. Things were so much worse when he didn't do what he needed to do. His head was beginning to hurt the longer he tried to think about it, and so instead he launched himself at Moody, this time no longer interested in trying to attack him -- Remus went straight for the hand that held Moody's wand. "The Order has done everything for you. We are --" Moody was cut off by Remus' lunging for his hand. The anger that had flared up when he'd considered that some one they'd trusted was now betraying them for something they couldn't give him. His imagination could have thought of several things that might fight the description, but the only one he could consider with any seriousness was the Dark Mark -- had Remus become a Death Eater while they were planning their arsons and plotting the purists' demises? Had they been so blind that he had betrayed them right under their noses for this long? Moody wanted to see for himself. So when Remus was close enough, he grabbed his wrist and shoved his sleeve up his arm. But before he could get a good look, he felt his wand slip out from between his fingers. He tried to tighten his grip but it was too late and even his hold on Remus' arm was easily shaken off. What the hell was he going to do now? What was Remus going to do now? He wasn't going to wait to find out -- so instead of standing there and waiting for him to make the first move, he dove at him -- not teeth and nails, but fists and bulk. He wasn't going to let this be easy for him. If he wanted to kill him, he was going to have to work for it. As soon as the wand was in Remus' hand he clutched it in a vise-like grip, the thought of possibly finally gaining the upper hand returning some of his confidence -- he could do this. He didn't have any other choice. He tried to push back as Moody dove at him, trying to keep his footing, but he had little traction on the stone below them and he fell back to the floor. Still, he refused to let go of the wand, but he used the clenched fist to fight back, swinging hard at Moody's face -- and his head hit back against the floor when one of Moody's fists caught him over his left eye. He had stopped relying on teeth and nails, as if having a wand back in his hand somehow returned some of his humanity, but he was still kicking and punching, trying to get away from Moody -- he was hesitant to cast any offencive spells with a wand that wasn't his own, but he was left with few other options. Remus shoved the wand against Moody's stomach and shouted -- "Depulso!" -- but the banishing charm did not only blast forward, but backwards as well. The spell had knocked the wind out of him to hard that he felt as if someone had dropped a boulder on his stomach and he gasped for air, curling up on his side as he clutched his stomach in pain. Still, the spell had done its job, and Remus crawled away a few more inches to put more distance between Moody and himself before he pointed the wand to the front of the classroom. "Accio wand!" He caught his own wand in his free hand as soon as it flew near enough, and then it was his turn to throw Moody's wand across to the other side of the room. Now he could do it. Now it was over. As soon as he caught his breath -- he used the wall beside him to help himself back up to his feet. Without a wand, Moody was left to scramble to his feet and face Remus again defenceless. He, too, felt as though he'd just been thrown over by a boulder and that his walking stick had been broken was not helping him feel any more confident when his opponent now had his wand and there was no possible way he could get to his own without giving Remus ample time to attack. Finally standing, though unsteadily, he remained bent over, clutching his hands around his stomach where the banishing charm had hit him dead-on, he looked around for something -- anything -- with which he could defend himself. His eyes fell on the knife he'd removed from the desk earlier, now lying on the floor where Remus had discarded it. A few steps brought him within reach and he curled his fingers around the handle, finally straightening up to look at him. "You can stop this now, Remus," he said, though he knew that it could not be that simple. Not after everything he may have done. "It's not too late. You can walk away. You don't have to do this." Remus tried to keep his hand steady as he considered how he should do this -- he couldn't mess this up again. While he had heard Moody speak, he didn't acknowledge him; he didn't understand. He did have to do this. No one ever understood: Not James, not Sirius... none of them. He was too far away, and he knew that even without a wand Moody might be able to block his spells somehow, or at the very least move out of the way. He had to get close enough to him so that there was no where else he could go. He had to move fast. A deep breath -- and them Remus lunged for him, one hand darting out for a firm grip on Moody's shoulder to keep him from dodging, and the other jabbed his wand against his side as if he were attempting to stab him with it. Remus had already begun to snarl an incantation before his wand made contact with Moody's body. "Avada --" And Moody did the only thing a man in his situation could do -- he tightened his grip on the knife and sunk it deep into Remus' stomach. He could feel the skin and flesh give way to the silver blade, pushed aside by all the force Moody could muster. And as quickly as he had sent it forward, he withdrew it, blood dripping from its end. He was frozen in momentary shock at what he'd just done -- he had hurt people before, but never some one he'd trusted as much as Remus and what would happen when the silver entered his bloodstream had not slipped his mind. He'd been prepared to stop this -- to neutralise the situation so that they could figure this out. But when he'd heard the beginnings of the curse with which he was all too familiar and felt the claustrophobic hold on his shoulder, he hadn't had a choice. Remus would have killed him. And at that thought, Moody snapped his gaping mouth shut and let his determination consume his expression. Remus was a traitor. He may have been the spy they'd been worried about since Sirius' death. He'd betrayed them all. He was as good as dead to him already. And so Moody's hand came to rest on Remus' shoulder and the knife took its second plunge. Remus' words were cut off in a choked gasp, and at first, all he had felt was something pushing against his stomach -- and then the pressure was gone, its only evidence left behind was the burning sensation around the wound. He was unable to move from shock, fingers squeezing even tighter on Moody's shoulder to keep himself upright; a deep red colour was spreading over the front of his robes, but the blood was not fast enough to push out the poison. It was a sharp, stinging pain that began from his stomach and travelled up through his veins like a hot flame, burning him from the inside. His wand slipped from his fingers to clatter on the floor, and he was holding onto him with both hands now because this couldn't be it -- this couldn't be how it was going to end -- and he was afraid to fall and be left without any anchor at all. The second puncture from the knife was no less shocking than the first; he looked down to see the silver blade inside of him, and that was when his strength failed. Remus took one stumbled step backwards before he fell to the ground onto his back, his face twisted in a strained look of agony, too painful to scream even if he were able through his desperate, rapid gasps for air. The silver worked its way through is body quickly -- he thought death would feel colder than this, but instead all he could feel was the heat of the poison spreading through him. His body felt too heavy to move, his vision too blurry, trapped in what felt like the dizzying, lethargic moment between awake and asleep. It was over, he realised, and in that second he was filled with a sudden sensation of relief. It was over. No more war. No more death. No more loss. No more full moons. He didn't have to do any of it any longer. And the last thing he saw was the cold, empty ceiling of Hogwarts. |