Fic: "The Prisoner's Remorse" (HP; Remus/Sirius, Dumbledore/Grindelwald)
Title: The Prisoner's Remorse (2/2)
Characters/Pairings: Remus Lupin, Gellert Grindelwald (with implied Remus/Sirius and Dumbledore/Grindelwald)
Rating: PG-13
Warnings (highlight to view): Angst, mind-fuck.
Wordcount: ~ 14 000 words
Summary: After Sirius Black's betrayal, Professor Dumbledore finds work for Remus Lupin as a prison guard in Nurmengard, where there are quite a few things to be learned.
Author's Notes: Written for the ownficfest , although I'd had the idea for quite a long time before that -- originally posted here. Many thanks to
aurora_knight for carefully beta-reading the whole thing!
VI.
In the end, his decision turned out surprisingly justifiable.
There was no bribery implied: he'd do nothing for Grindelwald in return, except help to alleviate his boredom a little. There was no particular danger involved -- if something happened, Remus was young and strong, and he was armed with a wand. But although he remembered Dumbledore and Mrs. Schultz's warnings, Remus couldn't believe Grindelwald would harm him in any way, simply because it seemed so unlikely: the man had been powerful, yes, but now things were different -- if they weren't, surely he would have escaped a long time ago.
And besides, Dumbledore himself had wanted to know if Grindelwald regretted what he'd done...
As February came, dark and windy and wet, they established a routine: two hours of practice, three evenings a week, nothing more, nothing less. It was important not to overdo oneself, Grindelwald said, and Remus, who was completely exhausted after each session, couldn't help but agree.
"Look into my eyes," Grindelwald had said that first evening. He sounded calm and patient, just like he did when playing chess. "It makes everything easier. When you grow more skilled, you'll find yourself able to do this without eye contact -- perhaps without even being close to the object. That's good. Now. Use the spell."
Remus clutched his wand, holding Grindelwald's gaze as steadily as he could. "Legilimens."
First, there was nothing... And then, all of a sudden, memories in his mind that were not his, swirling about, rapidly changing, mingling and shifting with a speed that made him grip the table with both hands.
There was a castle, with children in what looked like old-fashioned school robes; there was a flash of blood-red lightning; there was a red-haired boy, sitting in the grass with his head bowed; there was a meeting in a dark, dusty pub... There was a wand, which somehow looked familiar but which disappeared before he could remember why; a spell-book; the same boy, naked this time, lying on his stomach; an elderly woman with blue eyes; a dragon; another castle; another woman, who looked like a younger version of Mrs. Schultz; the boy again, walking away...
Dizzy, he closed his eyes, and the memories disappeared as abruptly as they had come.
"Very good," said Grindelwald after some seconds. "Very good for a beginner."
Remus's head was still spinning. He nodded in acknowledgment, then put a hand to his brow. For some minutes, they sat in silence.
Then Remus said, "Was this... Is it supposed to be like that?"
"Yes," Grindelwald answered. "Until you become more practiced, at any rate. It is always confusing to begin with, but you will soon learn how to navigate your way. You have real talent."
Remus had no idea if this was true, or just something Grindelwald said to please him, for whatever reason. Still, he felt intrigued in a way he hadn't done since his school years.
"Who was the boy?" he asked.
Grindelwald looked at him then, a long glance sideways. "Someone I knew once," he finally said. Then he added, as an afterthought, "Maybe I will tell you about him some day."
Although he'd felt some initial discomfort at the thought of reading another's mind, vividly imagining the terror of someone doing that to him, Remus found himself more and more at ease for every session. Grindelwald's encouragement helped, although the things Remus saw weren't always pleasing -- some of them were horrible, others so, well, private they almost made him blush. Others, again, were downright surprising.
"The wand!" he exclaimed at some point during the third lesson, breaking the spell in pure astonishment. "I've seen it before -- I just didn't know where. But that's Professor Dumbledore's wand, isn't it?"
"It is now," Grindelwald said, sounding amused -- he did seem to enjoy those occasions when the forays into his mind took Remus by surprise, one way or the other. "But it used to be mine. He took it, after our duel."
"Did he?"
This was rather surprising, for as far as Remus knew, anyone would have preferred their own, tailored wand to that of another. "But why?"
"He liked mine better, I suppose," Grindelwald said with a crooked smile. "You should ask him."
The winter wore on. Remus did his duties, went to meetings with Mrs. Schultz, read novels, played chess, locked Grindelwald in and out of his book cell, spent lonely and barely-bearable full moons in the padded cell, met with the village Healer, forced memories from his mind whenever he had to, and practiced Legilimency. As the days grew longer, predicting the arrival of a long-awaited spring, he started to consider making a list of all the things he still did not know, all the things he wanted to ask about when he met Dumbledore again -- if the questions did, indeed, have answers.
VII.
Nurmengard,
26th March
Dear Headmaster,
Thanks very much for your letter. I hope you and the other teachers are well. As for myself, I am quite all right. It is funny to think I have been here for over four months already!
Grindelwald has been his usual self, quiet and friendly. I must admit, during these last months I have come to realise how completely different he is from what I expected.
I will see you in some months; good-bye until then!
Regards,
Remus
Hogwarts,
28th March
Remus,
I have received your letter, and I must confess to being somewhat distressed by your words -- it sounds to me as if you are in danger of being blinded, as so many have been before you. Yes, Grindelwald is an old man, and it is not impossible that he has changed -- no one would be gladder than I if this turned out to be the case -- but it is just as likely that he is giving you a false impression, in order to use you for his own ends. Remember what I have said before.
Your troubled friend,
Albus Dumbledore
Remus stared at the letter. It seemed so fierce, almost frantic -- but why? Why had Dumbledore sent him here, if he was so reluctant to believe Grindelwald might have changed?
Coming to think of it, why did Dumbledore resent Grindelwald with a vehemence that seemed almost personal? He was not the one who'd been locked up for forty years, after all.
Remus put the letter away, ill at ease.
That night, he had another dream: he was back in London, lying in bed, knowing that he should have been at Hogwarts, but unable to go anywhere. While he lay, there came a sound of footsteps approaching, small taps that became ominous as they grew louder; knowing whose footsteps they were, he panicked, sweating, trying and failing to get out of the bed... And he was supposed to be at Hogwarts, but the footsteps were coming to a halt outside the door; soon the door would open...
That evening, he felt even more tired than usual after the first fifteen minutes of Legilimency.
"I need a break," Remus gasped, and Grindelwald nodded. "But of course."
He would have made a good teacher, Remus thought: always knowing when enough was enough, but also when to push Remus, to make him try a little extra. And for every session, Remus improved; he could feel it himself, how finding his way became easier, how he could navigate the other's thoughts without getting dizzy, how he could distinguish the different memories from one another, and if Grindelwald ever grew tired of his poking, he said nothing about it.
"All right," Remus muttered at length. "I'm just a little tired -- not long since full moon," he added, attempting to smile.
They had never talked about his lycanthropy since that night months ago. Now Grindelwald leaned across the table, looking at him earnestly. "It must be hard, I imagine."
Was that sympathy? Remus didn't know, and had no wish to reflect upon it. "It is. I'm used to it, though, or at least as used as I can be."
"Has it been like that all your life?" Grindelwald asked, in that same grave, soft voice.
"I was bitten when I was four," Remus said.
"I see... But you were allowed to go to school?"
"Yes..." He hesitated. "Professor Dumbledore was headmaster then, and he made sure I got in."
"How good of him," Grindelwald murmured. He sat quiet for a long time, staring in front of him. Then he turned his dark gaze back to Remus. "What happened to your parents -- may I ask about that?"
"Died," Remus said, swallowing. "When I was thirteen."
"I am sorry."
"Thank you."
"And what about your schoolmates?" Grindelwald gave him one of his sideways glances. "Did you hide it from them?"
"I did at first," Remus said. He swallowed again, trying to keep the memories at bay, but he was too tired, and they were too strong... "But they found out. And they helped me."
"They helped you?"
"They found out how to become Animagi, and they kept me company. They never told anyone." Another swallow. "I thought I couldn't get happier, and then..."
"And then you did?" said Grindelwald, his voice kind.
"And then I did." Six months out of Hogwarts, amidst Voldemort's terror, the Order meetings, the weekly assassinations, and he'd become happier. "Despite everything."
"I see," Grindelwald murmured again, and it sounded as if he really did. "Poor boy... You've had to hide your whole life, haven't you?"
And these words, at last, were impossible to swallow down; and Remus put his hands to his face, biting his lip and willing his sobs to be silent. Grindelwald said nothing, but his silence was comforting, and Remus did not turn away.
VIII.
Early April sun streamed through the windows, making Mrs. Schultz's office look larger than usual. Wondering yet again what he was doing there, Remus willed himself to refrain from fidgeting in his chair. Mrs. Schultz sat behind the desk, her pale eyes calm.
"I have had a letter from the prison board," she said. "I am sorry to inform you that your stay here will end already next week -- the guard whom you are substituting has signalled that he is ready to go back to work now."
Remus opened his mouth, then closed it again. This was unexpected -- and rather unwelcome, he realised. He'd planned on staying here for another four months, and he needed the money. And besides, he'd only begun getting good at Legilimency...
"I am sorry," Mrs Schultz said again. "I know this is irregular, but I am only doing my job. You will receive a special bonus for the trouble, of course."
He nodded, slowly. "So... Does this mean I'm fired?"
"No, no," she said quickly, "Not at all. Your work has been most satisfying. I will be happy to write you a recommendation; hopefully, it may be of use to you when you get home."
Then she smiled, which was rare enough in itself. "You should tell Grindelwald yourself... I believe he has grown quite fond of you."
The week passed quickly now that Remus knew it was to be his last. For some reason, he kept putting off telling Grindelwald of his upcoming departure. It was hard to say why, but somehow the knowledge that he should never be in this cell again, that they should never play chess again, that there would never be another lecture on how the history books had got it all wrong -- somehow this knowledge became unbearable, filling him with an unsettling amount of regret.
The night before he was scheduled to go back to London, Remus went to the tower for his last Legilimency session. Grindelwald waited, looking graver than usual.
"Good evening," he said as soon as Remus had locked himself into the room. Then, without further ado, he added, "I hear from Mrs. Schultz that you are leaving us. A shame, I must say."
Half-way relieved, but also slightly disappointed, Remus nodded. "I wasn't supposed to stay here for long, anyway."
"A shame nonetheless," Grindelwald said, taking a seat by the table. "A couple of months more of practice would have done wonders for your Legilimency. But you have made quite a progress already, as I have told you before. Well, let's get the most out of this while we can, shan't we?" He smiled, but somehow the expression seemed less warm than usual.
Remus sat down, took a deep breath, curled his fingers around his wand, and whispered, "Legilimens!"
Yes, he'd made quite a bit of progress -- where the thoughts had been threatening to drown him, before, he could now surf them as if they were waves. He saw them clearer than ever, the familiar memories of places and people unknown to him, of battlefields and parties, of cities rejoicing and villages burning, of prisons and castles and gaols. But he noticed something new, something strange -- the awareness that things were being kept from him, the feeling of resistance when his mind poked at something dark, unexplored...
Remus broke the stare.
Grindelwald held his gaze, raising an eyebrow. "Tired?"
"No," Remus said slowly. He clutched his wand again. "Legilimens!"
This time the resistance was obvious. Had it been there all the time? Had he just now got skilled enough to notice? He poked, insistently; the thoughts evaded him, twirled around, leading him in circles.
Remus frowned, but did not break away this time. Tightening his grip on the wand, he chased -- and came back to the memories he'd seen on the first evening, of the red-haired boy, sitting in the grass with his back turned.
The chase stopped.
The memory had a warmth to it -- a tangible sense, almost, as if it had been preserved with great care and affection. It was summer, for the boy was bare-foot, his robes rolled up to reveal pale legs and arms. He was reading a book, which he put away in order to give a stretch; then, at the sounds of footsteps approaching, he turned around...
There was something familiar about those eyes.
Something very familiar.
"Oh god," Remus whispered -- or maybe he was just thinking it, for all his breath had disappeared. "Good god."
The memory ran off, and he could not do anything but follow, shocked and unthinking, to the next, of the same boy, the same familiar boy, brandishing a parchment, talking animatedly; of the same boy, on his back in the bed, naked and hot and sweaty; of another boy, who looked a great deal like him, shouting angrily; of a little girl, pale and still on the floor...
It stopped. He couldn't go any longer, and he didn't have the force to try. Instead he released his grip on the wand, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath.
When he opened his eyes again, Grindelwald was scrutinising him.
"That boy..." Remus whispered. "Was he --?"
"Yes," Grindelwald said.
"And you..." A sick feeling was starting to spread from his stomach, making it almost impossible to speak. "You and he -- when?"
"One summer, long ago," Grindelwald said, his voice as unreadable as his face. "We were only boys, younger than you are now."
"And you were..." The thought was impossible to grasp, no matter how he tried.
"Quite."
A smile had spread on Grindelwald's features, completely unlike anything Remus had seen before. Not rueful, not angry, not nostalgic -- neither of these, but perhaps something in-between, or something else entirely.
"He was very passionate about my ideas. In fact, it was he who came up with the motto 'For the Greater Good' -- did you know that? No, of course you didn't. He wouldn't have admitted to that, not now, not after what happened between us... But it's the truth, and if you were ever to perform Legilimency on him, you'd see for yourself." The smile became sardonic. "Not that he'd ever allow such a thing."
"And the duel... Why did he win?" Remus hesitated, afraid of the answer. "Did you let him?"
"Of course not," said Grindelwald, sounding almost insulted. "Although there may have been some hesitation on my part in the crucial moment -- who knows? I have pondered it many times, and yet I have problems remembering exactly what happened. But when all is said and done, he is free and I am not, he gets to tell the history and I do not, and neither of us have lived happily ever after."
There was too much; still, Remus had to ask. "How do you know?" A shocking idea struck him. "Are you still together?"
"Of course not," Grindelwald said again -- this time, he sounded rather contemptuous. "As if he would deign to set foot here, and risk that anyone would find out about our sordid affair, back then. I stooped so low as to write him several letters during those first years; he never responded to a single one of them... No, my dear Remus, everything I need to know I have learned from you."
"From me?"
If Remus had been shocked before, it was nothing to the way he felt now -- like in a nightmare, he thought wildly, there was no escape possible.
"Yes, you." Grindelwald's smile was almost apologetic now. "I'm sorry if I ever failed to mention the fact that you do not need a wand in order to perform Legilimency, strictly speaking. I am old, as you know, but I am not yet a Squib. I can perform wandless magic if I must, and -- well, let me put it this way: when Albus Dumbledore, my former everything, sends one of his little pets to spy on me, I would have been a fool not to return the favour. Wouldn't I?"
"You..." He almost couldn't bear to say it. "You've read my mind?"
"Only those parts pertaining to me personally," Grindelwald said. "I do have some honour left, after all. From what I can see of your memory, your Professor Dumbledore is now a lonely old man, surrounded by children and incompetent bureaucrats -- in many ways, he is probably as miserable as I am, which is a consolation to me, I must admit. As for the rest..."
He shrugged in his usual way, smiling again; he looked just like he'd done when Remus had first met him, a harmless old man with no powers left. "As I said, it was nothing more than I could see in your eyes."
Remus got to his feet, shakingly, bracing himself against the table. Grindelwald rose with him.
"Keep practicing Legilimency," he said kindly, walking with Remus to the door. "It will be useful. And ask your Professor to teach you the counterpart, while you're at it. That might be just as handy, for someone who finds it difficult to keep his heart and mind closed, even when he most definitely should."
IX.
"You look a little tired," Mrs. Schultz said.
Remus nodded. He had not slept the previous night.
She poured them each a cup of coffee, then folded her hands on the desk, looking at him thoughtfully. At length, she said, "I hope it has been tolerable, working here."
He took a deep breath, then let it out slowly before taking a sip of coffee. Hot and strong on his tongue, it was ridiculously comforting.
"Tell me, now --" and her voice sounded sterner; once again, she reminded him of McGonagall. "What happened?"
"I'm sure I don't follow," Remus muttered.
She sighed. "Forgive me, Mr. Lupin, but you do not seem quite yourself. If something has happened here to put you in this state, it is my duty to find out and to act, if necessary."
Remus gave a tired nod, then sat his cup on the desk, and buried his head in his hands.
"It's my fault," he muttered, not really caring about her reactions anymore. "It's my own fault. I was blind... It's my own fault I was tricked." Again.
"What did he do to you, Mr. Lupin?"
Her voice was soft; this, more than anything, made him sit back up and finally meet her eyes. "He made me perform Legilimency on him."
"And what did he show you?"
Even now, the thought was so bizarre that he almost couldn't bring himself to believe it happened. "Well..."
And still. In all honesty, wasn't there something to be learned from this -- some comfort, even? For although Grindelwald must have been irresistible, as Remus was painfully aware of, Dumbledore was still responsible of making a mistake, a terrible one, and yet he'd become the man he was, a great leader, a living legend... Remus suddenly found himself wondering whether the Headmaster ever had nightmares.
Mrs. Schultz waited. He took another breath. "He showed me memories about himself and Professor Dumbledore," he said finally.
Her reaction was nothing like what he'd expected: there was no confusion, no outrage. Instead, she merely nodded. "I see," she said.
Remus blinked. "Do you?" he couldn't help asking.
"I do."
One of the drawers in her desk slid open. She took out some old sheets of parchments, some of them quite yellowed and crinkled, and placed them in front of him.
He looked at them, then looked up again. "Letters?" Another look, this one longer and more incredulous. "From Grindelwald to Dumbledore?"
"Yes," Mrs Schultz said. "And vice versa."
"You intercepted them?"
He should have been used to being shocked by now; this was obviously not the case. "Why?"
Mrs Schultz didn't reply at first. When she did, it was in a low and toneless voice that might or might not have hovered on the verge of anger. "When I was a child, my brother joined Grindelwald's forces. He never came back. I don't know what happened to him." She paused, closing her eyes for a moment.
"Many years later, when the war was over, they came to us to search for him -- to put him on trial, they said, although heaven knows what they would have done, had they been able to find him. They thought we were hiding him, so we were tortured. All of us. A special sort of bone-cracking spell." Her smile was harsh. "I still walk a little funny, as you may have noticed."
"I'm sorry," Remus whispered, not knowing what else to say. His cup of coffee was getting cold, but he couldn't muster up enough force to reach for it. "But why did you come to work here? Of all places?"
"I needed the money," Mrs Schultz said. "My husband was employed here, too. I was in charge of the mail -- there was quite a bit more of that back then, with all those prisoners. We were required to read all letters beforehand, just like we are now. And when those letters started to come... I could not let him have them."
She paused, then smiled, a little ruefully. "It is a petty revenge for what happened to my brother and myself and the rest of our family, but it is a revenge nonetheless, and it is all I will ever get."
As Remus stood to leave, he asked, "What about Grindelwald's letters to Dumbledore? Why did you keep them?"
Mrs Schultz sighed; in that moment, she looked older than the prisoner in the tower had ever done. "He put it off for years. He said so in his letters. If he had agreed to be involved earlier -- who knows how many lives could have been spared?"
She walked with him to the door. As they stopped to shake hands, she looked him in the eye. "Will you tell him?"
Remus met her eyes, then slowly shook his head.
Walking the hallway for the last time, he put his hand in his pocket, then started when it touched something cold. When he reached the hall, he stopped to take it out -- and saw that it was a chess piece, a black castle.
He looked up in the tower's direction; then, putting the piece back into his pocket, he gave a short, silent nod.
X.
Dumbledore's office looked the same as usual, but the portraits were absent, as if they had been asked to leave. Remus did not mind. There was much to talk about.
The Headmaster himself looked tired, his normally twinkling eyes dull. He bade Remus sit, then walked over to stand by the window. After some minutes of silence, he sighed.
"So now you know."
"Yes."
"How much did he show you?" Dumbledore asked.
"Enough to let me know that you were lovers," Remus said, noticing the Headmaster's almost invisible shiver. "And then there was something about a girl -- I don't know, but I think she was hurt." He hesitated. "Did you know her?"
"She was my sister," Dumbledore said heavily, turning around to face him. "He killed her."
Remus opened his mouth, but no words came out.
"It was an accident -- I'm willing to believe that much. We were orphans, my siblings and I; as the eldest, I was in charge of the family. Grindelwald..."
The name seemed to catch on Dumbledore's tongue; he paused for a moment, before continuing, "Grindelwald was planning to go on a journey, and he wanted me to come with him. I, being the besotted fool I was, agreed to his plans... My brother, however, tried to put a stop to the whole thing. There was an argument. Grindelwald tortured my brother, and..." Dumbledore hesitated again, his voice pained. "My sister was killed. I do not think that was his intention, but it is what happened."
"Oh," Remus whispered -- it sounded like a hollow sigh. "I'm sorry to hear that."
"There is no need to be," Dumbledore said, sounding weary. "My mistakes are my own to make amends for, and I have tried my best to do so, and to learn from them. I pride myself that my judgment of character is sound; who knows what might have happened, had this disaster of my youth not taught me what sort of evil might lie behind a fair exterior? What is done can never be undone."
"But still you sent me to him," Remus said, and Dumbledore sighed again.
"It was a foolhardy thing to do, of course -- you are nothing more than a boy, after all. That is also why I changed my mind."
"So you made the prison board cut short the guard's leave." The thought almost made him laugh. "Was it your idea to make him take some time off in the first place?"
"Correct," said Dumbledore. "The prison board was not very enthusiastic to begin with, but they owe me a favour or two."
"You thought of this only after Voldemort was gone, didn't you?" Remus said. "Why me?"
"I did offer some reasons when I first proposed the idea to you," said Dumbledore. "They are still valid. And yet, I will admit to being moved by another, less practical reason."
He paused.
"You see, Remus, it seemed to me that if anyone could empathise, it would be you..."
There was a silence, full of heavy understanding.
"I thought," Dumbledore said, blue eyes intense as they sought Remus's gaze, "I wanted to believe that he might be reformed, if only a little."
There was an unfamiliar tone in his voice. In anyone else, Remus would have thought it pleading.
"Tell me, Remus --" and there was no mistaking the tone now; it almost didn't sound like Dumbledore's voice at all. "Did you ever -- ?"
The question was never finished. Instead, there came another silence, one that stretched on and on as Remus thought back: to Grindelwald's memories, to his calm voice and dark gaze, to Mrs Schultz's face, old and weary, to the yellowed pieces of parchment on her desk... He thought of all the lives wasted, of the dreams destroyed and the promises broken; he thought of prisons, and of those within, those who were lost and those who still had their souls intact; he thought of futility, of emptiness, of the thin line separating a hope from a lie.
"Yes," Remus said at last, closing his eyes. Tears were starting to sting under his lids, and he rose from his chair, turning away so that Dumbledore would not see his face. "He repents."
When he left the office, he threw a glance back; Dumbledore was still standing by the window, his hand at his eyes, the tall, thin figure shaking.
Epilogue
Most of the crowd had dispersed; only small groups of mourners lingered, standing together in small groups, crying silently or talking in hushed voice.
Tonks was waiting for him some distance away, her hair still pink. It was what Dumbledore would have wanted, she had claimed, and Remus had not protested.
He hesitated in front of the marble, the memories flying through his mind. A sound judge of character, Dumbledore had called himself -- and Remus had believed him, always.
Perhaps it was impossible to learn from one's mistakes, when it came down to it.
Sirius had been gone for a year, his memory pure at last. Remus wondered if Dumbledore had ever gone to Nurmengard, if he maybe had done so all those years ago. In the end, perhaps it didn't matter.
The small, black chess piece lay in his pocket. He took it out, glanced around, then bent down and placed it, very gently, on the ground beside the grave.
Characters/Pairings: Remus Lupin, Gellert Grindelwald (with implied Remus/Sirius and Dumbledore/Grindelwald)
Rating: PG-13
Warnings (highlight to view): Angst, mind-fuck.
Wordcount: ~ 14 000 words
Summary: After Sirius Black's betrayal, Professor Dumbledore finds work for Remus Lupin as a prison guard in Nurmengard, where there are quite a few things to be learned.
Author's Notes: Written for the ownficfest , although I'd had the idea for quite a long time before that -- originally posted here. Many thanks to
aurora_knight for carefully beta-reading the whole thing!
VI.
In the end, his decision turned out surprisingly justifiable.
There was no bribery implied: he'd do nothing for Grindelwald in return, except help to alleviate his boredom a little. There was no particular danger involved -- if something happened, Remus was young and strong, and he was armed with a wand. But although he remembered Dumbledore and Mrs. Schultz's warnings, Remus couldn't believe Grindelwald would harm him in any way, simply because it seemed so unlikely: the man had been powerful, yes, but now things were different -- if they weren't, surely he would have escaped a long time ago.
And besides, Dumbledore himself had wanted to know if Grindelwald regretted what he'd done...
As February came, dark and windy and wet, they established a routine: two hours of practice, three evenings a week, nothing more, nothing less. It was important not to overdo oneself, Grindelwald said, and Remus, who was completely exhausted after each session, couldn't help but agree.
"Look into my eyes," Grindelwald had said that first evening. He sounded calm and patient, just like he did when playing chess. "It makes everything easier. When you grow more skilled, you'll find yourself able to do this without eye contact -- perhaps without even being close to the object. That's good. Now. Use the spell."
Remus clutched his wand, holding Grindelwald's gaze as steadily as he could. "Legilimens."
First, there was nothing... And then, all of a sudden, memories in his mind that were not his, swirling about, rapidly changing, mingling and shifting with a speed that made him grip the table with both hands.
There was a castle, with children in what looked like old-fashioned school robes; there was a flash of blood-red lightning; there was a red-haired boy, sitting in the grass with his head bowed; there was a meeting in a dark, dusty pub... There was a wand, which somehow looked familiar but which disappeared before he could remember why; a spell-book; the same boy, naked this time, lying on his stomach; an elderly woman with blue eyes; a dragon; another castle; another woman, who looked like a younger version of Mrs. Schultz; the boy again, walking away...
Dizzy, he closed his eyes, and the memories disappeared as abruptly as they had come.
"Very good," said Grindelwald after some seconds. "Very good for a beginner."
Remus's head was still spinning. He nodded in acknowledgment, then put a hand to his brow. For some minutes, they sat in silence.
Then Remus said, "Was this... Is it supposed to be like that?"
"Yes," Grindelwald answered. "Until you become more practiced, at any rate. It is always confusing to begin with, but you will soon learn how to navigate your way. You have real talent."
Remus had no idea if this was true, or just something Grindelwald said to please him, for whatever reason. Still, he felt intrigued in a way he hadn't done since his school years.
"Who was the boy?" he asked.
Grindelwald looked at him then, a long glance sideways. "Someone I knew once," he finally said. Then he added, as an afterthought, "Maybe I will tell you about him some day."
Although he'd felt some initial discomfort at the thought of reading another's mind, vividly imagining the terror of someone doing that to him, Remus found himself more and more at ease for every session. Grindelwald's encouragement helped, although the things Remus saw weren't always pleasing -- some of them were horrible, others so, well, private they almost made him blush. Others, again, were downright surprising.
"The wand!" he exclaimed at some point during the third lesson, breaking the spell in pure astonishment. "I've seen it before -- I just didn't know where. But that's Professor Dumbledore's wand, isn't it?"
"It is now," Grindelwald said, sounding amused -- he did seem to enjoy those occasions when the forays into his mind took Remus by surprise, one way or the other. "But it used to be mine. He took it, after our duel."
"Did he?"
This was rather surprising, for as far as Remus knew, anyone would have preferred their own, tailored wand to that of another. "But why?"
"He liked mine better, I suppose," Grindelwald said with a crooked smile. "You should ask him."
The winter wore on. Remus did his duties, went to meetings with Mrs. Schultz, read novels, played chess, locked Grindelwald in and out of his book cell, spent lonely and barely-bearable full moons in the padded cell, met with the village Healer, forced memories from his mind whenever he had to, and practiced Legilimency. As the days grew longer, predicting the arrival of a long-awaited spring, he started to consider making a list of all the things he still did not know, all the things he wanted to ask about when he met Dumbledore again -- if the questions did, indeed, have answers.
VII.
Nurmengard,
26th March
Dear Headmaster,
Thanks very much for your letter. I hope you and the other teachers are well. As for myself, I am quite all right. It is funny to think I have been here for over four months already!
Grindelwald has been his usual self, quiet and friendly. I must admit, during these last months I have come to realise how completely different he is from what I expected.
I will see you in some months; good-bye until then!
Regards,
Remus
Hogwarts,
28th March
Remus,
I have received your letter, and I must confess to being somewhat distressed by your words -- it sounds to me as if you are in danger of being blinded, as so many have been before you. Yes, Grindelwald is an old man, and it is not impossible that he has changed -- no one would be gladder than I if this turned out to be the case -- but it is just as likely that he is giving you a false impression, in order to use you for his own ends. Remember what I have said before.
Your troubled friend,
Albus Dumbledore
Remus stared at the letter. It seemed so fierce, almost frantic -- but why? Why had Dumbledore sent him here, if he was so reluctant to believe Grindelwald might have changed?
Coming to think of it, why did Dumbledore resent Grindelwald with a vehemence that seemed almost personal? He was not the one who'd been locked up for forty years, after all.
Remus put the letter away, ill at ease.
That night, he had another dream: he was back in London, lying in bed, knowing that he should have been at Hogwarts, but unable to go anywhere. While he lay, there came a sound of footsteps approaching, small taps that became ominous as they grew louder; knowing whose footsteps they were, he panicked, sweating, trying and failing to get out of the bed... And he was supposed to be at Hogwarts, but the footsteps were coming to a halt outside the door; soon the door would open...
That evening, he felt even more tired than usual after the first fifteen minutes of Legilimency.
"I need a break," Remus gasped, and Grindelwald nodded. "But of course."
He would have made a good teacher, Remus thought: always knowing when enough was enough, but also when to push Remus, to make him try a little extra. And for every session, Remus improved; he could feel it himself, how finding his way became easier, how he could navigate the other's thoughts without getting dizzy, how he could distinguish the different memories from one another, and if Grindelwald ever grew tired of his poking, he said nothing about it.
"All right," Remus muttered at length. "I'm just a little tired -- not long since full moon," he added, attempting to smile.
They had never talked about his lycanthropy since that night months ago. Now Grindelwald leaned across the table, looking at him earnestly. "It must be hard, I imagine."
Was that sympathy? Remus didn't know, and had no wish to reflect upon it. "It is. I'm used to it, though, or at least as used as I can be."
"Has it been like that all your life?" Grindelwald asked, in that same grave, soft voice.
"I was bitten when I was four," Remus said.
"I see... But you were allowed to go to school?"
"Yes..." He hesitated. "Professor Dumbledore was headmaster then, and he made sure I got in."
"How good of him," Grindelwald murmured. He sat quiet for a long time, staring in front of him. Then he turned his dark gaze back to Remus. "What happened to your parents -- may I ask about that?"
"Died," Remus said, swallowing. "When I was thirteen."
"I am sorry."
"Thank you."
"And what about your schoolmates?" Grindelwald gave him one of his sideways glances. "Did you hide it from them?"
"I did at first," Remus said. He swallowed again, trying to keep the memories at bay, but he was too tired, and they were too strong... "But they found out. And they helped me."
"They helped you?"
"They found out how to become Animagi, and they kept me company. They never told anyone." Another swallow. "I thought I couldn't get happier, and then..."
"And then you did?" said Grindelwald, his voice kind.
"And then I did." Six months out of Hogwarts, amidst Voldemort's terror, the Order meetings, the weekly assassinations, and he'd become happier. "Despite everything."
"I see," Grindelwald murmured again, and it sounded as if he really did. "Poor boy... You've had to hide your whole life, haven't you?"
And these words, at last, were impossible to swallow down; and Remus put his hands to his face, biting his lip and willing his sobs to be silent. Grindelwald said nothing, but his silence was comforting, and Remus did not turn away.
VIII.
Early April sun streamed through the windows, making Mrs. Schultz's office look larger than usual. Wondering yet again what he was doing there, Remus willed himself to refrain from fidgeting in his chair. Mrs. Schultz sat behind the desk, her pale eyes calm.
"I have had a letter from the prison board," she said. "I am sorry to inform you that your stay here will end already next week -- the guard whom you are substituting has signalled that he is ready to go back to work now."
Remus opened his mouth, then closed it again. This was unexpected -- and rather unwelcome, he realised. He'd planned on staying here for another four months, and he needed the money. And besides, he'd only begun getting good at Legilimency...
"I am sorry," Mrs Schultz said again. "I know this is irregular, but I am only doing my job. You will receive a special bonus for the trouble, of course."
He nodded, slowly. "So... Does this mean I'm fired?"
"No, no," she said quickly, "Not at all. Your work has been most satisfying. I will be happy to write you a recommendation; hopefully, it may be of use to you when you get home."
Then she smiled, which was rare enough in itself. "You should tell Grindelwald yourself... I believe he has grown quite fond of you."
The week passed quickly now that Remus knew it was to be his last. For some reason, he kept putting off telling Grindelwald of his upcoming departure. It was hard to say why, but somehow the knowledge that he should never be in this cell again, that they should never play chess again, that there would never be another lecture on how the history books had got it all wrong -- somehow this knowledge became unbearable, filling him with an unsettling amount of regret.
The night before he was scheduled to go back to London, Remus went to the tower for his last Legilimency session. Grindelwald waited, looking graver than usual.
"Good evening," he said as soon as Remus had locked himself into the room. Then, without further ado, he added, "I hear from Mrs. Schultz that you are leaving us. A shame, I must say."
Half-way relieved, but also slightly disappointed, Remus nodded. "I wasn't supposed to stay here for long, anyway."
"A shame nonetheless," Grindelwald said, taking a seat by the table. "A couple of months more of practice would have done wonders for your Legilimency. But you have made quite a progress already, as I have told you before. Well, let's get the most out of this while we can, shan't we?" He smiled, but somehow the expression seemed less warm than usual.
Remus sat down, took a deep breath, curled his fingers around his wand, and whispered, "Legilimens!"
Yes, he'd made quite a bit of progress -- where the thoughts had been threatening to drown him, before, he could now surf them as if they were waves. He saw them clearer than ever, the familiar memories of places and people unknown to him, of battlefields and parties, of cities rejoicing and villages burning, of prisons and castles and gaols. But he noticed something new, something strange -- the awareness that things were being kept from him, the feeling of resistance when his mind poked at something dark, unexplored...
Remus broke the stare.
Grindelwald held his gaze, raising an eyebrow. "Tired?"
"No," Remus said slowly. He clutched his wand again. "Legilimens!"
This time the resistance was obvious. Had it been there all the time? Had he just now got skilled enough to notice? He poked, insistently; the thoughts evaded him, twirled around, leading him in circles.
Remus frowned, but did not break away this time. Tightening his grip on the wand, he chased -- and came back to the memories he'd seen on the first evening, of the red-haired boy, sitting in the grass with his back turned.
The chase stopped.
The memory had a warmth to it -- a tangible sense, almost, as if it had been preserved with great care and affection. It was summer, for the boy was bare-foot, his robes rolled up to reveal pale legs and arms. He was reading a book, which he put away in order to give a stretch; then, at the sounds of footsteps approaching, he turned around...
There was something familiar about those eyes.
Something very familiar.
"Oh god," Remus whispered -- or maybe he was just thinking it, for all his breath had disappeared. "Good god."
The memory ran off, and he could not do anything but follow, shocked and unthinking, to the next, of the same boy, the same familiar boy, brandishing a parchment, talking animatedly; of the same boy, on his back in the bed, naked and hot and sweaty; of another boy, who looked a great deal like him, shouting angrily; of a little girl, pale and still on the floor...
It stopped. He couldn't go any longer, and he didn't have the force to try. Instead he released his grip on the wand, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath.
When he opened his eyes again, Grindelwald was scrutinising him.
"That boy..." Remus whispered. "Was he --?"
"Yes," Grindelwald said.
"And you..." A sick feeling was starting to spread from his stomach, making it almost impossible to speak. "You and he -- when?"
"One summer, long ago," Grindelwald said, his voice as unreadable as his face. "We were only boys, younger than you are now."
"And you were..." The thought was impossible to grasp, no matter how he tried.
"Quite."
A smile had spread on Grindelwald's features, completely unlike anything Remus had seen before. Not rueful, not angry, not nostalgic -- neither of these, but perhaps something in-between, or something else entirely.
"He was very passionate about my ideas. In fact, it was he who came up with the motto 'For the Greater Good' -- did you know that? No, of course you didn't. He wouldn't have admitted to that, not now, not after what happened between us... But it's the truth, and if you were ever to perform Legilimency on him, you'd see for yourself." The smile became sardonic. "Not that he'd ever allow such a thing."
"And the duel... Why did he win?" Remus hesitated, afraid of the answer. "Did you let him?"
"Of course not," said Grindelwald, sounding almost insulted. "Although there may have been some hesitation on my part in the crucial moment -- who knows? I have pondered it many times, and yet I have problems remembering exactly what happened. But when all is said and done, he is free and I am not, he gets to tell the history and I do not, and neither of us have lived happily ever after."
There was too much; still, Remus had to ask. "How do you know?" A shocking idea struck him. "Are you still together?"
"Of course not," Grindelwald said again -- this time, he sounded rather contemptuous. "As if he would deign to set foot here, and risk that anyone would find out about our sordid affair, back then. I stooped so low as to write him several letters during those first years; he never responded to a single one of them... No, my dear Remus, everything I need to know I have learned from you."
"From me?"
If Remus had been shocked before, it was nothing to the way he felt now -- like in a nightmare, he thought wildly, there was no escape possible.
"Yes, you." Grindelwald's smile was almost apologetic now. "I'm sorry if I ever failed to mention the fact that you do not need a wand in order to perform Legilimency, strictly speaking. I am old, as you know, but I am not yet a Squib. I can perform wandless magic if I must, and -- well, let me put it this way: when Albus Dumbledore, my former everything, sends one of his little pets to spy on me, I would have been a fool not to return the favour. Wouldn't I?"
"You..." He almost couldn't bear to say it. "You've read my mind?"
"Only those parts pertaining to me personally," Grindelwald said. "I do have some honour left, after all. From what I can see of your memory, your Professor Dumbledore is now a lonely old man, surrounded by children and incompetent bureaucrats -- in many ways, he is probably as miserable as I am, which is a consolation to me, I must admit. As for the rest..."
He shrugged in his usual way, smiling again; he looked just like he'd done when Remus had first met him, a harmless old man with no powers left. "As I said, it was nothing more than I could see in your eyes."
Remus got to his feet, shakingly, bracing himself against the table. Grindelwald rose with him.
"Keep practicing Legilimency," he said kindly, walking with Remus to the door. "It will be useful. And ask your Professor to teach you the counterpart, while you're at it. That might be just as handy, for someone who finds it difficult to keep his heart and mind closed, even when he most definitely should."
IX.
"You look a little tired," Mrs. Schultz said.
Remus nodded. He had not slept the previous night.
She poured them each a cup of coffee, then folded her hands on the desk, looking at him thoughtfully. At length, she said, "I hope it has been tolerable, working here."
He took a deep breath, then let it out slowly before taking a sip of coffee. Hot and strong on his tongue, it was ridiculously comforting.
"Tell me, now --" and her voice sounded sterner; once again, she reminded him of McGonagall. "What happened?"
"I'm sure I don't follow," Remus muttered.
She sighed. "Forgive me, Mr. Lupin, but you do not seem quite yourself. If something has happened here to put you in this state, it is my duty to find out and to act, if necessary."
Remus gave a tired nod, then sat his cup on the desk, and buried his head in his hands.
"It's my fault," he muttered, not really caring about her reactions anymore. "It's my own fault. I was blind... It's my own fault I was tricked." Again.
"What did he do to you, Mr. Lupin?"
Her voice was soft; this, more than anything, made him sit back up and finally meet her eyes. "He made me perform Legilimency on him."
"And what did he show you?"
Even now, the thought was so bizarre that he almost couldn't bring himself to believe it happened. "Well..."
And still. In all honesty, wasn't there something to be learned from this -- some comfort, even? For although Grindelwald must have been irresistible, as Remus was painfully aware of, Dumbledore was still responsible of making a mistake, a terrible one, and yet he'd become the man he was, a great leader, a living legend... Remus suddenly found himself wondering whether the Headmaster ever had nightmares.
Mrs. Schultz waited. He took another breath. "He showed me memories about himself and Professor Dumbledore," he said finally.
Her reaction was nothing like what he'd expected: there was no confusion, no outrage. Instead, she merely nodded. "I see," she said.
Remus blinked. "Do you?" he couldn't help asking.
"I do."
One of the drawers in her desk slid open. She took out some old sheets of parchments, some of them quite yellowed and crinkled, and placed them in front of him.
He looked at them, then looked up again. "Letters?" Another look, this one longer and more incredulous. "From Grindelwald to Dumbledore?"
"Yes," Mrs Schultz said. "And vice versa."
"You intercepted them?"
He should have been used to being shocked by now; this was obviously not the case. "Why?"
Mrs Schultz didn't reply at first. When she did, it was in a low and toneless voice that might or might not have hovered on the verge of anger. "When I was a child, my brother joined Grindelwald's forces. He never came back. I don't know what happened to him." She paused, closing her eyes for a moment.
"Many years later, when the war was over, they came to us to search for him -- to put him on trial, they said, although heaven knows what they would have done, had they been able to find him. They thought we were hiding him, so we were tortured. All of us. A special sort of bone-cracking spell." Her smile was harsh. "I still walk a little funny, as you may have noticed."
"I'm sorry," Remus whispered, not knowing what else to say. His cup of coffee was getting cold, but he couldn't muster up enough force to reach for it. "But why did you come to work here? Of all places?"
"I needed the money," Mrs Schultz said. "My husband was employed here, too. I was in charge of the mail -- there was quite a bit more of that back then, with all those prisoners. We were required to read all letters beforehand, just like we are now. And when those letters started to come... I could not let him have them."
She paused, then smiled, a little ruefully. "It is a petty revenge for what happened to my brother and myself and the rest of our family, but it is a revenge nonetheless, and it is all I will ever get."
As Remus stood to leave, he asked, "What about Grindelwald's letters to Dumbledore? Why did you keep them?"
Mrs Schultz sighed; in that moment, she looked older than the prisoner in the tower had ever done. "He put it off for years. He said so in his letters. If he had agreed to be involved earlier -- who knows how many lives could have been spared?"
She walked with him to the door. As they stopped to shake hands, she looked him in the eye. "Will you tell him?"
Remus met her eyes, then slowly shook his head.
Walking the hallway for the last time, he put his hand in his pocket, then started when it touched something cold. When he reached the hall, he stopped to take it out -- and saw that it was a chess piece, a black castle.
He looked up in the tower's direction; then, putting the piece back into his pocket, he gave a short, silent nod.
X.
Dumbledore's office looked the same as usual, but the portraits were absent, as if they had been asked to leave. Remus did not mind. There was much to talk about.
The Headmaster himself looked tired, his normally twinkling eyes dull. He bade Remus sit, then walked over to stand by the window. After some minutes of silence, he sighed.
"So now you know."
"Yes."
"How much did he show you?" Dumbledore asked.
"Enough to let me know that you were lovers," Remus said, noticing the Headmaster's almost invisible shiver. "And then there was something about a girl -- I don't know, but I think she was hurt." He hesitated. "Did you know her?"
"She was my sister," Dumbledore said heavily, turning around to face him. "He killed her."
Remus opened his mouth, but no words came out.
"It was an accident -- I'm willing to believe that much. We were orphans, my siblings and I; as the eldest, I was in charge of the family. Grindelwald..."
The name seemed to catch on Dumbledore's tongue; he paused for a moment, before continuing, "Grindelwald was planning to go on a journey, and he wanted me to come with him. I, being the besotted fool I was, agreed to his plans... My brother, however, tried to put a stop to the whole thing. There was an argument. Grindelwald tortured my brother, and..." Dumbledore hesitated again, his voice pained. "My sister was killed. I do not think that was his intention, but it is what happened."
"Oh," Remus whispered -- it sounded like a hollow sigh. "I'm sorry to hear that."
"There is no need to be," Dumbledore said, sounding weary. "My mistakes are my own to make amends for, and I have tried my best to do so, and to learn from them. I pride myself that my judgment of character is sound; who knows what might have happened, had this disaster of my youth not taught me what sort of evil might lie behind a fair exterior? What is done can never be undone."
"But still you sent me to him," Remus said, and Dumbledore sighed again.
"It was a foolhardy thing to do, of course -- you are nothing more than a boy, after all. That is also why I changed my mind."
"So you made the prison board cut short the guard's leave." The thought almost made him laugh. "Was it your idea to make him take some time off in the first place?"
"Correct," said Dumbledore. "The prison board was not very enthusiastic to begin with, but they owe me a favour or two."
"You thought of this only after Voldemort was gone, didn't you?" Remus said. "Why me?"
"I did offer some reasons when I first proposed the idea to you," said Dumbledore. "They are still valid. And yet, I will admit to being moved by another, less practical reason."
He paused.
"You see, Remus, it seemed to me that if anyone could empathise, it would be you..."
There was a silence, full of heavy understanding.
"I thought," Dumbledore said, blue eyes intense as they sought Remus's gaze, "I wanted to believe that he might be reformed, if only a little."
There was an unfamiliar tone in his voice. In anyone else, Remus would have thought it pleading.
"Tell me, Remus --" and there was no mistaking the tone now; it almost didn't sound like Dumbledore's voice at all. "Did you ever -- ?"
The question was never finished. Instead, there came another silence, one that stretched on and on as Remus thought back: to Grindelwald's memories, to his calm voice and dark gaze, to Mrs Schultz's face, old and weary, to the yellowed pieces of parchment on her desk... He thought of all the lives wasted, of the dreams destroyed and the promises broken; he thought of prisons, and of those within, those who were lost and those who still had their souls intact; he thought of futility, of emptiness, of the thin line separating a hope from a lie.
"Yes," Remus said at last, closing his eyes. Tears were starting to sting under his lids, and he rose from his chair, turning away so that Dumbledore would not see his face. "He repents."
When he left the office, he threw a glance back; Dumbledore was still standing by the window, his hand at his eyes, the tall, thin figure shaking.
Epilogue
Most of the crowd had dispersed; only small groups of mourners lingered, standing together in small groups, crying silently or talking in hushed voice.
Tonks was waiting for him some distance away, her hair still pink. It was what Dumbledore would have wanted, she had claimed, and Remus had not protested.
He hesitated in front of the marble, the memories flying through his mind. A sound judge of character, Dumbledore had called himself -- and Remus had believed him, always.
Perhaps it was impossible to learn from one's mistakes, when it came down to it.
Sirius had been gone for a year, his memory pure at last. Remus wondered if Dumbledore had ever gone to Nurmengard, if he maybe had done so all those years ago. In the end, perhaps it didn't matter.
The small, black chess piece lay in his pocket. He took it out, glanced around, then bent down and placed it, very gently, on the ground beside the grave.