Certain Dark Things || Book Three

xlvii. the madman cometh

When the final student departed, eager for dinner and a respite from lectures, Remus breathed a heavy, lingering sigh of relief.

"Thank Merlin," he muttered to the empty room, dropping into the cushioned chair behind his desk. A wave of his wand cleaned the blackboard, leaving white streaks behind, and Remus sighed again, louder, propping his head on the chair's back. He could still read the odd word here and there in the streaks—words like "devilry," "fire," and "inquisition." Grimacing, he made an effort to clean the board once more, then set his wand on the desk, allowing his eyes to close.

I'll just rest here for the moment....

The day had been just as long for Remus as it had been for his pupils—if not longer, his thoughts dominated by the slow rise of the lunar sphere and his curse's coming encumberence. He had revisions to teach, homework to grade, essays to read, and yet Remus had the energy for none of it. If he drank anymore Revitalizing Solution, he'd most likely boil his liver.

Something collided with the office door, noisy paws scratching at the wood. Remus' eyes popped open.

"For Merlin's sake, Padfoot," he hissed under his breath. "Just come in!"

The scratching ceased, silence pervading before a small click sounded, and a black nose nudged the door inward, admitting the silver-eyed Grim. Sirius padded closer to the desk, and Remus suppressed the reflex to reach out and run his hand over the dog's mussed fur. They weren't that familiar with each other. Not anymore.

The dog went to the window Remus visited not a minute before, and he looked out upon the grounds, probably not seeing much of anything from his lower vantage. He turned to him, and Remus could practically feel his desire to change forms, like an itch prickling under the skin, needing to be released. Sirius wagged his tail in agitation.

"You're going to have to wait until tomorrow to talk," Remus said in an undertone, conscious of the portraits on the far wall and the ghosts that could come haring through whenever they chose. "There isn't much time left in the day, and I'm unfortunately knackered."

Sirius huffed, then huffed again, a low, grating growl of irritation—or maybe impatience. For a man who'd spent twelve years in Azkaban, biding his time, Sirius had little patience now that he was out and close to his goal.

"Don't look at me like that."

He sat, growled again.

"We have time," Remus reiterated, tapping his finger on the armrest of his chair. "Time enough to formulate our plans properly. If we fail to find him before the term ends—we'll not stop searching. He'll have nowhere else to go but back with the Weasleys if he means to stay kept and relatively in the know. He won't stay here—no, the risk of discovery is too great around wizards of Dumbledore's caliber, and there isn't a reliable source of news, not like he could find with a Wizarding family." Remus stopped tapping and instead rubbed at his tired, lined face. "I could, perhaps, make a house call during the summer. I never knew Molly and Arthur Weasley well, but they were connected to the Order, and being a professor to several of their children could grant me the leeway to arrange a visit. If we can ascertain Peter's presence."

Sirius' lip curled over sharp, white teeth.

"No, I don't like it either." Remus tipped his head back again, the ribbed ceiling above dark and gloomy where the final light of day couldn't reach. "It's dangerous. He's dangerous—strange, how all these years later I can see it for the first time." Peter had been a boy of average talent and middling personality, but what Remus and the others had mistaken for loyalty was nothing more than sycophancy. He'd related to him the most in their school days—both unpopular children clinging to the magnanimous friendships of their charismatic peers—but Peter had been quick to cut contact with Remus after school, after the war heated up and the werewolf ceased to have relevance in his limited social sphere.