Dialogues with a Madman

[iamweebles]

Title: Dialogues with a Madman
Author: nfwbls
Ratings & Warnings: R, violence, death of a child
Prompts: Garroting Gas, Dumbledore, Learn, Drama
Word Count: 4800
Summary: The last day of Remus' mission among the ferals and the things he learns from Fenrir Greyback
Author's Notes: The quotes used as dividers and within the text of the the story are from Diogenes the Cynic, one of the founders of cynicism. He was sometimes called Diogenes the Dog, and his rejection of the trappings of civilization might remind you of a certain vicious feral pack leader. This piece was originally started for the previous round (fortunately the prompts were very similar, but if you see a lot of loathing in the piece, it's because of the previous round). This is completely unbetaed and the ending is seriously rushed, but feedback as always is most fervently appreciated. And now this monster is done I can finally get to the fun of reading! So sorry I've been such a schlub



*** Most men are within a finger's breadth of being mad ***

It was the smell that was the most difficult for him. The cold, the dark, the never ending trickle of water across slime-coated walls that sent the rats scurrying toward the middle of the tunnels; these discomforts could be borne and sometimes even ignored with the closing of his eyes, a little hum under his breath, an extra jumper or surreptitious warming spell. But the stink of the sewers pervaded everything; it was the inexorable constant of life underground in the literal bowels of the city. Even on those rare occasions when he escaped above, the miasma clung to his clothes, his hair, his skin, and no Scourgify could seem to cleanse it out. Months of breathing it in hadn't lessened its ability to raise his gorge or to remind him of what he privately thought of as his personal descent into Hell.

Predictably, Fenrir Greyback never seemed to mind it. In fact, more than once Remus had seen the pack leader enter the abandoned tube station they used as their main encampment and take a deep breath, announcing in his gravelly voice, “Ah, the smells of home!” Remus was never sure what made him shudder more, imagining the power the stench must have had on Greyback's enhanced wolfish senses, or the thought of claiming the rag-tag misery that surrounded him as “home”. As for the other werewolves, it was often hard to tell if any of them had the capacity for feeling, even feelings of disgust, left.

A scrabbling at the north tunnel alerted him to Greyback's return. The older werewolf strode in, the aged appearance of his long, filthy grey hair and peculiarly bent back belied by the vigor in his stride. Fenrir's arms were corded in ropey muscle and his hands, tipped with thick overgrown nails filed to points, could rip out a man's throat. But most alive of all were his eyes, which fairly blazed with malice and intelligence. He stopped at the entrance and visibly inhaled, savouring the rank odors. His lips pulled back in a death's head grin, exposing yellow elongated canines. Remus turned his head away, swallowing his nausea.

The movement caught Greyback's attention. “Lupin!” he barked. “What's the matter? Not happy to see me?” Remus ignored him, refusing to be drawn into Greyback's game yet again.

“No, not happy to see me at all, I fear. But then again, our Remus is rarely happy, is he?” His mocking tone echoed through the crumbling space, drawing the eyes of the rest of the pack, even the little ones nestled against their mothers. “He's such a dour fellow. He misses the comforts of his previous life. Still soft, despite everything I've tried to teach him.”

He stalked toward Remus, who turned to face the pack leader with resignation, recognizing the beginning steps of this tired dance he'd be obliged to engage in.

“You know how I feel. You all know how I feel.” Remus's normally low rasp raised in unprompted anger at the second sentence. “We don't have to live like this. We can live among the wizards if we cooperate with them. We can live like people instead of animals, in proper houses and with proper food instead of sleeping with rats and eating out of rubbish bins.” He pitched his voice to the entire pack but his eyes were pinned to Greyback's.

“Civilization?” Greyback drawled.

Remus suppressed a flinch and sighed. “Yes, civilization. I know you've convinced them it's a dirty word, but it's not. You can be civilized and still be free.”

“Really? Those linen beds and fine meals come with no strings attached? No rules to be obeyed? They're given to all without expectation of payment or consideration of the receiver's worth? Well this is news to me! By all means, lets go and partake of this civilization!”

“You haven't created Utopia in the London sewers either, Greyback,” Remus retorted cuttingly. “And for all your scoffing, you're quick to enforce your rules, brutally if necessary.”

Greyback's laugh was harsh and gutteral, a sound more bestial than human and at odds with the erudition of his words.“That, my dear deluded Remus, is the point. In the end, rules can only be enforced by brutality, or the fear of brutality. At least I'm honest. I don't hide my coercion with the trappings of prejudice and bureaucracy and I don't bribe anyone into slavery with false promises or corrupt them into compliance by calling it morality.”

“Civilization is not slavery! And starving in the freezing filth doesn't make your people any more morally superior than those who don't!” As soon as he said it, Remus winced at his mistake, knowing that Greyback would not fail to let it pass.

“My people? You see, Lupin? After all these months you still think of them as my people. Not yours. Certainly not the same as the wizards you miss so longingly. You loathe the werewolf in you and reject 'my people' even though you are one of us! How much more impossible would it be for your fellow wizards to accept us into their world.” Greyback paused before slyly twisting the knife. “And we all know how well your wizards accepted you. At least here in the tunnels, all are welcome and all are free to leave. Even a civilized wolf like yourself.”

Remus snorted in defeat. “You're mad, you know.”

“Most men are within a finger's breadth of being mad.”

“Don't quote crazy Greeks at me.”

“Are there any other kinds of Greeks worth quoting?” Fenrir riposted slyly.

Remus threw his hands up, palm out, and Greyback's crooked spine dipped in an ironic bow at the unwilling gesture of surrender.

In a rapid change of mood, the pack leader suddenly deigned to notice the attentive audience around them, though of course he'd been acutely aware of their presence during his entire performance. “What are you lot gawking at?” he snarled. “It's full moon tonight. Get to work!”

The other werewolves scattered, obviously sorry to see the entertainment ended. But moonrise was just a few short hours away and they would need to break down the camp, what there was of it, and clear out before the transformation, so the pack members made themselves busy. Greyback called to his lieutenants and had a whispered conference among them. During the conversation, Remus noticed that Greyback periodically glanced his way, with a considering look that raised the hackles on the back of Remus's neck even as he made himself appear busy.

“Lupin!” Remus tensed at the second summons of the night, but didn't try to ignore it this time. He trudged over to Greyback and his two men, thugs that carried an air of lycanthropic menace no matter what the phase of the moon.

“What is it?”

“You'll be coming with us tonight. Now.”

“Why? Where are you going?”

“Taking a little trip, that's all you need to know.” Greyback said nothing more, but he waited, watching Remus through calculating eyes. Behind him the two goons made a show of cracking oversized knuckles while staring at him menacingly, and Remus was painfully reminded of Fenrir's comment on force and brutality.

“Fine,” he said shortly and followed them out as they picked their way over the rubble that partially blocked the entrance to a southern tunnel. He made a show of huffily gathering his things, resentment in every line of his body, but his reluctance was a sham. Opportunities to accompany Greyback were rare, and Remus was eager to find out as much about Greyback's activities as possible.

Around them others were making their way out into the network of tunnels and drains that ran under the city, both Magical and Muggle alike, scurrying through the underbelly of the city where the barriers between the two ran thinner and less guarded. It was through these hidden passageways that the pack scavenged, gleaning information as well as sustenance from secret gateways into the worlds above. During the moon, the werewolves spread out through the fetid labyrinth, separating themselves from the others to lessen the chances of detection and the possibility of injuring each other. Once transformed they prowled the dark, preying on the rats and other feral animals of the this dank, subterranean world.

When Remus was a little boy, his father used to tell him bedtime Muggle tales of alligators roaming the sewers of London, subsisting on a diet of children foolish enough to ignore their parents' warnings and venture into the tunnels for a midnight exploration, as well as the occasional unlucky Thames Water worker. His mother would scold her husband for “scaring the baby out of his wits” and cluck her tongue at him, even while a subversive smile played across her lips at Remus's indignant assertion, “Mum, I'm not a baby no more!” The stories and the smiles had stopped when make-believe monsters were abruptly supplanted by real ones.

Since coming to live with the pack, those childhood stories had attained new significance. Monsters in the sewers, devouring children, indeed, he thought bitterly to himself. But only on the nights of the full moon... And on that unpleasant thought he scrambled over the rubble to follow Greyback into the Stygian darkness.

*** The art of being a slave is to rule one's master ***

“So, where are we going?” Lupin huffed, out of breath, as he struggled to keep up with Greback and his men. Those three leapt nimbly over the obstacles in their path, their feral vision serving them well in the dim light, while Remus, handicapped by his human sight and still unused to traveling through the treacherous catacombs even after all these months, lagged well behind, making his way precariously, his fumbling progress punctuated with the occasional stumble and splash.

“To see our new master, Voldemort himself,” replied Greyback mockingly.

“What?” Remus felt the blood drain from his face as his heart beat in panic. Greyback must have sensed the increase in his pulse because the older wolf glanced maliciously in his direction.

“Does that worry you, Lupin? Just remember to call him 'Dark Lord' and you'll get along fine.” His voice dropped slightly in irritation. “He does so love his title, the pompous little prick.” Greyback paused, then touched a finger to his nose in a gesture of ridicule. “Then again, perhaps that's what he's compensating for.” He laughed raucously and his men joined in nervously after a moment.

Remus ignored the humor. “Fenrir, Voldemort isn't someone you can trifle with. He'll use you until it no longer suits his purpose and then he'll crush you as easily as a fly.”

“Until then he'll give me what I want, which is more than can be said for your former mentor, Dumbledore and his ilk.” He looked consideringly at Remus. “Dumbledore, for all his learning, has never really grasped that. The wizarding world will never accept us because there's nothing they want from us. He can talk all he likes about honor and love and compassion, but there'll never be a place for us at the wizarding table unless greed and power play a role.”

“That's not true,” Remus said softly as he shook his head. “I've found acceptance. I've even had people love me, despite knowing what I am.” A vision of pink hair and heart-shaped face flashed through his mind and he glanced away to hide the emotion from Greyback's cynical gaze.

“Ha! Acceptance? Is that what you call your treatment at the hands of the wizards? I told Dumbledore years ago that it was a hopeless cause, and that he was a fool to try it. But the old fart wouldn't listen and he's had to eat crow for the last thirty years.”

“What do you mean?”

“When I let him convince me to leave you to him. But it didn't work out the way he'd planned, did it? Are you really so weak-minded to think you've achieved acceptance? Even Albus doesn't pretend such nonsense.”

Remus slowed to a halt. “Dumbledore... convinced you to leave me? I don't understand,” although, a queasy voice in his head had started to whisper, Oh yes you do.

“Ha! I knew it! Dumbledore never told you, did he? The old bastard. I swear he's as bad as Voldemort when it comes to keeping his own counsel.” Greyback began to cackle again, but more softly. “Lupin, I bite children to take them young, raise them in the pack. 'The foundation of every state is the education of its youth.'” he added piously. “Didn't you ever wonder why I never took you after you were turned?”

“My parents... they protected me...” Remus tried to control the trembling in his voice by reducing the volume to a husky rasp.

Greyback sneered. “Your father couldn't stop me from biting you. He certainly couldn't have stopped me from reaching out and plucking you from his grasp as easily as you might reach for a grape.”

“Then... why?”

“Dumbledore. He came to me with a proposition, a way to resolve the long running argument we'd had. Oh yes,” he added at Remus' look of surprise, “Dumbledore and I go way back, though I don't think he'd have called the association close. He would help you, even get you into that vaunted school of his - did you never wonder why you were allowed into Hogwarts? - and you would become a model citizen, proving that the prejudice against our kind was not a systemic disease, that it could be turned back with the example of an articulate, clean, bright, civilized werewolf. So much for that, eh? Like our gift is in us, hatred for werewolves is carried in the blood. It can't be countered by reason or love or an army of trained lapdogs.” His scathing glance made it clear how he classified Remus.

But Remus hardly noticed. His mind was reeling from this revelation, and learning for the first time how much more he owed Dumbledore had unbalanced him. He blurted out the first question that came to his mind.

“Why did you agree? You'd never do anything to help Dumbledore prove you wrong, even if it did mean acceptance for the wolves. Especially if it meant acceptance. What did you get out of it?”

“Ah, now you're thinking like a wolf, Lupin. What carrot did Dumbledore offer to pry you away from me?” Greyback bared his elongated canines and curled his fingers into claws. “It was Albus that first gave me the formula for the feral potion that merges wolf and man and allows me to carry over the effects from the full moon.”

“No! I don't believe you!”

“Believe what you want, Lupin, it makes no difference to me. But your precious Dumbledore was indeed responsible for creating the ferals in the first place. He and I worked with Damocles Belby back when I was first bitten. At that time Belby thought that the solution would be to give the man control over the wolf during the full moon, but he could never quite get enough man into the wolf and he thought the side effects of the wolf leaking into the man too undesirable.” Greyback's grin was vicious. “And maybe he thought better of giving the man control over the beast after I left him.”

“And Voldemort? What has he offered you?”

“You mean besides the chance to join his ruling clique and bite whomever I want without reprisal?”

“You've made your contempt for Voldemort quite clear, and you don't really believe that he'll give you free reign to run amok.”

Greyback looked at Remus approvingly. “No, you're right. Distaste for the werewolf runs in the blood, even the Dark Lord's blood. We'd only be tools for the Death Eaters. Privileged tools, but tools nonetheless.” He shook his head. “Unfortunately, while the feral potion's effects are cumulative, they appear to top out at what you see here.” He swept a hand up and down to indicate his body. “And this was achieved only after years of taking the potion. Voldemort has promised to have his people work on an improved version of the potion. One that takes full effect after only a few applications and may even allow us to transform at will, or at least transfer the gift at any time of the month.”

Remus controlled the horror in his voice with effort. “And why would you trust Voldemort to do that?”

“I don't trust Voldemort, but I trust Voldemort's lust for power. It is to his advantage to make his pet werewolves more dangerous. And he's too arrogant to ever think that we would cross him.”

“You think you have him all figured out, don't you?”

“He may have the power, but there is so much that he wants, and so little that I need. It's a dynamic that suits me well.”

“The art of being a slave is to rule one's master?”

“Diogenes was a clever man.”

“Fenrir, you're a fool.”

Greyback winked at him. “And yet, here you are, Lupin, following me through the cesspools of London.”

*** I threw my cup away when I saw a child drinking from his hands at the trough ***

Remus lost track of the twist and turns they took, passing in and out of Wizarding neighborhoods as easily slipping through doorways. Eventually Greyback stopped beneath a grate and gestured to his men, who grunted with the effort of pushing the heavy metal out of its mounting. The four of them climbed stealthily out onto the road, hidden in the evening dusk.

“What are we doing here?” Remus hissed. “It's almost moonrise.”

“Not quite yet. We still have time.” Fenrir turned to face a little cottage set far back from the street, partially hidden by a copse of trees. He must have seen something in the shadows, because he said, “Ah, our lord and master is already here.”

Remus swallowed hard against the fear in his throat. But as they approached the house, the figure that detached itself from the shadows turned out to be a Death Eater. Remus struggled to put a name to the face, finally recognizing the wizard Gibbon from the dossier the Order had compiled on known Death Eaters.

“You're late.” Gibbon's voice was flat.

“You're early. Where's the Dark Lord?” Fenrir responded, the boredom in his tone a slap in the face the other man.

“He's left, and none too happy with you for missing the show.”

“I'm quaking in my boots.”

“You're a cheeky bastard, Greyback. The Dark Lord needs to put you in your place.”

“Be sure to tell the Dark Lord what he needs to do the next time you see him. I assume my services are still required?”

Gibbon grunted. “Yes. The stupid cow wouldn't budge. Put up a fight. I had to hit her with some garroting gas.”

“Garroting gas?” Fenrir sneered. “That seems like an unusually light touch for a Death Eater. Voldemort not letting you play with the Unforgivable Curses anymore?”

“The Dark Lord wants her to be in a frame of mind to fully appreciate his displeasure when she wakes up.” Gibbon glanced at the eastern horizon nervously, searching for a hint of silvery light. “They're waiting for you in there.” He jerked his head toward the door, then looked at the four werewolves with revulsion. “I've got more important things to do than babysit you lot. Clean up after yourselves when you're done. Accio broom!” A broom shifted itself from side of the house to the Death Eater's hand; he climbed onto it and launched himself into the night with unseemly haste, prompting a derisive chuckle from Greyback and his men.

As he followed the others into the cottage, Remus reached into his robe and surreptitiously grasped his wand. The scene that met his eyes filled him with dread, even if it wasn't wholly unexpected after the conversation outside. A woman lay stunned on the floor, crumpled in front of the hearth where a cheery fire danced. The mantle held several pictures framed in silver of two dark-eyed laughing girls and a younger sweet-faced boy, still sporting the rounded cheeks of toddlerhood. Their waving hands and smiling mouths were a cruel counterpoint to the terror that graced the face of the boy, gagged and tied to the chair placed on the other side of the room. His cheeks were still round but now they were pale and streaked with tears.

At their entrance the boy fought against his bonds, muffled cries coming out as frightened squeaks against the cloth tied against his lips. Without further thought, Remus drew his wand and shouted “Stupefy!”

The hex bounced harmlessly off of Greyback and his men, and in the next instant the two goons overpowered Remus, wrenching the wand from his hand and holding him easily as he struggled between them.

“Shield clothing,” explained Greyback casually. “A product of some friends of yours, I believe. Those Weasley boys. They should be more careful of what they toss into the rubbish.” He picked an invisible thread off his coat and brushed his fingers together to dislodge it. “You might want to mention it to them when you see them again, or to Albus in your next report.”

Remus stilled. “How long have you known?” he asked quietly.

“A few weeks, though I suspected from the beginning. But you almost had me convinced, especially when I realized that you'd never learned the truth from Dumbledore. Your summary eviction from Hogwarts was a nice touch. Staged, I presume?”

“No, that was real,” he said bitterly. “How did you find out?”

“We have our spies as well.”

Remus' gaze was steady as he looked Fenrir in the eye. “At least I won't have to suffer through another moon.”

“You're mistaken, Lupin. I have no intention of killing you.”

“Then what?”

“We wait.” As Remus's expression turned to one of horror, Greyback nodded. “Yes, that's right. About ten minutes. It feels close, doesn't it?” He walked over to the boy and stroked the soft brown hair with his gnarled fingers. “And when we turn, it'll be the four of us alone with young Master Montgomery here. Who knows, it might even be you who gives our gift to the young boy.”

Remus could barely breathe for the loathing he felt for the evil that strode next to him. He fought anew against the arms holding him, his hands clenched in an effort to reach out and wrap themselves around the older werewolf's throat.

“Ah Remus, I can see you're unhappy. As usual. So I'm going to offer you a... hope. A waking dream, as Aristotle once said.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a vial filled with a thick violet colored liquid. Remus recoiled at the sight.

“I won't take it,” he ground out through gritted teeth.

“Take it and you'll have some small control over the wolf. Maybe enough to resist biting the boy.”

“I won't give up my humanity!” Remus shouted.

“Not even for a chance, albeit a tiny one, to save an innocent?”

“NO!”

Fenrir leaned back on his heels and smiled. “Very well. I'm sure we can all share this tasty morsel.” He licked his lips.

Remus slumped, defeated. “I'll take it.”

Greyback popped the top off the vial with his thumb and poured the contents into Remus's mouth. Remus grimaced as the bitter potion worked its way down his throat, but contemplating the implications of his acceptance was beyond him at the moment. The fire of the transformation was racing through his arteries, pumping familiar agony through his extremities.

Greyback's henchmen released him as the moon took them too, sending them crumpling to the floor as their bones and muscles reshaped themselves. Through the haze of pain, Remus could see Fenrir throw his head back and howl, reveling as the beast rippled its way to the surface. But while the wolf possessed his features, Fenrir's eyes remained curiously human, reflecting a calculating malice that was alien to simpler animals. The sight reminded Remus to focus on channeling as much of the human into his wolf as possible. He concentrated on a simple litany repeated over and over to himself: Protect the boy, and prayed that would be enough.

Normally he lost consciousness abruptly during the transformation, completely consumed by the beast, but this time he felt himself diminishing, the higher order brain functions shutting off one by one until he could no longer form the words in his mind or remember the reason for them. He was left with instinct and animal cunning and the residual conviction that he must defend the youngling against the others.

Baring his teeth, he turned to face the others, his mind a Neanderthal hitchiker in the body of the even more primitive werewolf. What followed was a flurry of teeth, fur, claws and blood as he fought the other three werewolves. The two younger wolves were intent only on inflicting as much damage as possible upon him, but he sensed the older wolf repeatedly trying to sneak around him to snatch at the child. He moved to block the older wolf, leaving his flank open to the attack of the other two. Sweat and blood blinded him as he lunged forward despite the pain.

At that moment a woman's quavery voice screamed “Stupefy!” A bolt of magic shot from Elvira Montgomery's wand and hit one of the younger wolves, knocking him backwards, but even before he'd hit the wall he was already shaking off the effects of the spell.

“Reducto!” A blast at the other young wolf left him howling in agony, blood spraying the room from the joint that used to connect his arm to his shoulder as he writhed and twisted, tangling into the first wolf as he stumbled back into the fray.

“Petrificus Totalus!” This time the spell was aimed at Remus and hit him directly in the chest. He yelped as his limbs were frozen to stone. But before she could summon the next spell, Greyback had reached her and backhanded her with a swipe of his paw, a nightmare gesture that was neither fully human nor wolven. She flew against the wall with a thud, then slid down it to collapse, unconscious, in a heap upon the floor. Greyback's head swiveled in an arc, taking in his bleeding and stunned compatriots, and he howled, the vestige of human cunning slipping from his eyes as the rage overpowered him. With one bound he was upon the Montgomery boy and in the next instant he'd ripped the child's throat out.

He devoured the dead child. The wolf in Remus struggled against the bonds of the spell, wanting only to join in the feast before it was gone, all memory of his desire to protect the boy gone in the lust for blood. The wounded wolf, confused and hurt, leapt through the window and dragged himself back to the grate, seeking the security of a familiar lair in which to lick his wounds. The other wolf moved to snatch a piece of the corpse but Greyback's growl sent him racing after his companion. In a minute Greyback too returned to the tunnels, having ate his fill.

The wolf that had been Remus continued to twitch and squirm until at last his limbs began to move freely. He scrambled to his feet, shaking his legs as if they'd gone to sleep, still limping from the wounds he'd incurred fighting the others. He circled the dead child, whimpering, the blood gone too cold to be appetizing. Disappointed, he too fled back to the tunnels where he could find easy prey and the familiarity of the dark.

*** No man is hurt but by himself ***

“Oh Remus, thank Merlin you're back!” Tonks flung herself around Remus, too relieved to notice that he didn't return the embrace. “I've been worried to death about you! Dumbledore says you're back to stay?”

Remus closed his eyes, breathing deeply. He'd always loved her scent, the smell of clean soap and shampoo that he associated with her. But now his sharper senses could distinguish the unique aroma of her body, a smell that no artificial chemical could mask from him anymore, and it jarred with the scent memory that he'd carried of her for so long. Bitter regret welled up in him at the loss of that memory as well as that bit of his humanity.

Remus's hands reached up to cup her under the arms, gently setting her back. She looked at him in confusion.

“Tonks... we have to talk.”