Remus
Sirius’ fearful expression was burned into Remus’ mind as he was apparated away. They landed in a dark room that smelled of Dark Magic and death.
The hands around his biceps held him tightly. The person holding him was wearing silver rings and they burned into his skin but Remus bit back his pain. The dagger stayed pressed against his side, slicing the skin and drawing blood.
Remus was taken through dark hallways and into an even bigger and seemingly darker room. A long wooden table stood in the centre, large chairs standing on either side.
Each chair was occupied by people in masks and all heads turned to them as the five of them entered the room.
At the head of the table, easily recognisable was Voldemort.
The smile of a maniac crept on his face when he made eye contact with Remus.
“What do we have here,” he spoke. His voice boomed through the room. Remus’ skin prickled from the sheer power it held and he glared at the man as he was pushed further into the room.
“Dumbledore’s own pet wolf,” Voldemort continued. This earned him a few snickers from the people in the room.
“He was there, just like you said, my Lord. Along with Potter and that traitor Black. They didn’t stand a chance,” the man holding the dagger to Remus’ side spoke up.
Remus bit back a feral growl at the mention of his friends. He needed to keep his cool and stay in control. He was outnumbered, unarmed and still recovering from the full moon. If he fought or resisted, he would be dead. And he needed to survive. They’d obviously brought him straight to their Headquarters. He was in the perfect position to gather information.
Voldemort let out a dark chuckle, his eyes glinting with something evil. “Why don’t we see how loyal this wolf is? Has the old man truly tamed the beast you are?”
Remus clenched his jaw but didn’t reply.
The dagger returned to his side, this time it stabbed into his abdomen and Remus keened, legs buckling.
He dropped to the floor, the dagger tearing skin as it was removed. He gasped, his hands coming up instinctively to press against the wound. It was deep, but not deep enough to be life-threatening.
“You answer when the master speaks,” Voldemort said, rising out of his chair and making his way over to them. “Leave us,” he dismissed the Death Eaters at the table, who rose and disappeared out of the room.
Remus swayed slightly as the Death Eaters behind him walked away, the different smells and wafts of Dark Magic filling his nostrils in overwhelming amounts.
“Fuck you,” he gasped, raising his gaze in an angry glare when Voldemort stopped in front of him.
Voldemort tutted. “Dumbledore really should have muzzled you, half-blood.” He raised his wand and a white strip of magic shot out. “Crucio.”
Remus felt the curse hit his body and the room filled itself with his screams. His body dropped to the ground, convulsing with the sheer amount of pain rippling through it. The curse was hot, burning into his skin, seeping into his bones. It was nothing compared to his transformations, but it was a different kind of hurt. It burned, seeping into the cracks the years of transforming had left behind, amplifying the aches already there.
He gasped out, eyes flying open as another curse hit. His fingers grasped the floor uselessly, nails trying to dig into the wood.
“You’re going to tell me everything, animal,” Voldemort’s voice was close but Remus couldn’t locate him.
His senses were clogged with pain. The smells of the dark curses hung in the air around them, blinding Remus of any other smells.
Between his gasps, between the bouts of pain as another set of curses hit him, Remus felt anger and hate bloom. It burned powerful in his chest, consuming him. It gave him enough energy to speak.
“Never,” he spat, eyes blazing. His face was set with determination, a sheer layer of sweat glazing his forehead. “I will never give you anything.”
He shouted as another ‘Crucio’ hit him, chest rising up.
His ears were ringing, blocking out whatever insults Voldemort hurled his way. He let the curses hit him, body pulsing with the magic that came with it.
He didn’t remember blacking out. All he remembered were bright lights and pain. But when he woke up he was alone.
He lay there, breathing hard as he tried to gather his bearings. His body hurt. His left arm felt broken, laying next to his body in a strange position. He shuddered out a breath as he turned his head slowly.
The room was dark and damp, the smell of leaking water and iron hung in the air.
Remus lay in the middle of the room, on the cold concrete floor. On his left, he could barely make out the outlines of a door, the faint light from the outside illuminating the exit. In front of it was, Remus inhaled and scrunched his nose in disdain, something made out of silver. Bars, most likely.
He grunted, heaving himself upwards with his right arm. He closed his eyes and groaned when his body protested, stars dancing in his vision. He waited until the dizziness went away, cradling his broken arm to his chest before he moved to rest against the wall.
A heavy sigh left his lips and his eyes fluttered closed. He didn’t know why he was here, why the Death Eaters had taken him, but they weren’t going to break him.
He thought of Sirius, of James and Lily, of Peter, Marlene, Dorcas and Mary. He would keep them safe. He wasn’t going to break. He would never tell them what they wanted to know.
With that, determination and anger welled up in his chest. Something animalistic prowled beneath the surface and Remus, for once, let it comfort him.
Remembering the healing spells Madam Pomphrey had taught him, he muttered them beneath his breath. The ache in his bones lessened, his arm glued back together. It left him panting and even more exhausted than he already was but it also filled him with hope. He wasn’t completely defenceless. Even without his wand, he could still heal himself. It wasn’t much, but it was something he could hold on to.
He allowed himself a few minutes of self-pity before he heaved himself upright. His legs protested, and his ribs ached but he pushed through. He could rest when he got out of here.
Remus couldn’t smell or hear anything that might help him, so he settled for exploring the cell he was in.
His fingers grazed over the stone walls, fingertips picking up all the little dents and textures. The walls were cold and some parts were damp. He had to be underground. He hadn’t recognised the building they were in earlier, but he suspected they were in Malfoy Manor.
Dumbledore had suspected that was where the Death Eaters gathered and from the foul smell of old, Dark magic and the ice-cold hallways Remus had to base his suspicions on that. It meant that it’d be difficult for Remus to escape from, as it’d most likely be crawling with Death Eaters.
Remus shook his head. He had to stay optimistic.
He continued inspecting the small cell, mentally cataloguing every dent and crack in the walls. Anything that might lead to an escape plan. He steered clear of the front of the room, the scent of Silver burning his nostrils every time he inhaled. It made the obvious exit the least likely escape route but Remus had already ruled it out. Going through the door meant dealing with an army of Death Eaters. He wouldn’t stand a chance.
Finally, when his legs buckled and he was no longer able to bite through the pain, Remus slid down the wall and sat back. His breathing was hard and uneven, the hair on his neck standing up from the Silver that hung in the room.
He closed his eyes, picturing Sirius’ face in his head to keep the dark thoughts away. It was something he’d done a lot when he was with the packs. It kept him grounded, and prevented him from losing his humanity. It was what allowed him to rest, now.