An Unforgivable Request
Date: January 19 & 25, 2000
Time: Just after sunset each day
Character(s) Involved: Remus & Harry
Rating: PG for weighty emotional content and potential strong language and/or some violence
( Day was almost done by the time he arrived in London... )
Time: Just after sunset each day
Character(s) Involved: Remus & Harry
Rating: PG for weighty emotional content and potential strong language and/or some violence
( Day was almost done by the time he arrived in London... )
Like Harry, he could sense a gulf opening up between them as the work progressed and he would be damned if he let it continue. He'd let others drift away in the past and he'd lost almost all of them completely. He wouldn't...couldn't...let that happen here. It would be one too many for him to survive.
"Did you know that wolves can have entire conversations just with eye contact," he asked without preamble. Patting the mattress beside him, he tried to smile encouragement but it felt stiff even to him. "Real wolves, I mean. It's almost as much a language to them as the howling or body postures. Come sit with for a moment, Harry. I want to talk with you a bit before we get started to tonight."
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Harry crossed the room and sat down where Remus had indicated. He hunched over, elbows resting on his knees as his head hung low over his trainers. It seemed he hadn't been able to stand upright for the past week, a premanent slouch to his stance as if the weight on his shoulders had increased exponentially in that short amount of time. He hadn't slept but a few moments when his body insisted. With sleep came visions of the face he couldn't now seem to meet, in pain...a pain he knew would eventually come from his wand. Tonight.
Harry was spent. Mentally, it was already a struggle to keep his thoughts constantly shielded with Occlumency. It was difficult to pinpoint, even more difficult to describe, but Harry knew Voldemort's efforts to pry into his brain had increased as of late. He was close and time was drawing closer. The added mental strain of this training was weakening him as much as it was strengthening his skills.
Toying idly with the laces of his trainers, Harry spoke to them rather than Remus.
"Lucky wolves - to not have to say anything."
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He waited for a moment to see if Harry would take the hint and look at him. Inwardly he once more railed at the needs which were forcing them into this. He did't want to have to teach Harry these things anymore than Harry wanted to use them against him. But, they truly had no other options.
"Don't pull away from me Harry. You can't pull away." Looping his arms around his knees, Remus refrained from making any motion to encourage Harry to deal with this and look at him. This was something the young man was going to have to come to on his own. "Harry, you can't push away from the people who care about you, not while using these spells. You need that reinforcement, the knowledge that you're surrounded by others' love, to help keep you from crossing the line, to keep the hate from taking you over. I know you don't want to do this. I'm not fond of the idea myself. But it's necessary. Just, please, don't shut me out. Talk to me."
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Fear that it would be the last time he'd see that in those eyes again.
It was at Remus' last words that Harry's fear was overriden by another, greater one. The force of that shot his head up to meet Remus' gaze rather abruptly, a look on his face housing concern and the fear that was now making him face this - face Remus.
Don't shut me out.
"I'm not trying to, Remus. Please, don't think this is what I want. I just- I don't know how I'm going to do this and then...How can you look at me the same way after what I've done to you? After what I have to do?"
With each passing day, it was getting harder and harder for Harry to look at himself in the mirror. Harder and harder to recognize the face that stared back at him. It wasn't too hard to think that Remus was having the same difficulty in differentiating between the Harry that loved him and the Harry that was aiming a wand at him.
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This was exactly what he hadn't wanted. If Harry let himself fall under the weight of this, it would destroy that part of him Remus was trying hardest to save. But how to make him understand? How to help him see the fine line between remorse for actions taken and self-damnation for those actions.
"How can I look at you the same way? Because my feelings haven't changed. How can I condemn you for actions taken at my request? I won't lie to you and say that I want it to be this way. I wish I could have spared you having to go through this. Sometimes, we have to cause pain for those people we care most about. Life is rather unfair that way. But I'm not going to stop loving you or wanting to protect you because of that. Hate the action. Hate the necessity. But don't hate yourself."
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Don't dwell on it? How could he not? It was all he thought of for the past week. It was all that was dwelt on and showed no signs of moving on. Harry knew what it was to feel the pain of a Cruciatus Curse, knew what it was to feel that unrelenting torture that drives the mind to wish for death. Remus may have been a werewolf and 'used' to such torment, but that did little to ease Harry's mind that he would be the one to cause it.
His voice barely showed the extent of the defeat he felt as Harry fought to keep his head upright. All he really wanted was to bury it beneath the nearest rock and not come back out for fear of what was waiting for him.
"I'm trying, Remus. I keep trying to remember why, but its getting harder. I feel so..." Harry took a breath, not really knowing how he felt, not enough to put into words that made sense. "I can feel him trying to search my thoughts more everyday. It takes everything I've got to keep him out. And there's still so much to do. We don't know where he is. We don't know what he's doing. And now - this."
Under the weight of all the forces pushing and pulling and demanding on him, Harry's head fell against his chest. "You're all I've got, Remus....of Mum and Dad. I know you said you wouldn't...but after...I can't lose you too. I'd-"
The words caught in his throat as tears started to dot the arms crossed tightly over his chest - his tears.
"I'm going to break, Remus. I can feel it. I'm going to break."
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Remus' faith in the frightened young man before him was absolute. He couldn't let it be anything else. If he let his faith waver, fear would walk in to fill the void and then he wouldn't be able to effectively prepare Harry for anything. Instead, he'd shelter him too much and probably only ensure both of their deaths.
"Harry, you're stronger than you give yourself credit for. Think of all that you've been through before now, every hardship Fate has heaped upon you that you've survived. You can do this, Harry. I believe in you can survive. You just need to believe in yourself."
Remus' hand moved to grip Harry's shoulder bracingly, as though he could transfer his own confidence through that connection.
"I'm not going anywhere," he continued softly. "You're not going to lose me over this, Harry. I promise. I know exactly what I'm getting into, what I'm asking of you. I know it's not going to be easy for either of us. But, I also know, if it keeps you alive, it will be worth it."
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He was counting on him. They all were. There wasn't room for the doubt he'd felt, wasn't room for fear of what would happen after today - or later. There just wasn't. Despite whether it lived in him or not, it didn't change anything. If he didn't have faith, if he didn't think he could go through with it - it needed to be enough that Remus did.
Forcing his body to straighten, he tapped into the resolve within the brown eyes of the man he was about to hurt so badly. Today had to happen. There was no way around it. And Harry wasn't about to see that kind of pain, that kind of sacrifice - Remus' sacrifice - go to waste at the hand of his own self-doubt.
Inwardly, Harry might have been trembling like a fearful child facing his nightmares come to life, but he'd come to master a steady facade regardless. It was that facade that Harry could see in the reflection of Remus' eyes. That was who would get through this. The same Harry that had gotten through everyday in the last three years. When things became unbearable, it was that Harry that took over to get through one more day.
The same Harry that found the strength to walk away from Dumbledore's funeral, prepared to face his future alone. This future. It was that Harry that answered Remus with a steady and confident voice that even surprised himself.
"Alright, Remus. I can do this."
If only he actually believed that.
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"Now, I don't expect you to get it on the first try, or even the second. But we're not quitting today until you get two good castings, alright?"
Remus didn't doubt Harry's ability to cast the spell, or even to cast it quickly, after only a couple tries. It wasn't difficult for a person to lose control and find some enjoyment in the pain they caused -- once. No, where he suspected the trouble would come would be consistancy. It was one drawback of using someone Harry cared about as the target. Eventually, Remus felt confident he could goad Harry into casting it the first time. But, after casting it successfully and truly seeing what happened as a result, Remus worried Harry would be even more reluctant to continue with this.
For, even after all that had happened, Harry still had a good heart. Remus could see it in him, see the pain of guilt and remorse which had built throughout their training so far. As much as it was devastating Remus to be the one to force this upon the young man, seeing that pain gave Remus continued hope that Harry would not fall into the trap they were opening. He would be able to survive with that heart intact.
Remus had to believe that. He couldn't let himself believe any less, or he really would become the monster he feared, destroying the child-man before him who was still trying to come into his own amidst saving the thankless world.
"You know the incantation," he continued, positioning himself near the mattresses so that, when Harry did succeed in casting the spell, he would have a somewhat padded landing for his own throes of torment. "We've been working on focusing your emotions, channeling them to fuel your magic. This is the same principle as with the Imperius curse. Focus on channeling your anger and hatred into the curse. Focus first and, when you're ready, cast it."
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After all, Remus was an excellent teacher. Harry didn't waver in knowing what he had to do, what was needed to cast the spell, and where he needed to go, mentally and emotionally, to be the one to cast it. Technicalities that he'd sharpened and honed under Remus's skilled instruction over the previous couple of weeks. If all this was about was the technicalities, Harry wouldn't have been hovering, wand pointed at someone he loved, and wishing he could just be someone, somewhere, anything else.
With a deep breath, Harry eased his eyes closed and tried to find a hate, one he knew he'd never find in the person his wand was now squarely aimed at. A certain amount of transference was going to be needed, which meant finding a source for his pain in something else.
And hate did abound in Harry. Hero, savior, Chosen One aside, Harry had his fair share of hate over people, things, and events already in his young life. He hated more things than not at that particular moment. Each particular event in his life that had taken people away from him, had taken a part of himself away from himself, had taken any semblance of a normal life from him. And had led him to this, to do the unthinkable, to hurt Remus intentionally.
He focused, as Remus had instructed, on that hate. On the red, reptilian eyes against the pale scaley skin of the thing at its source. On the one who had started all this. Who had taken everyone away. Who had made him walk away from the only home he'd known and people who loved him. Who had made Harry who he was forced to be. Who, at the heart of it all, was the reason for all of Harry's hate. He let that face fill his vision, his voice fill his mind, his existence stir the embers of hatred until the flames consumed him. Harry waited until the heat of that hate encompassed every inch of him, tightened every muscle in him, filled him with a white hot rage he had yet to grow accustomed to releasing.
His eyes opened suddenly, at the apex of what he felt he could manage without giving into the hate completely. It was a delicate balance that Harry feared he'd not be able to maintain, especially once his eyes focused on the face of Remus Lupin rather than the cold, hard visage of Volemort his subconscious nad built up in his mind.
That jarring moment of expecting evil and being faced with love was enough to cause Harry to falter, only a brief instant before the incantation fell from his lips and the spell shot from his wand.
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What was he doing? Teaching this boy who was the only son he would ever have, in truth or fancy, to wield the weapons of the enemy? Weapons that could only bring more torment to an already troubled soul.
Then the spell hit him and he had no more thought for anything other than the pain, searing pain like a thousand silver knife points stripping his skin from his body with tiny focused cuts. The force of the spell pushed him backwards so that he fell, not atop the pile of matresses, but against the wall behind them, hitting with an almost jarring thud which would have been enough on it's own and yet was nothing compared to the fiery torment ripping through him.
Somewhere, he found the will not to cry out immediately. Though nerves and muscles rebelled against him, their spasms creating a macbre sort of dance against the wall, he bit back the instinctive vocalizations of pain. He had to hold out, he told himself. He had to hold out as long as possible. Harry would hold the spell until the first shriek, he counsuled himself. Harry had to hold the spell, experience the swell of power firsthand, in order to understand the need to fight the seductive lure that came with it's use.
So Remus suffered on in silence as long as possible. His joints twisted upon themselves. His breath came in gasping gulps as though his lungs were drawing in aconite tincture instead of air.
But he could not hold on for long. Mere seconds, though those seconds felt like several eternities, after the spell hit him, the agony ofnerve-endings dying and muscles knotting beyond immediate, natural repair, gave birth to a tortured scream which seemed to claw it's way up his throat from deep in his chest and his body slumped, still writhing under the excruciating pain, to the matresses beneath him.
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