Day Five



Remus lay on the cold, hard ground, staring up at the stars through a tear in the top of his tent. He wondered about each point of light in his narrow field of vision. How far away was it? Did worlds circle it? And if they did, were they moonless worlds, where men never transformed into beasts?

A dark cloud blew in from the east and obliterated his dreams one by one, leaving him to gaze up into a great, black nothing. He turned onto his side and pulled his blanket over his shoulders. It was just as well. Wishing on stars was a pastime for children and fools.

Sleep evaded him this night, as it did most nights. He was either too sore, too cold, or had too much on his mind to truly rest. When his body became as agitated as his mind, he threw off his blanket and ventured out into the clearing. He looked to the west, where about a quarter mile away, the regiment was camped. Sturdy tents, large enough to house four men, were pitched in a circle around a roaring bonfire.

He’d been one of them once. He and his mates had been the best of them. Now, two of his mates had fallen in battle, one had turned traitor, and he was an outcast. His secret had been exposed and he was relegated to live alone on the outskirts of the camp. They’d have run him off altogether, or worse, had it not been for his skills as a soldier and the good will of the king.

He nodded to the sentries on duty as he walked the perimeter of the camp. The other soldiers weren’t fond of him, but they slept easier on moonless nights, knowing that his lycan eyes could see dangers in the dark that their eyes could not. They had good reason to be uneasy. The war was not going well. The dark general had returned to the enemy forces, more powerful and malevolent than ever before. Civilian losses were mounting and many in the regiment had fallen.

Some of the king’s advisors urged him to take the offensive and use whatever means were necessary to defeat the dark general, but the king would have none of it. In the light of day, the soldiers proclaimed their support for the king and his ideals, but in the shadows of night, they spoke in whispers, expressing doubts.

Remus was startled from his thoughts when the great horn sounded, calling the soldiers to muster. He turned on his heel and hurried to the camp where one by one, the other soldiers staggered out of their tents and took their places around the fire. He watched as they righted their uniforms and exchanged confused looks. The few who were civil to him approached him and asked if he’d seen or heard anything during his night walk. He shook his head and told them that he had not.

When the regiment had assembled, the king emerged from his tent, looking more tired and careworn than Remus had ever seen him. Leaning heavily on his staff, the king stepped into the circle and spoke to the hushed assembly.

“I require one man, the bravest among you, to walk into the stronghold of the enemy and destroy it from within. You will carry no sword, nor will you shed any man’s blood. Your only weapons will be a hammer and my blessing.”

Remus looked on in disgust as one soldier after another hung his head when the king stood before him. He was the least among them – a werewolf, scarred and hobbled by the transformations he endured every month, but he had courage and the strength of his convictions. When the last man made his excuses, Remus stepped forward and accepted the king’s blessing.

“I knew it would be you,” said the king. He laid his hands on Remus’s shoulders and spoke in his ear. “Your compassion shall be our salvation. Go with my blessing.” With those words, the king returned to his tent.

When the entrance of the great tent closed, there was a moment of silence followed by the buzz of urgent whispers. The king’s advisors and their faithful gathered around Remus and called him a fool for believing he could destroy the enemy without killing them. They offered him a blade – small, but sharp -- that he could conceal in the folds of his uniform. “Just in case you get close to the general,” they reasoned.

The offer was tempting. He was an expert in the use of weapons, and this was a fine one. He held the dagger in his open palm, marveling at its heft and balance. He wrapped his fingers around the smooth bone handle and then tested the edge on his forearm. It was sharp enough to split a hair. With a blade such as this, he could slit the general’s throat from ear to ear in the space of a heartbeat and return a hero. Once again, he would sleep in the grand tents near the fire. He would drink whiskey with his comrades and tell exaggerated stories of daring deeds. He would be a man.

A man who had lost favor with his king.

The men were incredulous when Remus returned the blade to them. He bore their taunts without complaint or comment. In silence, he gathered what he would need for his journey, and without waiting for the sun to rise, set out into the night.

He traveled for three days and three nights, across sandy beaches, through silver water, and over a vast, barren plain. On the fourth day, he reached a high ridge and caught his first glimpse of the fortress in the valley below. In his worst nightmares, he'd never imagined anything so formidable. His guts clenched, and he considered for a moment that the other soldiers might have been right; perhaps a hammer and faith weren't enough to win the day.

They might not be enough, but they're all I have.

With that thought in mind, he skidded down the rocky ridge, and began the last leg of his journey. The midday sun beat down on him as he crossed a small expanse of desert, and his hammer grew heavier with every step. Undeterred, he soldiered on until he stood in the shadow of the enemy’s stronghold.

He felt small in the face of his giant nemesis. The wall at least fifteen cubits high and spanned as far as his eye could see. The shade it provided felt blessedly good after his long journey, and he was tempted to set down his hammer and rest against the wall's ancient, moss-covered stones. But he hadn't come to be seduced by the comfort and false security the wall provided; he'd come to destroy it. He hefted his hammer and swung it in a great arc, and when it made contact, his entire body felt the impact. Once…twice…a dozen more times, he struck heavy blows against the ancient structure. Razor-sharp shards of stone exploded from the wall, cutting through the coarse material of his robes and stinging his skin.

He swung his hammer until his until his hands were raw and bloody, making it nearly impossible to keep a firm grip. When he'd worked so long, and so hard that he could no longer lift his arms, he stood back to survey the results. He’d destroyed one stone, and perhaps half of another. The hole he’d made was not large enough to fit through, but it was a start. If he worked for another day, or maybe two, he’d be able to slip into the heart of the enemy’s camp.

Rest. He needed to rest if he was going to break through the mighty fortress. He sat in the shade, his back against the cool stones, and drank the last of the water from his canteen. His eyes had just slipped shut when he heard an odd scraping sound on the other side of the wall. He leaned to peer through the hole he’d created and nearly wept with frustration when, from the opposite side of the wall, hands as red as his own repaired all of the damage he'd done. He sat on his haunches and cried to the heavens, "How am I to bring all of this down with just a hammer?"

And the heavens answered.

The king's voice was quiet, but so distinct that Remus believed for a moment that the old man was sitting right next to him. "The hammer is not my weapon, my dear boy. You are. This wall will not be brought down by force; it must crumble from within. You, Remus, are my weapon. Never stop fighting the true enemy."

"I'm your weapon?" Remus shouted, laughing bitterly at the absurdity of the notion. "You can't be serious! Look at it! I can't scale it. I can't go around it." He slapped his hand against the hard, dusty ground. "I can't go under it. And even if I did somehow manage to get within, how will that bring this all down?"

What the king asked of him was impossible. Remus covered his face with his bloody hands and groaned. He knew what the other soldiers would say when he retuned a failure. They would laugh and call him an idealistic fool. Concerns about the king's judgment, which until now were only spoken in whispers, would be voiced aloud, and those who believed that noble ends justified evil deeds would grow stronger. There was nothing else for it; he could not fail. Remus placed his faith in the king, picked up his hammer, and began to walk along the wall.

Hours passed, and Remus strained to find even the smallest opening in the wall in the failing light. His muscles ached and his feet hurt. He was hungry and tired, but still he soldiered on.

A thousand more steps, and then I'll rest.

A thousand steps came and went and he walked on.

One hundred more steps…

He meant it this time. Just as he was about to set his hammer down and rest, he heard the sound of running water not far ahead. Thirsty and eager for a chance to wash up, he set a brisk pace forward and soon came to a clear brook. He lay on the bank and plunged his head into the cool water, scrubbing the blood from his face and hair and then gasping when he came up for air. Cleansed, he lowered his lips to the water and drank, and when he had his fill, he sat back and took a closer look at his surroundings.

He looked to the east and saw the brook wind through the rocky landscape and out of sight. He looked to the west and saw the wall, and the place where the brook ran beneath it.

That's it. The way in.

He waded into the brook, holding his robes above his knees with one hand and holding his hammer in the other. The closer he got to the wall, the deeper the water became. When his hands touched stone, he took a deep breath and swam into the channel below. He expected to reach the other side of the wall after a few short feet, but the stones above his head seemed to go on forever. Fearful of drowning, he dropped his hammer and shed his robes. Now unencumbered, he glided through the water with ease and in a short time emerged on the other side.

His snout broke the water and he gulped great lungfuls of air. He paddled over to a nearby bank, climbed out and shook out his coat. Frozen, not daring to take another breath, he scanned his surroundings. This place was nothing like the dusty desert on the other side of the wall. This was a fairy tale forest, glittering silver, gold, and green in the soft dusk light.

Lifting his nose into the air, he sampled his surroundings. A cacophony of earthy scents washed over him – fruit, fauna, rotting leaves, and damp earth. Then, there was another scent in the breeze, unnatural, but not at all unpleasant. He darted out in the direction of the interesting scent, navigating the forest as if born to it. When he reached the edge of the aspen grove, he saw her.

She was kneeling at the edge of the brook, washing fruit in the swiftly flowing water, and then placing it in a shiny tin pail. From a distance, he couldn’t tell if she was beautiful, but watching her carefree manner, he suspected she was young. Taking care not to disturb a single twig, he crept closer – close enough to study her face.

She wasn’t beautiful, not like the full-breasted women with long hair and painted faces that the soldiers sometimes secreted into camp. Her hair was short and her breasts were small. She seemed almost boyish, except for the lacy linen frock she wore. No, she wasn’t beautiful, but there was an innocence about her that attracted him.

Not for you, wolf.

He could never have a woman like her. He could never have a woman at all, but he could watch her. Safely hidden in the shadows of the grove, he watched. He watched her for four days and nights. He watched her eat fruit from the trees in the orchard. He watched her bathe in the river. He watched her every move, only averting his eyes when she lay with her lover. When he knew everything about her, there was nothing left to do but step out of the shadows.

He approached her as she prepared to bathe at the water's edge. Cautiously, she set down her pail and began to back away.

"Don't be afraid. I won't hurt you," he said, but instead of words, a snarl and a growl came from his mouth. The girl screamed when she saw what he was and fainted with fright. "No, child, please don't be afraid." He desperately licked her face, trying to bring her around, but she didn't stir.

It was his fault; he had to take care of her. Taking the handle of her small pail in his powerful jaws, he went to the brook and filled it with water and then brought it back and set it beside her. Next, he went to the orchard and searched the ground and the low branches for the best pieces of fruit. Her eyes fluttered open and she sat up just as he returned with an apple. He dropped the apple in her lap, then backed away so as not to threaten her.

"Why are you taking care of me, wolf?" she asked, studying him through narrowed eyes. "Isn't it your nature to kill me? That's what I've always been told."

I'm taking care of you because I harmed you. He didn't speak. His growls would only frighten her again. Instead, he rolled a peach over to her with his nose. He lowered his head, hoping she would see that he was not a threat. She didn't scream or run, but he could still see the fright in her eyes.

That wouldn't do. For reasons he couldn't begin to fathom, he wanted this girl to like him. He rolled onto his back, showing her his underside in a gesture of submission, and she relaxed somewhat. Seeing his opening, he took the pail in his jaws and playfully splashed her with water. She stood shocked for a moment, and then laughed, "You evil, wolf!"

Delighted, he dropped the pail and bounded away, daring her to give chase, but she had a different idea. Picking up the pail that he'd dropped, she filled it in the brook and ran after him, drenching him when he allowed her to catch him. She held her sides laughing when he returned the favor by shaking out his wet coat and showering her. Still chuckling, she sat down on the soft grass and he laid his head in her lap. A sense of tranquility came over him as she gently stroked his head.

"Wolves don't belong here," she said. There was no recrimination in her words; it was a simple statement of fact. "Did you come from the other side of the wall?"

The wall. With those two words, his idyllic romp in Eden ended and he remembered why he'd come to the garden. He'd come to destroy the wall that set the garden apart, forever changing it for the girl trapped within, and forever changing the world for those trapped outside. He nodded to indicate that he had indeed come from the other side, and with a sad whimper rested his snout on her shoulder.

"You poor thing.” She rested her face on the top of his head. "If you stay here, you'll have to hide, or you'll be killed. Perhaps you should go back. Is it as awful as I've heard on the other side?"

He shook his head adamantly.

"It's not? I wish you could tell me about it." She lay back in the grass and gazed at the clouds, absently scratching him behind his ear.

He couldn’t tell her, but he could show her. Getting up suddenly, he took her sleeve in his mouth and gently pulled her toward the brook. She laughed and allowed him to lead her along the bank and into the forest, until they reached the place where they brook ran under the wall. The smile faded from her face when she saw the enormous ancient stone structure. Her head craned up and then she looked from side to side. Stone, as far as the eye could see.

"How will I see?" she asked, dismayed. He took her by the sleeve and led her into the water, tugging harder when she began to resist. He dove under the water and then returned, repeating the process several times, hoping that she would follow. When he came up the third time, she was in tears. "I can't follow you! I'm afraid to swim in deep water. I'm sorry," she said quietly, "I'll never see the other side."

He whimpered with disappointment, and dove into the water for a fourth time. This time he didn't resurface. He swam into the channel between the sandy brook bed and the wall, kicking hard to reach the other side before his breath ran out. Along the way, he saw his hammer lying amongst the water plants. He wrapped his fingers around its handle and brought it with him to the other side.

Much to his surprise, he traversed the distance under the wall quite easily. It wasn't nearly as deep or as wide as he remembered it to be. When he stood up, he noticed that there were several loose stones where the wall touched the water. He slipped his fingers around the edges of the largest stone and pulled, laughing when it came out easily, sending him flailing backward into the water. No bloody hands appeared this time to repair the damage.

He sat on the bank of the brook with the stone he'd pried loose in his hands, turning it over absently, trying to decide what to do. As he pondered the situation, he chipped at the stone with his hammer, using another shard of rock as a chisel. Before long, he held in his hands the image of a wolf, its head lowered, poised to attack any who threatened to harm the girl.

The girl couldn't, or wouldn't, come with him, but he could bring this gift from the other side to her. Once more, he dove into the water and under the wall. A few kicks and he emerged on the other side, carrying his gift in his snout. He found the girl asleep on the bank and gently nudged her awake.

"You've come back," she said, observing him curiously. "What have you got there? Did you bring this with you from the other side?"

He nodded with his snout and dropped the stone wolf in her lap, eager to see her reaction. He swelled with pride when she held it up to the light and exclaimed her appreciation.

"It's beautiful!" she exclaimed. "Thank you, so much. I'll keep it with me always."

They both turned when they heard a splashing sound in the brook. More stones had fallen away, creating a small tunnel to the other side atop the water. Deep cracks ran through the stones surrounding the tunnel. The wall wouldn't fall today, or even tomorrow, but the damage had been done. One day soon, it would collapse under its own weight.

Unashamed of his naked form, he stood up and took the girl by the hand. "Come with me," he said. "I can show you things – wonderful things."

She looked back toward her cottage, and then back at him with a pained expression. "I can't," she said. "This is my home."

"It will still be your home," he answered, and gestured to the newly formed tunnel. He picked up one of the fallen stones and weighed it in the palm of his hand. "The wall is falling. You can come and go as you please."

She worried her lip. “Are you the wolf?”

“I am.”

“Are you the powerful wizard from the dark place? The one who brought the light?”

“I am.”

“I don’t understand. Why me? What do you want from me?”

As he opened his mouth to answer, everything went black.

§


I want you to love me. Remus woke with a gasp, jarred by the dream and its abrupt ending. He'd never had a dream so real. He could still smell the garden and feel the texture of the stone wall. His muscles ached from swinging the hammer. Why did everything go black so suddenly? Did the girl come with him? Did he succeed? And what of the king?

His breathing slowed and he took note of his surroundings -- white, translucent drapes, a large, heavy armoire, a petite brunette sleeping next to him. Damn. The utter inappropriateness of the situation was only mitigated by the fact that they were sleeping on top of the blankets and were fully dressed, except for their shoes.

Well, that's not so bad then. Just two people who fell asleep in the same place. Perfectly innocent. Nothing to be embarrassed about.

Pansy shifted made a soft sound in her sleep.

Keep telling yourself that, Moony.

He knew he should make a quiet escape before she woke, but found himself transfixed by her face. He didn't find her beautiful. Cute perhaps. Young certainly. Her small, upturned nose was surely an acquired taste. Her eyes were what captivated him – the way they darted this way and that behind her closed lids. He couldn't help but wonder about what she was dreaming. Were her dreams as bizarre and grueling as his, or were they carefree and happy? He knew that she sometimes dreamed of Lucius. He blushed when he recalled the way she moaned the Death Eater's name in her sleep a few days earlier.

"Why?" he whispered, reaching out to brush a lock of dark hair from her face. "How can you abide that foul beast's touch?" Foul beast… He swallowed hard and pulled his hand back from her cheek. She smiled and he froze.

"Lucius?" she said in a sleepy voice. Without opening her eyes, she rolled over and curled against his side, draping her arm across his chest and a leg over his hip. Her thigh brushed against his morning erection, drawing a ragged gasp from him.

What to do? Remus chewed on the inside of his cheek while his mind waged war with his body. As much as it pained him to admit it, she felt good. If he closed his eyes and feigned sleep, he could imagine that his name was on her lips when she smiled and wrapped her body around his. He could imagine that he had a lover until she woke up or moved. She had touched him; he would be blameless.

Hardly blameless..

She snuggled closer and he could feel her chest vibrate against his side when she made a soft moaning noise -- the kind of noise people made when they felt perfectly safe and content. There was a sweetness and a simplicity about her, as if the cares of the world had never touched her. As a man who had not only been touched, but beaten half to death by the cares of the world, Remus found himself wishing he could crawl inside her and lose himself, if only for a moment, in her innocence.

You're a calm port in a stormy sea, aren't you, child.

He didn't condone Lucius Malfoy's relationship with his son's fiancée, but he understood what drove the other man to it. Mourning what might have been, Remus carefully extricated himself from her embrace.

"Lucius, don't go," she mumbled in her sleep, pulling him back to her. "Promise, won't ask anymore questions about the wall."

Remus froze. What were the chances that they would both dream of a wall on the same night? He supposed it was most likely a coincidence, but he knew he wouldn't rest easily until he ruled out anything more sinister. Wishing to spare her the embarrassment of waking up wrapped around a middle-aged werewolf, he pulled away from her embrace and got out of bed before gently shaking her.

"Pansy? Pansy dear, wake up."

Her eyes fluttered open, and she looked at him curiously. "Remus, is something wrong?"

It pleased him to hear her address him by his first name without fear in her voice. "I'm not sure," he answered honestly. "May I ask you a personal question?"

"I'm sorry about last night," she offered quickly. "You fell asleep reading after you told me the David story. I tried to wake you, but you were dead to the world. I was going to sleep in the chair, but it was so uncomfortable, and since you were sound asleep, I didn't think it would matter if I slept on the bed. It's made for two people, after all –"

"Oh no. No." he reassured her. "If anything, I should be apologizing to you. I'm sorry to have put you in that position. I meant no disrespect. Anyway," he cleared his throat, "that isn't what I wished to ask you. Not exactly. I want to ask you about your dreams."

"I'm not sure what you mean. Besides, I don't remember my dreams," said Pansy. She looked away, blushing, and Remus knew she was lying. He understood her reluctance to share her most intimate thoughts, and proceeded gently.

"Just now, when I tried to wake you, you were dreaming. You mentioned something about not asking Lucius any more questions about the wall. Can you tell me about the wall?"

“The wall.” Pansy pursed her lips and looked off over Remus’s shoulder. “It’s an odd thing really. I’ve been having the strangest dreams. I dreamed that I lived in a beautiful garden, and there was a wall around it. Lucius was there, and when I asked him about it he told me that it was there to protect me.”

“I see.” Remus paced the room, deep in thought.

“What’s wrong?” Pansy sat up and looked at him with fear in her eyes. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No,” he said, forcing his lips to curl into a reassuring smile, “of course not.” He sat on the edge of the bed and patted the mattress, inviting her to sit next to him. “You see, I’ve been having odd dreams as well, about a garden surrounded by a wall.”

Her eyes went wide. “Was there a thatched cottage and a brook?”

“There was.”

“And an orchard and an aspen grove?”

Remus nodded. “And a dark haired young woman with a shiny tin pail.”

“You saw my dream,” Pansy said quietly, and blushed crimson. “That means you saw…oh my God. I don’t understand. What does this mean?”

“It means, my dear, that these aren’t dreams at all. Someone is sending us visions.”

“Who?” She clutched the sleeve of his robe. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “A powerful Legilimens, that much is certain. Someone who knows we’re… acquainted.” Even as the words came out of his mouth, he knew there were only two people on earth who fit that description: Albus Dumbledore and Severus Snape. His jaw set and he began to pace the room once again.

His thoughts raced. It had to be Albus. He doubted Severus was capable of imagining something as beautiful as the walled garden. But why?

“Professor?” She approached him cautiously. “Remus, has something gone wrong?”

“Yes, there’s something wrong!” He shoved a chair aside in frustration. “I don’t appreciate being kept in the dark and used as a pawn in other people’s schemes.” She didn’t say anything. She simply looked up at him with trusting brown eyes, and he realized his hypocrisy. Without thinking, he pulled her into a tight embrace and whispered against the top of her head, “I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.”

“There’s nothing to forgive. I chose to stay.”

She had. She smiled and his guilt evaporated. He was nearly overwhelmed with the urge to kiss her like a lover and then take her away to a place where they could be together without fear or shame.

That place didn’t exist. He was a beast.

He held her out at arms length and smiled sadly. “You chose to stay; you never chose to have your mind violated.”

“No, but…”

Remus pressed his finger lightly to her lips and hushed her. “Don’t try to excuse this. What’s been done to you is inexcusable and it stops now.” He was silent for a moment as he sorted out his options. “Wait here. This could take a while.”

§


Remus stepped out of the fireplace in Albus’s office and brushed the soot from his robes. The magical whirligigs spun merrily and Fawlkes perch was uncharacteristically empty.

“Albus?” There was no answer, so Remus called again only to be hushed by the portraits. “Do any of you know where he is?” he asked.

“Having a well deserved rest,” Derwent Dilys answered.

“Really? Odd that.” Albus was usually up at the crack of dawn. Remus shrugged and then spied a basket of bottles containing a shimmering silver substance on Albus’s desk. He recognized them immediately as the ones he filled from Pansy’s mind. He briefly considered that he should discuss what he intended to do with the Headmaster, but decided against it. He knew what he was doing was right and didn’t want to be deterred by any well-reasoned arguments about the greater good. “Don’t wake him. I see what I’ve come for.”

“In my day, taking something without permission was considered larceny,” said Phineas Nigellus.

“It still is,” Remus shot back. “I’m returning these to their rightful owner. Albus knows where to find me if he has any objections.”

“Indeed,” Phineas snorted.

§



“I’m back.” Remus placed the basket of bottles down carefully on the tea table and retrieved the pensieve from the concealed cupboard. “Come, sit.”

“There are so many of them,” said Pansy. “It’s a wonder I know my own name.”

“We’ll put them back one at a time. Slowly, so you don’t get a headache. Is there any particular one you’d like to start with?”

“Lucius, please,” said Pansy, blushing.

“Lucius it is then.” Remus did his best to hide his distaste as he complied with her wish. One memory after another followed, until he tipped the last bottle into the pensieve. “That’s all of them. How do you feel?

“I don’t know,” said Pansy, groggily. “These memories…those dreams…they’re so similar. It’s so hard to tell what’s real and what isn’t.”

“I know what you mean,” said Remus. Remus rubbed his still aching biceps and tried very hard not to think about Pansy making love to an imaginary Lucius Malfoy on the bank of an fictional stream.

“What is it?” Pansy asked, interrupting his thoughts.

“Oh, pardon me. I was just thinking…it’s not important.”

“Sickle for your thoughts.” She said with a saucy grin.

“It’s just that some things in the vision were so realistic, and others…weren’t.”

“Really? I found it all to be quite authentic. Disturbingly so. Of course, I was only working with half my marbles.”

“Yes, well, sorry about that,” said Remus, uncomfortably. “but you’d have to be a few knuts short of a galleon to believe that Lucius Malfoy is such a …a…”

“A what?” Pansy raised a challenging eyebrow.

“A…” Remus pursed his lips and grappled for the right words. Truth be told, he imagined that Lucius Malfoy used instruments of torture to gain Pansy’s cooperation in bed, but he wasn’t about to voice that opinion. “It’s just that he was very kind to you in the dream. I had always pictured him as more selfish and demanding.”

“You pictured Lucius and me together?”

“Not willingly.” Remus blushed crimson and flopped into one of the arm chairs, wishing it would swallow him whole.

“That’s the part of the dream that felt the most real to me. The rest was familiar, but everything about Lucius felt spot on. From the way he smiled, to the way he scrubbed his arms – even the way he called me his little flower in French – it was as if he was really there.”

He was about to suggest that her memories had been altered -- the idea of a caring and gentle Lucius Malfoy was absurd -- but then he remembered that Emmeline Vance had reported that Lucius had been quite kind to her as she posed as Pansy. Who’d have guessed that Lucius Malfoy has a non-demonic side. His eyes went wide as the pieces of the puzzle fell into place. “The visions were based on your memories. Albus did this.”

Pansy looked at the penseive for a long moment and then back at Remus. Her chin began to quiver. “Why? I thought you just needed my memories so one of the blood traitors could pass themselves off as me. Why is Professor Dumbledore putting thoughts in my mind? Why is he doing this to me?”

“To us,” Remus corrected her. “I don’t know. Please believe me, I don’t know.”

There was a long uncomfortable silence.

“How did it end?” Pansy asked in a quiet voice. “It all disappeared before it was over. Did I stay with Lucius or go with you to the other side?”

“I don’t know. For me, it ended quite suddenly after I invited you to come with me, but before you could answer.”

“Why?” Pansy covered her face with he hands and groaned with frustration. “Why is Professor Dumbledore trying to drive me crazy?”

“I don’t know,” Remus answered helplessly. “Perhaps the ending is something only you can decide.”

“I—I wanted to go. But to leave Lucius…” Pansy shook her head. “What should I have done?”

Remus sat stunned. He never expected that she would wrestle with her decision. If he were Harry Potter or Bill Weasley, perhaps she might be tempted. But him? Would she truly consider coupling her fate with that of a werewolf? How should he answer her? A decent man, Remus considered, would tell her that she would have to make her own choice.

He squared his shoulders, looked her in the eye, and answered, “You should come with me.”


§





So sorry for the exceptionally long gap between updates. Special thanks to Wendynat and Rilla for beta services.
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