Work Text:
October 31, 1993
The teachers and I need to conduct a thorough search of the castle. Remus drew a deep breath to steady himself, clenched his wand in his fist and stared fixedly at Dumbledore’s silhouette through the crack in the great double doors. Even so, he could feel the malevolence radiating from Severus Snape beside him, crashing against him in wave after wave.
I am leaving the Head Boy and Girl in charge. Any disturbance should be reported to me immediately. The air beside Remus shifted, Severus had stepped closer. The Dementors had been barred from the grounds, but still, the air around him froze.
Oh, yes, you’ll be needing…
“Rest assured, Lupin,” Snape’s silky hiss was barely audible over the dull thuds of tables and benches being stacked against the walls. “If I find you had anything to do with this…”
Remus took another long breath as Dumbledore stepped in front of them and the door shut softly behind him.
“Right,” Albus pressed his fingertips together, surveying the staff huddled before him. It was clear his mind was racing, moving farther and farther away. A wild, irrational hope seized Remus for an instant, that he’d be asked to leave, that he’d be permitted to just go to sleep.
“Argus, to the secret passages, please, and a sweep of the dungeons.” Dumbledore nodded to Filch, who hobbled off muttering excitedly to himself, lantern held aloft and Mrs. Norris slinking around his heels.
“The rest of us must split away, search all seven floors, all towers, all corridors, all classrooms, all suits of armor.” There was an urgency in his tone that Remus hadn’t heard in a long time. “Minerva, stay with me, please. Filius, take a few others to the top three floors, then the Owlery. Pomona, lead a search of the greenhouses and grounds. Alert Hagrid; have him watch the forest. Severus, take the rest to the second, third, and fourth.”
There was time for no more than a curt nod before Dumbledore sped away, without so much as a glance at Remus, without any sort of acknowledgment. Severus turned to face Flitwick. Remus barely registered their exchange as he watched Dumbledore’s and Minerva’s rapidly retreating figures, swelling guilt and shame squeezing his heart. Wait! He could have cried after them. He’s an Animagus! Look out for a black dog!
“Lupin!” Snape’s bark snapped him back to the present. Severus’ lip curled with malice, his black eyes glinted in the half-light. “You’re on the third floor. Professor Trelawney, Madam Sinistra, to your towers, then to the fourth for a sweep of the corridors.” With that, he turned smartly on his heel and swept up the staircase, wand aloft. Remus hesitated for a moment, but the urgent gazes of his colleagues struck his back and propelled him forward to limp on after Snape.
They proceeded upward in mutual, unprotested silence, punctuated only by the soft flapping of Snape’s robes against his ankles. They reached the second floor without incident and Snape turned to proceed down the corridor, wandlight held aloft, while Remus made his way to the third. Remus’ heart was hammering in earnest now, accelerating every time he peered inside a broom cupboard or brushed aside a curtain with trembling fingertips, and stuttering every time he found nothing there.
“Stop this,” he muttered to himself. His breath came in short, sharp gasps now, the cold air stinging his throat. His fingers fluttered with restless energy, his wand arm trembled, and he could barely feel his feet as he crept through the corridors. “Stop it! You’re being ridiculous, Remus. You’re imagining things. He’s not going to be here.” If the man had any sense, and Remus knew he did, he’d have fled by now. But he couldn’t have left the school grounds.
Or couldn’t he? Could his ability allow him to slip undetected past the dementors at his whim? The thought arrested him, he stumbled to a stop in the middle of the hall, once again overtaken by that wrenching feeling of guilt. He ought to have told Dumbledore the minute he set foot in this school, no, the minute Dumbledore had set foot in his home. He closed his eyes and took long, shuddering breaths through his nose, desperate to ease the swooping nausea that had momentarily lifted him off his feet.
After too long, he felt, he forced his eyes open again and stood still, tense, as they adjusted to the dim light of his wand. Putting one tentative foot before the other, he made his way down the rest of the corridor, pausing to peer into corners and classrooms, always half expecting to see a dark, gaunt figure crouched and waiting there. But he met no one.
Now the third floor was complete, and he turned around for a second sweep, feeling slightly calmer, enough to let his thoughts wander a bit. He supposed most of the students thought it a lucky coincidence that Sirius Black had chosen this night to appear. Perhaps he’d not realized it was Halloween, had forgotten his favorite feast of the year… but Remus knew the truth. It was only appropriate that he chose this night to attempt his revenge.
He swept his wand slowly from left to right, making sure the wide beam fell on every figure, every shadow in his path. What had Dumbledore expected? What had Remus himself expected? To find Black? To confront him, overpower him? He’d be wandless after all, unless he’d managed to steal one, but he’d ravaged the painting with a knife. And the dementors apparently hadn’t at all managed to sap his strength…
What could he have done, had his wandlight found the form it was seeking? For a savage moment, he imagined pointing his wand carefully into that wasted face, stunning him between those sunken eyes, personally dragging his body to the dementors in chains. The next second his vision swam, his knees nearly buckled, a wave of nauseating hatred left him weary and empty.
More likely he’d stop, frozen on the spot, staring. What would burn in his eyes? Malice, hunger, a glint of recognition? And then the bat-like form of Severus Snape would swoop down and whisk him away, and a small piece of the great weight on his chest would be lifted. Would he protest in that split second? Would he have the gall to plead his innocence? But Death Eaters are not cowards. And Sirius Black owned his every deed.
“Lupin!”
Remus flinched, twisting his neck as his wandbeam bounced off a portrait. Wincing, rubbing the aching spot, he silently thanked Severus for bringing him abruptly back to solid ground. He realized he’d been spiraling into the darkness with his thoughts, as his wandlight remained fixed on a dusty patch of carpet.
“Well?” Severus hissed, “anything?”
“No,” Remus sighed, lowering his wand and passing a hand over his eyes. Snape cocked his head, studying Remus with evident distaste. “I’ve already searched your office, Lupin. I suggest you return there. Now.”
“I could have spared you the effort, Severus,” Remus retorted in a whisper. “He’s most certainly not in there.”
Nothing in Snape’s expression showed he believed Remus in the slightest. But he inclined his head nonetheless. “Of course, Professor.” Without another word he turned and disappeared into the darkness. Remus heard his soft footsteps on the staircase descending into the night.
In any other circumstance, Remus would’ve followed him back to Dumbledore before spending the rest of the night scanning the vast grounds. Snape’s pointed, threatening tone and his own profound exhaustion won over, and he stumbled back to his office on Snape’s orders. Delirious visions swam in his mind of emaciated bodies dredged from the Black Lake in the early hours of the morning, of wraiths flitting between the trees of the Forbidden Forest, of suits of armor swinging their axes at unsuspecting students as they roamed the halls the next day. Sirius Black was nowhere to be found, and yet he was everywhere, constantly looming over him.
“Nox,” he whispered as he turned the handle. For a split second every muscle in his body tensed as his eyes scanned the room, but there was no dark figure huddled in a corner, nothing under his desk, and only an eerie green glow from the grindylow’s tank. As far as Remus knew, he was gone.
Remus trudged up the short staircase to his quarters, collapsed into his bed, and within moments had drifted off into an uneasy sleep, dreaming of huddled, whispering shadows with sunken yellow eyes.