MERCY, PITY, PEACE

Fandom: Harry Potter (R/S)

Rating: Adult content, violence, and serious darkness

Warnings: This story contains industrial-strength angst. The kind that comes in 50-gallon drums with biohazard warnings. The kind sensible people wear protective clothing to handle. It is dark and scary and there is serious violence, and oh look, there's also homosexuality. Character deaths. Etc. And if you're still reading after that, thank you. And take my advice ... go get chocolate first.

For Circe_Tigana, whose birthday made me write it.  For AnnieSJ also, because this story?  Hers.  (And she'd have written it better, but I did my best, however inadequate.)

My undying gratitude to my REALLY fearless beta readers:  Ter369, Starlet2367, and Melodywilde.  You guys?  You are the peanut butter in my chocolate.

Part 1  |  Part 2  |  Part 3  |  Part 4  |  Part 5  |  Part 6

PART 4

He woke, and for a few seconds the dream -- the vision? -- stayed with him, because he could still hear the steady thrum of running footsteps, and how could that be ...?

He was lying with his head pillowed on his forearm.

He was hearing his own pulse.

The girl was gone from the corner.  The room was quiet, except for the ever-present wet rasp of the Dementor somewhere beyond the bars. 

Sirius was gone.

Sirius was never here, you fool.  Sirius is dead.  You know he's dead.  You saw it happen, you felt him go ...

The grief came fresh and overwhelming, as if it had been moments instead of months.  Gut-twisting, heart-wrenching agony, driving tears into his eyes.  He couldn't breathe, suddenly, for the anguish.  Damn you, Sirius.  Damn you for leaving.  Damn you for coming back.

"Remus?"  A bare whisper, out in the dark, and for an insane second hope bloomed hot inside of him.

"Sirius?" he blurted.

Light bloomed chilly at the end of a wand, and Remus looked into the face of Peter Pettigrew.  He could still see the blurred outlines of the boy Peter Pettigrew had been.  Weak, well-meaning, eager to please.  Courageous, in strange way.

But that Pettigrew was dead.  The creature he'd met in the Shrieking Shack hadn't been that innocent boy, and neither was this, with its mad little eyes and bacon-fat slab of face.  Stringy unwashed hair and an aroma of insanity rising up like smoke.  One giggle away from outright madness.

The hand that had been missing a finger when last they'd met was now gone altogether, replaced by something silvery that caught the light in liquid, glittering facets.  A hand, but not a hand.  Something ... foul.

"They told me they'd caged a wolf," Peter said, and came closer to the bars.  Remus didn't move.  "I didn't really believe them.  You're thinner than I remember."

He found his voice, and it sounded flat and unreal.  "You're not."

Peter laughed, and hid it behind that monstrous silver hand.  "I've been worried about you, Moony.  All alone down here in the dark."  Those small, beady eyes rolled toward something barely seen in the <i>lumos</i> glow.  "Or not really alone, I suppose.  You and the Dementors must be on a first name basis by now.  Maybe you can talk over friends you have in common.  Some of them must remember Sirius -- how he tasted -- oh, and so do you!"  Peter laughed again.  Hard and brittle and unpleasant.  "I knew.  I always knew about you and Sirius.  He lied to me about it when I first asked him, you know.  Told me I was imagining things.  Said he wasn't on for boys."

Such a stupid thing, to hurt so much.  To think that Sirius had been ashamed of him.  We were children.  We were all just children.  We never had the chance to be anything else, before the storm swept us apart.

"Remus?  Do you still hate me?" Peter asked, and there was a pitiful little-boy whimper in the question.

What possible answer was there?  "You betrayed us," Remus said wearily.  "Of course I hate you.  The question is, why don't you hate yourself?"

"But I didn't betray you!  Not on purpose!  I never meant any of it," Peter said desperately.  "It just -- happened.  You know what that's like, you must.  He told me -- he told me it would just be a warning, promised that nobody would be hurt.  And then -- then it was too late.  James and Lily were -- "

"Betrayed," Remus whispered.  "By you.  Don't try to excuse yourself.  They died because of you."

"But it wasn't my fault!"  Peter stepped closer.  "I've been thinking.  Why did he pick me?  Maybe James wanted to die, and that's why he picked me to keep the secret when he knew I was weak ... maybe having all that responsibility was really too much for him, maybe deep down he wanted me to tell -- "

Remus lunged for the bars, thrust his hand through and came within a half inch of closing his fingers around Peter's neck.  Peter flinched backward, tripped and went sprawling.  Fury distorting his face.

"It wasn't my fault!" he spat.  "It's your fault, you and perfect Sirius bloody Black, they only came to me because the two of you weren't around -- "

"Shut up!"

"You went off on your own, and Sirius, he disappeared, probably to get up the arse of some rentboy over your lover's quarrel, and James was stuck with me.  I'm weak!  It's not my fucking fault I'm weak, Remus!  You all knew it!"

Remus collapsed, all his fury gone, all his strength spent.  Peter climbed back to his feet, breathing hard.  There were tears on his face, but his eyes were cold.

"Malfoy's going to kill you," Peter said.  "They'll never let you go, so you shouldn't even hold out hope."

"Why are they keeping me alive?" Remus asked wearily. 

Peter ventured a shuffling step closer, eyes shining in the blue light.

"Maybe Malfoy thinks that fucking you is a way to fuck Sirius.  Posthumously, anyway."  He smirked.  "Or maybe somebody gave him the idea that you might have given his son a private lesson or two, that year at Hogwarts.  Yeah?"

"You bastard," Remus whispered.  Peter's lips drew back, but it wasn't a smile.

"You tried to kill me," he said.  "Remember?  Turnabout's fair play.  My master thinks you know how to get to Dumbledore.  But you don't, do you?"

"No."  He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the bars.  "I was his Defense Against The Dark Arts professor for one year.  And I was a crashing disaster.  He'd hardly go out of his way for me, Wormtail."

His pulse was jumping, the back of his neck hot with sweat.  If they were just waiting until he lost his mind before asking the right questions ... he might tell them.  Without meaning to, he might turn betrayer, like Peter -- damned and cursed and without hope, the blood of friends on his hands ...

"Look at me," Peter said.  Remus did, and saw Peter raise that silver hand and extend a pointing finger toward him.  "Don't ever call me that again."

He stabbed the finger toward Remus, ludicrously like a fencer with a very short sword ...

... and Remus felt it enter his skin and burrow into his guts.  Felt Peter's hand inside of him, fumbling, violating him.  When he looked down, too stunned to scream, he saw something moving under his skin.

"I can wear you," Peter whispered, "like a glove.  If I want.  Show a little respect, Lupin.  I might not have wanted this, but I have it now, and I intend to use it.  Nobody's ever going to hurt me again.  And especially not you."

He yanked his hand back, and Remus flinched back, scrambled away on his hands and knees and curled up in the back corner of the cage, fighting back nausea.  His abdomen felt bruised and sore, as if he'd been stabbed and instantly healed.

"Remus?"  Peter's voice had changed again, gone back to that hesitant boyish wheedle.  "We're still friends, right?  Aren't we?  We're the last, you know.  We should stay friends.  Especially since I'm all you have left.  Do you want me to save you?  I can talk to the Dark Lord, convince him you'll work with us ..."

Remus said nothing.  He closed his eyes and turned his face to the bars. 

"Do you really want to die?  Because it won't be easy, Remus.  Malfoy's going to make it a long, horrible thing.  You don't want that, do you?"

He did.  Or at least, he wanted it more than mercy from Peter Pettigrew, mercy from unclean hands, mercy that came at the price of his last scraps of honor.

"Remus?"

"No," he said, very softly.  "I won't become what you are, Peter.  Ever.  And maybe, at the end, you'll remember what you were, once.  I hope you do.  I hope you remember what it was like to be loved."

He heard a sharp intake of breath.  After a long, long moment, he heard the clang of the door, and the cell went completely dark again.

Wordt u gekwetst? the ghost whispered.  She sounded closer this time.

"Shut up," he whispered, and hid his head in his hands.  "Please, shut up."

He was so bitterly tired.

Sirius, you bastard. 

He wanted to weep for wanting him.

It was the telephone call from James that started it, because it was so out of the ordinary for him to use the thing at all.  James didn't feel comfortable with Muggle machines, but Lily insisted on having one on their end, and Remus had come to quite enjoy the convenience of having it in the London flat.  In these frightening days, it was a way to communicate without as much danger as the floo network.  Remus and Sirius had chosen a flat that was off the network, for that very reason, and had begged James and Lily to do the same.  But James had been adamant.  If we do that, we let Voldemort's idiots own the thing, he'd said.  We'll be careful.

Not careful enough, in Remus' opinion.  A married pair of wizards, one of them a prime target for Death Eaters, handicapped by a new baby ... a dangerous combination.  He had ugly memories of helping with recovery of the bodies of an entire family only a few nights ago. 

Still, the telephone was a help, and it was a relief to hear James' voice.

James had rung up for Sirius, who was of course not there.  Was never there anymore, in fact.  Though Remus had kept that bit to himself, a bitter little secret.

"Oh," James had said guardedly when Remus had told him Sirius was away.  "Well ... um ... I see.  -- Lily, are you sure this thing's safe?  Really?  Doesn't have that, what do the Muggles call it, radiation?  Makes your hair fall out?"  He sounded as if he was shouting into the handset from a distance of at least a foot away, and Lily's silvery laugh came almost as clearly.  "Here, you talk to him.  Tell him -- "

"I know what to tell him," Lily's voice said, startlingly clear, as if she'd flooed in.  Remus smiled involuntarily and closed his eyes, listening.  "Remus, love, how are you?"

"Well enough," he said.  "You?  Little Harry?"

"All well here," she reported cheerfully, and then paused.  When she went on, her voice was more serious.  "Look, I don't want you to be alarmed, but ... well, I suppose I do, or we wouldn't have phoned, but -- Dumbledore stopped by.  He was looking for Sirius."

"Looking for Sirius?" Remus repeated, astonished.  "Sirius is on a job for the Order."

Lily's voice came slowly.  "That's what we thought as well, Remus, but -- Albus would know if that was the case, wouldn't he?  And he says that Sirius isn't -- isn't doing anything for the Order.  Not at present.  He thought maybe he was visiting us, but we haven't seen him.  Have you -- "

Remus felt a chill settle in, just at the base of his stomach.  "No," he said, and sat down.  "He's not here, and I haven't seen him for two days."

"Where did he say he was going?"

"He didn't."  Remus swallowed hard.  "We'd had a fight, Lily.  Nothing serious, I suppose, but ... he didn't wake me when he left.  He told me days ago he'd be off doing work for Dumbledore soon, I thought -- "

"Do you think he's off somewhere -- " 

"Sulking?"

"I'm sorry."

"So am I," Remus said.  He opened his eyes and found he was staring across the room at the clutter that Sirius always left behind -- a discarded work robe, one house slipper under a threadbare armchair, the other overturned against the baseboard behind it.  Copies of the Daily Prophet dumped untidily near the hearth, where the pictures silently moved on secret agendas of their own.  A glass with a thin ring of firewhiskey still in the bottom of it, smudged with fingermarks.  Muggle record albums scattered over the floor.  Sirius, drunk, had been searching for The Beatles when he'd lost his temper, and neither of them had been in a mood to clean the mess.  "What if he's not just sulking?  What if he's in trouble?"

Lily was silent.  So was James, who no doubt was listening, crouched awkwardly near the earpiece, half-convinced some arcane Muggle anti-magic was going to shock him senseless.  He'd stuck a knife in an electrical plug once.  That had thoroughly disillusioned him about the charm of Muggle artifacts.

"He'll be all right," Lily said softly.  "Dumbledore's looking.  He'll find him.  If Sirius comes home, will you -- "

"I'll ring you," Remus said.  "Thanks, Lily."

There was a fumble on the other end, and then James -- this time shouting right into the mouthpiece -- said, "Has he been acting, you know, weird?"

"What?"

"Out of character.  There's been talk -- "  James hesitated, then lowered his voice, probably at a signal from Lily.  Remus brought the phone closer to his ear again.  "There's been talk that Sirius has been erratic, lately.  Not showing up where he should be.  He's been seeing a lot of Snape, too."

More chill, climbing from Remus' stomach to ice down his spine.  "Snape's on our side.  Whether we like it or not."

"Yeah, well, I don't, and I don't believe it, but that's not the point.  It's not just Snape.  Mad-Eye Moody said something about seeing Sirius talking to Lucius Malfoy.  He must have been wrong though.  Right?"

"Right," Remus said solidly.  "He must have been wrong.  You know Mad-Eye."

"Yeah."

That was the problem.  They both did know Mad-Eye, and Mad-Eye wasn't prone to flights of fancy.  If he said he saw Sirius talking to Lucius bloody Malfoy, then that's exactly what he'd seen.

"You don't think -- " James began.

"I don't."

"Dumbledore said he was afraid that someone in the Order -- "

"I know.  It's not Sirius."

"Remus -- "

"It's not Sirius," he said sharply.  James subsided, and Remus sucked in a deep breath.  "I'm sorry, but it's not.  All right?"

"All right."

"Take care of Lily and the baby.  I'll call if -- "

"Same here."

They rang off without goodbyes, though Remus thought he heard Lily try.  He held the heavy, unmagically dead receiver in his hand for a long few moments before letting it slip back into the cradle, and stared hard at the far wall.

It's not Sirius.

Lucius Malfoy, who'd tried to rape him behind the Three Broomsticks.

He'd never told Sirius that.  Never admitted to any of what had happened there.

Sirius, he felt, should nevertheless have known.

He bit down on a surge of rage and went in search of a drink.

Hours passed.  Remus lay awake in his bedroom, listening to Muggle neighbors going about their late-night lives.  Upstairs, a stereo was playing Stairway to Heaven while a baby cried even more loudly.  Next door, two people were arguing, blaming each other for missing funds in the bank account.  Normal life.  He'd never thought of werewolf hearing as a disability, before moving here; in the Wizarding world it hadn't been that much of an issue, but here, among the Muggles ...

He could cast a sound-baffling charm, of course, but if he did that, he'd miss what he waiting to hear.

The tension in his chest felt unbearable, like an iron band, twisting tighter with each breath.  Come home, Sirius.  For Merlin's sake, be alive, at least.  Show me you're not ... not ...

He had just finished thinking it when he heard the stealthy snick of the lock on the apartment door, and knew that the first part of his prayers had been answered.

The second part was very much in doubt. 

He slid from bed and opened his door as Sirius shot the bolts.

Their eyes met.  Neither of them spoke.

Sirius looked awful -- filthy, tired, scratched, hair greasy and lank around his shoulders.  Hadn't bathed in days, clearly.  His clothes had the same feel of seedy wear about them, as if they needed not just a wash but a disinfecting as well.

Remus, in that instant of meeting Sirius' guarded gray eyes, made a split-second decision that would haunt him for the rest of his life.  Instead of confronting him with the truth, he said, "Was it a bad one?  For the Order?"

"Yeah," Sirius said.  "It was bad.  Bloody awful, you want to know the truth."

It was a lie.  An open, bald-faced lie, told without a tremor.  He'd never known Sirius could lie so appallingly well.  Not to him.

Sirius, oblivious, moved past him and headed for the bathroom.  "I'm showering," he said, and stripped off his leather jacket to drop it on the floor.  "Too filthy for company.  See you in the morning, yeah?"

As if they were barely friends, let alone lovers.

Remus watched him go without a word, then shut his bedroom door and sat down on the bed.  Stared at the patterns of light and shadow on the window curtains.

Wanted to die rather than know what he knew.

He heard the hoarse roar of the bath filling, and picked up the phone on the bedside table to dial the number of James and Lily's flat.  Lily picked up on the fifth ring.  "Remus?" she asked sleepily.  Of course, he'd be one of the only ones to call.  "What is it?"

He couldn't speak, he found.  His throat closed up at the kind, warm sound of her voice.

"It is Remus, isn't it?"

"Yes," he managed.  "Sorry, Lily."

A short silence.  Static hissing on the line.  He wished he could see her face, see James' face, be with people he trusted and loved.

Which should have included Sirius.

"Is he back?" she asked gently.

"Yes."

"Is he -- is he all right?"

"Looks fine," he said, and suddenly the knot in his throat loosened.  "He lied.  He lied about where he was."

"Oh God."  Lily occasionally slipped into Muggle expressions; it always surprised him, but this time, it felt curiously appropriate.  "Oh, love ... maybe it doesn't mean anything, maybe he's just --"

"Is there really a good excuse for it?" he asked.  His voice sounded calm and remote.  "Either he was betraying the Order, or he was betraying me.  Right?"

"Not necessarily.  Maybe -- "  She was at a loss for words.

"He went right to the bath, Lily.  Washing it off."

Silence, again.  He heard the uneven hitch of her breath and knew she was crying now, wished he'd never called, wished he didn't have to be the cause of her tears.  She had enough to deal with. 

He heard James take the phone.  "Remus?"

"Were you listening?"

"Yes."  James sounded sober and utterly adult.  "We have to assume the worst.  You know that."

"Yes.  I know."

"I have to tell Albus."

"I know."

"Are you -- will you be all right?"

"Yeah."  He wasn't, and he wouldn't be, but there was nothing James could do.  "We have to assume the Order is compromised.  You and Lily and Harry need to get to safety.  I -- "

What would he do?  What could he do?

"I'll find something," he said, inadequately. 

"I'll let you know when we're moved."

"No."  It came out reflexively, an instinct he couldn't suppress.  "No, don't.  I can't -- I can't know where you are.  In case."

"Oh Merlin, Moony ..."

"It isn't a game anymore, James.  If he's really betrayed us, you have to think of yourselves now.  You have to think of your child.  You can't trust me.  I'm too -- " Vulnerable.  I need him too much.  "-- too easy for him to get to."

The water stopped in the bath.

"I have to go," he said, dropping his voice.  "Go to Albus.  Go now."

"Remus -- "

"Go."  He hung up.

Listened to Sirius bathe and bumble off to his separate bedroom.  Listened to the silence as it echoed through the house and through his heart.

Either he's betrayed the Order, or ...

He couldn't take the chance that it was only a lover's betrayal and not something worse.

In the morning, he smiled and made polite conversation and told Sirius that he was going abroad for a few weeks, for the Order.

They didn't meet each others' eyes.

Malfoy came himself, the next time.  Day, night -- it no longer had any meaning, there was only time alone and time not alone.  Time of pain, time of recovery.

The Dementor, for some reason, was gone.  Remus was too tired to wonder where, or why.

Malfoy looked tired, too.  And angry.  Very, very angry.  He had no Death Eaters in tow this time, but he did have one other figure in a dark robe, unhooded. 

He had brought his son to the dungeons.

Draco looked frightened, Remus thought -- just a flash, before his pale pointed face became a mask, his light cold eyes concealed behind half-closed lids. 

"Take a look," Malfoy said sharply, and grabbed the boy by the arm and shoved him hard, up against the bars.  Draco grabbed the iron, resisting the push, staring in at Remus.  "Take a good look.  This is what happens to the enemies of the Dark Lord.  Do you understand?"

"It's Lupin," Draco said after a few seconds of incomprehension.  He sounded shocked.  Remus supposed that wasn't far from the truth.  He certainly no longer resembled a professor at Hogwarts, no matter how down-at-heels.  "It's -- "  Draco swallowed the rest of it, and his sneer looked forced.  His eyes flicked toward his father, seeking approval.  "Good.  You belong in a cage.  Werewolf.  Serves you right.  You could have killed us all.  Dumbledore was an idiot to trust you."

Draco, at least, wasn't wrong about that.  There were fresh corpses in the forest to prove it. 

Malfoy transferred his hold to the back of his son's neck.  "You see now why it's important that you accept the Mark?  So you don't end up associating with things like this?  Like him?"

Draco didn't want the Dark Mark.  That was interesting.  Potentially useful.  No wonder Malfoy hadn't brought Death Eaters to witness this.

"So I'm an object lesson now?" Remus asked, and managed a faint, croaking laugh.  "Are you going to show him what you really do in here?  You should show him what kind of man his father is, don't you think?  What the Dark Mark really requires?"

Malfoy, furious, extended his wand, then checked himself.  "Ignore him.  He's mad."

The marks from his last session of torture had faded, almost healed.  A point in Malfoy's favor.  He could claim civil treatment.

"Looks like he's starving," Draco said.  Not as if he cared.

"He refuses to eat.  We provide him with meals."  All true.  And misleading.  "We're not animals, Draco.  You know that.  We simply want the mudbloods to stay to themselves, or if they won't, then we have to purge them from our ranks.  It's just as I've told you all along:  they don't know their place.  If we let him go, he'd go right back to his old ways.  Corrupting everything he touches."

Remus laughed, a little wildly.  "Your father can tell you all about corruption, Draco.  Just ask him."

This time, Malfoy cast a hex.  Two hexes, actually; one stopped his voice, the other set up a fiery burn along his arms and legs.  A warning, not a punishment.  Punishment would undoubtedly come later.  "Everyone's favorite Hogwarts professor," Malfoy sneered.  "Look at him now, wallowing in his own filth.  This is what the mudbloods are, Draco.  Give them the opportunity, and they revert to this.  All he has to do is promise to go into a werewolf enclave, where he'll be safely monitored, but he refuses.  Pride and stubbornness.  Gryffindor to the bone."

Draco stared at him for a few seconds, then nodded.  "Like Potter."

"Exactly like Potter.  And Granger.  Put them in here, and they'll be just as stiff-necked, even if it's for their own good and the good of everyone around them.  Now, do you understand?"

The boy waited just a second too long, and then said, "Yes.  I understand."  That was not, Remus realized when Draco uneasily darted another look his way, an agreement. 

Malfoy seemed to catch the scent of disloyalty.  There was a flash of violence in his pale eyes.  "You understand what?"

"Mudbloods.  Can't be trusted." Draco's unease was turning to outright fear.  "I understand!"

"Do you, Draco."  Remus remembered that low, dangerous Malfoy purr.  "You can tell me," he murmured, head bent low to Draco's golden hair.  "Did Lupin ever -- "

"Ever what?"  

"Make unwelcome advances ...?  Towards you?"

"Lupin?"  Draco sounded astonished.  "Of course not!  He's bloody ancient!"

If he'd been able to, Remus would have laughed at the expression on Malfoy's face.  Clearly, Draco hadn't stopped to think that his father would be the same age as the creaky old professor. 

Malfoy hit his son.  Closed fist, side of the head, and Draco was thrown into the wall like a rag doll. 

For a frozen second, Remus felt nothing.  And then, weary surprise, and -- even worse -- a second of relief.  Someone else, not him.  For once, not him.

"Idiot!" Malfoy roared, and kicked the boy.  Draco screamed and tried to roll away, but the wall was holding him there.  Another kick.  "You will take the Dark Mark!  You will, you hear?  I will not have you disgrace this family!"

The ice inside of Remus broke with a sudden snap.  He lunged forward, grabbed the bars, and tried to yell, but of course Malfoy's hex locked it in his throat.  Draco was begging, no, dad, please.  Begging.

Remus slammed the heel of his hand into the bars.  Over and over.  Rattling the cage.

Malfoy turned to face him, eyes burning.  Naked rage and bloodlust contorting his face.

He pointed his wand at Remus and screamed, "Avada kedavra!"

Remus took the blast full in the chest.  It knocked him back across the cell, tumbled him into a boneless heap in the corner.  He felt the hideous crushing power of the curse bear down on him, trying to pull him into blackness, and welcomed it, wanted it ...

... but then it faded.

He couldn't move, or speak, but he was breathing.  His heart continued to beat in a slow, erratic rhythm.  Green crackles coursed over him as his werewolf-infected blood fought off the spell.

Draco got slowly to his feet, fear in his eyes.  Holding his injured side.

"Is he dead?" Remus heard him ask. 

Malfoy, fury suddenly spent, sheathed his wand and tossed his blond hair back over his shoulders.  "No," he spat.  "Werewolves aren't so easily destroyed, or we'd not have the plague of them we do.  Never mind him.  Get upstairs."

Draco hesitated for an instant, then nodded and limped away.

Malfoy came closer, stared in on Remus, and murmured, "I'll come back, Lupin.  Wait for me."

Blackness closed in, after that.  Not the empty darkness of death.

This was crowded with ghosts, and whispers, and fear.

"Remus?"  Sirius was there, somehow.  Moving him.  Holding him on his lap, cradling his limp, broken body.  "Remus!"

"Alive," Remus whispered.  Unfortunately.  He couldn't even remember why he'd been angry with Sirius, just now.  Too much pain.  "Can’t do this."

Sirius rocked him slowly, back and forth.  "He's gone."

"He'll come back."

"You can make it, Moony.  I spent twelve years in Azkaban, you can do this."

"He'll come back," Remus said again, and the fear took hold, unbreakable and damning.  "Stop him.  Please, Sirius, if you're here, stop him.  Don't let him ..."

"What?  Don't let him what?  Remus?"  There was desperate anguish in Sirius' silver-gray eyes.  "What are they doing to you?"

"What do you expect they'd do?"  Remus felt strong enough to pull away, inch to the cold support of the cage.  "You can't stop them, can you?  Because you're a fucking phantom.  A brain fever.  An illusion."

"I can help -- "

"You can't.  Sirius, you're killing me ..."  He shivered again, violently.  "You're killing me with hope."

Sirius was mute with anguish. 

"Don't come back," Remus said, and turned away from him to huddle against the cold stern comfort of the filthy floor.  "If you ever loved me at all, please, don't come back, I can't -- I can't stand it if you -- "

Warm fingers trailed over his hair, his neck, his shoulder.

"Stay alive," Sirius said.  "You fucking die on me, Moony, and I'll hunt your ghost down and kill you all over."

For some reason, that made Remus smile.  Wearily.  Darkly.

The dead girl asked, Wordt u gekwetst?

Sirius was gone.

"Not a thing's wrong with me.  I'm utterly bloody perfect," Remus said, and banged his head hard into stone.  Die, you stupid fool.  Why won't you die?

Again.

Again.

Again.

He kept at it until unconsciousness descended.

... on to Part 5 ... 

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