Unintended Intentions, Chapter 3: Anamnesis
Genre: Romance, Drama, Humor.
Characters: Marauders, etc.
Universe: Set in an AU London, with a King instead of a Queen (will come into the plot later).
Warning: May eventually contain homosexuality, if offended, please do not hesitate to stop reading.
Previous Chapters: Chapter 1: Apotheosis | Chapter 2: Antithesis
Later Chapters: Chapter 4: Adumbration | Chapter 5: Crespuscule
Unintended Intentions
Chapter 3: Anamnesis
Pál would not stop fidgeting. The nervous tic crept up to his fingers, as he drummed his fingers on the varnished, slightly ridged surface of the table. He tapped his foot impatiently, eyes looking out the window for signs that his client would appear soon. His mood wasn’t improved in the least, especially not with the cheerless grey clouds obstructing the warm beam from the sun. If he wasn’t paid generously for his services, he would have trudged back to his derelict quarters.
Little did he know he was being watched. A pair of grey eyes watched him, the beholder amused at the man’s twitching and slight trembles. He stood up, head held high, mouth curled in a pleasant, mirthless smile. He strode quietly, clasping a hand on the said man’s shoulder, receiving a very, very violent jerk as Pál whipped his head round to see him. His eyes widened, jaw slackened, and cheeks flushed as he blustered out words of relief, protestation and annoyance.
“Come now, Pál,” his suave manners comforting the smaller man a little, “tell me.”
His eyes scanned the room swiftly, inconspicuously.
The Duke, seated across from him, leaned casually forward, unperturbed by the man’s paranoia. He had inspected the place before Pál arrived, and found that things were in order. Nothing stuck out to him as suspicious. Still, he didn’t mind if Pál wanted some peace of mind for himself.
“The trading ports are unusually active,” he began, in a low voice.
“For how long?”
“It’s been about five months now.”
“The goods?”
“Unknown.”
“Your suspicions?”
“I’m not sure what to think.”
“What do the rumours say then?”
“Men.”
“Ah. Anymore?”
“The… nobles.”
“What about them?”
“My sources are… usually accurate, sire.”
“So?”
“They say that they are being … turned.”
“Into?”
“They don’t know. They know something’s amiss.”
“Surely it’s not about the thrones again.”
“Partly, I think. The other part…” He shook his head, unwilling to divulge his fear on the matter.
“Very well. Anymore?”
“There is. One more thing.” He paused, uncharacteristic fear clouding his usually clear blue eyes as he stared into hard, unfathomable grey ones. “Uprising. Just rumours, though.”
“You don’t sound so sure.”
“It’s just… not on this scale.”
“Elaborate.”
“Lithuania, Bulgaria, Albania, Slovenia, and even Georgia.”
“Fascinating.”
“Fascinating, sir?”
“Very.” With a dismissive nod, he stood up, left some money to pay for their meal, and said in a loud voice. “I’m afraid I would have to take action against her.”
“My lord?” Pál looked at him, bewildered. “What- what are you talking about?”
He gave a derisive snort, lips curling in a sneer, “I can’t have that worthless wife eloping with my footman now, can I?”
Eyes turned to him, some mouths agaped, some smiling pityingly.
And with that, he left.
Sirius let out a low chuckle. Pál certainly wouldn’t understand why he had done that, nor would he ever. He thought it had been a good idea. After all, what business did a well-dressed gentleman - obviously a foreign noble - have in a seedy pub with a common man? Best to leave a false impression than none at all. At the very least, no unwanted ears would pick up on his appearance in that area.
He glanced outside the window, staring at the lightening sky as the sun began to rise. He was on his way back to his townhouse in the city, and was mulling over his conversation with the king. Usual mischiefs meant the nobles fighting internally for a chance at the throne. He’d never understood that. He turned back to the cabbie, ordering him to take a longer route. He needed time to think.
The melancholic melody continued to percolate into the recesses of his mind. He could feel its invisible tendrils curling and latching onto some of the worst memories he thought were secure beneath his guise of insouciance and liveliness. It tugged, persistently, until he was forced to relive the memory that still pained him the most - his brother’s scandal.
The mournful strain continued, arching into a crescendo as he recalled his denial of his beloved brother’s involvement, his abject acceptance of the fact and his explosive outrage at the blatant lack of justice during the trial. It seemed that his brother’s fate plunged right out of his hands before he could even blink. It was an abomination, he thought, his anger nearly bubbling to the surface now as the wretched tune continued, and he realized where he was. His knuckles were white from him gripping the edge of the table so hard.
He wilfully tuned out the dangerous song, eyes now focused on the musician instead. His hands. His hands, if he would admit it even to himself, attracted him. Those fingers. Delicate, smooth -
“We’re here, sir.”
He lurched, startled out of his thoughts - still haunted by thoughts of the man. He paid a good sum for the cabbie’s trouble, and got out. He stood on the front steps, glancing up as he contemplated getting sleep. It was already morning. There was no need for sleep, he decided, and unlocked the door. He followed the narrow hallway down to the staircase at the end, climbing up towards his room to wash up before heading out again.
As he sifted through his many extravagant garments, he chose a plain, black trousers with a cotton, white shirt. He’d wear something simple today, something that wouldn’t make the heads of common men turn around and their eyes suspiciously scrutinise his origins.
He was ready in less than ten minutes, and as he locked the door, he decided to head east - for the market.
***
Bright rays streamed through the window, causing him to shift away, opening his eyes slowly. After a few stretches, he clambered out of bed, washing up and dressing up swiftly before going out into the living room.
“I was wondering when you’d wake up, you lazy sod.” A calm, disapproving remark came from a plump man seated near the window, eyes glancing up at him, as hands held the newspaper.
“I suppose you didn’t bother making yourself breakfast?” he asked, glancing at the empty table before turning to observe his companion.
“You’ve got nothing to eat,” he replied bluntly, rolling his eyes before continuing with his reading.
“Perhaps you’d care to purchase something then?” He wasn’t the least bit bothered by the man’s lack of manners.
“Haven’t got the money, I’m afraid,” he countered, coolly.
Remus shrugged, sneering a little, before answering with a casual, “Suit yourself.”
He ignored the now panicky man, putting on his coat and retrieving an umbrella from under the table.
“You’re not buying?”
“We both know you can afford a loaf of bread, Peter, at the very least.”
Peter winced. His friend was not in a good mood today.
“Well, I -”
“I don’t want to hear anymore excuse of you losing your latest job again.”
“But it’s true!”
“The truth, when in your hands, becomes almost imaginary.”
“Are you saying I’m lying?”
“No, Peter, I’m saying that you’re really not pulling your weight here.” He turned to him, eyes boring into the other man’s pair of terrified ones, his mouth set in a stern straight line as he allowed his remark to sink in a little more.
“But you’re earning enough for the both of us.”
With that, he snapped.
“I’m afraid I would have to inform my landlady that a strange, unemployed man has cunningly slipped into my rooms, and -”
“You want me to move out?” He asked, incredulous at the implication.
“Precisely.”
“But why?”
“You’re not paying for the rent. Never even offered to, if I recall.”
“It’s that Potter, isn’t it?”
At the mention of his benefactor’s name, his tone took a hard edge. “This is about you. Grow up, Pettigrew,” he softened, noticing the man was now near tears, “I might not even be around anymore someday.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Suppose I got ambushed behind an alleyway, and got stabbed, and never made it home…”
“Don’t!” Peter had jumped up now, throwing himself at Remus, hugging him fiercely. “Don’t say that!”
“It’s a possibility, you know.” He made no move to comfort the man.
“But I don’t want you to -”
“The universe does not operate on your wants and needs, you know.”
“I don’t care! I -”
“Stop it.” He wrenched himself free from the embrace, stepping back as he struggled to keep his disgust beneath the condescending smile.
“Remus, I - “
He held up a hand, shaking his head. “Not another word from you.”
Peter turned away, lips trembling as he tried to fight off the tears.
“Either you get out of here, get your own place and live properly for once, or you get out, get a job, pay your share, and you can stay.”
He turned back to him, about to thank him for the charitable choice he was given, but stopped midway of his speech.
“I’m going out. Possibly not returning for at least a fortnight. Take care.” He left him in shock, heading towards the door. His first stop would be the market, and he turned the doorknob, mind already turning a deaf ear to the cries of objection coming from his ‘housemate’.
He strode briskly, shoulders relaxed, though he was alert of his surroundings. Seeing that it was too early for the streets to be filled with thieving children, he allowed himself to relax more.
No one spared him a glance. Not even the children. If they had even slowed their steps, their nannies would pull them forward, admonishing them in hushed tones about the dangerous man who stood there, unmoving. They would then turn around to look at him, unable to comprehend how a musician playing a cheerful tune could be dangerous. He looked rather harmless, they always thought. He never bothered to prove to them anything, and went on playing his songs, murmuring thanks and pleasantries at passerbys who did spare him a coin or two, and if he was lucky, a note.
He crossed the street, hands in pocket, eyes staring ahead. He used to play here, along this pavement.
“You’re jolly good, you know that?”
He glanced up, mid-song, a startled look on his handsome face.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I said,” the bespectacled man with unruly hair grinned down at him (he was a good four inches taller) reiterated pleasantly, “You’re jolly good, did you know that?”
He wished he had more composure, more of that suave manner that the other man had. He wished he hadn’t stammered and stuttered and stumbled upon his words.
“Er, th-th-thank you, you’re very k-k-kind.”
His brown eyes now looked pityingly at him. “Would you like to play at my restaurant then?”
“WHAT?”
He laughed heartily, enjoying the effect he had on Remus. “What’s your name? Come with me, I’d like you to play at my restaurant.”
“I’m Remus,” he stared at him, dumbfounded at the turn of events, as his hands numbly began to pack up, his mind still reeling from shock. “Remus Lupin.”
“That’s a strange name you got there.” He stuck out a hand. “I’m James Potter.”
He couldn’t resist the small smile as he remembered how James had saved his life. It was not an exaggeration, as Remus Lupin was never a man given to hyperboles and melodrama. In fact, on that day when James came up to him as he played his woeful song, he had decided to end it all.
He agreed to work for him - as though he would’ve chosen otherwise - and was rather pleased to be given so much flexibility with his working hours. He’d flourished, both as a musician and an employee, cementing Emerald City’s success as a current, fashionable restaurant in the city. Pity became respect. Mutual respect.
The familiar cacophony reached his ears, and he looked up, now on alert as he began browsing the market.
***
He arrived in good time, he noted, and began looking around, warily, as he entertained himself in the variety of merchandise sold.
***
He stopped at a particular stall selling miscellaneous trinkets. Some had esoteric designs, while others were obviously for fashion. An ugly necklace caught his eye, its hideous pendant jarring all sense of beauty. It was a woodcut of a wolf eating a prey, perhaps human - he held it up closer, ignoring the furious look of the seller, and scrutinized the design - yes, it was human. Still, it didn’t warrant enough interest for him to purchase it, he decided, as he casually turned the pendant over.
His throat went dry, as he stared hard at the symbol. It was tribal symbol of a wolf, fangs bared, lips curled in a snarl.
He treaded softly, overhearing some hushed exchange of words in the alley. He sneaked a look, heart furiously thumping against his ribcage, and saw two men. One of them held a small packet, black with a red symbol on it. He strained his eyes to make out the design clearly. It was tribal design, of an animal of some sort. A cat? His eyes trailed down to the man’s arm, the same tribal design tattooed to his forearm, though larger. It was a wolf, with bared fangs and a vicious snarl. He let out a soft gasp, clamping his mouth with a hand when he realized his mistake, retreating back into the building when he heard the men stopped their conversation, and heading his way.
***
He stopped, mouth slightly agape as he stared hard at the familiar figure. He began walking towards him, until he was near enough, and accidentally blurted, “You.”
***
He snapped out of his reverie, and turned to the source of the voice, eyebrows furrowed when he realized that he didn’t recognize the man.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I’m sorry,” he apologized calmly, “I know you.”
“Do you now?” he arched an eyebrow, lips curling in a smirk.
“Yes, you’re Remus Lupin.”
He bit back a cry of surprise, shocked that the man knew his name. How did he-
“You play at Emerald City,” he explained, now smiling, “and I got to know your name.”
“Oh. I see,” he eyed him guardedly, apprehensive at the direction their conversation was going. He dropped the necklace back into the pile of trinkets, earning a glare from the seller.
Sirius noticed this, and also noted the design of the pendant, immediately realizing the significance of the design. This was no common customer of strange ornaments. He knew something. Someone. He knew enough to scrutinise the necklace in the first place.
Remus had already begun walking away from him, unwilling to subject himself to any questioning, and certainly not from a stranger. He caught up to him, grinning when he saw the other man’s suspicious glance at his sudden company.
“I thought perhaps you would care to teach me,” Sirius began smoothly, smiling that charming smile he usually reserved for wheedling trust from people.
Remus didn’t bother replying immediately, but continued studying his face, and that smile. He knew immediately what the other man wanted.
“I am not interested in being your… illicit companion,” he replied, hiding his surprise when he saw the other man’s shocked expression as it quickly turned to one of anger.
“I wasn’t talking about that. I’m not even - how could you-”
“Right. Farewell.” He had had enough. It was time for the next thing on his agenda - an important appointment he had to attend.
“Wait, Remus! Wait!” Sirius called out, to no avail. He didn’t bother following. He’d have to ask James for his help.
***
It was an abandoned, derelict building. Used to be a textile factory, before they closed it down due to the owner’s bankruptcy.
“Good afternoon, Remus.”
“This is rather… clichéd, isn’t it?”
“Ah. But of course, it serves a purpose.”
“Surely you could have chosen a better place, with just as much seclusion.”
“That would be out of your way, I presume.”
“Oh?”
“And entirely inconvenient to you.”
“Point taken.”
The other man stepped out of the shadows, sunlight glinting off his half-moon spectacles as his penetrating blue eyes rested a serene gaze on Remus.
“The answer lies in the east, Remus.”
“When do I leave?”
“Tonight, aboard the HMS Hermes.“
“Aptly named.”
“Thank you, I did think it was rather suitable.” He held out a suitcase and a travelling coat. “These are for you, I took the liberty of selecting your clothes for you.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty.”
“You’re very much welcomed.”
He turned to leave, knowing the full details of his mission were enclosed in the suitcase now in his hands.
“Oh, and I shall be sending you a partner.”
He turned around, alarmed at the idea. “I don’t need one.”
“No, for this you must accept one.”
“Very well. And who is he?”
“An esteemed gentleman. Perhaps you’ve met him already,” the King replied, an amused smile playing on his lips and Remus knew that he wasn’t getting anything out of him. Not when the King thought it amusing to be cryptic.
“Bon voyage, and take care.”
“I will, Your Highness. So should you.”
***
“You did botch it up.”
“Yes, yes, I know.”
“Well, he’s not going to be around for about two weeks.”
“Why not?”
“I’m not sure. Something about a sick relative somewhere.”
“Could be a lie.”
“And why should he?”
“He could be an agent for him.“
“Nonsense.”
“James, think about it,” he began.
“Ridiculous, Sirius.”
“But -”
“Let’s not talk about that anymore for now.”
“Fine.”
“So, you’re to be in Hungary for two weeks?”
“Around there.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know. The old man -”
“Are you even allowed to call him that?”
“He’s not here is he?”
“Right. Go on.”
“He told me I’m there to assist one of his men.”
“For what?”
“Information. Usual.”
“Oh. Should’ve known.”
“Yeah. So, I’ll be back in two weeks’ time.”
“Right. Good luck, old chap.”
“Don’t cry for me.”
“Don’t worry, I shan’t bother.”
“Good. Send my love to Harry for me.”
“I will.”