Amid My Solitude, 6 of 7

[sam_storyteller]

What was he, when we came to sift
His meaning, and to note the drift
Of incommunicable ways
That make us ponder while we praise?
-- Edwin Arlington Robinson

Something was pressing on his head, something relentless and uneven. He couldn't move...so cold...must have kicked the blankets off in the middle of the night. Where was Tonks --

Cold water washed across his face, and he snorted, coughing. The spasm sent wracking pains through his body, and his eyes snapped open.

For a moment he couldn't figure out what he was seeing, until the shapes resolved themselves into a starry sky. He tried to lift an arm, and something warm gushed over it; he turned his head, and water rushed into his face again.

He was lying in the river, he thought, panicked. He tried to roll, and another stab of pain, another gush of warm --

Blood.

Blood pouring out of his left arm, aided by the water. He lifted it up, moaning, and managed to get his head and body away from the current.

The river. They'd left him facedown, drowning in the river, and gone. Something must have pushed him over. The current was weak, but he wasn't exactly a heavy man.

His thoughts came thick and slow, and the now-constant pain was making movement difficult. He writhed his way fully onto the bank, retching, teeth chattering.

Full night. He was going to freeze --

And his wand was across the river.

He couldn't cry for help, and there was no way he was ever, ever going to get to the pack grounds. He pushed himself to his knees and wavered, unsteadily, staring across the water.

His left arm was torn nearly to the bone, and bled when he moved it, but his fingers were too numb and weak to rip enough fabric from his tattered clothes to bind it.

The thought was slow in coming, but when it finally arrived, he winced. He had to get across the river. If he didn't, he was going to die. Werewolves healed fast, but not from werewolf bites...

The cold he could conquer and the feeling that his lungs were full of water would pass, but if he stayed here tonight he would bleed to death. He could feel wounds in his calves and thighs, could feel smaller cuts and scratches from claws on his chest. He tried to push himself to his feet, and his skin burned.

I cannot crawl through a river using only one hand, I can't, I can't.

He rested his right hand on the ground and managed to get his legs curled under him. With a supreme effort, he pushed himself upwards, standing unsteadily. The world tilted and spun, but the pain helped with that; he pitched forward, retching again, but his right leg steadied and he managed to stay on his feet.

The other bank was too far away. He'd never make it.

So do you want to bleed slowly to death in the territory of a bunch of Death Eater werewolves, or do you want to die quick and hypothermic while at least trying to get home?

He looked down at the chunk missing from his arm. Bleeding slowly had its appeal.

Still, he moved forward, into the freezing water, silver and black in the starlight. On the other bank was his wand, and he could...could...

What exact good was his wand going to do him?

Can't think, can't walk...

He tripped on a root and fell with a tooth-jarring thud to his knees. The cold seeped into his left leg, the worse of the two, and he let a keen of pain pass his lips. The current caught and eddied in the shredded remains of his clothes.

He let himself go down for just a second, and the sharp shock of cold water in his nose and ears helped again. A quarter of the way there...

He braced against a rock and pushed himself up with his right hand. One step...two steps. Three, four, five, halfway there --

He stepped out of the lee of a big rock, and the sudden rush of water swept him under. He fetched up against a tree trunk, lungs burning, and heard the sharp crack of ribs breaking. A second later he could feel them move as they mended. Some small mercy, anyhow.

He clung to the rotting wood, realising that he was fast going numb. Even his werewolf blood, what was left of it, couldn't handle this. He pushed away, crawling now, hands slowly finding grips on the stones jutting from the riverbed. Still so far to go.

Tonks was going to be so angry if he died. And Harry...

He laughed through the pain. Harry was getting to be quite the expert at surviving people.

Tonks and Harry. Their picture was in his wallet in the bag, under the shrub, which was now upriver slightly. Tonks and Harry...like a family...

He felt the chill seeping into his wounds. The scratches on his chest stung, and the water's spray blinded him. He felt his right arm give, and rolled to avoid going face-down again.

Shallow water. He coughed, looking up.

On the bank. Oh god he was on the bank.

He crawled up onto the soil, resting his forehead on it, breathing heavily.

Tonks and Harry were waiting. Waiting by the bush. That was all that mattered. Prongs and Padfoot were dead but Tonks and Harry were still waiting for him. His family was waiting for him. Harry was going to be upset if he didn't show. He'd made a promise.

He crawled away from the water, eyes never leaving the leather bag that was not much more than a shadow under the shrub. He collapsed when he reached it, and rolled until he was on his back, pulling the bag over, spreading its contents onto the wet grass. His wallet tumbled open, and he picked it up.

Blood ran down his wrist, over his fingers, smearing on the photograph. He laughed, bitterly.

His wand fell on his chest, and he gripped it with trembling, numb fingers. Could he send up sparks...? Nobody would see...nobody? Nobody would see what?

Oh, that was his wand. Sparks? How did it go now...

What?

Harry and Tonks. How had blood got on their picture?

Oh, he hurt. So badly. Worse than when he'd been a child.

His wand. He could...

How would it help?

It was a wand. Wands helped. That was what they were there for. Remus helped too. Helpful werewolf. Never did anything but help.

Somebody please help me.

For god's sake, Tonks, stop stealing the blankets, I'm freezing.

What about my wand?

Something warm on his chest. Tonks. Heavy and warm on his chest. Stay here. If you stay I can sleep. I love you too. No, what about my wand?

Yes, Harry, that's the Wingardium spell. I think that's how he did it. Your dad can tell you.

Oh he's dead. Yes. Well, that's all right, I'm here. That's quite a complex charm. No, here, I'll show you. Just like with the Patronus.

Mine? Mine's a...well it's a Thestral...don't laugh. Here...

Expecto patronum...yes, good. You're doing very well.

***

"Tonks, you've at least got to eat," Kingsley Shacklebolt said. "Or stop pacing. One of the two. If you don't pace you can keep not eating. If you eat you can keep pacing. But you've got to make up your mind or I swear I'm going to tie you to a chair."

Tonks looked up at him, stopping in her pacing of the floor. "It's been four days. He can't have gone so far in four days that Hedwig can't find him. We could have Aurors looking for him, we could BE Aurors looking for him -- "

"We've been over this," Kingsley said tiredly. "The Order can work faster and better than the Ministry could. Especially him...being what he is."

Tonks' eyes blazed. "It shouldn't matter!"

"But it does."

"Not to me!"

"And you are one among many, but the Ministry isn't going to work any harder than it has to, finding a wayward werewolf. Besides, he may have his reasons. He may be in negotiation with the pack."

"For all we know he's with the pack and they've killed and eaten Hedwig," Tonks muttered. "And Pig and Alcyone and Nona too."

"Stringy birds, owls," Kingsley rumbled. "Doubt they'd make much of a meal."

"Werewolves'll eat anything," Tonks said, with a slightly bitter look. "Molly told me. Remus eats chicken bones."

"Roughage."

"It's not funny, Kingsley."

Kingsley leaned back in his chair slightly, to look up at her. "You won't eat, you hardly sleep, the only reason you're not wandering the countryside right now is that Dumbledore won't let you."

"And if he didn't threaten to fire me from the Order," she said crossly. She started pacing again.

"It's not healthy."

"Thank you, mum."

"You know he'd say the same thing."

"He also said he'd be safe and he'd take care of himself!"

There was the thunk of a door hitting a wall, and Arthur skidded through the foyer, into the kitchen. He was disheveled, white as a sheet, and panting.

"Found him," he gasped, clutching his chest. "...hospital."

"Found him?" Kingsley asked. "Which hospital? St. Mungo's?"

"Bloody...Muggle hospital..."

"He's in a Muggle hospital?" Tonks demanded. "Daft bastard!"

Arthur looked insulted.

"HIM NOT YOU!" Tonks shouted. "Which one?"

"Came...to take you there...oh bloody hell." Arthur drew in lungfuls of air. "Had to run down the block to get somewhere I could Apparate. Got to take you back -- too far away if you don't know where you're going."

"Breathe, Arthur," Kingsley insisted.

"Is he all right?"

Arthur wheezed. "I dunno. Came straight back here. Snape's there now. He found 'im."

"Snape found him?" Kingsley asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Thought he ought to check Muggle hospitals," Arthur said, his breathing slowing. "You know Severus, always thinking strange things."

"Is he okay?"

Arthur straightened. "We don't know," he rasped. "Follow me."

Tonks and Kingsley nodded, following when he Disapparated. They appeared, unsteadily, in a dark brick-lined niche. Arthur took Tonks' arm, pulling her towards a gap between buildings.

"This way," he said urgently, leading them down a nearly-deserted street. As soon as they came in range of the hospital, Kingsley groaned, and pointed.

Perched on a tree outside the hospital entrance, Pig, Hedwig, Nona, and Alcyone were all sleeping, heads under their wings.

"Waiting to deliver their letters," Arthur sighed. "Come on, this way."

Snape was waiting for them inside, and he led them down the hallway, ignoring the questioning looks of nurses and orderlies.

"He's been here at least three days," he said as they walked, moving as if he'd memorised the way to the room. "Apparently someone saw something from the road and found him. Barbaric Muggles," he added, as they passed a woman being wheeled down the hall, a clear plastic bag attached to her arm by a tube. "They gave him one of those infernal bag things as well."

"Have you seen him?" Arthur asked. Tonks' fingernails dug into his arm.

"Briefly. They said he hasn't woken at all. They were going to cut into him, you know. Surgery, they call it."

"Muggle Medicine," Kingsley said, with a shake of his head. "Did you stop them?"

"I wouldn't submit my worst enemy to Muggle surgery," Snape replied. "And if they tried it on a werewolf they'd get a nasty surprise."

He pushed open a door and stalked inside. A nurse, holding a large roll of gauze in her hands, looked up in surprise.

"You're not supposed to -- "

"Stupefy," Tonks said, and the woman's eyes glazed over. Kingsley eased the nurse into a chair as Arthur, Tonks, and Snape gathered around the bed.

"Merlin, what have they done to him," Tonks said softly. Arthur reached out to hover his hand over the tangled, shredded remains of Remus' left arm. His head was swathed in bandages, and his chest rose and fell slowly.

"Muggle stitching," he said finally. "This is how it's supposed to be done. But they can't think this is going to be enough..."

"She was changing the bandages," Tonks said, turning to glance at the nurse. She peeled back the blanket and tugged down the collar of his hospital gown. His chest was covered in lacerations, most of them stitched, the ends visible at the edges of bandages taped onto his skin. "He's been like this for three days?"

"We need to take him out of here," Kingsley said decidedly. "Arthur -- "

"I'll take care of the doctors," Arthur said, ducking out the door. Kingsley examined the bag of clear liquid which seemed to be leaking into Remus by a rubber tube. After a moment, he ripped the tape off of his arm and pulled the tube out. There was a small sucking noise as the puncture wound healed over.

Tonks investigated the rest of the machines, carefully following each wire before removing the attachment. Snape watched, detached, keeping an eye on the door. Finally, Kingsley pressed the blanket against Remus' side and lifted him, wrapped in the bedclothes. His head lolled, and Tonks thought she heard a quiet exhalation of pain.

"Careful with him," she said worriedly.

"No fear, Tonks," Kingsley replied. "I'll Apparate to St. Mungo's. You get Arthur and follow. Snape -- "

"I'll call off the search," Snape said, sullenly, and Disapparated abruptly. Kingsley vanished shortly after, and Tonks ran to the door.

"Didn't take long," Arthur announced, reappearing by her side as she walked out. "Had to do this sort of thing once before -- vampire in a car accident, very touchy. Just let me take care of the nurse...Go on then, Tonks."

She caught his shoulder as he passed her.

"What can do that to a werewolf?" she asked softly. He looked at her carefully.

"Other werewolves," he replied. "Go to St. Mungo's, Tonks. That's an order."

She gave him a rebellious look, and Disapparated with a loud crack.

***

The admitting area of the Wizarding hospital, St. Mungo's, was nearly empty when she walked in -- no sign of Kingsley or Remus. She stopped at the desk, and the woman looked up at her, nodding.

"Fourth floor. Under 'Spell Damage'. Our little joke," she said, turning back to her paper. Tonks blinked.

"No, I'm not...sick..." she trailed off. "I'm looking for Remus Lupin. He was just brought in by an Auror, Kingsley Shacklebolt -- "

"The one the Muggles got hold of? First floor, Dai Llewellyn ward," the woman said, pointing to the sign, which read 'Creature-Induced Injuries'. Tonks swore under her breath and started for the ward.

When she reached it -- Arthur Weasley had spent time here, and it wasn't hard to remember the way -- she found Kingsley waiting for her. He caught her arm, steadying her.

"He's all right," he said urgently. "The Healers are working on him. You know Augustus Pye has experience with stitches -- "

"Kingsley!" someone shouted, and they turned to see Arthur, the twins on his heels, running down the hallway.

"How is he?" Arthur asked, skidding to a halt. Fred slammed into him, knocking him forward, and Tonks caught his shoulders, pushing him back.

"Sorry, Dad," Fred muttered. Arthur ran a hand through his thinning red hair.

"The Healers are working on him. It's all right, Arthur," Kingsley said. Fred and George began canvassing the hallways, peering through windows. "Did you take care of the -- "

"Yes, yes, if I can't cast a simple obliviate by now..." Arthur waved a hand, irritated.

"A crack team of Ministry representatives," drawled a voice, and Arthur turned to see Snape stalking down the hallway. "One would hope the end result is worth the effort," he added, robes swirling around his ankles as he halted. "All this to-do over a couple of wolf bites on a man who, frankly -- "

"Thank you, Severus," Tonks said suddenly. The others looked at her. There was a tense pause.

"Thank you for finding him," she repeated, no trace of irony in her voice. "If you hadn't thought to look in Muggle hospitals he might have died there or been surgeryised or something. Thank you."

Snape looked at her, utterly stunned. He hadn't even been this surprised when she'd slapped him.

"You're welcome," he said, finally.

Another long pause. Snape shifted uncomfortably under their gaze.

"Someone's got to fetch those bloody owls," he growled. "Too stupid to know they ought to come find us..."

He walked away, muttering under his breath, and Disapparated when he reached the end of the hallway.

"Who knew," Arthur said, looking at Tonks wonderingly. "Civility baffles him."

"Nobody ever says thank you to him," she muttered. "Not when they really mean it. I just thought it might shut him up."

***

There was little the Healers could do for Remus, in the end, other than cut the awful Muggle stitches out; they gave him blood replenishing potion and put a healing charm on the worst of the wounds, but nobody had ever seen a werewolf ripped apart like this. Not one that was still alive.

Kingsley, citing Auror authority and the need to protect a possible witness to a crime, got him moved to a private room. Harry and Hermione arrived soon after, with most of the rest of the Weasleys close behind. When Moody and Dumbledore appeared, trailed by Snape, Kingsley called an official Order meeting, presided over by Dumbledore in a chaotic jumble of stolen hospital chairs.

"Must've been werewolves," Moody said, his magic eye keeping a constant watch on the figure in the hospital bed. "Nothing else could do it."

"Nothing good can come of trying to reason with ferals," Kingsley added.

"We do not know," Dumbledore said slowly, "that the pack is responsible. From what I've heard of feral werewolves, they don't like to cause trouble."

"Well, obviously they sometimes get their kicks that way!" Tonks said angrily. "Otherwise my -- otherwise Remus wouldn't be lying in a hospital bed!"

"We do have the option," Arthur said slowly, "of making a formal complaint to the Aurors. I know it's what..." he glanced at Molly. "It's what Rufus Lupin did when Remus was a boy."

"Rufus had to," Moody grunted. "Handled that myself. Very hush-hush. Man had no choice though. He'd already shot one of them. If he didn't make formal complaint, he'd go up for unauthorised hunting. And then word'd be out about his boy."

The rest of the Order turned to him.

"Unauthorised hunting?" Tonks asked slowly.

"Well, it was a different time," Moody rumbled. "I'm sure he'd stand for murder now."

"But there's still recourse," Arthur continued. "If the pack did this to him, and we file complaint on his behalf -- does he have anyone listed as next of kin?"

"I am," Harry volunteered. He was sitting on the floor, head resting against Tonks' thigh, her hand smoothing his hair. Arthur stared at him, open-mouthed. "He's my godfather. He said so. It's in Sirius' will."

"If Harry registers a complaint with the Aurors, they're authorised to destroy the pack. It's in the Ministry statutes. If they attack a wizard or a human they lose standing as protected magical creatures," Arthur continued. "And if they did attack one of their own, it's probably because the Death Eaters got to them first. In which case -- "

"You're talking about destroying a family of people," Dumbledore said quietly. "Living, thinking people."

"They tried to kill him!" Tonks said.

"No," said a faint, hoarse voice.

The whole room fell silent. Moody turned in his seat to regard Remus with both eyes. His head was turned, eyes open and glitteringly bright as he regarded them. None of them moved.

His left hand crept across his body, clinging to the edge of the bed. The bloody wounds were clearly visible, dusted with the blue-green healing powder.

"Ey...di'n't..." he slurred. "No," he tried again.

Tonks stood, so quickly that her chair fell over. Harry caught the leg before it could fall the whole way. Dumbledore and Arthur were also rising.

" 'No' what?" Arthur asked, moving forward. Remus' eyes, unfocused, nevertheless followed his movements.

"Domt...baame..." Remus made a small noise of frustration. "Hurts..."

"What do you want us to do?" Arthur asked. Tonks came forward to stand behind his shoulder, and Remus' eyes rolled upward.

"Ora," he said. Arthur looked at Tonks, who shook her head.

"What do you want, Remus?" she asked.

"O...onee." He closed his eyes. "Onape. Ii...cy."

"He's asking for me," Snape said quietly. Tonks turned to him. "Legilimency."

He stood, rubbing the back of his neck. "Move aside please, Weasley," he said, approaching the bed. Remus let out a soft, relieved sigh. "This is...rather private," he continued. "The fewer here, the easier it will be. On both of us," he added, when Tonks opened her mouth to protest. "Out. All of you. Harry will stay."

Harry turned to regard him.

"A good practical lesson for you," Snape continued.

Bill started forward. "Now see here, Harry doesn't need lessons right now, he needs -- "

"I don't believe I asked for your opinion on what my student does or does not need," Snape said icily. Arthur put a hand on his oldest son's shoulder, guiding the angry young man out of the room. Slowly, the others followed, until it was just the pair of them and Remus, in the dim shadows of the room.

"Onape," Remus said again.

"Yes, I'm sure there'll be time for us to shout at each other later," Snape said briskly. "Hold still. Potter, on the other side of the bed, if you please."

"I don't know how to do Legilimency," Harry whispered. "You didn't teach me that."

"I'm aware of that, boy." Snape placed his hands on either side of Remus' head, thumbs touching over the bridge of his nose. "Your job is to protect your precious Godfather's privacy. He's in no state to do it himself. When we begin, you will block out unnecessary memories. The better you are, the faster we'll know what happened."

Harry swallowed and nodded.

"Do you remember your training?"

"Yes."

"Good. You'll need it."

"I'm ready," Harry said.

"You will need to touch him," Snape sneered. Harry hesitantly put his hands out, unsure of where exactly he was supposed to touch. Snape, after an impatient moment, took Harry's hands and positioned them firmly on Remus' temples. He replaced his own in their position across the man's face, and scowled.

"And we begin," he announced gravely.

***

Harry looked exhausted when he finally opened the door and waved for those waiting in the hallway to come back inside.

Snape was leaning against the wall next to the bed, his arms crossed. His eyes were sunk in his face, dark shadows under furrowed brows. Molly put her arm around Harry's shoulders. He shook his head, pulling away slightly.

"I'm all right," he said quietly. He glanced at Snape. "It's okay."

"You need some rest," Molly said, steering him through the others. They could hear her in the hallway, demanding a spare bed, and Harry's exhausted agreement.

Snape waited until everyone had filed in, and then pushed away from the wall.

"He's sleeping," he said curtly. "I didn't see everything, but I saw enough. Much as I believe we ought to wipe the whole pack out to begin with -- "

"Politics, Severus," Dumbledore said gently. Snape nodded.

"Someone recruited some of the younger members of the pack," he announced. "One of them's been appointed a sort of...temporary leader. He has a Dark Mark. The rest of the pack..." he glanced at Harry. "They don't even know. Their leader's thinking of sending the young ones out of the pack -- to see the outside world."

"Did you see where?" Kingsley asked.

"I could take you there," Snape replied.

"And you will," Kingsley replied. "The Aurors will handle it."

"Oh yes," Snape said, "And while we're on the topic of Remus Lupin's memories, I'd like to inform you that I'm not a spy, Shacklebolt."

Everyone in the room seemed suddenly to stop breathing. Kingsley met his eyes.

"What a useful talent you have," he said finally. "Let us hope you eavesdropped on few other conversations."

"Don't blame me," Snape added. "Potter was supposed to block out the distractions."

"Nobody's going to blame Harry for your errors," Kingsley said. "It's difficult to block out distractions when your partner is looking for them."

"I went looking for answers to the questions we had. I can't help that it was so obviously in his mind," Snape replied. "For the record, I know I would like to take an informal poll." He looked away from Kingsley. "Because you see I'm not Remus Lupin, and I'm not afraid to ask who else thinks I'm a spy. This time."

The other members of the Order looked at each other.

"I think," Dumbledore said, "that the hospital room of a dangerously ill man is not the place to hold discussions on the internal stability of the Order, Severus. As there is no way you can prove you are not a spy, and no way for anyone else to prove you are, the point is moot, and the status quo, as it were, will stand."

Snape nodded. "Nice to have such ringing endorsement," he said, acidly. "If you'll excuse me..." He moved towards the door. "Coming, Shacklebolt?"

"Aye," Kingsley rumbled, pushing past him into the hallway. Snape lingered in the door.

"And by the way, Tonks," he said, "Lupin doesn't think I'm a spy. But he does think you are."

The closing door rang loudly in the silent room. Tonks, pale and drawn, glanced at the bed.

"Don't believe him, he's always lying about stupid things -- " Fred started, but she shook her head.

"He enjoyed that too much for it to be a lie," she said.

"It's ridiculous," George announced. "I don't know what Snape thinks he's playing at but I don't believe it."

"Nobody believes it," Arthur agreed. "You've too much good sense for that, Tonks."

"It doesn't matter," she answered. "I know nobody believes it. So...knowing that," she said, as if she were working out a mathematics equation, "it just matters that he does."

***

"It was like music," Harry said, lying on the cot in the corner of the ward. Molly, sitting on the end of the bed, watched his hands clench the blanket. "It's never been like that before. It felt...everything fell in place. It wasn't like I was trying to do anything. It was just like music."

"You should sleep," Molly said quietly.

"Humans don't think like books at all," Harry continued. "I've been thinking it's like reading a book, or seeing a movie, but it's not. We think like orchestras. A full-on orchestra. With all sorts of things going on underneath all sorts of other things. I could see it all. I think I didn't do it right, though. But I will. Next time I will."

He yawned, and Molly smiled.

"Let's hope there won't be a next time," she said.

"You know what? He loves my dad," Harry said, sleepily.

"Of course he does."

"And Sirius and me, too. And Tonks."

"Sleep, Harry."

"It was on account of me and Tonks," Harry insisted.

"What was?"

"That he came back. He thought we were there. And he thought he was s'posed to be teaching me about Patronuses again and he called his up and that's why they found him, I think. It's fuzzy."

Molly drew her eyebrows together. "He called up a Patronus?"

"Mmmh, and see, some Muggles saw it and came to look. I think. He wasn't really all there, so I don't know it all."

There was the click of a door opening as Tonks walked into the hospital room, creeping quietly past the other beds. She reached Harry's cot, and leaned against the wall, sliding down.

"Hey Tonks," Harry mumbled.

"Hi, Harry," Tonks said, sounding as tired as he did.

"Howya?"

"I've had a really, really bad day," she said. "How about you?"

"I'm all right."

Molly stood, slowly, and brushed her hair out of her eyes. "I've got to speak with Dumbledore," she said gently. "Will you two be all right?"

"Sure, Molly," Tonks answered. Her hair had dulled, Molly noticed, until it was a sort of listless dark colour. She smiled at Tonks, and turned to go.

Harry drew a breath, eyes closed. "Hey, I was s'posed to tell you something," he said. Tonks let her head thud against the wall.

"Oh yes?"

Harry was silent, breathing evenly, for so long that she thought he'd fallen asleep.

"Yeah," he said, finally. "Don't listen to Snape."

Tonks raised an eyebrow, slowly.

"He wanted to tell me that?"

"Mm-hm. Don't listen to Snape," Harry said. "About you. Cos Snape hasn't got the whole story."

"I'm not sure what exactly can help me ignore what Snape told me," Tonks mused.

"Don't listen to 'im," Harry said, sliding into sleep.

"All right, Harry. I won't," Tonks answered softly.

Different words from different mouths. Snape's gossip, like a razor on her nerves, with no explanation, a parting shot meant to injure and dismay.

And Harry's sleepy reassurances, even more vague than what Snape had to tell her, but comforting. Snape made her want to throw things. Harry made her want to cry.

But she did neither; she simply remained there, next to Harry's cot, standing a nominal sort of guard as he slept -- eyes dry, thoughts drifting, perfectly still in the quiet room.

***

The Order was at loose ends, it seemed; Remus in the hospital, Tonks and Harry exhausted and sleeping, with Bill Weasley standing guard in shifts with the twins. Snape and Kingsley hadn't yet checked in, and the others came and went as they could. Dumbledore had gone to join Kingsley; Arthur and Molly spent their time trying to contact everyone who'd been searching or following the search.

When Tonks woke, Bill Weasley was leaning over her, holding a cup of coffee. She accepted it gratefully and glanced at Harry, who was still fast asleep.

"Hippocrates Smethwyck wants to talk to you," he said quietly. "It's about five in the morning, in case you're wondering why the world is a horrible place."

"Thanks, Bill," she said, standing and sipping the coffee. "Why does he want to see me?"

"Dunno," Bill said. "Don't worry, George's about, he'll keep an eye on Harry."

"How's Remus?" she asked dully, as the horror of the night before came rushing back.

"Still sleeping. Hell of a night for the Order," Bill continued, as they walked down the corridor. "Got Dumbledore's right hand just about in a coma, Death Eaters amongst the wolves, Snape thinks we all think he's a spy and that Lupin thinks your a spy, which is frankly ridiculous, by the way, and -- "

"It's all right, Bill," she said. "I don't want to talk about it."

Bill nodded. "Sure, course you don't. Next time I see the bastard I'd like your permission to break his greasy nose, though."

"Yes, because there's not enough trouble in the Order right now," Tonks sighed. "Let him alone, Bill, it's not his fault."

"You can't really think -- "

"I didn't want to talk about it," Tonks said.

"Right," Bill nodded. "Sorry. There he is -- Smethwyck!" he called. The Healer, peering through a window down the corridor, turned and gave them a smile.

"Nymphadora Tonks, good to see you again," he said, with a smile. "Though I wish it was under better circumstances, yes?"

"You must get that a lot," Tonks said softly. Bill clapped her on the shoulder and moved on, into the room Remus was being kept in.

"Fortunately, in this case I'm the bearer of good news twice over," he said, still smiling. "At least, I hope. First, I thought I should probably talk to someone...a little more responsible than Bill..." he tapped the side of his nose. "Mr. Lupin's going to be fine. It's not going to be painless, but I imagine between his unique physiology and our knowledge, he ought to be up and walking around in another week or so. Might have some trouble with his arm."

"That's good," Tonks said, numbly.

"And, I believe I have some other good news. Well, I hope I do. When you spoke to our floor witch downstairs, she misdirected you at first, yes? She mentioned it to me. They're trained to do a bit of diagnostic magic, you see..."

"Yes, but I just thought -- I thought she thought I was sick," Tonks said.

"Well, she did and she didn't. If I may?" the Healer held up his wand, and gestured to her arm. She blinked, but held it out anyway. He pressed the tip of the wand to the inside of her elbow, and listened to the other end.

He's gone daft, Tonks thought.

"Aha, yes. Easiest way to tell," he said with a smile. "Especially this early."

She waited patiently as he straightened. "You'll have to give your young man my congratulations, unless you want to introduce me," he said.

Tonks stared.

***

Bill was standing over the bed when Tonks entered, looking pale. He lifted one corner of the blanket and showed her the sleeping man's bare chest. The lacerations from the wolves' claws were nearly healed, showing fresh pink skin edged with white. There'd been a bad bite on his shoulder that was looking significantly better as well, and his arm, dusted with a fresh treatment of the shimmering blue powder the Healers had concocted, was looking...less mangled. Part of his hair, behind his ear, had been clipped away from what was now a slightly-raised scar; there were still faint marks from the Muggle stitches in it. The line extended down behind his jaw, and she thought it must have been what kept him from speaking clearly the day before.

"He's looking much better," Bill said approvingly.

"The Healer says he'll be all right. Maybe another week," she heard herself say.

"You look like hell."

"Thanks."

"Well, I meant it in the nicest possible way."

"Bill, it's not that I don't appreciate the perpetual Weasley good cheer, but it's exhausting in large doses," Tonks said, leaning back against the wall, next to the bed. Bill smiled.

"A polite way of telling me to bugger off," he said, with a nod. "Wouldn't make a bad Weasley yourself."

Tonks laughed, rubbing her forehead. "Thanks, Bill, but I'm tak...I'm..."

He raised an eyebrow. "Are you?"

She didn't answer, and eventually he turned and left. Once he was gone, she let her legs fold, and slid to the ground.

The world was not this cruel. It didn't take people from you only to give them back, no matter how broken and hurt -- and then take them from you again when you found out what they really thought of you. And then give them back to you because of...because of biology...

His breathing was so even when he slept. He'd been surprised and dismayed, the first morning waking up next to her, to find she'd been...studying him. Watching him. She wasn't the only one, and that had upset him too. But he hadn't shied away. She supposed he probably felt if she wasn't going to run from a werewolf, he wasn't going to run from an Auror.

He had no reason to think she was a spy. No reason at all. There was no good reason.

She rested her face in her hands. Her head ached, neck sore from sleeping sitting upright. They'd known each other for at least a year, and had been good friends for months. She'd been so sure he felt the same way she was beginning to feel...as if their arrangement, their hobby, was leading into something that she wanted and she knew he desperately needed.

"Please don't cry."

She looked up and saw him -- arm braced on the side of the bed, face slanted towards her, jaw against the pillow.

"It's really not worth it," he said softly. "I mean, I'm obviously not."

She tilted her head until they were both looking sideways at each other. "Nobody said I was going to cry."

Remus smiled, then winced slightly. "Ow."

"You're talking better than you were last night."

"I'm a lot less doped up. The Muggles had me on morphine. Slept it off. And..." his fingers drifted up to rub the scar behind his ear. "I guess that didn't help matters any."

She waited. There wasn't really anything to say until he shifted, rolling over onto his back, staring up at the ceiling.

"Gloating I could understand," he continued. "After all, you were right. I'm so sorr -- "

"Snape told us."

"Yes, I felt him in my head. Awful sensation. I want to scrub out my brain."

"Harry was there too."

She heard the hitch in his breathing.

"They both said a lot of interesting things," she added, slightly bitterly. "Snape, for instance, had some insights into -- "

She was stopped by the opening of the door; Kingsley walked in, trailed by Dumbledore, Bill, and a man Tonks recognized as one of the senior Aurors in the Ministry. Remus struggled up on his elbows, wincing, and breathed heavily.

"Don't get up on our account," Dumbledore said with a small, dry smile. Remus let out a breath, fell back, and rolled onto his side. His left arm rested across his hip, a vivid reminder of the Death Eaters' attack.

Kingsley slumped into a seat and slid a long, narrow leather case from his shoulder. It was oblong, with snaps along the length of it, and a piece of strangely-shaped wood visible at one end.

"You must be Remus Lupin," the older Auror said, eyes tracing the wounds and scars on Remus' arms and chest, the healing lacerations on his face. "My name is Jack Longbottom, I've been attached to this case as supervisor. We owe you a debt of gratitude."

"I'm afraid what I'm owed is a sound thrashing for being a fool," Remus said, slightly hoarse. "But as you can see..." he lifted his arm. "That's been taken care of."

Longbottom gave him a grim smile. "Yes, well. If you hadn't been a fool, we wouldn't have a clue that the Death Eaters were infiltrating the feral packs."

"We found the pack's hunting grounds," Kingsley said, his voice lacking its usual booming strength. He sounded strained.

"Did you speak to Alpha?" Remus asked. Tonks listened carefully, eyes shifting between Remus and Jack Longbottom. The older man glanced at Kingsley. "No, I suppose not...how'd you even...how'd you find them? Or even try to talk to them?"

"Well..." Longbottom coughed. "We have our own contacts, you see...not in the pack, but Aurors find it useful to have friends in strange places..."

"There's a werewolf in the Aurors," Tonks said, sharply. Longbottom, after a pause, nodded.

"Two, actually," he said. "It's all kept very quiet. Though I must say recruiting Mr. Lupin is a rather promising prospect -- "

Kingsley very nearly growled. Longbottom spared him a brief, scolding glance.

"As it turns out," he said softly, "we didn't need to use...interpreters."

Remus' eyes focused past the Auror, on the leather case next to Kingsley.

"That's a rifle," he said, thoughtfully. Bill's head turned.

"What's a rifle?" the redheaded man asked.

"It's a weapon you use when you're going to kill a werewolf. A rifle and a silver bullet," Remus said, his eyes closing. "My father used one."

"We didn't have to use it," Kingsley rumbled. "We..."

He trailed off, and Tonks realised this was the first time she had ever seen Kingsley bereft. Remus was silent, eyes closed. Tonks watched as complicated communications went on between Kingsley and Longbottom. Bill, rubbing the back of his head, came to sit next to her. Dumbledore was sitting, hands folded, face carefully blank.

"Perhaps it would be easier for a stranger to say it," Longbottom said finally. Remus' eyes opened. "There appears to have been a coup in the pack. By the time we arrived..."

"They killed Alpha, didn't they?" Remus asked. Longbottom drew a photograph out of his pocket.

It would have been so much easier if it had been a Muggle photograph, completely frozen. In fact, the body lying in the photograph was eerily still; the horror was in the way the grass waved gently, all around him. Remus reached out to touch it, thoughtfully.

"That's Alpha," he said. "Did they -- "

"We found twenty-two bodies," Kingsley said. Bill ran a hand over his face. Dumbledore closed his eyes.

"We've already sent one of our...special recruits to the second pack, and we're preparing to talk to packs on the continent. Word is that the Death Eaters haven't made it that far yet."

"Ye gods," Remus murmured. "There were only thirty, thirty-five people in the pack to start with. The children..."

"Children too," Kingsley said softly.

Remus closed his eyes again, right hand rubbing the wrist of his left, just below where the jagged, healing wound started. After a second, he gave a quiet grunt of pain, and rolled until his back was to them.

"It was very recent," Longbottom continued. "Hours at most."

"His strategy is simple," said Dumbledore, speaking for the first time. "Join or die. Apparently the pack chose not to join."

Tonks could hear Remus' breathing, quick and shallow.

"Leave," she said, standing quickly. "All of you. Now."

"We thought you should be the first to know," Kingsley said.

"Now, Kingsley. Let him alone."

Dumbledore and Bill left without a word; after another silent conversation -- an argument without speech -- Kingsley and Longbottom left as well. Tonks, tense and shaking, turned to Remus. When they'd left, he'd turned back to watch them; now he looked up at her, eyes impossibly blank.

She put a hand to her mouth, drew a ragged breath, and ran.

***

Remus had rarely been without anything to do. Even during the darkest times, during the days when he was waiting for the nights and the horror they brought, he'd had occupations. Books. Studies. His life's work measured out in ink on parchment, in printed word, in thoughts. His mind was always occupied, and often his hands as well.

But for once in his life, he could not move to act; he could not bring himself to ask for books or parchment, and if they'd been forthcoming, he couldn't have done anything with them. He had parchment, come to think on it; in the leather bag that was tucked under his bed, having been retrieved from the Muggle hospital by Arthur Weasley. He didn't want to use his hands, couldn't anyway; the muscles on his left arm were still healing, and they'd nearly torn his right thumb off -- it was one of the few bits of him bound up in bandages, and not left horribly open and exposed as the healing powder did its work.

He had no inclination to do anything but lie in the hospital bed, listening to the blood sing through his veins as he healed. Faster than in a Muggle hospital, slower than if he'd been human, the Healer had said -- they couldn't use the normal charms, because of course he wasn't normal.

Twenty-two dead. Not his fault; he wasn't so far gone as to take those deaths directly on his shoulders, but he did know his presence -- and possibly the lack of his corpse -- had triggered the deaths. So.

Two packs decimated, one with rifle and one in civil war. Both because of him. Neither, exactly, his fault...simply the result of actions taken by people on his behalf.

It was amazing the Order hadn't somehow imploded with Remus Lupin around, he thought sardonically.

Tonks was afraid of him too. Angry at him, of course, for leaving to talk to the ferals alone, but when she'd turned to look at him and he'd wanted nothing more than to call out to her and draw her close...

Well, she'd run off. He'd seen fear before, fear of what he was, he knew what it looked like, and she'd had it.

Couldn't look too pretty now, he thought, staring up at the ceiling. He was a mess. Fresh pink skin covering over the cuts on his chest, open wounds on his arms and legs...he was fully aware that he'd lost even more weight, that his cheeks were sunken and his eyes glittered too brightly. And the full moon was close.

He shut his eyes. If he could sleep...

"Good afternoon, Mr. Lupin!" said a bright, cheery voice.

He suddenly wished for Kingsley's rifle.

"My name's Danae Pedimentia. Up we go!"

He felt a hand grip his shoulder firmly, and turned to regard the intruder.

"What do you want?" he asked, feeling that he was entitled to a little rudeness after what he'd been through.

"I'm here to help you get those muscles working again!" she said, making a fist and tapping him with it on his shoulder. "If you heal up while your legs are all tense and tight, it'll stop you walking properly. Can't have that!"

My god, he thought. This must be what Snape feels like all the time.

"I'm tired," he said, rolling away.

"Ah ah ah! No-one's too tired to be healthy!" she insisted. "Look, I've brought you a lovely cane, and I'm sure if you work hard you'll have a wonderful appetite for your dinner."

I'm going to kill her, he thought, as she pushed him up, tugging him by his arms into a sitting position. She must die. I'm sure the jury will understand.

And then, slightly giddily -- after all, werewolves have the same rights as humans in court now...

At least it was something to channel the fear into. If he had to be doing something, it might as well be painful. Take his mind off the creeping lethargy that the little, analytical part of him was beginning to seriously worry about.

***

The house on Grimmauld Street had felt...not empty, exactly. After all, the twins lived there, and Professor Snape spent a disturbing amount of time there. Ron and Hermione had promised to stay the night, and Arthur and Molly came and went, speaking with other members and spreading the information as widely as possible.

Harry shoved his hands in his pockets and leaned against the kitchen wall. Everyone seemed to be waiting. And there was a ghostly feeling in the house where his...yes. However strange it was to think, he had a godfather again. And there was an empty space where his godfather, Remus Lupin, ought to be. Ghosts where all the people who were supposed to take care of him ought to be.

Ghosts in his head.

When Professor Snape went into Remus' head, oh so many memories. Harry hadn't been able to stem them all, and truth be told he hadn't wanted to. He'd wanted to see the hidden pride Remus had when he was his teacher. He'd wanted to see all the thousands of memories of Sirius and his father. There were things Harry'd seen that were too deeply buried to seek out clearly -- the nights of the full moon, the days following the prank Sirius had played on Professor Snape, the howling, sucking despair he'd felt the day Voldemort was killed.

And the ghostly white Thestral -- Remus Lupin had never produced a Patronus, had never needed to, until after all those deaths. His living incarnation was a Thestral.

Harry probed the memories lingering in his own mind, as if he were pushing at a loose tooth. There it was -- the reason for his Patronus. Memories of his friends. After that, for a little while, a woman named...a woman Harry couldn't name, whose face was all but faded anyway. And still later, he could feel the older man struggle, every time, to find a joyful memory.

Until the last time. Harry gasped, suddenly, as that vision pushed itself to the forefront. It was as though someone had thrown him against the wall; the air just went out of him.

Love. Overwhelming, breathtaking love. Even Sirius...he'd never shown such...and Remus would never, ever admit it, but...

Love and pride. As close to a father's as any man could have. Love for him, a father's love. Love for Tonks, too, and desire and warm regard, but Harry was lost, for the moment, in how much Remus Lupin loved him.

"Harry?"

He blinked, swallowed, and drew a shaky breath. Fred was standing in front of him, looking worried.

"You all right?" Fred asked, cocking his head.

"Yeah," Harry mumbled. "I'm okay. No, really. Just...still tired."

Fred nodded. "You and everyone else. Shacklebolt's gone to mum for a sleeping potion and Snape's sulking and angry and Tonks' room is locked and spelled shut. So even if we wanted to, she couldn't hear us. You hear about the pack?"

"The pack?" Harry asked. He glanced down, and shook his head. "Nobody tells me anything, remember? It's the first rule of life at Grimmauld Place. Don't tell Harry."

"Well, I've never been one for rules, really," Fred said.

"That's the understatement of the year."

"And little Potter shows some bite! Good for you, Harry."

Harry ran a hand over his face. "What happened to the pack? I saw some things...when I was working with Professor Snape."

"Shacklebolt says there was a coup. Buncha Death Eater werewolves killed all the rest."

The leader's name is Alpha. He asked me to come back and hear their epics --

Remus' memories. Damn.

"He tell Remus yet?"

"Yeah."

"How'd that go?"

"Tonks threw everyone out."

Harry managed a weak laugh. "Doesn't shock me."

"It's half-ten already. You look like you could use some sleep," Fred continued. "I mean the Healers say he's gonna be fine, so you shouldn't worry." A pause. "Listen, Harry..."

Harry looked up at him. He'd never seen such honest concern on Fred's face; no mischief, no humour, just anxiety.

"I'm okay. Really."

Fred nodded. "It's...when it was dad, you know...I mean until he was home, none of us really thought he...he would be. Coming home. But Lupin's going to come home."

"I know," Harry agreed. "I just hope he'll be okay, when he does."

***

"Weasley."

George looked up from the desk in the sitting-room he shared with Fred, and narrowed his eyes.

"What do you want?" he asked. Snape loomed in the doorway, scowling.

"I require your assistance," the older man said curtly.

"You mean you want my help," George said with a grin.

"If it pleases you to play games, Weasley -- "

"All right, all right, what is it?"

Snape gestured him down the hallway, and George followed -- mostly out of sheer morbid curiousity.

On a table in one of the house's palatial bathrooms, a small fountain was running, seemingly without machinery. George hunched over and examined it.

"You made a Crinon?" he asked.

"I am...curious," Snape said, nodding. "As to why, everywhere the Dark Lord has passed...we find one of these."

He nudged the fountain -- just a plate and a cup, with water bubbling over and cycling back up top every few seconds -- and a few drops splashed onto the table. After a second, they were sucked back into the flow, as if it was a magnet attracting iron filings.

"Moody said water magic's the hardest sort," George observed.

"Crinon's Peculiar Fountain isn't for fools and witlings," Snape agreed. "And there's not much the experiment can tell us."

"So why'd you do it?"

"Touch the water. Not the plate -- the actual water."

George, giving him a suspicious look, ran his fingers on the water. His eyes drooped, and he nearly collapsed; Snape caught him roughly under one armpit. His hand pulled away from the water, and he stumbled backwards.

"What'd you do to this?" he demanded.

"Nothing. It is in the nature of the Peculiar Fountain to draw magical power," Snape replied, eyes dark in his face. "Muggles wouldn't notice. Any natural magic in the area would be drawn in and cycled through. Children born with magical ability would probably be drained by it."

George glanced at him. "So...You-Know-Who's stealing magic?"

Snape nodded.

"What do we do about it?"

The older man picked up a bowl of rough-ground white crystals.

"Salt," he said, when George lifted an eyebrow. He shook some into his hand, and sprinkled it over the fountain. It ceased, instantly. Water splattered onto the table.

"Break the fountain, draw the power," George observed. Snape was silent. The boy studied the pools of water for a while.

"We're really going to end him, aren't we?" he said finally. "The battle's really coming."

"It's been coming for fifteen years," Snape said quietly.

"You're not a spy."

"No, boy."

"I believe you."

"Oh, how splendid," Snape said sarcastically.

"I'll make sure the rest of my family's behind you."

"And it just gets better!"

George stepped out into the hallway, and leaned against the wall. "Why are you such an utter ass, Snape?"

A second later a hand was at his collar, lifting him up. Snape's hand. Holding him in the air and pinning him to the wall he'd been leaning against.

"I am doing my level best not to lose what little I have in this world, not to mention help save it from itself, and do you know what I get? A slap in the face from Nymphadora Tonks, five minutes of shouting and not one bloody thank-you from that suicidal werewolf, and the first thing I see when I try to find out what happened to him? I find that Kingsley Shacklebolt thinks I'm still a Death Eater."

He let go, and George dropped to his feet, coughing.

"Do not ever presume that you and I are equals and that you are permitted to speak to me in that manner," Snape hissed. "So you believe I'm not a spy and you do whatever you think is fit and in the meantime stay the hell out of my way."

He turned and stalked down the hallway towards his room.

"You should tell Dumbledore," George called after him. Snape lifted a hand in a brisk gesture of agreement, without turning, and vanished into the shadows as Fred and Harry came around the corner.

"I heard shouting," Fred said. George grinned.

"Giving Snape a little chance to vent, that's all," he replied.

***

"I love the sun."

Arthur glanced up from where he was eating Remus' breakfast, since the other man had taken three bites and retched, running to the bathroom to be ill.

He hadn't really eaten, not really, in nearly six days. The Healers said it was probably the charms making him nauseous. So, Arthur was enjoying quite a hearty breakfast of oatmeal, eggs, and toast. And Remus was standing at the window, having been ordered to stand or walk for at least two hours by the woman Remus would only refer to as That Blasted Harpy.

He had the curtain drawn back, and was staring out. Sunlight streamed in.

"Can't ever feel enough of it," Remus continued, lifting his face to the rays. "When the only thing you can depend on is that the sun will always, always rise, and end everything..."

"You feeling all right, Lupin? Only you're not usually inclined towards angstful poetic prose," Arthur said, around a mouthful of oatmeal. Remus nodded.

"Well, it's more interesting than saying that everywhere itches," he replied. The cane he was supposed to be using to help him walk tapped idly on the floor. "Or that I have irrevocably buggered up my life."

"Itch...irrevocably buggered up life." Arthur held up his hands, pretending to weigh them. "How, precisely?"

"You mean aside from driving off the only woman in ten years to tolerate me, nearly getting killed, being the indirect cause of twenty-two deaths, and having Harry see the inside of my head?"

"I once forgot Molly's birthday," Arthur said. Remus glanced at him. "I'm just saying. You know. Everyone makes mistakes. And if you don't think it's the same thing, you don't really know Molly. Oh, and I dropped Ron once."

"You...dropped him?"

"Only a little, not far at all. And it was onto a bed. Squirmy little thing."

"Arthur, you had five children before Ron."

"They weren't squirmers," Arthur said with a grin. "Molly nearly had a heart attack."

"But she didn't run away when she saw you," Remus murmured.

Arthur rose and clapped him gently on the arm. "Keep walking. Tonks'll come round." Arthur paused. "Lupin, d'you love her?"

Remus bowed his head.

"Two weeks is hardly time to know," he muttered.

"You've known her a lot longer than two weeks," Arthur laughed. "I'll see you later. I've got to get back to Headquarters, Snape has some big announcement to make. Hopefully the whole spy thing's been smoothed over."

"Spy...?" Remus asked.

"Oh yes. He accused Kingsley of thinking he was a spy. Got it from you when he did the Legilimency. Don't feel bad, Snape's a nosy bastard, you know. He told Tonks you thought she was a spy, too, but nobody believed hi -- "

"He said what?"

"That you thought Tonks was a spy..." Arthur put a hand to his mouth, when he saw the murderous look on Remus' face. "You didn't, did you?"

"I'll kill him," Remus said vehemently. Arthur gaped. "He had no business -- no right at all..."

"Tonks?" Arthur demanded. "Of all the people to suspect, you thought Tonks -- you really have buggered up your life, Lupin. You've got your head up your arse."

"What else was I supposed to think?"

"About the woman who is obviously head over heels for you and lucky enough to be the one to grab you by the scruff of the neck and stop you for long enough to -- "

"Head over heels for me? Look at me, Arthur! I'm thirty four years old and I haven't held a steady job since I was nineteen. I couldn't even keep the Hogwarts job. You can count my ribs and I'm already going grey, and oh yes, there's the fact that for three nights a month I have a tail, a snout, and homicidal tendencies! Nobody wants me, not unless I'm useful. Do you really think she had no ulterior motives? Because I sure would like to think that, but I don't live in a fantasy world!"

Arthur stared at him.

"I don't like thinking it," Remus muttered. Arthur continued to stare. "Dammit, Arthur, say something."

"I don't think there's anything I can say." Arthur rubbed his jaw. Remus had seen Ron make the same motion, many times. "Keep walking."

He turned and pushed through the door, out into the bustling hospital.

Chapter 7