Chapter Thirteen

The wind tugged on his coat, slid through the gaps and wound itself around his body. He shivered violently and pushed his hands deeper into the pockets, hissing as the bitter chill stung his cheeks and nose. Next to him, Moody stood motionless and intent upon the whitewashed cottage before them. Lupin felt his spirits sink as the mournful wind howled through the twisted trees and whistled through the furze.

He still ached from his recent transformation, and his mind kept slipping uncomfortably over what he had become involved in; the idea of a greater good seemed less potent now that he was here, being buffeted by cold sea winds and a troubled conscience. Dumbledore and Moody's startling news that the plans would change in light of recent evidence, and recalling their faces, lined with concern as they faced the dread of Ophelia being a loving servant of Voldemort, did nothing for his crumbling resolve.

Moody had looked grimmer than ever, his lips pulled back and his frequent sips from his hipflask a sure indicator of some deep inner turmoil. Dumbledore had looked equally uneasy, and finally, it had emerged that Veronica Speedwell would be treated as potentially hostile. He had sat there and listened to the two men argue gently about what would be the new plan of action. After a hasty conversation...and a few ruffled feathers...he had found himself agreeing to join Moody as he went to watch and study the lost witch before any definitive action would be taken. And so it was that on this gloomy and mournful Thursday morning, he was crouching in a spinney, feeling just as gloomy.

"She's here!"

The gruff whisper penetrated his despair, and his heart leapt. His eyes scanned the path leading from the cliff edge to the cottage, and he caught sight of a distant, lonely figure clad in a hooded, charcoal-grey jogging suit. He didn't question Moody on how he was sure that the barely discernable shape was Veronica Speedwell, nor did he feel relieved that the wait was over.

The figure ran strongly along the cliff edge, the head turning frequently to look out over the dark, grey, stormy sea, and soon, she was close enough that they could hear her footfalls and see her heavy, rapid breaths blossom into clouds as they burst from her mouth. Lupin watched carefully as she reached the edge of the fencing round the cottage and stopped, bending and placing her gloved hands on her knees while she steadied her breathing. Her tracksuit was tight-fitting and highlighted the slightness of her frame, and the hood kept her face hidden from view; he only managed to catch a glimpse of reddened cheeks and stray, dark hair that had escaped the confines of the hood. She straightened and walked towards the gate, pausing as if to sniff the air; her shadowed face turned towards them, and Lupin held his breath. It seemed that she was somehow looking for them. He was sure that her eyes lingered on him, and he was caught in her gaze; he was amazed at its intensity. The moment passed, and she turned sharply to push open the gate and enter the small, rented cottage. Lupin relaxed, surprised by the sudden tension, and turned to see Moody, scowling fiercely and grinding his teeth.

"That was unexpected!"

Lupin frowned and shivered as the wind redoubled its efforts. "What was?"

Moody turned and fixed Lupin with a penetrating, thoughtful stare. Lupin felt that the old ex-Auror was reining in any number of unpleasant responses, but then, the man sighed and shook his head.

"This gets worse and worse, lad." He turned to look into the cottage and then grumbled something that was snatched away by the wind.

Moody sucked on his teeth and drummed his fingers against his thigh; he hadn't expected this. He wondered what other tricks the little, lost witch knew and then wondered if his plans were sufficient to deal with this development. He looked back at the young man who was older than he should be and took in the exhaustion and concern lining his face and pressing down on his slumped shoulders. The young-man-made-old studied him expectantly and politely.

"Come on, lad; let's go back and get some food and get warm." Without waiting, he turned on his heel and followed the path away from the cottage and cliffs.

Perplexed by the turn of events, Lupin gave the cottage one last scrutiny, with its darkened windows and eerie sense of emptiness despite the knowledge that it was now occupied, and followed the grizzled wizard.

Moody lumbered ahead of him, and it seemed the further Lupin walked, the higher his spirits rose and the less dour the landscape became; the wind was no longer piercing and moaning as it sped over the land. So wrapped up in his musings was he that he almost walked into a very angry-looking Moody.

"D'ya feel it?" he snarled, prodding Lupin in his chest. "She's not just a lost, little witch! She's using advanced magics!"

A cold dread slithered down Lupin's spine and pooled unpleasantly in his gut; he pondered the significance of the glance in his direction and the sudden lifting of his mood.

"You think that she's faking her memory loss?"

Moody seemed to drag his mind back from some deep and dark thoughts and then shook his head slowly.

"I dunno, lad," he said dejectedly, "but she certainly knows that she can do these things. The charms were sophisticated, but not easily recognisable, which means that she's made 'em herself."

Lupin frowned and tried to clear his head, to order his thoughts, but the wind was getting harsher and colder, and the sensations of cold prickling his fingers and stinging his face were becoming almost impossible to ignore, demanding his attention. In front of him, he saw Moody's face slacken in surprise, and then the Auror began to stumble and clutch his head. Lupin tried to reach out to steady Moody, but the wind weighted his arm; he was left, shocked, to see the ex-Auror fall to his knees.

Seeing the futility in fighting against the wind, he let himself fall and crawled towards his companion; he was staggered at how strong the wind was and struggled to breathe as it forced its way down his throat and into his lungs, burning his chest and preventing the necessary exhalation. He wrapped his tattered scarf over his mouth and nose, but the material seemed no barrier to the penetrating wind. Muscles straining as the ferocious gale battered him, he looked up, the wind whipping away his tears, and he saw Moody's face twist in anger. The old man was reaching out to him, shouting, but the words were lost to the wind; he seemed frantic, and then to Lupin's horror, Moody pulled out his wand and aimed it between his eyes. Lupin fumbled for his own wand, and while his numb fingers closed around the freezing wood, the tip erupted.

"Come on, lad," Moody roared. He saw Lupin, shivering and kneeling, reaching out with arms that trembled and seemed tugged upon by invisible hands. He berated himself for not seeing it earlier, and with an effort that had surprised him, he had fought off the curse. His heart pounded and blood thundered, his limbs trembled and blue spots danced in front of his eyes. Groaning as he watched Lupin cover his mouth with his scarf and then cram the material against his face, he tried desperately to reach out to him to break the curse and remove the scarf...the man was clearly suffocating and struggling to breathe through the thick material. He reached out for the young man, shouting, but Lupin seemed unable to hear him, his advice on how to beat the curse went unheeded, and he watched with rising horror as Lupin's skin changed from red to grey and the man's hazel eyes began to roll in their sockets.

"I'm sorry, lad, but yer will thank me later!" Moody had pulled out his wand, saw a moment of sheer panic in the young man's hazel eyes as he fumbled for his own wand, and then cast his spell.

"Stupefy!"

--X--

He could hear voices muttering, and cracking open an eye, he saw Dumbledore watching him with a concerned smile and behind him, Moody looking awkward with his good eye watching him while the magical eye was turned to peer out the back of his skull. He was surprised to see that he was back in the rented room of the local bed and breakfast; the floral wallpaper couldn't possibly be up in anyone else's house.

"How are you, Remus?" Dumbledore asked gently.

"A little confused, but fine."

"Huh!" scoffed Moody, but without much venom. "Yer damn near suffocated yerself, lad!"

Lupin shook his head and tried to take his mind back to earlier, but all he could remember was the cottage and then the feeling that some great pressure or weight had trapped him and he was struggling under it.

"I don't seem to remember much," he admitted quietly.

"It seems," Dumbledore began softly, "that you were the victim of an elaborate curse which seemed to amplify your concerns; Alastor was convinced that he could not deal with the situation and was encouraged to end his task."

Grimacing, Lupin rubbed at the back of his neck; the muscles were sore and tense. "I was thinking about the weather...how cold and windy it was." He shuddered as the memories swept over him: the force of the wind battering at him and the burning cold as it sliced past and through him.

"It was a fairly hefty curse," Dumbledore uttered firmly, giving Lupin's shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Now we know that we're dealing with a witch in possession of her gifts then we shall tread more carefully. Using the rented cottage is no longer feasible; she will have to be taken to Grimmauld Place." He stood, towering over Lupin, and then turned to Moody. "Shall we strike tomorrow, as planned, or sooner?"

Moody glanced over at Lupin. "How are you feeling, lad?"

Lupin shook off the vestiges of his recollections and stood. "Fine!"

He was surprised and heartened to see a flicker of a smile cross Moody's face.

"We do it now then!" declared Moody.

Dumbledore nodded gravely and waved his hands over his richly coloured robes, which promptly morphed into grey, dull, Muggle clothes. "Now, it is then!"

Lupin followed them out of the small Bed and Breakfast and into the murky street; it had rained since, and the pavement was slick. Streetlamps hummed and plinked, turning the street into a mix of greys and pools of orange. He was disorientated by how much time had elapsed; morning had directly shifted into evening... how long had he been asleep? The air was still laden with moisture, but the wind had died down considerably, and it was oddly warmer than earlier. They walked along the high street past dark, empty shops and past a rowdy pub until they came to a small, wooden post indicating a public footpath. Turning off the main road and walking along it in the dark, Moody stopped them just before the cottage came into view and cast a series of complicated spells. Lupin recognised a few protection charms, but the others were unknown to him; Dumbledore seemed unfazed by it all.

"The plan," Moody said quickly and quietly, "is to get in and curse her as quickly as possible; no explainin', no apologies for arrivin' without an invite and no chats on how the weather is...got it?" His blue eye moved from one to the other while the magic eye was fixed firmly on the cottage and its occupant. "I'll cast Malleus on her, and then we'll take her back to headquarters."

"Malleus?"

"It's a very old spell, Remus, and one considered by many to be Dark." He sighed and stroked down the length of his beard. "The things we must do."

Dumbledore spoke softly, so softly that Lupin almost missed the Headmaster's admission and remorse.

The spells tingled around him as he stepped round the bend and saw the cottage. He was surprised at how pretty and charming it looked, rather than the squat, unwelcoming place only a few hours before. The wind was chill, but not the fierce, biting thing it had been earlier. The downstairs was lit, and through the thin curtains, in what he considered to be the sitting room, he could make out shifting shadows.

"We Apparate into the front room," Moody said softly. "On three! One ... Two ... Three!"

They all stood in a frozen tableau for a mere fraction of a second. Three wizards faced a tall, slender woman dressed in a cream, long-sleeved top and hip-hugging jeans. She held a steaming cup, her slick, wet hair dripped onto her shoulders, and she wore a stunned expression. In that instant, Lupin saw her pale, oval face, her dark eyes, her soft pale lips, her delicately arched eyebrows and her slender nose; she was the darker image of Narcissa. Her dark, intense gaze once again fell upon him, and Lupin thought that he saw recognition in those depths, some complex mix of emotions stirred up by his face. Then, that face twisted in anger and fear. The cup was hurled at them, the hot contents turning into scalding droplets; she turned on her heel and attempted to dive through the doorway into the hallway.

While Lupin had been caught up in that odd moment of connection, Moody and Dumbledore had cast their spells; Dumbledore maintained a protective shield, and Moody cast the Malleus. Lupin watched as an amber streak of light erupted from the tip of Moody's wand and curled around the retreating woman. He saw her flail as one might batter flames and her anger dissolve into absolute horror as the magic licked and wrapped around her. She twisted and overbalanced, crashing into the doorframe rather than escaping through it and then slid down onto the floor. Past the blood whistling in his ears, he heard her whimpers and moans and the thuds and thumps as she frantically writhed and squirmed to free herself. The tendrils of magic weaved a cocoon around her, tightening and swathing her in amber light until she could no longer move, and then, even her whimpers stopped. Through the shimmering magic prison, Lupin saw her panic-filled eyes slowly glaze over and then flutter closed.

So many questions had blasted through her mind, and that had been her downfall.

While some deep part of her mind had screamed that she run, other parts had stopped to admire the view. The tall, elderly, bearded man with piercing blue eyes had triggered a tumultuous torrent of memories that had paralysed her. In her wonder, she had taken the time to look at the others, and her eyes had latched onto a much younger man with greying hair. She had allowed herself to dwell upon the new memories that bubbled up from the deepest and darkest recesses of her fractured recollections. She was struck with an immense feeling of loss. So much she had lost, surrendered and squandered for this security that was as false and as futile as her hopes. Decades of wandering with only the occasional backward glance, and it should all be for nothing because she was lost in a glance.

Confused by the sudden barrage of emotions, instincts and memories, she hesitated...too late had her body and mind decided to act as one. She could feel the horrible pressure of magic building up even before she had thrown the mug, and as she flung herself towards the door, some spell had caught and wound itself around her. She instinctively summoned and directed her magic, but it was somehow stolen from her like an illness that saps strength; she could feel her desperate efforts and see how little was the result. Anger evaporated and fear condensed. She did as all panicked creatures do and resorted to blind and mindless effort as she struggled and fought against the constricting and smothering bands of magic. Finally, her strength gave out, and with her magic severed or stoppered, she lay there, panting and wild-eyed.

Through the coruscating magic, she saw the three men slowly converging on her, and then her vision closed in and all became dark. Her last thoughts were of a fat, lazy snake coiling around her legs and a tall, handsome man with red eyes, welcoming her home.