ambivalence

The next day, just after 10 (he wasn’t insane thank you very much) Remus sat on a bench in Claremont Square. It was surprisingly muggle for somewhere where an ancient and noble house lived, or met with others. He supposed it might be a diversion and that the actual house was somewhere else but Sirius had told him that the London town house where he grew up was somewhere in the centre of London (not being able to say any more because of some spells on the property) so it was probably somewhere nearby, even if he had no hope of ever finding it on his own (thank you ancient, super powerful, morally dubious, probably blood related, wards).

He looked around. There weren’t any people about although that wasn’t surprising given it was a random thursday morning. What little people there were about walked quickly, eager to get on with their business, sparing no thought for the fool sitting on a park bench in little more that a thin coat in winter. He didn’t blame them. Much.

He shivered, trying to wrap said meagre coat tighter around himself. It was cold. He only wished he could afford something other than third hand rags. But with his condition, not much could really be done. Transfigured coats were very unreliable, unfortunately, and warming charms only went so far.

Thinking back to the previous day, Remus still couldn’t quite understand what happened. He had lied to Dumbledore. He had lied to the man who had arguably saved his life and who he should be loyal to and he didn’t know why. Did she do something to him? Maybe it was his stupid mind hoping that she might, against all odds, be right. It was why he was here, after all. Freezing in the morning chill.

Dumbledore popped back into his head again, all twinkly eyed, and disappointed. He shook his head and focused very hard on the pavement in front of him. This while situation was giving him a headache and there were much more important things to think about than a disappointed old man.

He continued to wait, trying not to get inpatient. Did she even know he was here? He doubted there were any wards about, unless they were put up specifically to notify her of his arrival. Maybe this was some sort of intimidation tactic, make him sit and wait for her? The annoying thing was that it might’ve been (slightly) working.

He stayed sat in the frigid november air for another 15 minutes before anything happened.

At first he didn’t notice anything unusual, there wasn’t any less muggles around all of a sudden, nor did he notice any spells or wards being cast or smell any powerful magics. What finally drew his attention to the fact that something was happening was a quiet pop beside him and annoyed tug on his sleeve.

Remus almost jumped clean out if his skin, but the tiny figure just stared at him, its eyes narrowing almost disapprovingly. A house-elf Remus thought, vaguely recognising the strange thing, all of a sudden remembering what Sirius’s mother had said.

‘my house-elf will direct you from there’

He looked at what he now knew was a house-elf again. It was short, though no shorter than any house-elf he’d ever seen. (Admittedly the only other house-elves he’d come into contact with were the Hogwarts ones when he had snuck into the kitchens.) It (he?) had bright blue eyes and long, sagging ears and a hunchback. He looked old too. Painfully so.

“Mistress bids Kreacher bring Lupin guest to the house.” His vice was raspy but firm. “Lupin guest will let Kreacher apparate him to the house.” It was almost impressive how he managed to make that sound like both a statement and a threat.

“Alright then.” Remus said, not really knowing what else to say. He had been waiting a while, at least he would be out of the cold. And most importantly, he would get answers.

He got up from his bench and followed the house-elf (who was apparently called creature? Creecher? Kreacher?) towards a more covered part of the park, with more trees and foliage. To apparate he realised as kreacher(?) grabbed a fistful of his trouser leg.

Remus didn’t even have a chance to brace himself before he felt the familiar, sickening pull of side along apparition. He’d forgotten how much he hated it.

His first experience with it was just after they’d reached 17. They had all been so exited that they apparated everywhere. They were all sitting in the Potter manor, drunk off their arses and he’d accidentally grabbed James’s arm while he was apparating and was dragged along with him. Needless to say he’d vowed never to have anything to do with side along apparition again. He wished he could’ve kept that vow.

He fell down on something soft, a carpet, he realised after picking himself up. Almost immediately after he had stood up he keeled over, covering his mouth. The nausea that came with any kind of apparition was short lived but nonetheless unpleasant, and often lead (particularly him) to vomit. Given that he was in what was probably the entry way to one of the Black properties, he really didn’t want to piss anyone off, especially not with vomit of all things. Who knew what kind of curses or dark artefacts might be lying around, waiting to be trigered by any little thing.

Fuck. What if him being a werewolf triggered something? He didn’t really like telling people but what if something here attacked him? From what he had heard about thus place, it wasn’t impossible.

“So you did show, I’m pleasantly surprised.”

Remus looked up from where he was sat, and looked straight up into the unreadable face of Walburga Black. He staggered to his feet, the nausea disappearing almost as soon as it arrived. He could see her better now that he wasn’t in his dingy, little flat and his head wasn’t spinning from revelations and grief alike.

She was tall, with long, black hair lined with grey streaks tied up in a bun on top of her head. She was wearing a simple floor length dress that looked to be one popular a decade or two ago in a black and white image. Her skin was a pale white though he couldn’t tell if that had always been the colour or if it came about from the self imposed solitude he’d heard rumours of. He stood up, now less dizzy and looked her in the eyes. Her eyes. Sirius’s eyes. They were they same. The same shining silvery black. Now that he could get a good look at her he could see that they were really quite similar, in looks at least.

He froze, unable to look away. They were the same eyes.

“Come along then.” Her shrill voice seemed to echo impossibly abound the small room as she swept past him, marching off down a darker corridor. Seeing no other option, he hurried after her, trying not to touch or brush against anything lying in the corridors or hanging on the walls. They eventually came to what looked like a sitting room. It had two parallel couches facing each other, both a deep velvet with matching cushions. Walburga took a seat on the further one and gestured for him to have the other. Again, without many other options, he obliged.

“I am happy you decided to come, Mr Lupin, I assume this means you have agreed to help me free Sirius?”

“No, I’m here for answers.” He mustered a glare and met her eyes, and hoped he wouldn’t die for that. He couldn’t just trust her, but he could at least listen to what she had to say.

Walburga sat up a little straighter. This was certainly interesting. Not a problem but interesting. And the man was glaring, what pathetically adorable defiance. (Sirius used to do it too). Though she could admit that the man wasn’t a complete fool, he wanted information before deciding on a path and that was commendable, however if he decided to spy on her for Dumbledore he would become an issue. As she also wasn’t a fool, she had already thought of this.

“You may address me as Lady Black,” his manners were lacking and this should be a welcome help to him. He scowled instead. It was unfortunate, she supposed, but no meaningful progress could be made in a day. “I will give you all the answers I am able as soon as we implement some, security measures.” Hiding anything from the man would be pointless, him knowing everything (at this stage) would only help her and quite possibly stop his blind loyalty to Dumbledore.

“What kind of security measures?” He looked at her as if she were about to dissect him. This was getting quickly tiring.

“Your suspicions are understandable but completely unfounded. It is a Black family spell. It works similarly to a healers oath. You will not be able to say or write anything to anyone about these matters without the express permission of the caster.” It was quite an ingenious spell. It was created by the Lord Black before Arcturus but was never formally released nor shared with those outside the family, and thereby providing a welcome protection against blackmail. It also had the added benefit of having those who the spell was used on forget the incantation, so even lelilimancy couldn’t scry it, nor the information, and that made it an even more coveted secret.

Lupin looked at her for a long while, likely considering the condition. She couldn’t see anything wrong with it. All it was was a little insurance, to prevent both betrayal and blackmail.

“Are there any side effects?” He asked, hesitantly.

“There are no harmful side effects, no.” There might be some magical exhaustion but she doubted it would be too severe.

This was getting boring. The situation with her son was an insult to the House of Black and she needed it fixed and explaining anything more to someone who probably wouldn’t even understand the spell, was not only dangerous but incredibly tedious.

“Alright then.” The man did not look particularly happy, but he had agreed.

“Very good,” She stood and made her way to an already prepared table a few steps away. It was a high table, one of the kind that reached slightly above your waist when you stood so it was seemingly perfect for small rituals such as these. Atop it lay a decorative dagger,bejewelled with an array of colourful gems, made of wickedly sharp steel, along with a shallow, wooden bowl. Unbeknownst to the werewolf, on the underside of the table was a complicated runic array, etched into the wood, stained with blood and all manner of potions. That along with the incantation made the spell a lot less simple.

She brought the dagger down and discreetly slit her littlest finger, smearing the blood onto the rune. It started to pulse with an unusual light, an identical shade to her blood.

She brought the dagger into view and held it in front of them both. Lupin recoiled as soon as he saw it.

“Blood? You never mentioned anything about blood!”

“And what makes blood so evil, Mr Lupin?” She raised an eyebrow and fixed him with her signature glare. (It could even make that useless brother of hers fold. Once upon a time.) He was a werewolf for merlin’s sake. Dumbledore had clearly indoctrinated him well it seemed.

Lupin seemed at a loss, his mouth frozen in an o, and after a moment, wordlessly extended his arm towards her. She made a cut on his palm and let his blood drip into the bowl then mirrored the action on her own hand. Their blood dripped until she had deemed there enough to stop, a wordless episkey later and they were as they had been before.

“Roll up your right sleeve and give me your arm.” She comanded.

“What are you doing now?” The question surprised her so much so that she actually answered.

“I am drawing the focus point for the ritual. It will be invisible to all others so you won’t have to worry about that. While you will be physically unable to speak if these matters with anyone, this will burn alongside that. ” It did a bit more then burn but that was a fact she decided to keep to herself. It also informed her if he did try to tell but she saw no point in telling him that either. As well as the fact that it would work perfectly on the left arm as well as the right, but the extra incentive wouldn’t go amiss. If he wanted to ruin his wand arm then that was his choice.

She pulled open a small drawer and took out a thin paintbrush. Dipping it in the ink she took his arm and began to draw. It wasn’t a horrifically complicated pattern but it wasn’t easy. She made sure to do all this directly above the circle on the under side of the table and slowly, it began to take shape. She drew a mirror image of it on her own arm then held out both her hands. Lupin seemed unsure of what to do so without warning she grabbed his hands and began to chant.

Taceat et mysteria mea servet. Numquam revelare. Numquam revelare.

She repeated that phrase 7 times, a magic number, and after she uttered the final syllable, a wave of magic passed over them both. Lupin stood there for a moment then fell, collapsing onto the floor.

“KREACHER!” Walburga sreamed, standing over the body. “Get ready a spare room.” She sighed. Now this would take even longer!

———

As the magic wove around the man called Remus Lupin a old woman watched. The woman sipped her tea and looked at the criss-crossing roads threads spread out across her vision like a spiderweb. She smiled and looked down at her chess board.

One could note that it looked very different from a certain headmaster’s.