Chapter 12:
Picking up the Pieces
As lightning to the children eased
With explanation kind,
The truth must dazzle gradually
Or every man be blind
~ Emily Dickinson, Poem #1129
Romania, Year Eight
It was an old and familiar sensation: waking up in a dusty and dilapidated room, covered with werewolf bites. Remus couldn't see the spots that hurt the most, at least not without twisting his neck more than he cared to at the moment (wolves went for the shoulders when they attacked, that or the face, and he'd known enough to keep his nose and carotid arteries far away from Vlad).
Pulling his arm from under the covers to inspect a deep scratch that was edged with black and red, his memory turned, oddly enough, to the Muggle graduate students. Mike, during his brief stay in Transylvania, had been repeatedly bitten and scratched by a variety of creatures he didn't believe in. Towards the end he had accepted in some way that Remus was part of this mythical world; but perhaps, back in places the wizard knew nothing of -- New York City, or California -- he would come up with a "scientific explanation" for everything that had happened.
Was it Fang Formula that Mihail had prepared yesterday, or Poultice Potion? The book… what was it called…something with Mandrake? Well, it had probably been destroyed in the fire. And Mihail couldn't be expected to help, not suffering as he was from a vampire bite, smoke inhalation, and -- here Remus smiled wryly to himself -- a good case of the heebie-jeebies. He'd thought the old man was going to have a heart attack when Remus suggested he go back to Grigore's cottage with Liszka and Bela, rather than sleep in the granary with the mice. Talk about throwing someone to the wolves.
Garlic, ginger, ginseng, spider silk, nightshade, mandragora, floated through Remus' half-delirious thoughts. That was the Fang Formula, the one Mihail had helped him make years ago for…
At thoughts of Bela, Remus put his face into the wadded-up blanket he was using as a pillow, sick with worry. He wanted to forget the memories of the dangerously ill little boy whose throat Vlad had tried to tear out -- who later complained that Remus' potion was too good, because who would believe he was a werewolf if he didn't have a scar?
He tried even harder to block out last night's images of the intrepid young wolf, and young man, who had survived the conflagration at Castle Arghezi. Wizards couldn't regrow limbs, although there were relatively simple ways of getting around a missing foot or even a leg. Remus had learned a lot, spending three or four days a month in the hospital wing, enough so that Madam Pomfrey used to joke that he was going to take her job.
Yes, Bela would be fine as a human. But as a wolf? They kept none of their magical conveniences when they transformed, and Remus knew the boy wanted to be a pack leader some day. He might disapprove, but he would never say so, and Bela had the right to make his own way in the world. What would become of him now?
He regretted not having learned every detail about the charms Madam Pomfrey used on the injured students. He'd seen her patch up Davey Gudgeon, whose face was torn nearly off and who Remus was sure was blind; she'd used a -- what was the name of the charm? He'd remember in a moment…
Realizing how cloudy his mind was, his thoughts periodically dreamlike as he dozed, Remus forced himself up off of the pile of blankets on the granary floor. He would check on Mihail, and the castle, and then he would worry about Bela. It seemed selfish to think of himself at a moment like this, but if his own bites weren't treated he would be ill and of no use to anyone.
The morning was cool, and the chill air helped clear Remus' head as he sat up and tried to plan for the day. His eyes burned from smoke, and taking a deep breath made him cough. Finally, he managed to stand up and look around the granary, one of the few rooms untouched by the magical duel or by fire. Mihail slept between two sacks of rye flour, his face pallid from the vampire attack but his breathing steady.
He didn't awaken when called, so finally Remus put one hand on his shoulder and shook him gently. With fatigue so profound even his eyelids were heavy, the old servant blinked -- then his eyes stuck open in helpless terror as he realized what had happened, where he was, and who was touching him.
"Relax," said Remus, fighting the urge to say "I don't bite" (how could he think about cracking jokes this morning?). "Don't… don't be scared." Even in his role as "Dad," he'd never had to say those words. "Um… well, look, you were bitten by a vampire. Only once, you're in no danger, but I thought -- if I could brew a potion for you, a blood regenerator, you would get better more quickly."
"Potion…Don't need fancy potion... Drink…" Mihail was winded just saying the few words.
Remus wondered if it was harder on old people to lose blood, and he began to worry that the octogenarian had a weak heart. He would go to Laszlo if he had to. "You want a drink?"
"Don't… regenerate. Drink!"
"You want to drink blood?" A bit unsavory, he thought, though he supposed it was the most obvious remedy. "From a…?"
"Chicken," Mihail murmured, and closed his eyes again.
Getting a glass of chicken blood was easier than brewing a complex potion, but Remus was not looking forward to the task as he left the granary and headed for the stable.
The first thing he saw as he exited the stone storage room was the ruined greenhouse. The gaping hole in its wall was no longer splintered, but warped and melted into a twisted orifice by the intense heat. After the Desiccation Demon had done its job, the dried logs and leaves ignited explosively at a single spark from the wizard's duel, turning into a roaring inferno while Remus was outside burning the corpse.
The flames quickly spread into the library, where the stacks of dry parchment and the abundance of air in the tall room added to the heat and flames. The lead strips supporting the panels of greenhouse glass had softened, so that the glass fell and shattered on the stone floor, shards melting against hot stones. Droplets of glass and metal spattered the floor, frozen now into tongues and globes; what panels remained in place were cracked in bizarre patterns and hung precariously from their supports. It was beautiful in the way that the tree molds and barren black fields of Vesuvius were beautiful, a testament to the narrow range of conditions demanded by precarious Life. Remus mourned the loss of the budding, chirping, and snapping plants as he made a quick search through the ruins for signs of Vlad or Grigore.
Vlad he was quite certain was dead, but he still had yet to find Grigore, and the thought of Cuza weighed on his mind. Certainly the vampire hadn't escaped somehow? He cursed himself for entrusting such an important task to the Beta, and even more that his emotional leave-taking with Lamia that had delayed his rescue of the survivors and attempts to extinguish the blaze.
He'd thrown quick Flame Freezing Charms every time he saw live flames, but these weren't entirely efficient against fires that burned hotter than wood. Smoke continued to billow from every room as he helped Liszka and Bela onto a broomstick for their trip back to Grigore's cottage and installed Mihail in the granary. Even giving the conflagration his full attention, it was more than an hour before Remus was able to smother or freeze everything that smoldered in the castle; it didn't help that there was no water.
The door from the greenhouse to the kitchens was open, and a black streak of charred wood and leaves formed an arrow across the floor. This was the only damage from fire, as the room was mostly stone, but holes gaped in the ceiling after last night's struggle to reset the Jupiter wards.
Remus checked, now, that the cupboards containing the potion ingredients were intact. Most were, and all but the fresh herbs could still be used -- but of course there was no garlic. He filled the pockets of his robes with dogwood, ginger, and nightshade, and picked up a small pewter cauldron from near the stove. Then he walked out to the ruins of the stable gate and ran his hand along what appeared to be empty space.
It felt solid as a stone wall, and gave off a contented hum as he stroked it, like a cat. Alone, with Alexandru's famous library in ashes, Remus had successfully reset the Jupiter ward last night not long after moonrise.
Both planets, Jupiter and Saturn, were visible as the sky darkened and the nearly full moon rose. Remus' first attempts to disarm the Kronos curse brought the screams of a raven, and his wand was torn from his hands by invisible claws. He stared at the sky for a long while, thinking hard. Jupiter was forty degrees to the right of the moon; Saturn, slightly to its left, dimmed by its red light but by no means occulted.
Could he create a moonward, and have it deflect Saturn while he called on Jupiter? Selene had no natural tendency to fight her uncle, but Remus knew her power well, and relished the opportunity to toy with her loyalties as she did with his. It would take very little to shift the power balance, as well, for Jupiter was stronger than Kronos.
He began with the simplest ward, the one he'd put on every path into every village for twenty miles in any direction. Then, recalling all of the times he had let himself into and out of the castle, he pointed his wand at the stable gate and summoned Jupiter.
The first time nothing happened; the spell rebounded as before, and he chased his wand across the scorched ground. After exiting the gate to strengthen the lunar ward from both sides, however, the raven's cry was accompanied by a lightning bolt and the whinny of scared horses.
It had now become a three-way battle in which he was more spectator than participant. Lightning struck the roofs behind him, and the screams of unseen birds of prey mingled with the thunder of hooves, the clash of metal, and splintering of wood both magical and real.
How long it lasted, and how much this magical war contributed to the earlier duel in completing the destruction of Castle Arghezi, Remus didn't know. His eyes were fixed on the stable gate, both hands gripping his wand as he concentrated all his efforts on the side of Zeus. It took him a long moment to realize that the silence that replaced the chaos was a deeper and more peaceful one than he had heard for twenty-four hours.
The magical alarms had ceased wailing. Trying to walk through the gate, Remus was greeted by the familiar deflection, although he could see through to the forest and the stars.
The triumph saddened him, for it reminded him of his teacher, who spent so many evenings lecturing and quizzing him on wards. Alexandru would have been proud; he would also, no doubt, have had plenty of suggestions on how Remus could have done better. Fortunately, the young English wizard was exhausted beyond grief, and made his way to the granary under the light of the Harvest Moon. He still held his wand as he slept, fearing a third stage to the invasion, his dreams full of falling timbers, screaming, and the leers of vampires.
There had been no third stage. He and Mihail had slept through the night -- by the looks of the sun, it was nearing midday -- and a bit of magic would soon put a roof over the bedrooms again.
Only Grigore remained unaccounted for.
Grigore -- and Cuza.
Remus turned from his inspection of the Jupiter ward to find a trail of blood leading to the stable. His breath caught in his throat as he approached, hand on the wand in his belt.
Had Grigore failed to finish off their common enemy, who had come back at nightfall and renewed his strength by feeding on the animals? Were all of his efforts at the Jupiter wards for nothing, as the vampire had never left the castle, and was now trapped inside it?
The stable door was ajar, and as he opened it further heard sounds of clattering toenails and scuffling.
It was carnage. The sheep had all been killed, and most of them carried off. Feathers were the only remains of the hens. The cow lay on one side, gashes along her shoulder and her throat torn out. Her belly had been slit along the bottom to allow access to the tastiest parts.
Remus took his hand off his wand, and would have laughed except he was afraid he'd scare whatever lurked in the corners.
Stage three, he thought, the animals.
In all his efforts with the celestial powers, he'd forgotten to set up a few boards or stones to keep the non-magical creatures that prowled the hills away.
Although the turn of events meant there was nothing for him and Mihail to eat -- it might even be tricky finding him a glass of chicken blood -- Remus was amused. Amused at being outwitted not by Cuza and his supply of magic tricks, but by his own cousins: for there was only one species that would open a cow that way.
He sat on the floor so as not to be too imposing, and gave a low, friendly whine. It was one of the easiest wolf sounds to make as a human, and it worked like magic. A gray wolf, a very small one (but maybe his standards were off) came trotting out from behind a toppled board, regarding him quizzically with wise yellow eyes.
From the white hairs in her snout, and the stiffness in her hips, he guessed that she was very old -- perhaps a leader of others who remained hidden. She would know his kind, he guessed, and he gave her his hand to sniff. He didn't have a tail to wag, but he made one more courteous noise and backed out of the room, leaving them to their feast.
"Say hello to the grandkids, old lady," he murmured as he left, hoping that she had some.
He found a scrap of parchment in the kitchen and sat on the edge of the stone cistern to compose a letter to Liszka. He asked how she and Bela were doing, whether they'd seen Grigore yet, and to please, if she had time, come by with a chicken.
The owl departed, and he turned to see that the wolf observing the proceedings, almost hidden behind the stable door. Not seeming to mind his gaze, she slunk out, cautiously peering from side to side as she made her way to the ruined stable gate. She stood in the open archway for an instant regarding Remus with something like respect and then, with a final flick of her tail, she vanished. He felt a small but distinct pleasure at being respected by a simple wolf. Every other relationship in his life seemed excruciatingly complicated by comparison.
Sighing, he rose and started back for the granary, aware that he had nothing for Mihail. He turned and stopped, wondering if the Desiccation Demon had been able to dry up the entire underground reservoir of water in the cistern. He knew that it ran deep under the castle, too deep for him to summon without a wand. He hoped that was the case as he raised his wand and cried "aquosus." Before he could even lower his arms, he was drenched as a slug of water hung over him for an instant and then rained down, soaking his torn and sooty clothes.
He had to laugh at the absurdity of this and of his entire situation, but the sound brought a cry from the granary and he ran to investigate. Mihail had forced himself to sit up, his pale face troubled, and was less than reassured by the appearance of wet, grinning Remus.
Probably thinks I've gone mad, Remus thought, trying to erase the smile from his face (he'd burst out laughing at Peter's funeral, too). Mad or not, he had to take care of both of them. At least they had water for drinking and for brewing potions. He sat by the old man's bed and murmured the best comforting phrases he knew, awaiting Liszka's owl.
Later in the afternoon, he brewed the Poultice Potion under Mihail's watchful eye, critical as any Potions Master back at Hogwarts. From the great hall, which was not so ravaged by fire as the library wing of the castle, he had dragged out a couple of chairs and found an iron tripod for the cauldron. A small magical fire crackled merrily underneath the cauldron and kept away the autumn chill.
Liszka's chicken (delivered by Vanu, a timid Beta who knew nothing of Grigore) had helped Mihail recover some of his energy and color. He was well enough to speak sharply to Remus when he failed to stir the mixture properly or to add an ingredient at precisely the right time. In fact, the old servant seemed positively talkative. Something in the experience of the last day had freed him from his former fear and suspicion of the English werewolf.
"Have you added the dogwood?" he asked, trying to peer over the rim of the cauldron from his vantage. He was wrapped in blankets like a mummy, and only his worried eyes and sooty cheeks peeked out from the swaddling.
"Several minutes ago," Remus replied mildly.
"Ah, yes," Mihail grunted. "It appears to have the right consistency. A few more minutes ought to do it." After regarding the younger man carefully for several moments, he asked, "Being bitten by another...werewolf, does that... I mean, is it different than..."
"Yes. It hurts more than the bite of a normal wolf or a dog." Remus had been bitten by Padfoot on several occasions and those wounds vanished almost completely when he transformed back to human.
"For a human... it would be even more painful, I suppose," the old man said cautiously. Remus merely nodded, not wanting to provide Mihail with any more details than he asked for. He had no memories of his own bite; even Bela, who'd been considerably older, recalled only being out at night one instant, and having Remus arrive with the potion the next. Perhaps amnesia was one of the side effects, or perhaps the mind was occupied by the change -- but he didn't know. He had never thought to wonder what went on in one's mind at the time, or even whether he would have been different as a person had he not been bitten (a dreadful swot, Sirius always said).
"My mother," began Mihail in a distant tone, "screamed for days, they told me, before she... "
"But you were not present?" he asked, with genuine concern. No child should have to suffer through such an experience.
The old man shook his head, still wandering off in a far country of memory. "I was sent to the castle, to stay with my godfather, the old master... Master Arghezi's father." He shuddered at the name and continued, "I never saw my mother again."
"I'm sorry," Remus murmured in response, wondering if Mihail had almost been bitten himself; but he didn't dare ask. "It must have been very hard for you."
"They took me in and treated me well," shrugged Mihail, attempting to shake off the burden of painful memories, "and I served the Master faithfully."
The mention of Arghezi's name silenced them both, leaving only the sounds of the fire, popping and crackling under the cauldron, and of the wooden spoon, scraping hypnotically along the bottom. Alexandru's presence still lingered, almost as if his ghost haunted the castle, although Remus had seen no sign of any ghosts so far. There was so much about him that Remus would never understand, so many things that he had wanted to ask. But it was too late.
The old man stood and shuffled over to the cauldron, looking down into the thick, bubbling brew with a practiced eye.
"Ready," he said simply and sat down heavily again in the chair.
Remus stopped stirring and began to ladle the mixture into the bottles which he had salvaged from the kitchen. As he worked, he thought about the castle when Mihail and Alexandru had been younger. No one could have known that things would end in this way, that the four hundred year-old building would be so thoroughly destroyed. But the seeds had been planted a long time ago; he understood that much.
"Er, I have to go and...use the potion now," said Remus uncomfortably, knowing that Mihail would not be keen to see his multitude of scratches and bites. "I'll just go into the kitchens; it shouldn't, er, take long. Will you be all right out here?."
The old man waved a vague hand in his direction, lost in some memory. At least he wasn't afraid of becoming fodder for monsters if left alone, as well he might be, considering that in the last day or so he had been chased by werewolves and bitten by a vampire.
Application of the potion did not instantly erase the burning and itching of his wounds, but Remus felt the pain recede, fading into the background instead of shouting angrily in the foreground of his senses. His mind cleared, too, freeing him from the urge to giggle insanely. He walked out of the kitchens with a considerably lighter step. Mihail did not appear to have moved from his chair, still wrapped up like the invalid he was.
Remus put out the magical fire under the cauldron and called for some water with his wand, neatly dropping a blob into the pot. He applied himself to scrubbing out the dried bits of potion stuck to the sides and lip of the cauldron. While he worked, the old servant muttered to himself without taking notice of the younger wizard.
"Warned him, yes, but couldn't save him," Mihail murmured distinctly enough for Remus to understand.
"Save whom?" he said mildly, although he suspected he knew the answer. Remus heard agitation growing in the other's voice and looked up from his scrubbing to see the old man holding himself rigidly in the chair, arms wrapped tightly around his chest. "You should not torture yourself." he counseled. "You could not have foreseen this attack."
"No. Not this," responded the aged servant, his voice thick with emotion, "but back then. I was young and they would not believe me, none of them."
"What are you saying," Remus inquired, wiping his hands carefully on his robes and taking a seat next to an agitated Mihail, "that you knew Cuza was a vampire when he came to the castle the first time?"
Mihail shook his head in a series of rapid jerks which degenerated into a violent spasm wracking his entire frame. Past events seemed to have seized the old man's body as well as his mind. It was as if there had been a Dementor right there on the spot, forcing him to relive his worst memories.
Remus picked up a cup of water sitting next to the chair and held it to the shaking lips, coaxing Mihail into taking a drink. After a few minutes, the man seemed to calm down slightly, enough to speak at any rate.
"I am the only one left," he said dully in a slow, solemn voice, "who knows that happened here, and soon I--"
He broke off abruptly and seemed to be about to fly off the handle once more. Gently, Remus laid a hand on his arm -- pleased that the man did not flinch -- and said, "Will you tell me what happened? Perhaps together we can make some sense out of it."
With a swift, sharp glance to the younger man, Mihail considered the request. He nodded slowly to himself and then motioned for the cup of water. After taking a long drink, he began speaking while nervously turning the cup in both hands and staring at the round belly of the pewter cauldron.
"The Arghezi family lived here for three hundred and twenty years," Mihail began in a measured, even voice. "Now that line has ended. Master Alexandru was the last of them."
"He had just one brother?" asked Remus hesitantly, not sure how a discussion of Mircea Arghezi would be received. But Mihail answered promptly, reciting rather than talking and appearing eager to unburden himself.
"The old master, my godfather, was a proud man, who wanted the best for his children, although things did not work out as he planned. He married a beautiful but frail witch, who bore him two sons, Master Alexandru and his brother Mircea who was five years the younger. I came to the castle shortly after his birth. Master Alexandru's mother confined herself to bed for the most part after the birth of Mircea. We never knew, not even when she died, what illness the old mistress had, or even if she had an illness. Much later, when Master Alexandru took her to England to escape the business at the castle, the wizard medics there could find nothing specifically wrong with her. However, he loved her very much and always tried to indulge her as best he could."
"Oh, for the love of Selene," said Remus as gently as he could, already tiring of the convoluted and formal style speaking style that the normally silent man put on, "you needn't call him Master any more; Alexandru will do. He was your friend, as well as mine." Humans and wolves had such similar hierarchies, it was a wonder they couldn't seem to get along.
Blinking back tears, the old man nodded and continued. "Because of his wife's delicate health, the old master did not want Mas-- Alexandru to go far for school, although he believed that his children should receive a good education. Therefore, Alexandru attended school in Bucharest at the academy there. His younger brother had something of his mother's health and temper. He did not wish to go away to school, but stayed at home, taught largely by his father and later, by Alexandru."
"And you," Remus prompted, "learned potion brewing and other things as well?"
"The old master taught me, too, until he was killed. When Alexandru was away at school for his final year, the old master died suddenly; we were never certain how or why. Rumors were flying in Stilpescu about some sort of wizard's duel, but there was never any evidence one way or the other. Some said that the old master dabbled in the Dark Arts and that he went looking for creatures of Darkness. I do not know myself. I was young then and did not know as much as I do now." He sighed a soft, sad moan which spoke volumes about the trials he must have encountered in the service of Alexandru Arghezi.
"When M-- Alexandru finished school, he wanted to see more of the world. Back then, before all the Muggle wars, travel was quite easy. His mother wanted him to be at home, but Alexandru could not entirely give up his desires. Therefore, he spent considerable time building the library, making trips to Bucharest and some of the other cities nearby to scour the shops for rare and arcane books. I accompanied him on many of those trips, rarely understanding the books he bought (except the herbology and potions texts), but always enjoying the travel. Alexandru was gone from the castle much of the time, between seeking books and taking care of the run-of-the-mill problems of the local people."
Mihail stopped to take another drink of water, handing the empty cup to Remus for a refill. He did not seem eager to continue after he received a fresh cup, staring into the liquid for some time before continuing. "In Tirgoviste, he used to frequent the book shop of Mr. Liliescu, so much so that the bookseller would invite us to his home for tea or dinner whenever we came to the city. It was there that Alexandru met his daughter, Ana Maria."
The old man glanced apprehensively at Remus, gauging his reaction to the name. While Mihail had not been present yesterday in the great hall for that terrifying and revealing meeting with Lamia (or Ana Maria, a name which Remus could not bring himself to use), he suspected that Remus knew her. However, years of practice had given Remus the ability to hide emotions very effectively. He merely nodded for the man to continue his story. Inside, however, he felt his pulse quicken.
"She was seventeen when he first met her, quiet -- not shy by any means -- and also a powerful witch knowledgeable in magic as well as in many other subjects, history, astronomy, and the like. He was very taken with her and she seemed to love him, too. They were married a year after they met and she came to live at the castle."
"Ana Maria got on well with Alexandru's mother; she seemed to be understanding of her health and moods. Mircea adored her, following her around like a puppy sometimes. She tutored him, although they were close to the same age, and they often played chess in the library or in the great hall. Alexandru continued to travel frequently. I think he was glad that his brother had some company." Here Mihail paused for a drink and grumbled, "Too trusting, he was."
"Whenever we returned from one of these trips, she helped sort the new volumes and they talked long into the night about all the things in those books. Looking back, perhaps Alexandru was foolish to think that he could simply bring her here and continue his old life of wandering. She never complained, but I saw the signs myself."
"What do you mean?" Remus asked sharply. He was having trouble imagining Lamia as young; she had looked young, probably much as she had when she first came to the castle, but had acted like... anything but a young girl.
"She cried when she thought no one was watching. The maids told me that. And she would stay in her room, sometimes all day, and refuse to eat. Maybe later, after she had become... after she changed, we didn't notice at first because she always did those things."
Remus was seized by the desire to know what Ana Maria had been like. He tried to imagine Lamia as a human, as the girl who had come to the castle almost sixty years ago, but failed. Images and sounds battled inside him: her harsh laughter when she'd appeared in the great hall yesterday with fresh blood on her chin clashed with her wordless cries as she clung to him when they made love in her tent. Which was real and which was a lie?
Perhaps he had glimpsed Ana Maria in the portrait gallery: a lonely and scared girl surrounded by the cold, unforgiving stones of Castle Arghezi. He felt a phantom of her last kiss on his lips...already she receded from him, like a fast-moving train pulling away from the station. Desperately, he hoped that he could at least hold on to her kiss and to the hope that she had been human at the end.
The old man coughed loudly, startling Remus who seemed to have fallen into a daze.
He looked at the younger wizard and shook his head regretfully, continuing, "After they had been married for about a year, Cuza appeared, presenting himself at the castle as an old friend of Alexandru's father. None of us had heard of him, but he seemed to know a great deal about the old master and had a few items from him that could only have been gifts to a valued friend. Whether Cuza had been a friend to the old master or the wizard responsible for his death, I cannot say. After we left the castle, Alexandru tormented himself about this very question; he never knew the answer either."
"The family enjoyed Cuza's company; he made himself very charming. That first time, he stayed for a week and afterwards Ana Maria became very ill. No one connected connect the two events at the time. In fact, Alexandru and I left shortly thereafter for a trip to Prague which occupied us for more than a month. But before he left, he assured himself that Ana Maria had recovered from her illness. Oh, if only he had read the signs correctly!"
Mihail's hands were now starting to shake and his voice took on more emotion. Remus found that he gripped the arms of his own chair tightly, in anticipation of what he knew was coming in the old man's tale.
"While we were on that trip, Cuza came back to the castle on some excuse, worming his way into the hearts of the family and staying for the greater part of a month. We returned to find that he had just departed. Ana Maria had been sick while we were gone, but she seemed well when we saw her, although a little pale. Alexandru was preoccupied with the finds that he had made in Prague and got to work cataloguing all the new books with her help."
"And by that time...Ana Maria was a vampire, wasn't she?" inquired Remus, compelled to ask what he did not want to know.
"Almost certainly. Was my master blind to the fact that his wife was now a vampire?" Mihail shook his head in puzzlement. "Of course, she lost her appetite and often asked to have meals sent to her room, but she used to do that before. Perhaps Alexandru hoped that she might be with child; certainly his mother hinted that to him. Should I have read the signs better and warned them? I don't think I will ever know, but I cannot stop wondering."
"Do not torture yourself so," Remus interjected forcefully, as much to himself as to the old man.
The other sighed, staring into his cup for a time, then continued, "The same strange illness, like the one that she had, began to strike some of the servants. Mircea was also ill at about that time. I suppose that Cuza must have been sneaking into the castle at odd times to be with Ana Maria. The castle was not protected magically as strongly as it is now."
He paused again and held his cup out for a refill, his hand shaking so badly that half the water Remus summoned did not make it into the cup, but splashed noisily on the stones below.
"It was a disease, a cancer, spreading through the castle," he continued after taking another deep drink. "Alexandru and his mother did not notice, but I saw the changes... I was slow to put a name to it and even slower to say something. Oh! I should have warned them sooner!"
"But would Alexandru have believed you?" Remus wondered. No answer came and both men were silent for a time. The rest of the tale lurked, weighing upon their minds like a great sleeping dragon lying curled up just out of sight, but waiting to bring itself to full height and attack.
"Tell me what happened then," murmured Remus.
"It was the autumn of 1935," began Mihail slowly, his voice beginning to crack somewhat, "and Alexandru wanted to take one more trip to Bucharest before the snows buried the castle for the winter. His mother begged him not to go on that trip, even more than she usually did. Although she rarely left her room, did she suspect that something was going on? I refused to go; something was not right in the castle, and I felt great uneasiness at leaving, and for good reason. Soon after Alexandru left, Cuza came to the castle once more and Ana Maria welcomed him as a guest. Now I watched the two of them together closely and began to suspect what he was....and what she had become, too."
"And I became concerned for the young master, for Mircea, too. While Alexandru was gone that last time, Mircea became ill again and Ana Maria nursed him back to health. I was very worried indeed for him and I draped garlic around his bed. Someone kept removing all the garlic, though."
"You protected yourself with garlic, too, no doubt," Remus said. The thought of the young Mihail, already draped in garlic, with probably a bit of wolfsbane thrown in for good measure, caused him to smile slightly even though he knew the tale was moving to a tragic end.
"I knew they were in the castle and I protected myself. I heard their...songs," replied the old man, the anguish rising in his voice. "Some nights it was all I could do to keep myself in my room when they called to me. It was the same as yesterday, when she -- "
"I know. I've heard that song, too." Remus interrupted hastily. Oh, Lamia, he thought to himself, how could you?
Mihail reached over and gripped Remus' forearm tightly, causing him to wince. The touch seemed to steady the old man (although the many wounds on Remus' arm screamed in pain), and he spoke again in a rather controlled and jerky manner, "An early and unexpected snowstorm delayed Alexandru's return to the castle from Bucharest. He came back late one evening, exhausted from a difficult journey up the mountain in the snow, just as the household was about to retire. Both Ana Maria and Mircea were agitated, although for very different reasons, I know now. Mircea was still very pale and drawn. Something seemed to be preying on his mind. I heard him mumble something to his brother about being quite delirious with fever during his illness and having some residual nightmares."
"Mircea must have known somehow that he had been bitten twice by a vampire," mused Remus. "The victims usually do not know, but maybe he did have nightmares."
"... or the sight of Ana Maria made him realize something," concluded Mihail. "We never knew if she or Cuza were the one to attack him first. She was part of it, that much I do know. Alexandru talked often of this. He didn't want to believe that it was her..." The old man gave a snort of disgust, "In spite of all the monstrous things that she did after becoming a vampire, I believe he still loved her in some way."
"Is that so hard to believe?" Remus said softly. His words drew a sharp, questioning glare from Mihail.
"I knew her, too," he continued under the harsh gaze of the old servant who grunted in an I-told-you-so way. "I did not know at first what she was... or who she was. She never mentioned the castle or... any of the rest." Remus halted as Mihail drew back his hand, making his scars sting afresh.
"I can understand how Alexandru felt. She was..." What? How could he express the mixture of longing and frustration that her memory called forth? Trying to understand her was like trying to put his arms around smoke, and yet there was that compulsion to do so. After struggling with himself for several moments, he gave up. Would he ever understand her, or himself?
"What happened that night?" Remus asked as a way of freeing himself from his own memories.
Mihail eyed him suspiciously, but continued, "The family awoke to screaming in the corridor on the second floor of the west wing. It sounded like Mircea shouting incoherently. I rushed out of my room to see him fleeing down the stairs. He was by himself, crying for someone to go away. I saw no one (although there were undoubtedly bats trailing after him that I did not see). Alexandru shouted at me to take care of his mother and followed his brother through the entrance hall and up the steps of the tower. We thought that he had relapsed into his former illness, but that was not the case, of course.
"The boy was about to be bitten for the third time, wasn't he? And he had awoken to that before the act was committed." Remus shook his head in wonder, thinking of the poor boy Stefan, whom he and Alexandru had rescued from a third vampire bite. Now he knew fully the pain which wracked the old vampire hunter to hear the boy scream.
"Do you know what happened in the tower?" Remus said, fearing that he already knew most of it, but needing to hear it somehow.
"Later, much later, and only when he was in his cups, Alexandru told me what had happened that night at the top of the tower, " replied Mihail heavily. "When he reached the top, he found that Cuza had appeared and was trying to put Mircea under his spell. When the boy saw Alexandru, the spell was broken, at least temporarily and he begged forgiveness of his brother. Cuza attempted to draw Mircea to him, even as Alexandru raged at him. They fought and the vampire cursed Alexandru, knocking him down briefly. The vampire turned on Mircea who...fell or... jumped from the tower to the rocks below."
"You don't know?" asked Remus sharply, feeling at once the horrible pain of that long plunge.
Mihail shook his head violently. "The Mas- Alexandru always felt that his brother had jumped, thinking that the vampire had won the fight. He did not often speak of it... only when he had drunk too much of his strongest brandy."
"What was he like, Mircea?" Remus inquired gently, not wanting to pain the old man overmuch, but haunted by the dark eyes and curving smile in the portrait.
"A good boy," replied the aged servant promptly, "one who placed the wishes of others before his own. He loved his mother and looked up to his older brother. But he was not strong, not strong enough to..."
"He was caught in an impossible situation," Remus concluded quietly, while the old man sobbed noisily, mopping up a flood of tears with the corner of his blanket. "In the end, he was strong enough to make a difficult choice, to take a very hard road... but he did resist."
"Alexandru regretted his loss deeply," he sniffled loudly while nodding his head vigorously, "but he blamed Cuza. He was always very proud of his brother."
"And Cuza got away?"
"Yes, although we knew that our troubles were just beginning. When he came down from the tower, Alexandru told me to get his mother out of the castle that very night, to take her to safety with friends in the village. I left with the rest of the servants, the ones who were still living, that is. But Alexandru stayed to confront Ana Maria. I told him all that I had seen of her, and at last he seemed willing to believe me. He found her in the greenhouse near dawn. I do not know what they said to one another, but Alexandru became very angry. He tried to curse her, but she was a powerful witch and becoming a vampire had not diminished her power. She fought back and then Cuza appeared. He came crashing through the glass of the greenhouse. Alexandru could not win a wizard's duel against the two of them. He was lucky to have escaped the castle alive."
"And you went to Britain then?"
"Alexandru did not succeed in getting back into the castle that winter or spring. The vampires, for Cuza had assembled quite a circle around him, were too strong for one wizard alone. He could not muster enough support from the local wizards to drive them out. Also, the whole incident had greatly upset his mother, who never had a strong constitution. She had cousins in England who invited us to stay with them. We went, but it was always his intention to return after seeing her settled. But, she needed him, she said. Within a few years, the Muggle war had broken out in Europe and the Ministry of Magic was struggling to deal with the dark wizard Grindelwald. Alexandru was a very powerful wizard, much in demand from the English Ministry."
"That's where he met Jonathan Herman?" Remus asked, thinking back to the little man, a fellow teacher at Pufflepod and the reason, more or less, that he came to Transylvania eight years before.
"Yes. Mr. Herman was Alexandru's good friend for many years, perhaps the only one he missed when he returned here," mused the old man. Then in a bitter tone, he said, "Why did we come back?"
Lamia had asked herself the same question. Why indeed? Either there was no answer to the question, or the answer was so dreadfully complicated that it would take years to unravel. Remus could not see the right path out of that thicket just yet.
Mihail yawned loudly, prompting the younger wizard to note the moon peeking out from behind the tower, its height telling him it was just past nine o'clock. Night had fallen without either man noticing, and it promised to be clear and cold.
"C'mon," drawled Remus sleepily, "Let's get you to bed."
He helped the older wizard to stand and supported him as they shuffled across the brightly lit flagstones to the dark granary. Once inside, he conjured light from his wand, enough to see the piles of blankets and sacks of flour that served as makeshift beds. He settled Mihail as comfortably as he could, kneeling next to him to wrap him up warmly in several blankets.
"I saw him yesterday in the portrait gallery," Remus murmured dreamily. The old man's eyes flew open and he clenched the other's hand.
"He smiled at us," he said absent-mindedly as he took Mihail's hand and tucked it under the blankets, "and she asked him to forgive her."
_______________________________
Bela didn't reply to Remus' next few owls, and Remus was so distracted by Alexandru's death, Grigore's disappearance, the wreckage at the castle, and by bundling Mihail off to England to the care of Jonathan Herman that he didn't make it out to see the Fives all month. Still, orbital mechanics put a limit on how long the boy and his adoptive father could avoid each other -- and it didn't occur to Remus that encountering an angry and bitter Bela on the afternoon of the full moon was a foolish idea.
It was now late autumn and the sun set early, but they had enough time for a vicious fight. Bela was lying in bed, refusing to get up or to transform with the pack. He responded to Remus' offer to take him to Bucharest to be fitted for a magical shoe with a stream of invective about how Remus must be pleased that he, Bela, would never be a real wolf, and was so despicable that he wouldn't even wait a month before bringing up the city.
Remus, as usual, was more quiet and thoughtful than angry, sitting on the edge of the bed as if reading a bedtime story the way he had done until the boy was almost thirteen. Bela grew even crueler. He said Remus had done no good for Pack Five whatsoever; all his efforts to integrate them with the villagers had just made it easier for humans to recognize and kill them.
"The only reason you could survive in England is that you kept it a secret!" Bela shouted at the top of his voice (the rest of the pack had gone outside to let them fight it out). "Well, that doesn't work here. And here you are, living in this filthy castle, waited on by servants" (Liszka must have told him this) "and acting like -- like a lapdog to a vile -- "
"Alexandru was not vile," Remus interrupted, stung. "He apologized to us -- me, you, Liszka, while he... while he died."
Bela dismissed Remus' emotions with a sneer. "Sure, he can apologize when he's DEAD! But how many of us had he killed?"
Remus remembered the Ministry tales, and the half-used box of silver bullets, and didn't answer that. "You're angry, and scared, and it's understandable," he said, wondering how he'd ended up so pedantic. "But the villagers know you, and respect you; you can't deny -- "
Bela made a hideous noise, somewhere between a scream and a howl, a sound so unnatural it made Remus stand up to peek out the window at the sun although he felt no signs of moonrise in his own body. "They do neither," he snarled in a low, furious whisper. "I go in twice a month, hiding my face and giving no name. I stand in their fields and kill their monsters. If they guessed where I lived, or if I spoke a few sentences... well, maybe they'd kill me or maybe they'd just think it was appropriate. Monsters killing monsters. I hate monsters! There's only one thing under sun and moon that I hate more than monsters."
Remus knew what was coming, but he asked anyway. "And that is?"
"Monster hunters."
It was too late for Remus to go back to the castle, so he stayed to transform with the pack despite the quarrel making him feel unwelcome and guilty. Fortunately, the wolf Bela had no human inhibitions and ran with the pack after all. He was really quite fast on three legs, and Remus and Liszka, in their straightforward animal way, thought, "He'll do fine, but Stef will become Alpha."
Sometimes they had to stop and wait for him, but Bela didn't resent it. They might have reflected that things were simpler in the animal world -- had they been capable of reflection. Instead, they thought about the wonderful rabbity scent coming from the new warren over the hill, and scared the spots off a lynx who'd sniffed the same thing.
The next morning Remus didn't linger. He told himself that he'd come back in two weeks to deal with Bela when both of them would be calmer, but somehow it didn't happen.
_______________________________
Romania, Year Twelve
It was across a gulf of bitterness and obstinacy that the two, father and son, spoke as they made their way up the stone trail from Laszlo's in the persistent summer rain. Remus once again marveled at how well Bela hiked the rocky trail considering his injury. He had let Remus make an enchanted shoe for him -- to Remus' surprise, he did a passable job -- but other than that, they had spoken very little over the last four years.
Dumbledore was still at the castle, and they couldn't exactly allow him to subsist on roasted garlic, hence the trip down the mountain for provisions. Remus found himself reluctant to see the headmaster leave, a very different attitude than the one which had greeted the old wizard's arrival a week ago. But the new term started at Hogwarts in a week and Dumbledore had said that he would be leaving tomorrow.
And the headmaster waited for an answer from him.
"I suppose," said Bela reluctantly, walking ahead of Remus who couldn't see his face, "that it's my fault we didn't talk."
"Oh, don't say that," Remus tried to joke. "You sound like me."
They laughed. Bela paused, sat on a boulder, and offered a hand to Remus as the latter squeezed through a narrow spot with a large sack of flour and another of apples.
"It's very cute levitating all of your provisions," said Remus dryly, "but the wards are going to stop you just about -- here."
Sure enough, Bela's things tumbled from the sky and he just managed to catch the eggs in time. He threw the bags over his shoulder, like Remus, and continued up the trail. "It's true you always think everything's your fault, and feel guilty," he observed with something like accusation. "Why?"
"I manage to fail at just about everything," Remus said before he could stop himself, "and I don't even know what I am."
Bela liked it when his father showed emotion. "I know what I am," he said thoughtfully. "But it isn't enough, if that makes any sense."
"Yes, of course it does. You know I want more for our kind than just -- "
"But I don't want to represent our kind," Bela interrupted, annoyed. "I just want, oh, I don't know..."
"...a chance to be a great wizard," said Remus quietly. Bela's impatient, irritable tone and his long black hair called to mind too many images of Sirius. He, too, had almost been a great wizard.
All this week, every sense had tormented him with recollections of his friend: Sirius' grin, Padfoot's surprisingly yippy bark, the scent of his fur when he was wet and the feel of his teeth in Remus' neck when he pulled him away from the occasional Hogsmeade resident silly enough to go wandering about the forest at the full moon. The animal memories, more visceral and emotional, hurt the most, and he had to call upon his twelve years of accumulated human wisdom to tell himself that even if Sirius were guilty, the friendship they had shared was no less valuable.
Unless he tried to hurt Harry. So long as Remus could still hold a wand, no servant of Voldemort was going to harm James's son.
He was jolted from his memories by a surprising question. "Dumbledore wants you to go back to Britain, doesn't he?" It wasn't the thought itself that was surprising -- it was that Bela said it in English.
They used to speak English together, but it had been a long time, and Remus tried to conceal his pleasure because he knew it would just make Bela stubborn. He's been doing homework behind my back, he thought with a secret smile. "He does, yes," he replied at last. "But I don't know..."
"What for?"
"To teach at Hogwarts. About monsters," he added.
"Oh, yes, monsters." Bela still made his living chasing away demons, though he'd never be fond of them.
"I won't leave unless I know you're all right," he said, then added lightly, "and besides, what if I bite someone?"
Bela laughed. "Then there will be all of two English werewolves."
Remus was only half paying attention, thoroughly impressed with Bela's ease with the language. He really was remarkably clever. It would be a pleasure to be his teacher -- and much easier than trying to be his parent. "You wouldn't want to... ?"
"What?" Bela demanded dangerously.
"Well... come back to Britain, if I were to -- "
"No way." Bela shook his head. "I couldn't do it. I couldn't lie, and pretend... Impossible."
"I thought you'd say that." Remus sighed, and paused at the gates of the castle to let Bela practice with the wards.
The boy deserved a future. If only he could figure out what.
They got their burdens through the gate and through a temporary magical hole in the powerful Jupiter wards. Bela was concentrating so hard on resealing the ward that he didn't notice Dumbledore standing right behind him. He jumped at being addressed the instant he lowered his wand -- and in English.
"Quite a remarkable spell," said the Headmaster, nodding toward the stone wall, or rather to the invisible fence of magic which was the real protection for the castle.
"Responsible for these holes in the kitchen roof," Remus remarked dryly, as they all trooped through the old kitchens, levitating the provisions behind them like a desert caravan with invisible camels.
"Really?" Bela wondered, looking up as if he'd be able to tell the difference between a hole made by Alexandru and one made by Zeus. "But how -- ?"
"A spot of bother with Saturn; remind me to tell you the whole story someday. In fact," Remus remembered, "the ward must be reset this year... Perhaps you can -- but I no longer have the book," he stopped himself. "And it's likely no one will inhabit these ruins for much longer."
Of course Dumbledore would take this as a sign that Remus was giving in, and his contented humming as he levitated the provisions into the great hall was irritating. He always had his way, and was sometimes stubborn in the pursuit of seemingly absurd goals.
Hiring Snape, for instance. Snape a professor. Remus figured he was better-natured on nights of the full moon than Snape was at his best.
Once the provisions had touched down in the great hall, Dumbledore began to unpack the bags magically, sending the flour to the granary and stacking up the perishables under a Chilling Charm. "I want to speak to you about the matter of the castle, in fact," he commented casually, "there is someone who may wish to occupy it, provided that sufficient repairs can be made by winter."
Remus leaned against the stone fireplace, arms folded, and regarded the old wizard with curiosity. Bela had taken a seat at the table, watching Dumbledore intently. For routine tasks the headmaster didn't need a wand, setting him apart as an entirely different class of wizard, and the Romanian kept his eyes on the old man's hands as if they would tell his secret.
All they told was that he had sent or received a letter, since he was wearing a fresh Beak Bandage. Not even speaking bird tongue was enough to spare him the wrath of Alexandru's eagle owl.
"You are aware that I came to Romania to consult with Madam Verdeza," the headmaster continued, lighting a fire at the hearth to dry the sopping travelers and begin warming the oven for bread. "She was headmistress of Ateneul Bucuresti for many decades -- "
"Right, I know -- " Bela began, then broke off as he realized it was rude to interrupt. "Pardon me, Professor," he added, trying to be polite.
He really has no manners, Remus thought. Oh, well, I suppose none of my students ever did, either.
But Dumbledore didn't seem to mind. "You know Marina?" he wondered in surprise.
Bela shook his head. "No, of course not, but my -- my mum went there," he said, a bit confused both by speaking a foreign language and by not being sure how he should refer to his human parents. "She had to leave before she was qualified, because of the Communists." He forgot some of his awkwardness and smiled wryly. "Officially `atheist,' meaning they officially don't believe in us, but 2.4 times as many wizards have died under Ceausescu as during the witch hunts of the 1790s."
"Many of them my close friends and colleagues," Dumbledore remarked sadly as he sat down at the table opposite the boy.
"`When one person dies, it is a tragedy; when a million die, it is a statistic,'" Bela quoted.
"That sounds like something Lord Voldemort would say," said Remus.
"Josef Stalin," said Bela, "Muggle equivalent."
"An apt comparison," Dumbledore complimented. "As I was saying, Madam Verdeza was headmistress of the Romanian wizard school for many generations, but now that it has closed, the people of your generation have gone untrained. Her great-grandson Radu wishes to reinstate our traditions... but cannot do so in the city."
"Hence the castle," Remus guessed, and as if on cue a large raindrop fell through the ruined ceiling directly into his eye, causing him to leave his vantage next to the hearth and take a seat at the table. "Hm... how good is this Radu at architecture?"
"He is a very powerful and multi-talented wizard," Dumbledore informed them. "Do not let the fact that he is her great-grandson deceive you; he is in fact a contemporary of Minerva's, with whom he worked in the Department of International Magical Cooperation many years ago."
"Indeed?" Remus was surprised. "Minerva McGonagall," he explained to Bela. "The cat."
Interestingly enough, apart from Dumbledore the only British wizards Bela had heard about were Animagi.
"Yes..." Dumbledore smiled at Bela. "The cat. Radu cannot become a cat, but he should have no trouble fixing a few roofs. What he needs is an apprentice."
Bela and Remus waited innocently for the rest of the story, neither realizing it had anything to do with them.
"And as you are the best educated young wizard I have met in my travels to this country..." Dumbledore persisted, with a smile that brought Remus back twenty-five years to his very first day at Hogwarts. His heart leapt with what must have been hope; he knew now, as he hadn't at eleven, that the fairness and justice he'd experienced under Dumbledore were the last of those he would encounter. Had the headmaster really set something up for Remus' adopted Romanian son?
But Bela still didn't get it. "I'm only educated because `Remus Lupin of Gryffindor' kindly abandoned all of his books at our house," he remarked with a hint of sarcasm, and shrugged dismissively. "I don't know anyone who could be an apprentice."
Dumbledore paused meaningfully, staring directly at the boy across the table, his blue eyes gleaming significantly. "And you yourself would not be interested in the job?"
Bela was not one to hide his feelings when he had them, and now he whirled on Remus, eyes narrowed. Is this another of your English pinheads who doesn't know a werewolf when he sees one? said the look.
"Daughter of Hyperion, he knows what you are," Remus swore impatiently.
Dumbledore chuckled at the oath. "Ah, yes... of course, and I can't see why there would be a problem -- "
Bela pounded his fist on the table and stood up. "We had this discussion on the way up here." He spoke Romanian. "And we all know that it's impossible. Now if you'll excuse me -- " He turned as if to go.
But Remus had stood up too, and grabbed his son by the collar, not roughly but enough to turn him around. "Why don't you listen when someone is talking to you, and show some common courtesy?" he demanded, fuming. The worst thing about the Fives not biting anyone, he thought, was that Bela had become the world's most spoiled only child. "Now sit down, and act civilized."
Bela sat, and said "excuse me," but he didn't look particularly apologetic. "You see..." He looked at Dumbledore, searching for words. "It's different here. We don't... cooperate with each other. It's just not done."
"Ah, yes, the conservatism of the young," Dumbledore mused, pressing his fingertips together with a nostalgic air. "When you've been around for a few centuries, you begin to pick and choose your traditions at whim."
"It's not that I think it's wrong for different... species to cooperate, or anything." Bela seemed a bit sullen, but he was addressing Dumbledore politely enough. He obviously thought the headmaster took him for a child, or a simpleton. "It's just that what Lupeni did in Britain won't work in Romania. I can't lie. I don't want to, and it wouldn't work if I tried. The very first time I disappeared -- or slipped and used months instead of years, or -- "
"Who said anything about lying?" Dumbledore smiled his spider's smile, for the young man had walked down the path and right into his web as everyone always did.
This time, even Remus was surprised. "You told Radu about Bela?" he wondered, his eyes falling on the Beak Bandage. "Yes, of course. Several days ago, the first time we talked," he realized.
Bela was clearly still angry, but fortunately contented himself with glaring at Dumbledore rather than making comments about his maternity, intelligence, or fleas. "I knew that lethal NEWT-ball was a test," he grumbled.
"Marina is an old and valued friend." Dumbledore's voice was positively hypnotic. "And I trust her great-grandson no less than I trust her. He will behave himself, as I trust you to do the same."
Bela grinned. His moods were as changing as... well, the tides. "There's no need to worry about me. I've learned all about how prejudice is wrong, right, Remus Lupin of Gryffindor? You are a pretty good teacher," he admitted under his breath. "I'll give you that."
"But there's not much more I can teach you," the English wizard said thoughtfully, the sudden solution to Bela's problem seeming at once miraculous and obvious. "With Radu, you can become a great wizard, and I -- "
"You can teach Harry," said Dumbledore, eyes twinkling.
"Who's Harry?"
Harry wasn't an animal, so there was only one thing Remus could reply. "The son of Prongs," he said.
"You are going back!" Bela gasped in surprise, with a hint of sadness in his voice which did not escape his foster father.
Remus rose heavily from the table and moved to the hearth. He turned his back to the others and busied himself with poking at the coals, trying to think about baking bread instead of anything much farther into the future.
"You shall have your answer tomorrow, Headmaster."