Sunshine: My Hecate from 2004
Jul. 13th, 2021 05:19 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
paulamcgI've been awfully slow to react at the Sunshine Challenge.
My own, late response to prompt three is limited to my fanwork, and I haven't even written anything new based on this one either. Of course, I immediately thought of the one among my original characters in the HP world whom I'd named Hecate. The scene in which she first appears and her role in it perhaps fit well enough the crossroads aspect of the prompt.
I've hesitated to post an excerpt to show my Hecate, because she belongs to the long chaptered Remus-centric fic which was started soon after OotP and edited only a bit upon completion in 2010. Nowpauraque's fascinating thought that the writers of our old work are ghosts of ourselves has helped me almost make up my mind to finally start posting the fic as it is on AO3.
This excerpt, too, is a static snapshot of the best [I was] able to do ... at one particular time. These scenes were written in spring 2004 – at a time when we didn't know anything about Fenrir Greyback or Lyall and Hope Lupin. If I had heard that the letter J on Professor Lupin's briefcase should stand for John, I didn't care (and I still don't).
The night had fallen, and after the door behind him closed, the only illumination was provided by a bonfire burning bright on the village square. Against this red restless light he could discern only the outlines of the majestic terrifying creature. He was even more startled by the amusement in Chief Ice-Stare’s voice.
“Thank you. The four of you may go down to the square now and take your places in the circle. Come here, Remus Jaws Lupin.”
The chief turned his back on him and, facing the fire, leaned against the railing. His bent figure gave deceptively the impression of a fully transformed werewolf. Remus approached slowly and saw that the fur worn by Ice-Stare was still just one made of hides. Touching the cold iron at an arm’s length to the right of his host, Remus turned to examine his features in the warm light.
Ice-Stare must have been aware of his gaze, but continued to watch the crowd around the fire. “I have not been mistaken. I know how to choose my generals, although my choices may seem too radical to those who have no courage of imagination. Look at that mass. They survive only by leaning on each other.”
He turned abruptly to look at Remus, and his eyes sparkled, reflecting the fire, just as his perfect rows of strong teeth did, so that suddenly his face seemed to express some warm emotion. He kept grinning while he continued, “I love paradoxes. Your denouncement of your nature has led you to train yourself to my service. I have followed the course of your life. There’s no need to now discuss why. Some recent information from several foreign communities – but only when interpreted by my courageous unbiased mind – confirmed that you are the man and will be the wolf to serve me better than anyone who has grown to be just a member of the pack.”
Remus did not break the silence which followed. He had no intention to start arguing and provoking Ice-Stare to explain his ideas further. He was not going to waste the rest of his strength, which was not much.
The chief did not reveal any disappointment, on the contrary. He examined his guest carefully from head to toes, and when their eyes met again, Remus was startled by the thought that even Thisby had not made him feel more admired. And the thought of Thisby must have saved him at the last moment from faltering and accepting the admiration, while he suddenly realised that his quiet opposition was exactly what pleased the chief.
“I was trained to physical strength, but that is not the most important facet of leadership. Your parents’ foolishness – or what I used to regard as foolishness, while it turned out not to be that even from my perspective – prevented you from growing physically even to the power which you could have reached as a mere human. Without the support of a wolf mother or a pack – or the freedom of occasional biting of at least those who already had our gift – you had to wound yourself and wear down your strength. You learned to torture yourself, both the man and the wolf.”
Ice-Stare paused again, but clearly did not expect a reply. Hiding his teeth, which he normally seemed to be fond of exposing, he arranged his features to an almost authentic expression of compassion.
At the same moment Remus felt that his very real physical frailty would soon make it impossible for him to simply remain standing. The repeated waves of pain had consumed him. The chief certainly saw his condition and also understood why the transformation was exceptionally painful for him this time.
Still, Ice-Stare admired him, assuming that he was holding out on his own. But Hedwig was perching as Disillusioned on his right shoulder, and while the chief had been talking, Remus had moved cautiously little by little further away to the right, hoping that the owl’s presence would remain concealed.
Strangely the weight of the big bird had turned into its opposite. Her emotions constantly restored his serenity and relieved the pain, which he could still feel shaking his body in more and more frequent waves and closer and closer to his skin. He knew that he was well beyond the point of being able to disapparate, even in case he could have managed to escape from the porch, which probably belonged to the anti-apparation area defined by the security spell Ice-Stare had mentioned. It would be disastrous four any werewolf to even attempt at apparating during the ongoing process of transformation, when the matter of the body was extremely unstable and thus in a vulnerable state and would have inevitably got lost between the points of disapparition and apparition. Besides, in his current condition Remus hardly had the strength to do any magic.
He did not know how close the moonrise was, but each moment which the chief dawdled away with him here on the porch, postponing the ritual, could mean more time for the people of the Cotswolds to receive the warning and even for the Order to act. What the Order was to do was not in Remus’s hands any longer, and even what would happen to him could be only in case the ritual could give him strength before depriving him of his human mind.
The ritual had started on the square. A sound of fierce drumming suddenly startled Remus, and he realised that he had lost his concentration on Ice-Stare and almost collapsed against the railing. He was trembling, and his vision was blurred. But when he lifted his head, he managed to focus his eyes on two creatures who were walking solemnly towards the porch.
“Were you afraid I would laugh at your weakness? I do admire your strength, Remus Jaws Lupin.”
Ice-Stare’s voice sounded suddenly so clear and loud in his ears that he turned his head, fearing that his host had moved closer. But the sparkling eyes were still gazing at him from the distance which had almost doubled since he had first touched the railing. Remus was tempted to accept another compliment – to bask in that rare praise. He was almost ready to even overlook Ice-Stare’s insistence on physical distance from his guest. Any attempt at an escape could, of course, only benefit from the chief kindly allowing Remus to gradually move further away. Yet, again and again a feeling of utter disappointment returned – a feeling of having been let down.
Remus could hardly control his fury when thinking about the physical reserve in the manner of the welcome he had been given, the evidently conscious refusal to touch him, to even shake his hand – to even hit him. Having been abandoned to wait for the moonrise alone, he had not regarded such treatment as something he could ever easily forgive, even if he had to understand that in close contact it would be hard for the werewolves to oppose the culture of violence within which they had grown up. He had come here seeking solace and protection from creatures of his own kind. Seeking a human touch on his skin to help him not lose himself.
Still, at this moment he was tempted to forgive Ice-Stare. The chief had seen and adored in him – and still wanted to keep admiring in him – the exceptional ability to make it on his own, which must have been disclosed in whatever information on his life had been delivered to this village.
The penetrating gaze, now fierce with intensity and rather cheerful triumph, left Remus only for a moment. The chief gestured to those two who had now arrived at the foot of the porch and stood there waiting for his orders. Each of them was instructed to climb up the few steps on either side of the porch, one on the left of Ice-Stare and the other on the right of Remus. While the two were slowly approaching, the stare of the cold blue eyes returned.
There was a strange enchantment in it. Remus knew that any awe or compassion seemingly expressed in those eyes was as much a superficial refinement of calculating power-seeking, as the concretely perceptible warmth in them was simply the reflection of the bonfire on the square. Still, he was eager to push aside the earlier realisation of how much the chief’s eyes had in common with the soulless eyes of his nightmare. The admiration offered by such a strong creature, such a powerful leader, almost overwhelmed his weak body and his vulnerable mind. He yearned to lean on this man. To beg for his touch.
“You control your mind autonomously. You depend on no other creature. Even in your absolute detest of my plans and the consequent reluctance to transform, you remain persistent. You control your aggression. You can bear the devastating pain. Do you think anyone among those in that mass – anyone among us who have lived our lives in this village – would ever succeed in that? No one would even remain conscious in such a situation – alone. When we are alone, this gift turns into a curse. But you have turned it into a challenge – and met the challenge. After that nothing will vanquish you. This ritual will merely make you stronger even physically, even in your man form. And free your mind of doubts, of illusions and of ideological commitments. You will see the truth. I have never seen greater mental strength. It must not go wasted. I will set it free to serve me and to earn the right to be served by everyone. By the whole magical world. The entire world.”
Remus had turned his back against the railing and was forcing himself to concentrate on Ice-Stare’s words in order to realise how wrong all those ideas were. He was dizzy. The pain was spreading to his hands and feet. But he could feel Hedwig moving behind his neck to perch on his left shoulder. Next moment he saw a woman standing in front of him, and not staring at him but just to the left of his face.
One of those two who had arrived so ceremoniously was reaching out her both hands towards him, holding a bowl. A strange invigorating fragrance brought back the enchanting smell of blood as well – and the feel of the claws caressing his chest, the image of a mischievous grin. But what was present outside of his mind, the odour of the ointment alone, cleared his mind enough so as to allow him to quickly glance to his right at Ice-Stare.
The chief had pulled the other woman to his embrace. Remus turned back and met the eyes of the one in front of him. She had parted her lips in an expression of astonishment, and he struggled to give her a small melancholy smile and even managed to wink at her. He could not tell if it was thanks to either of these expressions or the genuine anguish which his eyes must have revealed, but she nodded slowly and blinked hard.
Another glance to his right gave him an example of what to do with this woman, who had to be the first of those whom Ice-Stare had promised in his service. The chief and his woman were feeding each other from the bowl and rubbing the ointment on each other’s skin under their hides. The woman in front of Remus had taken one step closer. Still leaning his back heavy against the railing he reached out his hand and touched hers.
She was taller than him, and her bare arms were muscular. In the light of the bonfire her bushy hair, as well as her eyes, was burning golden brown. The sensitiveness disclosed by the tears in her eyes was in sharp contrast with her apparent strength. Remus could not help seeing the resemblance to the very first woman in his life.
What would she give him, and what would she take away from him? He dropped his hand, but could not take his eyes off hers. The pain was very close to his skin now, and almost incessant and nearly on an even level. With Hedwig constantly taking the sting out of it, it did not actually handicap him any longer. He hardly noticed it. What was left was only enormous weariness. The Disillusioned owl’s reassuring communication may have been enough to encourage him to accept the woman’s offer, but Ice-Stare’s voice, more cheerful than before confirmed his decision.
“You can see how even I depend on the pack. And this is not the first service I have received and given even during this evening. I live in regular interaction with this one and others. But you will not depend on them. Now you are to share the ointment with this woman just in order to have the physical strength for the fulfillment of the ritual of blood. Still, it will be no use allowing your deluded mind to have designs of taking advantage of that strength against my plans. The three of us are armed, and these ladies are not merely pleasure to the senses but true warriors of wand.”
While still listening to Ice-Stare’s words Remus did not let his eyes stray from hers. He felt tears running down his cheeks and could not help it, regardless of how that may have affected the chief’s idea of his independence. Such demonstration of deep emotions could well have strengthened the impression that this was the one and only physical contact he was having with another creature.
The woman was now very close to him. Now the bowl was lifted to his lips. The ointment filled his mouth, first freezing it, then warming up and causing intoxicating satisfaction. Suddenly he knew he could find shelter for a moment against this woman’s bosom, in her firm embrace like in his mother’s. Her warmth surrounded him, the softness of the hides. Out of this womb he was born again through their shared pain.
Now she had fed a fire in him. Suddenly all his aggression was burning but he had the strength to control it, too. He grabbed the bowl and offered it for her to drink. While she was rubbing ointment on his arms – most tenderly, but reaching cautiously and almost timidly just up under the sleeves of his robe – he leaned his head on her shoulder and whispered, “I will rather let him kill me than agree to go through the ritual of blood.”
She had refrained from revealing his Disillusioned companion to her chief. Remus would have rather let her, too, kill him, than give up the hope that she wanted him saved. He rubbed some ointment on her arms and felt her pour forth the very real physical power of her muscles into him. Catching her eyes he saw a mischievous glint in them, and he wanted to believe it was the reflection of his rising boldness. He guided her cautiously to move with him further away from the chief. Ice-Stare’s attention was fixed on the other woman’s breasts.
Handing the bowl to his partner, Remus reached to kiss her both cheeks, and softly and slowly he said, “Thank you. Goodbye. Take care.”
He pulled out his wand and dashed away towards the stairs.
Glancing back while running, he saw her smile and pull out a long slender wand. She thrust it forward and twisted her wrist slightly and pronounced clearly albeit with fake urgency, “Stupefactus!”
A purple beam hit the wall next to his head. The sound of the plaster falling at his feet was covered by a shrill shout of alarm. He was thrilled by the unexpected vigour he sensed in his legs and in his whole body. No matter how desperate his bid for freedom was, he was already overwhelmed by a sense of liberation. An experience of strength like this brought back, from beyond his memory, the triumphant omnipotence of a four-year-old boy.
Having bounded down the stairs and seeing that one more stride would allow him to take cover behind the corner of the building, he could not resist stopping. He turned to face his enemies. At the same moment he realised how thoroughly he was enjoying the game – having finally got into the battle for which he had been itching during the past week, or for thirty-three years. And he had entered it in full strength. Or at least in such a physically confident state which he had not known since his identity and fate had been changed by the bite of a beast.
When he looked up to the porch he could not help grinning of exhilaration. The drumming on the square was beating the rhythm to his pulse. He could hardly feel Hedwig on his shoulder and he pushed aside the thought of a quick escape, which she communicated to him as the best option. He did not need her any longer. For a moment he wanted to believe that Ice-Stare was right. He did not depend on anyone. He was ready to fight those three, as he did not expect the woman to openly stand up against her chief, no matter how profoundly she had played his mother’s role for a fatal moment.
But Ice-Stare was facing him alone. Both women had evidently been given an order to step aside. And up in the middle of the porch Ice-Stare was standing like Remus, holding his wand, which resembled a whip, but not aiming it at his opponent yet. Strange as it was, the chief did perhaps still not regard his guest as an enemy.
Ice-Stare had exposed his teeth again and this time in a weirdly self-assured smile. Was he so sure that he would easily subdue Remus, and do to him, then with him, exactly what he had planned? In an instant another interpretation passed Remus’s mind. Ice-Stare was proud of him, proud of himself, having made the right choice. By Remus’s unexpected demonstration of tenacity the chief’s high opinion of his guest had been proved to be founded.
But the gaze of the penetrating blue eyes was not cold any longer. There was a tension on the face surrounded by grey hair and beard. The eyes were flashing with anger. Ice-Stare had to be in a very unstable and unsatisfactory state. He depended on the ritual at every full moon and he needed to proceed with it in schedule, especially if he was to channel the aggression of the pack to the biting and slaughtering which he had planned even before welcoming his unexpected guest.
Was this man brilliant or mad? Even in the exhilaration of the moment Remus knew how obviously wrong Ice-Stare’s assessment of his guest was. The newly gained carefree boyish part of him wanted to laugh at the misjudgement. No matter what strength a solitary – and vegetarian – werewolf had been forced to develop, he had never felt strong enough in any respect. And recently he had realised that his humanity was secured in him only through interaction with other creatures. He depended on others. The significant difference was that Ice-Stare had to lean on the isolated and indoctrinated masses of his own breed, while Remus relied on solidarity among any creatures with adequate so-called humanity to willingly strive for equal rights and reciprocal care.
Yes, Remus certainly still had the control of his mind. New definitions of his ideals flashed through his consciousness at this crucial moment and reinforced what he was fighting for.
At the same time he was the mischievous boy and he laughed out loud. Ice-Stare was unable to see what he did not want to see. He had not seen what was in front of him and what had immediately been revealed to the woman’s golden brown compassionate eyes.
The chief certainly was to be respected for tenacity, too. He had assessed Remus as superior in strength, and undoubtedly known that Remus was a convinced opponent of any violence, not to mention a reign of terror designed by a werewolf without any moral compass. Yet, the chief had in an instant redesigned his revolt in order to make use of the superior qualities of such a man against the man’s own will.
Ice-Stare could probably trust in the force of the werewolf magic of blood to change that will. But he had not only ignored the role of the owl and the other birds, which must have been easily seen by his guards at some point. He had also misjudged the influence of Remus’s perseverance and the personal sincere plea which he had communicated to the woman instantaneously in a hardly conscious manner.
She was now standing slightly further away from Remus than Ice-Stare and his partner, and she nodded slowly again. Ice-Stare would certainly not have been able to comprehend how the bond had sprung up between his apparently admirable but defenceless tool and one of his faithful warriors. Remus hardly understood himself how he could have seduced the woman to his side. Maybe the secret shared by the two of them since the beginning of their encounter had allowed them to reach the most intimate level in their interaction. Remus had hardly remembered that she also needed his touch to bear the torment. He had simply leant on her in all his vulnerability and – paradoxically – in his desperate need of independence. Just like a son relies on his mother. Still, this alone had both satisfied her needs and tied the two of them together with an astonishing bond of love. She had become the road to his survival.
All this flowed through his awareness into a warm feeling of security, while he was standing still, anticipatory of Ice-Stare’s attack. In all his recklessness Remus was patient and calculated that he needed to wait not only for his enemy’s first curse but for the second one, before reacting by anything but a simple dodge. He did not know the unique features of the wandwork developed by this pack, but his conspirator had already started teaching him. He had just learnt the local version of the stunning spell in its mixture of vulgarity and attempted sophistication.
Now she gestured towards her chief and demonstrated slowly a spiral movement. As soon as Remus moved his full attention back to Ice-Stare, he hardly had time to recognise the same movement in the violent slash of the whip-like wand and to register the tone and cadence of the furious incantation.
“Catenimpeda!”
Remus’s new agility allowed him to dodge at the last moment. The chains slung by the spell clashed on the ground next to him.
The intoxicating sense of total control of his body tempted him to stray from his strategy. Instead of preparing himself to respond to Ice-Stare’s next attempt, he could not resist casting a hex of less than serious mischief just for the fun of it. But perhaps this trick served to clear his mind for the pure peaceful defence, to which he had committed himself. If not all the righteous and vital aggression, at least the detest of the wolf in his enemy was channelled to one quick wave of his wand and an exclamation, which was almost stifled by his chuckles.
“Kouremenos!”
He had aimed at where he had expected Ice-Stare to move. The quality of the spell obviously took the chief by surprise, too. Ice-Stare stood perplexed for a moment. Then he looked down on his hides and saw them all shorn. By the time the chief touched his shaved chin and bald head, Remus was laughing, and a glance at the woman told him that she was avoiding eye-contact and struggling hard to suppress her giggles.
The fury in Ice-Stare’s gaze at the latest made Remus aware of the risk of an unexpected type of assault. He was suddenly fully alert.
“Catenimpeda!”
“Rafinarisma!”
Without stopping to assess the nuances in Ice-Stare’s wand movement or in his incantation, simply estimating the effect of the increased rage, Remus had immediately reflected the spell in his personal style of refinement. No heavy chains but blossoming vines entangled themselves around Ice-Stare from his neck to his ankles. He lost his balance, and swayed for a moment held up by his woman. Remus could sense vaguely the sweet fragrance of the blossoms and he knew that those two so close to the source of the enchanting scent would be tied to passivity.
He did not stay to mock his enemy or to force his conspirator to expose herself. He turned and took the stride behind the corner. Her husky voice shouting the stunning spell was followed by the rattle of some plaster.
He was now running down an alley after his leaping shadow. The bonfire behind was blazing high. The tempo of the drumming was quickening, but the only other sounds were her repeated shouts. Ice-Stare had been too proud to alert his guards. Everyone was busy in the circle of the ritual. The woman was easily catching up with Remus, but he rounded another corner – and allowed her to catch him.
In the darkness she immediately bumped into him. He spread his arms and hugged her tight. She hugged him back. They laughed out loud. They laughed at the chief but more than that they laughed their pleasure.
But with the pleasure of her touch he suddenly sensed the pain again. In a rush returned his despair. Not only would he lose himself to a wolf but she would transform, too. How deceptive the sense of control had been.
“Don’t you fear,” she said. She caressed his face with her strong hand. “We feel the pain because we’ve left the ointment behind. But that is all. I believe that your owl and what we shared will help you keep your mind. Now run. That way. Go up towards the mountains. The moon will rise soon and the pack will spread towards the valley.”
“Will they bite and kill? Have they completed the ritual even without their chief?”
“They must have washed themselves in human blood.”
“In human blood?”
“Part-human blood – their own. That turns them into violence after the rare restraint they’ve practised. But without the guidance of their chief their aggression won’t be focused. Just random fights among themselves. An occasional killing, if they meet someone without animal form. And when sensing the owl on your shoulder, I realised that the birds we’d seen must have sent out a warning.”
Remus only nodded in admiration, and she concluded, “So go, but tie me first in the same way as you tied Chief Ice-Stare.”
“You’ll be punished.”
“On the contrary – if he fails, how could I succeed in subduing you? He will probably punish everyone, though. If your spell can be broken.”
“This version has no counterspell. It’ll lose its effect in a day.”
She had taken a step back and was only holding his left hand in her right, together with her wand.
Despite the strength which she was still donating to him, he suddenly shivered. The night was cold, and he had been sweating in the heat of the duel, and now he was deprived of the warmth of her body. “Why don’t you come with me?”
Was it a simple selfish wish? She did not give the impression of any need of a get-away, but in principle, of course, he wanted her to free herself from the culture of violence. To make that choice herself. She did not even seem to be part of it wholeheartedly.
“You don’t want to belong to this place, do you?”
“I do belong to it. I have been through the most powerful rituals several times since I was six.”
“So how were you able to conspire with me?”
“We don’t share any values with Chief Ice-Stare. There are no values. We can easily stray on the basis of another ritual. Tonight it was the magic in your eyes, then in your touch. I’ve heard a lot of you, since I’m close to the chief. But you mustn’t think I can evaluate your ideals and commit myself to them, either.”
“So you know I fight for equality. You are as capable of joining the community of all creatures as anyone else.”
“No. I have lost my immortal soul a long time ago.”
“I can’t believe that. I’ve felt it touch my soul tonight.”
She squeezed his hand and let it go. “We’ll transform in a moment. You must go before that. Hex me now!”
The distant glow of the fire hardly offered enough light for him to see a change in her features and in her tall and stately figure. But he sensed she had started to tremble, too.
“You need me to cast the chaining spell first, don’t you?” Still facing him, she backed towards the alley, along which they had come running. She stopped close to the wall and leant against it, ready to fall when bound by the spell.
He had to trust that they would find her and take care of her in the morning. He had to hex her now as long as he was able to use his wand.
She gave him no choice either. Her wand was pointing at him. “Are you ready?”
The good intention required by the magic of rafinarisma had been hardly reached earlier in the duel, and only as a wish that Ice-Stare would not commit more crimes to have them weigh on him. But now Remus felt his mind fill with all the blessings he could hope for his loved ones.
“Catenimpeda!”
“Rafinarisma!”
Blossoming vines appeared around her, and he could just hope they did good to her. The transactional magic was complicated to analyse. The quality of the opponent’s spell affected the outcome as well, and so did the circumstances in which the spells interacted. These had to be beneficial in this case. But Remus had no chance to dwell on that. He did not dare approach her. He lit his wand to check the expression on her face from the distance. The dulling fragrance affected her instantaneously, and he hoped the blissful smile meant that the intoxication would ease her pain of transformation. The vines tightened slowly around her as she slid softly down against the wall. They embraced her protectively, and he had to be reconciled with that. And run away.
His wand was snatched out of his hand. He was startled but realised at once that it was his own fault. How could he have thought of replacing Hedwig with anyone?
She pecked him, and he felt his wand against his cheek, too. She had returned to his shoulder, and he felt guilty of not knowing if she had been gone for a long time or just now for the purpose of taking the wand. Again he sensed her presence clearly, and he could hardly communicate his gratitude to her for what he had succeeded in, before a higher wave of pain shook his body and he had to rely on her further help.
Instead of merely soothing him, she communicated urgency. She tugged at the sleeve of his robes, and he understood she was advising him to get undressed now. He took off his shoes and all his clothes right there in the dark in front of the woman, wondering if she had closed her eyes, and he tied everything to a bundle for Hedwig to carry in her claws. What she carried adopted – just as she did – the colour and texture of the background.
She set out immediately, and he had to follow running, and listening to her soft hooting so as to keep together with her.
Now even without physical contact with her he did not feel weak and desperate. He first fixed his attention on the biting wind on his bare skin, then on the healthy heat generated by his movements. His movements had the vigour and the agility which the woman had donated to him. And he was no longer reluctant to transform. He had left the ritual and the pack behind. The alley turned into a path leading up towards the woods and ridges. He was looking forward to feeling the final convulsions, to stopping just for a moment and to continuing his way as a free wolf, free to roam the wilderness with his friend. And his heart was warmed by the thought of a female wolf resting on a bed of flowers.
My own, late response to prompt three is limited to my fanwork, and I haven't even written anything new based on this one either. Of course, I immediately thought of the one among my original characters in the HP world whom I'd named Hecate. The scene in which she first appears and her role in it perhaps fit well enough the crossroads aspect of the prompt.
I've hesitated to post an excerpt to show my Hecate, because she belongs to the long chaptered Remus-centric fic which was started soon after OotP and edited only a bit upon completion in 2010. Now
pauraque's fascinating thought that the writers of our old work are ghosts of ourselves has helped me almost make up my mind to finally start posting the fic as it is on AO3. This excerpt, too, is a static snapshot of the best [I was] able to do ... at one particular time. These scenes were written in spring 2004 – at a time when we didn't know anything about Fenrir Greyback or Lyall and Hope Lupin. If I had heard that the letter J on Professor Lupin's briefcase should stand for John, I didn't care (and I still don't).
The night had fallen, and after the door behind him closed, the only illumination was provided by a bonfire burning bright on the village square. Against this red restless light he could discern only the outlines of the majestic terrifying creature. He was even more startled by the amusement in Chief Ice-Stare’s voice.
“Thank you. The four of you may go down to the square now and take your places in the circle. Come here, Remus Jaws Lupin.”
The chief turned his back on him and, facing the fire, leaned against the railing. His bent figure gave deceptively the impression of a fully transformed werewolf. Remus approached slowly and saw that the fur worn by Ice-Stare was still just one made of hides. Touching the cold iron at an arm’s length to the right of his host, Remus turned to examine his features in the warm light.
Ice-Stare must have been aware of his gaze, but continued to watch the crowd around the fire. “I have not been mistaken. I know how to choose my generals, although my choices may seem too radical to those who have no courage of imagination. Look at that mass. They survive only by leaning on each other.”
He turned abruptly to look at Remus, and his eyes sparkled, reflecting the fire, just as his perfect rows of strong teeth did, so that suddenly his face seemed to express some warm emotion. He kept grinning while he continued, “I love paradoxes. Your denouncement of your nature has led you to train yourself to my service. I have followed the course of your life. There’s no need to now discuss why. Some recent information from several foreign communities – but only when interpreted by my courageous unbiased mind – confirmed that you are the man and will be the wolf to serve me better than anyone who has grown to be just a member of the pack.”
Remus did not break the silence which followed. He had no intention to start arguing and provoking Ice-Stare to explain his ideas further. He was not going to waste the rest of his strength, which was not much.
The chief did not reveal any disappointment, on the contrary. He examined his guest carefully from head to toes, and when their eyes met again, Remus was startled by the thought that even Thisby had not made him feel more admired. And the thought of Thisby must have saved him at the last moment from faltering and accepting the admiration, while he suddenly realised that his quiet opposition was exactly what pleased the chief.
“I was trained to physical strength, but that is not the most important facet of leadership. Your parents’ foolishness – or what I used to regard as foolishness, while it turned out not to be that even from my perspective – prevented you from growing physically even to the power which you could have reached as a mere human. Without the support of a wolf mother or a pack – or the freedom of occasional biting of at least those who already had our gift – you had to wound yourself and wear down your strength. You learned to torture yourself, both the man and the wolf.”
Ice-Stare paused again, but clearly did not expect a reply. Hiding his teeth, which he normally seemed to be fond of exposing, he arranged his features to an almost authentic expression of compassion.
At the same moment Remus felt that his very real physical frailty would soon make it impossible for him to simply remain standing. The repeated waves of pain had consumed him. The chief certainly saw his condition and also understood why the transformation was exceptionally painful for him this time.
Still, Ice-Stare admired him, assuming that he was holding out on his own. But Hedwig was perching as Disillusioned on his right shoulder, and while the chief had been talking, Remus had moved cautiously little by little further away to the right, hoping that the owl’s presence would remain concealed.
Strangely the weight of the big bird had turned into its opposite. Her emotions constantly restored his serenity and relieved the pain, which he could still feel shaking his body in more and more frequent waves and closer and closer to his skin. He knew that he was well beyond the point of being able to disapparate, even in case he could have managed to escape from the porch, which probably belonged to the anti-apparation area defined by the security spell Ice-Stare had mentioned. It would be disastrous four any werewolf to even attempt at apparating during the ongoing process of transformation, when the matter of the body was extremely unstable and thus in a vulnerable state and would have inevitably got lost between the points of disapparition and apparition. Besides, in his current condition Remus hardly had the strength to do any magic.
He did not know how close the moonrise was, but each moment which the chief dawdled away with him here on the porch, postponing the ritual, could mean more time for the people of the Cotswolds to receive the warning and even for the Order to act. What the Order was to do was not in Remus’s hands any longer, and even what would happen to him could be only in case the ritual could give him strength before depriving him of his human mind.
The ritual had started on the square. A sound of fierce drumming suddenly startled Remus, and he realised that he had lost his concentration on Ice-Stare and almost collapsed against the railing. He was trembling, and his vision was blurred. But when he lifted his head, he managed to focus his eyes on two creatures who were walking solemnly towards the porch.
“Were you afraid I would laugh at your weakness? I do admire your strength, Remus Jaws Lupin.”
Ice-Stare’s voice sounded suddenly so clear and loud in his ears that he turned his head, fearing that his host had moved closer. But the sparkling eyes were still gazing at him from the distance which had almost doubled since he had first touched the railing. Remus was tempted to accept another compliment – to bask in that rare praise. He was almost ready to even overlook Ice-Stare’s insistence on physical distance from his guest. Any attempt at an escape could, of course, only benefit from the chief kindly allowing Remus to gradually move further away. Yet, again and again a feeling of utter disappointment returned – a feeling of having been let down.
Remus could hardly control his fury when thinking about the physical reserve in the manner of the welcome he had been given, the evidently conscious refusal to touch him, to even shake his hand – to even hit him. Having been abandoned to wait for the moonrise alone, he had not regarded such treatment as something he could ever easily forgive, even if he had to understand that in close contact it would be hard for the werewolves to oppose the culture of violence within which they had grown up. He had come here seeking solace and protection from creatures of his own kind. Seeking a human touch on his skin to help him not lose himself.
Still, at this moment he was tempted to forgive Ice-Stare. The chief had seen and adored in him – and still wanted to keep admiring in him – the exceptional ability to make it on his own, which must have been disclosed in whatever information on his life had been delivered to this village.
The penetrating gaze, now fierce with intensity and rather cheerful triumph, left Remus only for a moment. The chief gestured to those two who had now arrived at the foot of the porch and stood there waiting for his orders. Each of them was instructed to climb up the few steps on either side of the porch, one on the left of Ice-Stare and the other on the right of Remus. While the two were slowly approaching, the stare of the cold blue eyes returned.
There was a strange enchantment in it. Remus knew that any awe or compassion seemingly expressed in those eyes was as much a superficial refinement of calculating power-seeking, as the concretely perceptible warmth in them was simply the reflection of the bonfire on the square. Still, he was eager to push aside the earlier realisation of how much the chief’s eyes had in common with the soulless eyes of his nightmare. The admiration offered by such a strong creature, such a powerful leader, almost overwhelmed his weak body and his vulnerable mind. He yearned to lean on this man. To beg for his touch.
“You control your mind autonomously. You depend on no other creature. Even in your absolute detest of my plans and the consequent reluctance to transform, you remain persistent. You control your aggression. You can bear the devastating pain. Do you think anyone among those in that mass – anyone among us who have lived our lives in this village – would ever succeed in that? No one would even remain conscious in such a situation – alone. When we are alone, this gift turns into a curse. But you have turned it into a challenge – and met the challenge. After that nothing will vanquish you. This ritual will merely make you stronger even physically, even in your man form. And free your mind of doubts, of illusions and of ideological commitments. You will see the truth. I have never seen greater mental strength. It must not go wasted. I will set it free to serve me and to earn the right to be served by everyone. By the whole magical world. The entire world.”
Remus had turned his back against the railing and was forcing himself to concentrate on Ice-Stare’s words in order to realise how wrong all those ideas were. He was dizzy. The pain was spreading to his hands and feet. But he could feel Hedwig moving behind his neck to perch on his left shoulder. Next moment he saw a woman standing in front of him, and not staring at him but just to the left of his face.
One of those two who had arrived so ceremoniously was reaching out her both hands towards him, holding a bowl. A strange invigorating fragrance brought back the enchanting smell of blood as well – and the feel of the claws caressing his chest, the image of a mischievous grin. But what was present outside of his mind, the odour of the ointment alone, cleared his mind enough so as to allow him to quickly glance to his right at Ice-Stare.
The chief had pulled the other woman to his embrace. Remus turned back and met the eyes of the one in front of him. She had parted her lips in an expression of astonishment, and he struggled to give her a small melancholy smile and even managed to wink at her. He could not tell if it was thanks to either of these expressions or the genuine anguish which his eyes must have revealed, but she nodded slowly and blinked hard.
Another glance to his right gave him an example of what to do with this woman, who had to be the first of those whom Ice-Stare had promised in his service. The chief and his woman were feeding each other from the bowl and rubbing the ointment on each other’s skin under their hides. The woman in front of Remus had taken one step closer. Still leaning his back heavy against the railing he reached out his hand and touched hers.
She was taller than him, and her bare arms were muscular. In the light of the bonfire her bushy hair, as well as her eyes, was burning golden brown. The sensitiveness disclosed by the tears in her eyes was in sharp contrast with her apparent strength. Remus could not help seeing the resemblance to the very first woman in his life.
What would she give him, and what would she take away from him? He dropped his hand, but could not take his eyes off hers. The pain was very close to his skin now, and almost incessant and nearly on an even level. With Hedwig constantly taking the sting out of it, it did not actually handicap him any longer. He hardly noticed it. What was left was only enormous weariness. The Disillusioned owl’s reassuring communication may have been enough to encourage him to accept the woman’s offer, but Ice-Stare’s voice, more cheerful than before confirmed his decision.
“You can see how even I depend on the pack. And this is not the first service I have received and given even during this evening. I live in regular interaction with this one and others. But you will not depend on them. Now you are to share the ointment with this woman just in order to have the physical strength for the fulfillment of the ritual of blood. Still, it will be no use allowing your deluded mind to have designs of taking advantage of that strength against my plans. The three of us are armed, and these ladies are not merely pleasure to the senses but true warriors of wand.”
While still listening to Ice-Stare’s words Remus did not let his eyes stray from hers. He felt tears running down his cheeks and could not help it, regardless of how that may have affected the chief’s idea of his independence. Such demonstration of deep emotions could well have strengthened the impression that this was the one and only physical contact he was having with another creature.
The woman was now very close to him. Now the bowl was lifted to his lips. The ointment filled his mouth, first freezing it, then warming up and causing intoxicating satisfaction. Suddenly he knew he could find shelter for a moment against this woman’s bosom, in her firm embrace like in his mother’s. Her warmth surrounded him, the softness of the hides. Out of this womb he was born again through their shared pain.
Now she had fed a fire in him. Suddenly all his aggression was burning but he had the strength to control it, too. He grabbed the bowl and offered it for her to drink. While she was rubbing ointment on his arms – most tenderly, but reaching cautiously and almost timidly just up under the sleeves of his robe – he leaned his head on her shoulder and whispered, “I will rather let him kill me than agree to go through the ritual of blood.”
She had refrained from revealing his Disillusioned companion to her chief. Remus would have rather let her, too, kill him, than give up the hope that she wanted him saved. He rubbed some ointment on her arms and felt her pour forth the very real physical power of her muscles into him. Catching her eyes he saw a mischievous glint in them, and he wanted to believe it was the reflection of his rising boldness. He guided her cautiously to move with him further away from the chief. Ice-Stare’s attention was fixed on the other woman’s breasts.
Handing the bowl to his partner, Remus reached to kiss her both cheeks, and softly and slowly he said, “Thank you. Goodbye. Take care.”
He pulled out his wand and dashed away towards the stairs.
Glancing back while running, he saw her smile and pull out a long slender wand. She thrust it forward and twisted her wrist slightly and pronounced clearly albeit with fake urgency, “Stupefactus!”
A purple beam hit the wall next to his head. The sound of the plaster falling at his feet was covered by a shrill shout of alarm. He was thrilled by the unexpected vigour he sensed in his legs and in his whole body. No matter how desperate his bid for freedom was, he was already overwhelmed by a sense of liberation. An experience of strength like this brought back, from beyond his memory, the triumphant omnipotence of a four-year-old boy.
Having bounded down the stairs and seeing that one more stride would allow him to take cover behind the corner of the building, he could not resist stopping. He turned to face his enemies. At the same moment he realised how thoroughly he was enjoying the game – having finally got into the battle for which he had been itching during the past week, or for thirty-three years. And he had entered it in full strength. Or at least in such a physically confident state which he had not known since his identity and fate had been changed by the bite of a beast.
When he looked up to the porch he could not help grinning of exhilaration. The drumming on the square was beating the rhythm to his pulse. He could hardly feel Hedwig on his shoulder and he pushed aside the thought of a quick escape, which she communicated to him as the best option. He did not need her any longer. For a moment he wanted to believe that Ice-Stare was right. He did not depend on anyone. He was ready to fight those three, as he did not expect the woman to openly stand up against her chief, no matter how profoundly she had played his mother’s role for a fatal moment.
But Ice-Stare was facing him alone. Both women had evidently been given an order to step aside. And up in the middle of the porch Ice-Stare was standing like Remus, holding his wand, which resembled a whip, but not aiming it at his opponent yet. Strange as it was, the chief did perhaps still not regard his guest as an enemy.
Ice-Stare had exposed his teeth again and this time in a weirdly self-assured smile. Was he so sure that he would easily subdue Remus, and do to him, then with him, exactly what he had planned? In an instant another interpretation passed Remus’s mind. Ice-Stare was proud of him, proud of himself, having made the right choice. By Remus’s unexpected demonstration of tenacity the chief’s high opinion of his guest had been proved to be founded.
But the gaze of the penetrating blue eyes was not cold any longer. There was a tension on the face surrounded by grey hair and beard. The eyes were flashing with anger. Ice-Stare had to be in a very unstable and unsatisfactory state. He depended on the ritual at every full moon and he needed to proceed with it in schedule, especially if he was to channel the aggression of the pack to the biting and slaughtering which he had planned even before welcoming his unexpected guest.
Was this man brilliant or mad? Even in the exhilaration of the moment Remus knew how obviously wrong Ice-Stare’s assessment of his guest was. The newly gained carefree boyish part of him wanted to laugh at the misjudgement. No matter what strength a solitary – and vegetarian – werewolf had been forced to develop, he had never felt strong enough in any respect. And recently he had realised that his humanity was secured in him only through interaction with other creatures. He depended on others. The significant difference was that Ice-Stare had to lean on the isolated and indoctrinated masses of his own breed, while Remus relied on solidarity among any creatures with adequate so-called humanity to willingly strive for equal rights and reciprocal care.
Yes, Remus certainly still had the control of his mind. New definitions of his ideals flashed through his consciousness at this crucial moment and reinforced what he was fighting for.
At the same time he was the mischievous boy and he laughed out loud. Ice-Stare was unable to see what he did not want to see. He had not seen what was in front of him and what had immediately been revealed to the woman’s golden brown compassionate eyes.
The chief certainly was to be respected for tenacity, too. He had assessed Remus as superior in strength, and undoubtedly known that Remus was a convinced opponent of any violence, not to mention a reign of terror designed by a werewolf without any moral compass. Yet, the chief had in an instant redesigned his revolt in order to make use of the superior qualities of such a man against the man’s own will.
Ice-Stare could probably trust in the force of the werewolf magic of blood to change that will. But he had not only ignored the role of the owl and the other birds, which must have been easily seen by his guards at some point. He had also misjudged the influence of Remus’s perseverance and the personal sincere plea which he had communicated to the woman instantaneously in a hardly conscious manner.
She was now standing slightly further away from Remus than Ice-Stare and his partner, and she nodded slowly again. Ice-Stare would certainly not have been able to comprehend how the bond had sprung up between his apparently admirable but defenceless tool and one of his faithful warriors. Remus hardly understood himself how he could have seduced the woman to his side. Maybe the secret shared by the two of them since the beginning of their encounter had allowed them to reach the most intimate level in their interaction. Remus had hardly remembered that she also needed his touch to bear the torment. He had simply leant on her in all his vulnerability and – paradoxically – in his desperate need of independence. Just like a son relies on his mother. Still, this alone had both satisfied her needs and tied the two of them together with an astonishing bond of love. She had become the road to his survival.
All this flowed through his awareness into a warm feeling of security, while he was standing still, anticipatory of Ice-Stare’s attack. In all his recklessness Remus was patient and calculated that he needed to wait not only for his enemy’s first curse but for the second one, before reacting by anything but a simple dodge. He did not know the unique features of the wandwork developed by this pack, but his conspirator had already started teaching him. He had just learnt the local version of the stunning spell in its mixture of vulgarity and attempted sophistication.
Now she gestured towards her chief and demonstrated slowly a spiral movement. As soon as Remus moved his full attention back to Ice-Stare, he hardly had time to recognise the same movement in the violent slash of the whip-like wand and to register the tone and cadence of the furious incantation.
“Catenimpeda!”
Remus’s new agility allowed him to dodge at the last moment. The chains slung by the spell clashed on the ground next to him.
The intoxicating sense of total control of his body tempted him to stray from his strategy. Instead of preparing himself to respond to Ice-Stare’s next attempt, he could not resist casting a hex of less than serious mischief just for the fun of it. But perhaps this trick served to clear his mind for the pure peaceful defence, to which he had committed himself. If not all the righteous and vital aggression, at least the detest of the wolf in his enemy was channelled to one quick wave of his wand and an exclamation, which was almost stifled by his chuckles.
“Kouremenos!”
He had aimed at where he had expected Ice-Stare to move. The quality of the spell obviously took the chief by surprise, too. Ice-Stare stood perplexed for a moment. Then he looked down on his hides and saw them all shorn. By the time the chief touched his shaved chin and bald head, Remus was laughing, and a glance at the woman told him that she was avoiding eye-contact and struggling hard to suppress her giggles.
The fury in Ice-Stare’s gaze at the latest made Remus aware of the risk of an unexpected type of assault. He was suddenly fully alert.
“Catenimpeda!”
“Rafinarisma!”
Without stopping to assess the nuances in Ice-Stare’s wand movement or in his incantation, simply estimating the effect of the increased rage, Remus had immediately reflected the spell in his personal style of refinement. No heavy chains but blossoming vines entangled themselves around Ice-Stare from his neck to his ankles. He lost his balance, and swayed for a moment held up by his woman. Remus could sense vaguely the sweet fragrance of the blossoms and he knew that those two so close to the source of the enchanting scent would be tied to passivity.
He did not stay to mock his enemy or to force his conspirator to expose herself. He turned and took the stride behind the corner. Her husky voice shouting the stunning spell was followed by the rattle of some plaster.
He was now running down an alley after his leaping shadow. The bonfire behind was blazing high. The tempo of the drumming was quickening, but the only other sounds were her repeated shouts. Ice-Stare had been too proud to alert his guards. Everyone was busy in the circle of the ritual. The woman was easily catching up with Remus, but he rounded another corner – and allowed her to catch him.
In the darkness she immediately bumped into him. He spread his arms and hugged her tight. She hugged him back. They laughed out loud. They laughed at the chief but more than that they laughed their pleasure.
But with the pleasure of her touch he suddenly sensed the pain again. In a rush returned his despair. Not only would he lose himself to a wolf but she would transform, too. How deceptive the sense of control had been.
“Don’t you fear,” she said. She caressed his face with her strong hand. “We feel the pain because we’ve left the ointment behind. But that is all. I believe that your owl and what we shared will help you keep your mind. Now run. That way. Go up towards the mountains. The moon will rise soon and the pack will spread towards the valley.”
“Will they bite and kill? Have they completed the ritual even without their chief?”
“They must have washed themselves in human blood.”
“In human blood?”
“Part-human blood – their own. That turns them into violence after the rare restraint they’ve practised. But without the guidance of their chief their aggression won’t be focused. Just random fights among themselves. An occasional killing, if they meet someone without animal form. And when sensing the owl on your shoulder, I realised that the birds we’d seen must have sent out a warning.”
Remus only nodded in admiration, and she concluded, “So go, but tie me first in the same way as you tied Chief Ice-Stare.”
“You’ll be punished.”
“On the contrary – if he fails, how could I succeed in subduing you? He will probably punish everyone, though. If your spell can be broken.”
“This version has no counterspell. It’ll lose its effect in a day.”
She had taken a step back and was only holding his left hand in her right, together with her wand.
Despite the strength which she was still donating to him, he suddenly shivered. The night was cold, and he had been sweating in the heat of the duel, and now he was deprived of the warmth of her body. “Why don’t you come with me?”
Was it a simple selfish wish? She did not give the impression of any need of a get-away, but in principle, of course, he wanted her to free herself from the culture of violence. To make that choice herself. She did not even seem to be part of it wholeheartedly.
“You don’t want to belong to this place, do you?”
“I do belong to it. I have been through the most powerful rituals several times since I was six.”
“So how were you able to conspire with me?”
“We don’t share any values with Chief Ice-Stare. There are no values. We can easily stray on the basis of another ritual. Tonight it was the magic in your eyes, then in your touch. I’ve heard a lot of you, since I’m close to the chief. But you mustn’t think I can evaluate your ideals and commit myself to them, either.”
“So you know I fight for equality. You are as capable of joining the community of all creatures as anyone else.”
“No. I have lost my immortal soul a long time ago.”
“I can’t believe that. I’ve felt it touch my soul tonight.”
She squeezed his hand and let it go. “We’ll transform in a moment. You must go before that. Hex me now!”
The distant glow of the fire hardly offered enough light for him to see a change in her features and in her tall and stately figure. But he sensed she had started to tremble, too.
“You need me to cast the chaining spell first, don’t you?” Still facing him, she backed towards the alley, along which they had come running. She stopped close to the wall and leant against it, ready to fall when bound by the spell.
He had to trust that they would find her and take care of her in the morning. He had to hex her now as long as he was able to use his wand.
She gave him no choice either. Her wand was pointing at him. “Are you ready?”
The good intention required by the magic of rafinarisma had been hardly reached earlier in the duel, and only as a wish that Ice-Stare would not commit more crimes to have them weigh on him. But now Remus felt his mind fill with all the blessings he could hope for his loved ones.
“Catenimpeda!”
“Rafinarisma!”
Blossoming vines appeared around her, and he could just hope they did good to her. The transactional magic was complicated to analyse. The quality of the opponent’s spell affected the outcome as well, and so did the circumstances in which the spells interacted. These had to be beneficial in this case. But Remus had no chance to dwell on that. He did not dare approach her. He lit his wand to check the expression on her face from the distance. The dulling fragrance affected her instantaneously, and he hoped the blissful smile meant that the intoxication would ease her pain of transformation. The vines tightened slowly around her as she slid softly down against the wall. They embraced her protectively, and he had to be reconciled with that. And run away.
His wand was snatched out of his hand. He was startled but realised at once that it was his own fault. How could he have thought of replacing Hedwig with anyone?
She pecked him, and he felt his wand against his cheek, too. She had returned to his shoulder, and he felt guilty of not knowing if she had been gone for a long time or just now for the purpose of taking the wand. Again he sensed her presence clearly, and he could hardly communicate his gratitude to her for what he had succeeded in, before a higher wave of pain shook his body and he had to rely on her further help.
Instead of merely soothing him, she communicated urgency. She tugged at the sleeve of his robes, and he understood she was advising him to get undressed now. He took off his shoes and all his clothes right there in the dark in front of the woman, wondering if she had closed her eyes, and he tied everything to a bundle for Hedwig to carry in her claws. What she carried adopted – just as she did – the colour and texture of the background.
She set out immediately, and he had to follow running, and listening to her soft hooting so as to keep together with her.
Now even without physical contact with her he did not feel weak and desperate. He first fixed his attention on the biting wind on his bare skin, then on the healthy heat generated by his movements. His movements had the vigour and the agility which the woman had donated to him. And he was no longer reluctant to transform. He had left the ritual and the pack behind. The alley turned into a path leading up towards the woods and ridges. He was looking forward to feeling the final convulsions, to stopping just for a moment and to continuing his way as a free wolf, free to roam the wilderness with his friend. And his heart was warmed by the thought of a female wolf resting on a bed of flowers.
no subject
Date: 2021-07-13 09:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-07-14 07:06 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-07-15 12:35 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-07-15 07:57 am (UTC)Thank you for reading and for commenting in such a wonderful way! I wish I'd manage to produce something new to share also in the AO3 collection. And to be more active in modding. (I've tried to remember to check the earlier prompt posts, too, but I've replied only when I've been the first to see a new comment – also because I'm not the best commentor, as I'm familiar with so few of the canons that participants refer to.)