Dark Side of the Moon

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Dark Side of the Moon

Friday 15 May – Thursday 11 June 1987

Old Basford, Nottingham; Diagon Alley, London; WWN Studios, London.

Rated PG-13 for violence.

Ariadne tried not to cry. She was dimly aware that she was being weak and self-pitying and that this would not help Veleta. She knew she should calm down and consider how to undo the damage she had done. But the damage could not be undone. Every time the enormity of her misdeed seized her, huge sobs gripped and squeezed her and crushed her breathless.

The wireless prattled on relentlessly in her own traitorous voice, betraying to the whole world that Veleta could have fled her captors long since, but that her children – the children whom she had never chosen to bring into the world – were inextricably imprisoned and that Veleta would never abandon them.

"No laws have been broken. Mrs Smith states she does not even know the troublemakers who level these wild accusations."

She had to control herself. It was unfair to Remus to impose these histrionics on him. Ariadne half-knew that she had been lifted from her chair, was being held in somebody's lap, was being cradled like a baby, that long fingers were stroking her cheek while a soothing voice was promising to take care of her, and a droning voice (probably Dawlish) was relentless.

"Zero-evidence accusations are never admissible before the law. Before we point any fingers at imaginary kidnappers, let's ask what kind of petty vengeance motivates this malicious charge..."

"But it's all my fault." She was trying to speak calmly, but she could barely force out the words. "What I've done – Macnairs are forewarned – everybody will be asking them – they'll lie again – now nobody will believe us – "

"Hush, you can cry if you need to."

That only made it worse. That at a time like this – when she was guilty of such an unspeakable crime, when she had selfishly disturbed an over-stressed man's peaceful evening – Remus should enclose her with such ill-deserved sympathy... he obviously had no idea of the depths of her transgression.

"Naturally any normal mother would collude in her oppressors' lies if the alternative would bring harm to her children."

"But Veleta has no chance now – the law will not – our only hope was in keeping quiet – in finding out something we could tell the Aurors – letting them act quietly – and now they will not – they'll never..." She gasped for breath and tried to control herself, but she could not stop shaking.

"It's all right, I'm here."

"Don't you find it odd that there is no trace of these children's father?" chirruped Glenda.

"It's not all right." She found herself clutching him even while she was telling herself to let go and display some independence. "I have to... I should not..." And she was sobbing again, in a puerile exhibition that would have shamed her nephew Aidan.

And still Remus did not tell her that she should stop crying, or that she had not really done anything very wrong, or that the consequences would not be so very terrible. He just held her for what must have been a very long time, and presently Glenda's voice intruded again.

"... How do we know who is telling the truth? That question is not difficult. All we need to do is to bring Miss Vablatsky and her children to some neutral place, far from both her alleged captors and her would-be rescuers. With her children held safely in her arms, let her make a public statement of her wishes, whether she considers that Scottish castle to be her home, or whether she desires to abandon it forever. This case will be closed only on the day when Veleta Vablatsky speaks her mind freely."

Remus flicked his wand, and the wireless abruptly muted before the fading-in of Glenda's signature music.

Ariadne forced herself to pull back and look Remus in the eye. He held her steadily, while she made herself say, "You heard."

And he did not try to excuse or deny. He spoke with perfect neutrality. "This won't be at all helpful for Veleta."

"Glenda..." Her throat was knotted with a rope. "She was wanting... so badly... to do something to help."

"Did you know that she was recording your words?"

"I did not. But it's not Glenda's fault. She told me she would broadcast Veleta's story and I... I did not explain... I'm meaning, I tried to tell her... but we'd so little time... and I could not bring myself to make her understand that her idea would not help. Remus, she'd have been so hurt if I'd discarded her idea..." She trailed off hopelessly. Making the statement out loud only emphasised how feeble her excuse was. She had ruined Veleta's whole life in preference to hurting five minutes of Glenda's.

"Tell me about that owl you so urgently needed to send Glenda last month."

She had almost forgotten that. "When I had time, I wrote to Glenda, explaining that her plan would not help Veleta. I'm not understanding why she'd ignore..." But once again her voice died in her throat. Glenda enjoyed using her chat show to broadcast her favourite causes, but she would never have disregarded a written request to keep silent in order to protect an innocent person. "Glenda could not have received my owl," she choked. "But why not...?"

She was not needing Remus's reminder. "You asked Lycaonia to deliver your note to the post office."

Lycaonia had been so eager to help, so delighted to return a favour... she would have been hurt if Ariadne had said, "Thank you, but I'll owl it myself." So Ariadne had passed over her scroll, with several misgivings, suspecting – knowing – that Lycaonia might forget to perform her errand.

She had not had the nerve to look Lycaonia in the eye for long enough to say, "You're wonderful to be wanting to help, but I'm not trusting anybody but myself to do a job as important as this one."

Was there no end to her weakness and folly?

"We can check this one out," said Remus. He set her on the floor, took the two steps towards the fireplace, Flooed Lycaonia, and asked the question. It took Lycaonia an alarmingly long time to recall the errand in question, but her memory finally returned.

"Goodness gracious, I do remember now! I was going to owl that note as soon as I'd been to Knitwit's. And they had no alpaca in stock, and only six-ply cotton when I'd requested three, and Madam Knitwit had bungled my order for sky-blue merino and supplied robin's-egg instead... it took half the morning to sort it out. So by the time I had the right wool... oh dear, Ariadne's little note..." Lycaonia fumbled for something, and presently held aloft a drawstring purse. "I'm so sorry, dear, it's right here in the bottom of my purse. It completely slipped my memory. I do hope it was nothing important."

Ariadne managed to say, "It's all right, Lycaonia... it's not mattering any more." She was grateful to Remus for continuing the necessary two minutes of pleasantries before curtailing the conversation. I cannot blame Lycaonia... she was not understanding... and I certainly cannot blame Glenda. I was the one who was knowing what should be done... and I failed to do it.

She looked hopelessly at Remus.

He once again held out his arms to her and said, "We'll know more about the situation tomorrow. There's no action we can take tonight."

* * * * * * *

Remus insisted on accompanying her to work the next day, and he spoke urgently to Professor Jigger about former Death Eaters who might try to avenge an old grudge.

"Not here," said Professor Jigger. "I'm not having Dark wizards attack my apprentice when we're so busy. Mrs Flowers, you are not to leave the laboratory today. If any suspect characters enter the shop, I'll deal with them myself."

An hour later a Howler arrived. Professor Jigger refused point-blank to open it and threw it out onto the cobblestones still sealed. Its furious shrieks – unmistakeably Regelinda's – shattered several windows, and five neighbouring traders dropped in to complain about people who were too selfish to open their own Howlers. But a Howler was only incoherent words.

In the afternoon, Cousin Humphrey Macnair strode into the shop and demanded, "I'm needing to speak to Mrs Lupin."

"Then you can get lost," snapped Madam Jigger. "We've no time around here to run a chatter-club. We're not the types who send our apprentices off to play in working hours."

Humphrey snarled something about transferring his custom as Madam Jigger snatched up a common broom and began chasing dust towards the front door, sweeping the intruder out with it.

At mid-afternoon Remus Apparated into the street and entered the shop to escort her home. "I've set up repelling barriers around our house," he said. "So far no-one has tried to enter our property – but I don't want you to go anywhere alone before we know exactly what their game is."

Ariadne was supposed to spend the rest of the day calculating formulae for cheering libations. But she could not write. The wireless was on, and her mind was battered by rubbish about Quidditch results and society divorces. There was nothing worth listening to until Euglossos Showman began broadcasting Wizarding World Tonight.

"Last night the wizarding community recoiled in horror at the devastating story of an English witch held captive in a Scottish castle. Our Floo chimneys have been jammed with enquiries from the concerned public who want to know what the Ministry is doing about this scandal. Here is a small selection of public opinion. First we'll hear from Gallus Cobbler, a shoefitter from Barnsley who celebrated his one hundred and twentieth birthday yesterday. Mr Cobbler, you're on air."

The broad accent of an elderly Yorkshireman cut over the presenter's. "T' Minis'ry should force them bloody Scots to let t' lass and her bairns aht sharp!"

This was followed by the lilting brogue of an Irishwoman. "Madam Chittock did be having no business at her to be telling such a tall story without citing sources, so she did not. How do we be knowing what to believe now?"

But an ancient witch from Leicestershire apparently disagreed. "The Ministry should compel the kidnappers to release the woman and her children quickly."

A businesswizard whom Ariadne recognised as her father's friend Titus Nott opined: "The taxpayers shouldn't have to support this woman. Since she chose to become a single mother, she should stay near her children's fathers."

A Norfolk farmer: "Th' Ministry shud a-fawce th' crim'nals to lets th' geerl and huh kids oot fahst."

The clipped syllables of her cousin Letitia Greengrass: "Even if Madam Chittock's story is true she ought to keep silent until she can produce some evidence. Otherwise – since it's obvious which family is being accused – she's guilty of libel."

A tradeswitch from Lancashire: "The Ministry should order them castle crooks to let the lady and her kids out fast."

The singsong of a Welshman: "The Ministrry should forrce the kidnapperrs to let the girrl and her childrren ouut immediately."

A Ministry official who introduced himself as Cornelius Fudge: "I do not understand the difficulty. The woman admits that she is not only able to take a Portkey out of the castle, but that she once had a Portkey in her possession. Since she did not use it, she is obviously choosing to stay where she is, and it is not the business of the public to interfere with this."

And then Veleta's own voice, slow and heavy, as if every word had been dragged out of her. "Because I have no way of ascertaining my true identity, I am known as Jane Smith, but obviously no-one claims that this is my real name. I am grateful to everyone who has suggested a plausible identity for me, and I thank all the kind people who have expressed their concern. People like them ensure that British wizards cannot, in fact, keep prisoners in remote castles, because, if ever it did happen, the right-thinking public would make an outraged protest. But in my case their sympathy is misplaced. I have good friends who have most generously opened their home to my children and me. We could freely leave them at any time, but we have no wish to do so, for we have nowhere else to go. We are happy with our situation, and we choose to remain where we are."

It was evidently not a live interview, for Euglossos Showman asked Veleta no questions. He seemed more interested in Glenda. "Let's return to the accuser. Madam Chittock, you heard Miss Vablatsky. She says she is happy. Do you still consider her life your business?"

Glenda was valiant in the face of dishonour. "Did that sound like the voice of truth or the voice of slavery? Miss Vablatsky attended our broadcasting studio today in the company of three of her captors – but her children remained in their castle. I won't believe a word of Veleta Vablatsky's testimony unless she has her children with her."

Euglossos Showman suggested that Madam Chittock was making a very serious accusation without evidence.

"That is absurd, Mr Showman. Any mother would lie to protect her children. I know of six sane adults to whom Veleta has told an alternative story. Before anyone accuses me of libel, bring all Miss Vablatsky's children here to this studio, and then ask her for the whole story."

"And now the question that must be tormenting every wizard in Britain." Mr Showman was clearly alone in the studio as he read his script. "After such an extraordinary and toxic story, can Madam Chittock's career survive? Will we ever again hear her voice on the Wizarding Wireless Network? In other news, Wilhelm Wigworthy's latest book was launched today – "

Remus snapped off the Wireless.

Ariadne could not look at him. "What are you thinking they did to Veleta to make her say that?"

"Nothing new, I daresay." Remus sounded almost convincing. "Veleta would do anything to placate a person who would otherwise hurt her children."

"But she sounded so..." Had she been speaking under Imperius, or hexed with throat-burns to remind her to co-operate with the required story? Or was she sufficiently intimidated by the threat reported by Sarah – that the Macnairs would Obliviate her memory of ever having had children and then throw her onto the streets, leaving her forever unaware that she had a family? And they had already... Ariadne tried to will the information out of her mind. She asked Remus, "How can you love me when I did this?"

"Ariadne, we all have our faults."

"But mine are... Remus, my weakness and lack of forethought are going to destroy Veleta. Her bairns too. And it's not an isolated incident. I could not tell Lycaonia... I did not tell Sarah... it's not even only about Veleta. Remus, I've never been able to tell anybody what they were not wanting to hear – ever! My parents... my cousin Mercy..." She sank against his shoulder, too exhausted by the magnitude of her transgressions to consider them any further.

He spoke reasonably. "You've never been afraid to speak your mind to the Macnairs – or the Malfoys, or even the Jiggers."

"That's not the same thing at all!" She stared up at him, astonished that he could change the subject in so off-hand a fashion. "Those people are maybe angry that I'm not giving them their own way, but there's no damage to their feelings."

His frown indicated that his mental cogwheels were whirring furiously, as if this were a new idea to him. "Being careful not to hurt people strikes me as a very minor vice, nothing worse than the weak point of a virtue."

"But this time I was criminally weak, Remus. While you're always so rational... so quick to do whatever has to be done... and you somehow manage never to hurt anybody."

"Sweetheart, you're talking to the man who spent two years of his life exposing an innocent community of children to the risk of a werewolf's attack... who deceived the mentor who had trusted him... who was so desperate for the school bullies to like him that he kept silent while they tortured your cousin Severus... haven't we all hurt other people sometimes?"

Obviously the question required agreement. She would never have claimed to be a mistake-free human. But it had not occurred to her that her cowardly silences could ever cause real harm... that her apparently sweet and considerate behaviour could devastate other people... that her whole life was a character-pattern of deliberately choosing what was nice over what was wise... or that this pattern had the power to destroy countless lives with incalculable ripple-effects...

"But how do we reverse... how can we undo..." She had no words to express the question, because the all-enveloping horror of the situation was that of course the past could not be unmade, and there were some wrongs for which no atonement was possible.

Remus did not attempt to answer the unanswerable. "Sweetheart, wouldn't it be more useful to ask what we can do to help Veleta now?"

* * * * * * *

"Don't go anywhere alone," Remus had said, but in fact she had no reason to go anywhere except to work. He set up intruder alarms, and once that week they blasted the chorus of The Campbells are Coming through the house, but by the time Remus opened the front door, nobody was detectable. It appeared the enemy was chary of attacking forewarned victims.

The weather was miserably dull and damp. Hardy foxgloves and nightshade and especially wolfsbane thrived regardless, but so did dandelions and thistles and grundy swallow. Ariadne cast an Impervius around herself before kneeling in the black mud to weed around her yamwurzel and peppermint. The air whistled unkindly down her neck as she held out a flowerpot and commanded, "Accio, thistles!" The thistles tore themselves sulkily out of the ground and into the air, pelting her Poison Nut with earthworms, but then they flopped down and settled into the mire, with no hint of an inclination to jump into her pot. She began to pick up the thistles by hand, conceding that the borrowed competence that had pushed her through her Charms N.E.W.T. was gone forever, and groaning a little because fresh thistle seeds must have been sprayed all over the garden.

A footfall alerted her. She sprang to her feet, knowing that the approaching footsteps were not Remus's. Her wand was aloft before she had registered that the intruder must be wearing an invisibility cloak. She was already thinking, Protego, Protego, before her mind had completed the question of how he had penetrated their protective barriers. Her wand even managed to splutter out a thin stream of silvery light before a cool voice hissed:

"Gelo!"

She was instantly paralysed, her muscles set like iron, her wand-arm absurdly trapped high in the air, while her almost-spell dropped forlornly among the weeds.

Then the invisibility cloak was thrown over a tree-branch, and Humphrey Macnair sneered, "Surprised to see me?"

He will not kill me. She knew that already; he could have as easily killed her as frozen her.

"Perhaps not. After broadcasting your insipid voice onto every Wireless in the British Isles, you had to be knowing that we'd meet soon."

She was glad he had frozen her face; any kind of emotion would be betraying too much. Whatever he might plan to do to her, it suddenly seemed far more terrifying than mere death.

"Your pet werewolf made a nice job of these barriers," said Humphrey. "But of course they'd not keep me out forever. I'm less stupid than Baldwin – I check my facts before acting. It cost me a jackpot of Veritaserum to make your friend Veleta spill everything – but you betrayed her, so why should she not return the favour? She's knowing every detail of your domestic life – your dinner menu, your pretentious reading matter, your inept wandwork, the colour of your underwear..."

He had overreached himself – he had lapsed into lying.

"Your fastidious habits in the bathroom, why you quarrel with your Beast in the living room, how you entertain him in the bedroom..."

Then he was telling the truth again.

"Why you need to nurse him when the moon wanes, who visits you when it waxes, the potions you give to the scum. And, of course, how the Beast attempted to defy us – she described his pathetic wee barrier spell, charm by charm and jinx by jinx. By the time she had drunk us out of Veritaserum, we were knowing exactly how to tear down his hex-hedge. Veleta has ensured that we're knowing everything about you. It's seeming only fair that you'll be knowing nothing more about her."

In a flash she knew what he was going to do. He had not come to cause tactile pain or visible injury – as he had boasted, Humphrey always had been cleverer than Baldwin. He'd not risk arrest when he could achieve his aims by simply modifying her memory, by removing every part of the last four years that contained any knowledge of Veleta. Her heartbeat became as frozen as her muscles as she contemplated a life of not knowing that Veleta yet lived and was needing her help. Once Humphrey had fixed her he would approach Remus – probably all their friends too. And none of them would ever know that they had been assaulted. Nobody would file any complaint, for there would never be any symptom that they had been wronged.

"Obliviate!"

The world stood in slow motion as the spell zoomed towards a spot between her eyebrows.

One inch from target, the sparks dispersed outwards like a star and fizzled into nothing, as if quenched by the rain.

Despite Humphrey Macnair's perfect aim, the spell had missed her.

For a moment he was too thunderstruck to react. It gave her time to recognise what was happening. She was of Macnair blood. Humphrey – who had apparently learned less than he claimed from Baldwin's mistakes – must be using his own wand. She was safe.

He tried again. "Obliviate! Confundo! Pervius! Obliv – "

"Stupefy!"

Humphrey crashed earthwards, and Ariadne found herself worrying that he would crush her monkshood bushes. Then Remus was releasing her from the Freezing charm and asking what had happened. He was shaking uncontrollably, far more distressed than she was.

"It's all right. I'm all right," she kept telling him. "But my monkshood bush is not. Nor is Humphrey – we should maybe call the Mediwizards before your Stunner wears off." She took his hand to urge him back into the house. "I'll explain how he penetrated your barriers... Remus, truly, I'm all right!"

* * * * * * *

It took the Mediwizards all of two minutes to recognise that there was nothing wrong with Humphrey Macnair beyond what an Enervate could cure.

It took the Aurors two hours to agree to perform a Prior Incantato on Humphrey's wand and acknowledge his attempted assault on Ariadne Lupin. Even then, "pending a verdict on Mrs Lupin's alleged complicity in the Wireless libel on the Macnair family," they were unwilling to do more than issue a temporary Intervention Order forbidding any member of the Macnair family to enter within a mile of Ariadne's whereabouts.

It took Remus two nights (on the assumption that Veleta could not Locospect his actions in her sleep) to rebuild the magical barriers around their home with a different set of charms. Ariadne was not needing to say out loud how exposing – how intrusive – how terrifying it felt to know that their every move was being scrutinised by the enemy. By daylight it seemed safer not to discuss it with Remus at all.

It took a further two weeks for Remus to finish his teaching round. When he arrived home from his final debrief, the brewing week had begun, and the werewolves had already finished the apple crumble and had arranged themselves contentedly around the books and Wireless and Monopoly board.

"Mrs Sharp had nothing interesting to say," Remus admitted. In front of all the werewolves, and always aware that somebody might be spying on their conversation, he was unwilling to make a stronger criticism.

"But you've been liking this class," said Ariadne, for he did speak with great affection of the children.

"What? I'm afraid Mrs Sharp's teaching style... hasn't suited me at all."

"But you've been liking the work. Is this perhaps the age-group that suits you?"

"I... you're right." He risked a smile. "The times when I actually was teaching, the children had so many interesting things to say... the not-quite-Hogwarts age..."

If only the Muggles would let Remus teach a Year Six class again, Ariadne felt that he might have found his vocation. He had only two more weeks of revision lectures before his final exams. Then he really would be a teacher. But she was too exhausted by brewing for Jigger, by brewing for werewolves, by brewing her very thoughts over Veleta's problems, to be as happy for him as she ought to be.

* * * * * * *

The crashing thump shattered whatever Ariadne had been dreaming. Her eyes flew open to the pale light of the full moon. A second thump confirmed what was creating the din as her hand groped along the bedside table for her wand, but her fingers had barely closed around it before the third echoing thump tore the door from its hinges. As it crashed to the floor, something was bounding into her bedroom.

"Protego!" she whispered feebly, struggling to be on her feet on the floor before the beast pinned her to the bed. A spark did fly in the right direction, but it died before reaching the bare fangs, the slavering jaws, the haunches poised to spring at her.

"Stupefy!" she mouthed, without much hope, but no sound came out. My whole past life flashed before me was the traditional report of people who stared death in the face, but what Ariadne saw was her future. For the single second that the two yellow eyes glared out at her in the dark, her mind very calmly acknowledged that she was either about to be torn to pieces or else to receive a single small bite. What clamped her heart with the chill of doom was the certainty: either way, I'll never become a mother.

And then, with howls and growls and a frenzy of terrified limbs, the yellow eyes were torn away and driven to the ground. Other bodies had thundered across the ruins of the door – fang and claw and cacophonous din were screeching at her feet – she was knocked sideways by the thwack of a tail – and somebody yelped in outraged pain while somebody else was keening.

She knew that Remus was holding her assailant to the ground even before she made a light. His jaws were threatening Oldfang's neck – that wolf was certainly Caleb Oldfang – in a way that was almost not Remus, it was so pitiless. He could probably have held Oldfang alone, but nothing was being left to chance, for lying all over Oldfang's head – and still indignantly keening – was Connell Dewar.

A fourth wolf was wandering into the room, looking as if he would be willing to help if really necessary. But as usual, Adolphus Randall had arrived too late for the action.