Consumption

Minerva McGonagall sat in the pristine white chair, her back to the huge window overlooking her back garden. Her house withheld a clean elegance that suited her persona. Expansive white walls, tall windows, a plentiful number of bookcases, and in the center of the huge house, a lady, wrinkles forming on her face and dark patches blooming on her hands.

“This always goes better if I’m perfectly honest with you.” Her voice was detached, staring Remus in the eyes but not quite seeing him.

“What would be the point otherwise?” Remus agreed, crossing his legs in the matching chair directly across from her.

“Well, one of us has to be honest.”

“I’m honest.”

“Not perfectly.” Remus’ lips pursed at that, his eyebrow arching up.

“As honest as anyone.”

“Not really. I have conversations with a version of you and hope the actual you gets what he needs.”

“A version of me?” Remus questioned. Minerva still held her all-consuming eye contact, her eyes seeming to pull the thoughts out of his head.

“Naturally, I respect its meticulous construction,” She took a pause, her head slightly tilting to the side. “But you are wearing a very well-tailored person suit.”

Remus let out a light laugh, a joking tone in his voice as he spoke, “Do you refer to me as ‘Person Suit’ with your psychiatrist friends?”

“Considering you’re the only patient of mine who chose to ignore my retirement, no.” She took a sip of her wine, the deep red liquid sloshing around in her cup. “I can still see the vague shape of you, but you are eloquently obstructed. So really, it’s more of a human veil than a suit.”

“I prefer to call it a human shield.” And it was, in Remus’ eyes. He built the walls to stop others from finding out what he was.

“I’m sure you do. You’re a very complicated man, Remus. I can imagine your loneliness.”

Remus’ fingers tightened on the arms of his chair. “I have friends. And opportunities for friends.”

“On the other side of the veil.” Minerva gave him a pointed look.

“You and I are friendly.”

“And when your hour is up, I will pour both of us a glass of wine. Nevertheless, I will be drinking it on this side of the veil.”

“Have you been drinking Dr. Lupin?” Sirius asked aghast, a smile on his face as he walked into Remus’ office and saw the glass of wine on the table. “And nonetheless, on the clock?”

“Late night appointments deserve a special treat.” Remus laughed, welcoming the younger man inside. “Plus, technically it was my therapist who was on the clock.”

“You have a therapist?”

“I fear it may be hypocritical to preach the benefits of therapy and then not indulge in it myself.” Remus smirked, bringing the glass of wine to his lips. “Plus, she’s unconventional, she fits my needs.”

“And those are?”

Remus shook his head, a teasing glint in his eyes. “This is your therapy, not mine.”

“I thought we were just having conversations?” Sirius crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against the doctor's desk. “Or do I have to go back to calling you Dr. Lupin? I do have to admit I’ve gotten used to the informality of using your name. A very nice name, that is, do you happen to have a brother named Romulus?”

“I do not, no.” Remus sat down in the chair behind his desk, pushing it back so he could actually see Sirius. “And we are having whatever you want us to have.”

Sirius raised his eyebrow at that, the expansive meaning filling his head and chest with cotton.

At Sirius’ silence, Remus continued the conversation, “How has Dumbledore been taking the case?”

Sirius groaned at the mention of his boss. “Fucking awful! He’s up my ass right now about everything. The stupid reports restating everything I’ve said in the last few, and yelling at me about examining the evidence. There is nothing left to examine. I’m examined out.”

“There’s only one more scene left before he’s gone, correct?”

“Yup. It’s really raising the stakes.” Sirius still sat on the edge of Remus’ desk, slightly turned to face the older man in the chair. “I’m hoping that even if we don’t get him from this sounder, I’ll be able to get him through his other, more secretive kills. I think I’m really starting to understand him.”

Remus smiled a bit at that, his hands clasping over his stomach as he stared at the man in front of him. He knew Sirius could understand him; now, it was only a matter of time before he shifted away from the ‘let’s catch him’ mindset.

The spotlight shone down on the wooden stage, a singular chair sat in the middle, the woman occupying it the center of attention.

Her throat was cut open, her vocal cords and throat were pulled out and gently dangling out onto her chest. There was no blood, indicating that the brutalization did not occur in this choir hall. No, she was staged, posed before the crowd, humiliated.

“Is it The Artist.” Dumbledore asked. Ever since Sirius mentioned his other kills, Dumbledore was constantly on his toes, always afraid of where the killer may lurk.

“No.” They were similar, sure, the public displays, the humiliation. But something about this felt different, the voice in the back of his head screamed, it wasn’t me. It wasn’t me. “But whoever did this, wished he was. He took inspiration.”

A small microphone was held in the girl's hand, confirming her place in the choir.

Sirius's hand reached forward, a scalpel coming into view and digging into the girl's flesh. She was unconscious, but still alive. Soon, she would bleed out.

He pulled the skin of her neck back, taking a look at the intricacies of her innards. Before getting to work on her debasement, he hooked up a line to her vein, slowly draining her of her blood until her heart stopped.

His hand dug around in her neck, grabbing ahold of the precious muscles and pulling them back until they hung delicately from the hole in her skin.

Back at the lab, Peter was just handing Sirius the victim’s file when Remus walked in.

“She’s a member of the choir.” Remus stated, pausing as his eyes caught on the woman's face.

“Indeed.” Sirius muttered, his eyes scanning over the file.

“Why her?” Dorcas asked, looking up from her examination of the body. There were loads of people in the choir, why did the killer pick her of all people? Was it a personal connection? Was it random?

“She wasn’t very well liked.” Remus moved closer to the body, examining the muscle hanging out of the skin. “Many believed she was holding the choir back; she couldn't sustain a pitch.”

“I forget you’re a snob.” Sirius laughed, looking at the man who stood out in his suit.

“Not a snob, just a man with refined taste.” There was a joking lilt in his voice, sending Sirius a smile before he looked back at the table where the woman laid. “Was Albus mad at the fact that this wasn’t The Artist?”

“How do you know it’s not?” Sirius challenged.

“It doesn’t feel like him. Sure, it’s his scene, but it’s not the same.” Remus explained, forcing eye contact with Sirius. “The cuts are messy, not to mention the horrid way in which he detached the vocal cords…But I’m sure you already thought about that.”

“I did.” Sirius hummed in agreement, motioning Remus to follow him out of the lab as to let the team get to work. “Dumbledore was a little upset; he’s really itching for anything at this point. The first thing he asked me was if it was him.”

Remus nodded, following behind Sirius as they walked outside, watching as Sirius’ muscles slightly relaxed the second the doors opened.

“I’m curious as to if you would join me for dinner tonight.” Remus said, glancing over at Sirius who was openly staring at him. “Say seven?”

“Uh yeah sure.” Sirius smiled, a light blush on his cheeks. “I’ll see you then.”