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sam_storyteller) wrote2005-07-08 03:47 pm
sam_storyteller) wrote2005-07-08 03:47 pm
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Amid My Solitude, 5 of 7
With glint of iron in his eyes,
But never doubt, nor yet surprise,
Appeared, and stayed, and held his head
As one by kings accredited.
-- Edwin Arlington Robinson
"I'm trusting your eyes, Moody," Remus said, as they walked along the graveyard path towards the Riddle house. "I'd like very much not to die today."
"Aye, I know," Moody said, with a sideways grin. He looked up at the house, and nodded to himself. "May as well get started. We'll clean as we go?"
"More or less." Remus pushed the front door in, and led the older man to the kitchen. Moody tsked to himself as they stepped inside.
"A right mess been made here," he said. "And a smell."
"I wonder whose blood it is," Remus murmured. "I'll clear the counters."
He raised his wand and managed to get out "Scourgi -- " before Moody clapped a hand over his mouth.
"Just a moment, there," he said sternly. "I wasn't done looking yet."
Remus nodded, and watched as Moody picked up a long-handled wooden spoon, one of the few that wasn't too dirty. Poking with the broad end, he pushed some of the plates into the sink at the end, and shoved others away from or around a series of glass jars and bowls. Finally, he stepped back.
An array of potions ingredients now sat on the counter before them, previously hidden by the mess of rotting food and filthy plates. Remus reached out and picked up a pestle, resting in a large wooden bowl. He took a pinch of the powder in the bowl and sniffed it.
"Hypericum," he said.
"Aye. And Valerian," Moody agreed, picking up another jar. "And Bezoar, and nettles...and..."
He picked up a jar, lifting the lid slightly. Remus felt his chest seize up, his throat close off. He choked and stumbled backwards, mouth working, until Moody slid the lid back on, and waved a filthy towel to clear the air of the scent.
"Aconite," Remus gasped, muscles relaxing again. "It's Aconite."
"Is it now," Moody replied.
"Merlin," Remus breathed, clutching his chest. "You could have checked another way than trying to kill me, you know."
"Keeps you on your toes," Moody said, with a grim smile. "It's toxic to you in powdered form."
"Causes an allergic reaction in all werewolves."
"And yet...with proper preparation..."
Remus' eyes widened as he examined the jars again. "Hypericum, Valerian, Bezoar, nettles, Aconite, and Lycium."
Moody reached into the cupboard above the jars, and took down a stoppered bottle. "Bone infusion," he read. The liquid inside the bottle was a cloudy beige colour. He hefted the only other thing in the cupboard, a sealed canister. "And finally we have...horseradish. Hm. What's 'kosher' mean?"
"They're very simple ingredients," Remus muttered, ignoring the question. "It's the measurement and the infusions you've got to get right. That's the really tricky bit."
"And what potion does this make?" Moody asked, as if he were teaching a private lecture.
"Wolfsbane potion," Remus replied.
"The common name for Aconite."
"They wouldn't need to take the ingredients along with them. They're not expensive, by and large."
"So why do you think," Moody asked slowly, "The Dark Lord has need of a potion to keep werewolves under control?"
***
By the time they returned to Headquarters -- gritty, dusty, and exhausted from the effort of defusing half a dozen traps and cleaning the refuse out of several rooms -- the sun had already set, and most of the Order had checked in and gone home for the evening.
"That's everyone but Kingsley, and Arabella said he was going straight home, so he's off," George said. "Am I glad you're back. Snape's been insufferable all afternoon."
"Up and about then, is he? Ta, Molly," Remus said, accepting a damp cloth from Molly Weasley and cleaning his face with it.
"Up, anyway. Was making us wait on him hand and foot," Fred said, wrinkling his nose. "Finally George cast a silencing spell outside his room, so he couldn't yell for us anymore."
"I fear for your future wives," Remus said, through the cloth. "What're you going to tell him when he asks?"
"That we put it there so that our footsteps outside his door wouldn't bother him," George replied with a grin. Remus sighed.
"I'll wait until morning to talk to him, then," he said. "How's Tonks?"
The boys shrugged. "She went upstairs a while ago, said she was going to Owl the Ministry about taking a few days off. And not to bother her. Harry checked on her -- didn't you, Harry?"
Harry, emerging from the kitchen with a sandwich, nodded. "No answer when I knocked, but she did say she was going to try to sleep. Mrs. Weasley gave her a potion."
"Just to get her to sleep," Molly added. "You look like you could use one, too. Find anything else at the Riddle house?"
"Lots of traps. Moody's eye came in very handy, in that respect. We got rid of anything that might look suspicious."
Moody, tromping in the doorway with a crate under one arm, gave them all a nod, and vanished into the back of the house.
"Molly, I think I need to talk to you and Arthur privately," Remus said quietly. "We found some...disturbing evidence."
"Evidence of wh -- oh. Of course," Molly said, as Remus gave Harry and the twins a significant look. "We can talk in the kitchen...ARTHUR!"
"YES, DEAR?" Arthur's voice drifted through a window. Molly leaned through it.
"Arthur, stop fiddling with Harry's motorbike and come in here," she scolded. "I swear," she added, to Remus, "that man's more excited about it than Harry is."
"I don't think anyone could be more excited about it than Harry is," Remus replied. Arthur walked inside, wiping his fingers on a greasy rag, and smiled.
"Remus needed to talk to us," Molly said. "About what they found at the Riddle house."
"Hope it was more than the absolute zero we found," Arthur said cheerfully. Remus leaned against the wall, and shook his head.
"We found potions ingredients," he said. "Left behind. Measures for a Wolfsbane potion."
Arthur blinked. "A wolfsbane potion? But..."
"...I know."
"The whole thing doesn't make sense," Molly said. "Why would they leave? And even if they left, why wouldn't they come back for the things they left behind?"
"Possibly they thought we were watching the place. I think they must have gone after...after the trouble at the Ministry..." Remus said slowly. "They took nearly everything."
"Except the skeleton," Molly said, with a shiver.
"And the potion ingredients," Remus sighed. "I can't imagine the Dark Lord would allow werewolves in his inner circle..."
"Why else would he have it?" Arthur asked.
"I don't know. Those were the only ingredients...there's not much else can be made with them, as far as I know, though I'll check with Severus when he's...feeling better."
"They wouldn't let werewolves in," Molly said thoughtfully. "Not as conspirators, I mean. But demented animals would make good foot soldiers. Good cannon fodder," she added. "And if you had to have them about -- as bodyguards, maybe -- well, you'd have to keep them tame somehow."
Remus felt a dim horror creep over him, not so much for the idea of Death Eaters using werewolves, but for the idea of the werewolves, drugged into submission by wolfsbane...
"Feral werewolves can shift anytime they like, can't they?" she asked, not meeting his eyes. "I'm sure I heard that somewhere."
"If he was planning to recruit feral werewolves...like he did the giants..." Remus said, the disgust mounting. "He'd want to be able to...to offer it to them? Or slip it to them in order to keep them under control..."
"Either way, we'd better find out if they're still going to try for it, and fast," Arthur said. Remus was still awash in horror at the idea, and didn't respond.
"Remus...?" Molly asked. He shook his head, to clear it.
"I'll deal with it," he said.
"I could ask in the Ministry -- "
"No, Arthur," Remus said. He gave them a tired smile. "I know what to do. I'll start work on it tomorrow."
Arthur gave him an uncertain look, but smiled and clapped him on the arm anyway.
"Get some rest, then. I'm going to make Harry show me how the petrol tank works again," he added, passing into the living room. Remus walked to the window, over the sink, and stared out at the motorbike.
"You should eat, too," Molly said. "You're far too thin."
"I was hungry until about ten seconds ago," he said, fingers curling around the smooth white porcelain rim of the sink. "Now I think I'm just going to sleep for a while. Are you staying here tonight, you and Arthur?"
"I think so. In case there's trouble at all. I have a feeling Severus will need more looking-after than Ron and Ginny would."
Remus smiled. "I have a feeling you're right, Molly." He turned away from the window. "I'll be in my room. Going to try to sleep. Wake me if Severus gets troublesome, or if Tonks needs anything."
"Of course," Molly said reassuringly, and he left her in the kitchen, walking slowly up the stairs to his rooms. He stopped outside the door and listened intently; then, smiling, he pushed it open, and locked it behind him. The door between the study and the bedroom was open, and he could see his bed, an unexpected red blanket on the top of it, and an only-slightly-unexpected figure curled up underneath it.
He sat on the edge of the bed and felt the top of the blanket; as he'd expected, it had a warming charm on it. At least she wouldn't be too stiff tomorrow.
"Din't want to sleep in my bed," she mumbled, into the pillow. "Din't smell right."
"Smell right?" he asked, brushing a corner of the blanket away from her face.
"Smelled musty," she said. "Wanted your bed."
"That's fine. I'll sleep on the couch, I do that often enough. Do you want anything? Another sleeping potion?"
"Stay," she ordered, shifting a little. A wince crossed her face. "Sleep here."
"I don't want to hurt you."
"M'fine."
"You had a nasty fall."
"Don't make me wake up," she said drowsily. "I'll yell at you if I do."
"All right," he said, loosening his collar. He undressed, finding a crumpled pair of pyjama bottoms near the foot of the bed. She didn't make it easy on him; he had to slide past her on the small bed, and slip awkwardly under the blanket.
She sighed a little as he curled carefully against her and wrapped one arm around her waist.
"How did it go with Moody?" she asked.
"I'll tell you in the morning."
"He didn't get fresh, did he?"
Remus laughed. "No, my dear Dora, unless you count giving me a heart attack in the name of 'eternal vigilance'."
"Mm?"
"We found some ingredients for a Wolfsbane potion. The Death Eaters might be using werewolves..."
"Awful."
"I agree. I'm going to send Moody back tomorrow to look around the village. I have a suspicion that I'd like verified."
"You going with him?"
"No, I have other things to attend to. If you're feeling all right in the morning, you might go."
She shifted again, and her hand touched his, thumb rubbing the sensitive skin on his knuckles.
"You're in no shape for our hobby tonight," he said into her hair -- shorter than it had been earlier, but still bright red.
"It wasn't that far," she muttered. "Ten feet at most."
"You fell through a ceiling."
"Flesh wound."
"Dora, you need to sleep," he whispered.
"I know," she sighed. "Remus..."
"Mmm?"
"Do you like it when I touch you?"
He laughed. "Very much. You know that."
"Do you miss me when I'm not here?"
"Of...of course. Why?"
He heard warm satisfaction in her voice. "Just wondering," she replied.
***
Remus Lupin did not need to be told about feral werewolves by anyone.
By the age of ten he was well-versed in what little was published on the subject, not to mention being more knowledgeable about communicable diseases of the blood than most medical students. His father had taken him to countless conferences, universities, and hospitals in his quest for a cure; it always amused Remus, and honed his sense of irony to a fine point, to see his tall, burly father, a rural farmer in patched corduroys and a broad-brimmed leather hat, talking hematopathology with learned doctors and scientists.
He'd studied the feral werewolves, as he grew up; men and women who ran in packs and lived like wild animals even during the days they weren't wolves -- they were rumoured to be able to Change at will and far less painfully, but he felt that this was farfetched. Once in a while he considered joining them, but he'd never been one for camping, really.
There were two packs in Britain -- at least, two that anyone knew about. There had been three, once.
He considered the bag before him. It was just big enough to suit his needs, but small enough to be easily carried. This did not leave a lot of room for things like changes of trousers, books, and food. Perhaps a second bag for food.
He wouldn't need too many clothes; he didn't plan on dressing to impress. He picked up a roll of parchment, quill and ink, and put them in the side pocket; in the main compartment he neatly and efficiently packed a few items of clothing, and after some deliberation, one of the books on ferals, from his vast library on lycanthropy. He also decanted a month's worth of Wolfsbane potion into a vial and added it, wrapped in a worn, threadbare shirt, to the bag.
He surveyed the desk, and his fingers drifted across a small leather case.
It had been a gift from Dumbledore, on his birthday one year; it wasn't a wallet so much as a place to keep things he valued. There was a photo of himself and Sirius and James, taken by Peter their final year at Hogwarts; one of Harry, taken last summer, and one of Dumbledore, Arthur, and Tonks, also from last summer. Various others. A punched ticket from the Hogwarts Express. A rusty key that had once fit a lock in the Shrieking Shack.
He reached over to another pile and dug through it deftly, coming up with a small stack of photos that Arthur had passed on to him just two days ago, of Harry's birthday party. There he was with Tonks, Harry beaming in front of them, over his first ever proper birthday cake.
They could be a family, he thought, with a small smile. If one of them wasn't a werewolf, and one of them wasn't an orphan, and one of them wasn't going to rend him limb from limb if she found out where he was going.
He stuffed the photo into an empty pocket in the case, and tossed it into the open bag.
There was a stirring in the other room, and he pulled the blanket on the couch over, covering the bag. Tonks was sliding out of the bed carefully, rubbing her left shoulder.
"Sore this morning?" he asked, leaning in the doorway. She smiled and walked forward, wrapping her arms around his neck. His hands went automatically -- almost instinctively -- to her waist.
"Not as much as I thought I'd be," she said. "I feel fine. Must have been a good potion Molly gave me."
"Glad to hear it," he replied, moving with her as she stepped forward into the sunny study. He would not look at the bag, hidden under a blanket on the couch. He would not tip her off...
"How are you feeling this morning?" she asked, kissing his jaw. He felt a twinge of guilt.
"I'm...well," he replied.
"You were right about last night," she said, pulling him a little closer. "I wasn't in any shape to do much of anything. But I've the next few days off, courtesy of falling through a ceiling..."
He let her kiss him, let her tongue slide against his lips and even kissed back, as her hands rubbed the sensitive parts of his neck and her body pressed so...close...
"Tonks, I really don't know if this is the ideal -- unh..." He grunted as she pushed him gently onto the couch. "Not that I don't -- oh..."
She really could do the most amazing things with her tongue.
Then she shifted, slightly, and he heard the papers in his bag rattle as her hip bumped against it. She paused and leaned back.
"What on earth..." she asked, flipping the blanket back before he could stop her. "Why do you..."
She took in the clothing, the few toiletries and the careful packing, and turned back to him. "I didn't know you were going traveling," she said, almost laughingly. "Are you eloping?"
"No...no..." he said, not meeting her eyes. "There's some...business for the Order I have to see to."
"You're not taking much," she said, pulling out the book. He winced as she read the title, then looked up at him. He knew he looked guilty. He knew she understood.
"Ferals," she whispered. "You're going to find the ferals, aren't you?" she asked, looking down again at the book.
"Yesterday in the Riddle house..." he said, trying to focus on this and not the feeling of her straddling his lap. "If they're trying to recruit the ferals..."
"Who's going with you?" she asked.
"No one. They'd attack a human, Tonks, you ought to know that."
"You're going alone. To talk to a pack of feral werewolves," she said, her voice growing more dangerous by the second.
"Someone has to," he said helplessly. She leaned back and slid off the couch, rising to pace in the room. "I'm the only qualified -- "
"I don't believe you. If Death Eaters can talk to them, we can," she snapped. "Were you leaving this morning?"
"I planned on it. I was going to tell Fred and George -- "
"Fred and George?"
"Yes, so they'd know where I'd gone. You see, this is exactly why I didn't want anyone else to see me leaving," he said, standing and running a hand through his hair.
"Because you knew we'd try to talk some sense into you? At least take someone along with you!"
"They won't trust me -- "
"They won't KILL YOU either!"
He scowled. "Keep your voice down, do you want to wake the whole house?"
"As a matter of fact, that's not a bad idea!"
"Listen to me. Tonks. Dora. Listen to me," he said, grabbing her wrist. She looked down at it, and then back at him. He let go, slowly.
"Someone has to go now and there isn't enough time to argue this out with the whole Order. I have the right to do this," he said. "And much as I would like to make you happy by dragging some other poor sod along with me, I can't. This is something I have to do alone if it's going to end well."
"And what if it doesn't end well?" she demanded.
"Then the Order goes on," he said grimly. She stared at him.
"You are the biggest...fool...idiot..." she managed. "If you were Severus Snape I'd slap you."
"Well, I'm not. I'm Remus Lupin. I'm a werewolf, do you get that? I am not a human. I am a werewolf," he snarled. "And I have lived around people who are just like me and yet completely alien for my entire life. So even if I didn't have to be the one to go, I would still be the one, because they are my kin, no matter how much I dislike them. No matter how violent or primitive they are. They are my blood."
"And what about us? We're just humans, is that it? We don't matter?"
"Don't put those words in my mouth, Tonks. Not in mine. You don't get to tell me that I hate anyone, because I've been hated and reviled by humans for longer than you've been alive."
She stared at him, open mouthed.
"So yes. I am going to the ferals. I am going to try to stop them from becoming what Molly so charmingly referred to as 'cannon fodder' for the Death Eaters. You don't have to like it but you do have to accept it. I'll pull rank on you if I have to, Tonks. I will be Remus Lupin for the Order and give you your marching papers."
He stopped, and took a deep breath. She was still staring.
"And what about Remus Lupin who went out and got so drunk he couldn't stand," she said slowly, "And begged me...begged me not to stop touching him? What about Remus Lupin who has shared my bed almost every night for the past two weeks?"
He reached over and closed the bag with a snap. "Don't make me remind you, Tonks, that you called all that a hobby."
"Fuck you," she growled. "It was more than that and you know it."
"Was it?" he asked.
"I don't know where you've been the past two weeks, but in case you hadn't noticed, I am falling in love with you, Remus. In case your mind has been on Order business," she said, sharply, "You have been falling in love with me, too. And you know it."
"Don't tell me who I love," he replied. "It's been two weeks, Tonks. Two weeks is barely enough time to know a person -- "
"How long have we known each other? A year? A year and a half? You don't think that part of it counts for anything?"
"I am not going to yell about this with you," he said calmly. "I have a train to catch."
"They'll kill you!"
"They won't kill me," he said, tightening the reins on his temper. "They didn't last time."
"Last time?" she demanded.
"When they made me what I am," he said, quietly. He picked up the bag and slung it over his shoulder. He wondered idly if he should kiss her, and almost moved to do it, but at the last minute he saw her preparing to step away, and he shook his head. "Tell the Order where I've gone."
"I could call the others and we'd stop you."
"Or you could be an adult," he said reasonably, "and let me go."
He didn't turn to see her face -- he couldn't have, even if he wanted to. He let the door swing shut behind him, and heard a noise that sounded vaguely like someone catching their breath.
It might even have been him.
***
The journey wasn't too trying; he could have Apparated, but he needed the travel time to get his thoughts in order, and plan how he would speak to the pack when he arrived. He'd rarely met other werewolves, and never dealt with more than one at a time; he knew a little about how the pack worked, but not nearly enough to be confident he wouldn't offend.
They lived in the few wild places left in Britain, migrating like gypsies when the seasons changed, moving to caves in the winter, forests in the summer. How they maintained their packs was a mystery, but people had theorised about willing members, who would either bear werewolf children or become werewolves themselves...
A werewolf had a one in four chance of their child being a lycanthrope, if the other parent was human. It was a recessive gene in humans, and the old 'pureblood' wizarding families, the Blacks and Malfoys and the like, made sure that nobody marrying into the family carried it. A child of two carriers could be human; a child of two werewolves hadn't a chance in the world.
Ilyssa -- the woman he'd wanted to marry, ten years past -- Ilyssa had been from an old pureblood family, a distant cousin of Lucius Malfoy. He'd known that her family would not want her marrying a carrier, especially an active one, but he hadn't thought she would feel so violently about it herself. He'd thought they could hide it from her family together...
But that rejection was more than ten years past, and the memory barely stung. Ilyssa had at least promised to keep his secret. Not that it mattered, now. Everyone knew now.
He turned back to his notes, ignoring his memories.
Feral werewolves didn't usually come near humans; they didn't have to. They had a pack, and they were wolfborn -- wolfborns had more control than those who'd been bitten. They were said to be able to change seamlessly, any time they liked. The idea had appealed to him as a young man, but he hadn't thought either of the packs would even want him, and a feral had done this to him -- a wild feral from a pack had bitten him...
He rubbed the outside of his left thigh, where he still carried a dark scar from the bite. Werewolves healed quickly...unless the injury was inflicted by another werewolf.
The scenery flew by, outside the window; fields and towns, highways, rivers. Inhabited by Muggles, mostly; the Wizarding population of the world was really quite small comparatively. A world hidden within a world. And his world hidden within that one. Two degrees separate from the life that happened on the other side of the train window.
He had lived apart for so long. By choice, because it was too hard, facing the constant fear of being discovered. By necessity, because he was what he was.
And then blasted Tonks came along and didn't get offended when he didn't react to her and didn't stop trying to kiss him and didn't run away...
Well. That was probably over now, all things considered.
Loved him. Ridiculous. She was young, that was some explanation. Didn't know her own heart. He'd been about that age when Ilyssa --
He slammed his hand down on the table, startling himself.
And then there was the possibility that what she wanted wasn't even remotely close to what he thought, that she'd been manipulating him -- he wouldn't be the first to be taken in by a young, pretty woman...
This was getting him nowhere.
He'd speak to the ferals and he'd ensure that they knew what the Dark Lord meant, and then he'd come back to Headquarters and sort things out. He was exceptionally good at sorting things out. Tonks was Auror trained. She was a professional, she'd take his orders no matter what she thought of him. She wouldn't make trouble.
He'd been alone for a long time. The yawning pit in his stomach would close up, he was sure, once he got used to the idea again.
***
It would have defeated the purpose of having summer grounds if they were easy to get to.
It took him most of the day just to get to the small, rural town that, by the smell of it, was probably raided by the pack on a regular basis. He could see their marks everywhere. He paid a few Muggle pounds for a small room on the second floor of the only pub he could find, and struck up a conversation with the barman over dinner, which consisted mainly of pushing food around on a plate and trying to convince himself he'd eaten anything.
"Don't get many strangers passing through round now," the barman said, sliding a glass of beer down the counter to him. He sipped and gestured with his fork.
"Seems like you'd get a lot of campers."
"Nah, not in these parts. Woods're too rough. Bit wild. Locals don't go into 'em."
"I'm not surprised," Remus murmured.
"Get a bunch round Christmas holiday. Got a holiday fair. Yule festival."
Remus nodded. All sorts of strange Muggle interpretations of old Wizarding holidays cropped up in the little towns like this one. Rolling flaming wheels down hills and whatnot. There was probably a paper in that somewhere.
"What's your business in town?" the man asked, leaning on the bar. Remus shrugged.
"Looking for some family of mine," he said quietly, sipping the beer.
"Got kin around here?"
"I think so."
The man cocked his head, and looked at him closely. "Don't look like any of my regulars," he said with a grin. "Got a name?"
"Mine?"
"Nah. Of your kin."
"Oh. No...not a name. Just a trail to follow."
"Good luck in that, mate."
Remus tapped his fingers on the bar, thoughtfully. "Tell me...do you get much trouble with the wildlife around here?"
"No more than normal, I reckon. Keep chains on the rubbish cans, stay in town after dark. Get some big predators this time of the year. Nother reason we don't get many campers," the man added with a toothy grin. Remus, making an effort, smiled back over the rim of his glass.
"Thanks for the food," he said. "Put it on my room."
"Hardly ate nothin."
"Wasn't very hungry," he said.
"Listen, you look like a man needs a hand. If I can help you find your kin at all, you let me know."
Remus shook his head. "You already have," he said quietly.
It was early evening still, but there wasn't anything to do in town and the barman had made it very clear that going walking alone in the woods at night was a bad idea. Perhaps not for him -- a werewolf wouldn't attack him, even if he looked human, of that he was sure -- but all the same, better to be wise...
There was a small desk and a rickety chair in the room, and he wished that he'd brought more books; anything to distract him from the darkening sky outside and his own thoughts. He slept early, and even in his dreams he couldn't escape.
***
Remus woke to the sensation that someone was attempting to murder him with an extremely heavy feather duster.
The scent of owl invaded his nostrils, and he raised an arm, batting the large snowy bird away from his face. It nipped his wrist and clubbed him across the ear with a wing.
"Geroff already, I'm awake!" he cried, and the bird settled onto his chest, claws gripping the fabric of his pyjama shirt. It gave him an innocently inquiring look, but didn't move when he pushed himself onto his elbows.
"Hedwig, what on Earth..." he muttered, rubbing a hand across his face. She must have picked the latch on the window. She hooted and picked up a piece of folded parchment that she'd apparently dropped on his blanket, placing it in his hand.
"All right, all right -- I haven't got any food," he said, grouchily, laying the letter on the table. "There's bound to be mice around."
She hooted disdainfully and picked up the letter again, urging it into his palm. He sighed, and sat up, unfolding it.
Dear Remus,
I hope you're well wherever you are. They're saying you've gone off to do some work for the Order, but nobody seems very happy about it. Dumbledore says as long as you're being stupid about things you "might as well try to recruit them for our side." Well, he says the second part. Tonks mostly says the first part. He didn't say to me who They are but I hope you're being careful, They don't sound very nice. He asked me to write to you.
If you need help, send a message back with Hedwig. I think I've really got the hang of the motorbike now. Dumbledore also says to read the other page. He says Do It.
Come back safe, I've had just about enough of people not.
Harry
Remus rubbed his fingers on the parchment, and a second page peeled off the first. It was older, but well-preserved; Sirius' scrawling, untidy handwriting.
It wasn't that Sirius didn't know how to use punctuation, he thought with a small smile, it was just that he couldn't be bothered if he knew that anyone reading it would understand it anyhow.
Dear Moony
Things are wicked here got the bike fixed next time dont shift so hard eh? Think youre making a mistake me lad about going off to see That Git. I dont trust that hes really on our side and I think hes trying to recruit you so keep a level head about yourself. Last thing Our People need is two spies. I tell you fair theres suspicion about so just watch yourself Moony. I dont like it either but we cant be too careful and Id hate to have to kill you cos you know too much hahahaha.
Got to trust people anyhow sometime eh? But remember were family and we fight like it too. I mean were family and look at mine. I mean itll all turn out right in the end wont it?
yr
Pads
He furrowed his brow. What on earth was Dumbledore on about, sending him some idiot letter from years and years ago -- the first inkling he'd had that anyone thought he might be the spy. Because he was working too closely with their mole in the Death Eaters -- Dumbledore'd made him do it, since he had a soft touch and you needed that when working with Severus Snape, who in those days was a bundle of nerves and suspicious of everyone. At least this time around Snape had his precious martyrdom to keep him calm.
Remember we're family and we fight like it too...
He wished, just once, that Albus Dumbledore could say a thing outright.
He stuffed the letters into the bag, adding the book and the wolfsbane potion. He wouldn't need to bring his clothing; he didn't suspect he'd be invited to stay overnight with the pack, if he could even find them. He tossed his wand into the bag too.
Hedwig nipped his fingers as he did up the clasps on the bag, and he sighed. "Fine, all right," he said, tearing off a corner of the parchment on the desk, and scribbling a quick note.
Harry, I'm fine. I'll take care. Tell
He paused.
Harry, I'm fine. I'll take care. Tell Dumbledore I'll do as he says.
He folded it, tucked the end under, and handed it to Hedwig, who bobbed her head, satisfied.
"Harry or Dumbledore, Hedwig. Take it to Harry or Dumbledore," he said, and she fluttered away.
He bought breakfast from a bakery that was just opening as he stepped into the street; he wasn't particularly hungry, but he would be by afternoon. Especially if the pack's grounds were as far back in the wild as he suspected they would be.
He had no inkling of how to track them, only what he'd picked up in books and could see with his own eyes -- what he could smell, if he stood still long enough. He could smell and hear better than most humans, though normally in cities there was enough...enough background smells, and sights, and sounds, that it didn't matter.
He walked out of town in a vaguely southward direction, on the main road, which ran parallel to the train tracks, a series of small hills on his right. When the road turned west into the hills, so did he; bag bumping against his back, shoes crunching on the gravel by the side of the road, hair ruffled by the wind. It was not quite high summer, and the day was warm. On any other day, he might have enjoyed this walk.
Remember we're family and we fight like it too...
But in the end, in the last days before Voldemort's fall, even Sirius had suspected him. Because he wasn't family. He was an outsider. Nothing -- not being Harry's guardian-in-name, not being Tonks'...not being whatever he was to Tonks, not being Arthur's friend or Dumbledore's protege, was going to change that. Which was fine. After all, in the end he'd suspected Sirius, too. And he was suspecting Tonks even now.
What had he said to Tonks...you pretend things are all right. And sooner or later you get really good at pretending.
He reached a river around two in the afternoon, and stopped to wash some of the road dust from his hands and face. The pack would probably keep to the river; he couldn't smell them above the water, but he could see animal tracks on the far side.
The river ran north-south, and he was heading west; on either side were muddy banks and long stretches of high-grown grass, and southward, he could see the smudge of trees where the forest began near the base of the hills.
Towards the trees, then.
He'd been walking for perhaps half an hour, still in the tall grass though the other side had long since given way to the trees, when he felt eyes on him.
Standing across the river, staring at him from behind a tree trunk, was a woman. She ducked back when he turned, but he saw her hand slide around the trunk. He let the bag fall from his shoulder and crouched in the tall grass.
After a moment, she peered out again. He tilted his head, waiting for her to get his scent across the rushing water, if she could. She mouthed a word he couldn't hear.
He left his bag under a nearby shrub and stood, slowly taking off his shoes. He'd have to leave his wand behind; they mightn't trust him otherwise.
The woman vanished, but he continued to methodically roll up his trouser legs. The water was chilly when he stepped into it, but shallow enough that he could get across on submerged rocks and gravelly banks, if he was careful.
Two different women had appeared in the space of time it took him to reach the middle. They were watching his progress in amusement. It took him a moment to realise that they were, for the most part, naked.
When he smiled at them, careful not to bare his teeth, there were two loud cracks -- someone had taught them to Disapparate.
The current of the river pulled a little to the southwest, and he realised that it curved, not far away, and vanished into the trees. They'd probably made camp at a bend in the river -- defended on two sides by that and a third by the mountains. At least they had some sense.
His bare feet sank into the earth on the far bank, and he turned to look back.
Well. Into the forest, then.
As he walked he found his eyes adjusting to the way things were, here; to seeing the little paths that animals made, the crushed grass where some large creature had slept the night before. Twigs cut into his legs, but the cuts healed almost instantly. Leaf-cover scratched the soles of his feet.
He sniffed again, far enough from the water now to smell it. Someone was close by -- on his right. Tracking him. He stopped.
"Let's not play games," he said quietly. There was the crack of a Disapparation, and then a second crack on his left. "I'm not here to be hunted."
"Why are you here?" asked a voice.
"I've come to speak with the pack."
"What, all of them?" asked another voice, amused. He rubbed his jaw.
"Or your Alpha, if you have one."
There was a snarl, hastily cut off, and one of the women from before stepped out from the darkness. She wore a strip of fabric tied around her waist, mainly preserving her dignity, and a cord around her neck. And that was all.
"You may call me Mother," she said. He raised an eyebrow.
"Thank you, Mother," he replied. "My name is -- "
She held a finger to her lips, and shook her head. "Tell the Alpha," she said. "I don't care."
Well, at least they were honest.
He followed her across another animal-track, weaving through the trees. She made less noise than he, but then she would be used to this land. He trailed her, occasionally wondering just how far their territory extended -- certainly not beyond one side of the river -- when they emerged into another meadow.
His eyes widened, and he drew a sharp breath. The meadow was dappled with the mid-afternoon sun, and the colours stood out vividly; the green of the grass, dark soil beneath it, trees in the distance, water nearby. And the meadow was filled with creatures.
There were wolves lying in the long grass. He saw them raise their heads as the woman led him forward, and saw the faintest hints of snarls before their nostrils flared. When they caught his scent, the vicious violence all Changed werewolves instinctively felt for humans turned to...puzzlement.
Looks human-shaped, he could see them thinking. Doesn't smell like it though.
After all the rumours about feral abilities...he'd never thought that it would be like this. Two women sat chatting, one of them stringing strange, bone-coloured beads on twine. A man arrived from the direction of the trees, carrying a basket, followed by two wolves. Children, running naked, played around the legs of a tolerant female wolf, who occasionally snapped gently if one of them got out of line. None of them wore much in the way of clothing, and the children wore nothing at all.
The woman led him toward a stocky, black-haired man, wrapped in what looked like a deerhide. He lay in the tall grass, reading a book, his head propped on the back of a sleeping wolf. He sat up slowly, and Remus could imagine the sight; in the midst of naked and half-naked men and women, not to mention the wolves, he must look terribly out of place in his white shirt and brown waistcoat, his rolled-up brown trousers.
"Thank you, Mother," the man said, and the woman nodded, leaving them alone. The man reached around and prodded the wolf behind him, who whined but rose and shook herself, trotting away.
"You smell like the city," the man said, crossing his legs and laying the book aside. "Sit, if you will."
Remus nodded and sat, imitating the other man's posture. He was careful not to look him in the eyes.
"You'll have a name, of course," the man continued. "You're not a pack-runner. Not a...feral," he said, rich humour in his voice.
"Remus Lupin," said the city wolf, quietly.
"We do not have names in the pack. We have no need," the man said. "You may call me Alpha," he added.
"Thank you, Alpha."
"There are many reasons a man like yourself comes to a pack," Alpha said, ruminatively. "You have not come accidentally to the Summergrounds. You are too old to want to leave your family and become a packrunner. Too young to wish to die amongst your own kind. And not quite big enough to challenge me for leadership. You have nothing to sell which we wish, or are able, to purchase. We have no materials you could desire."
"You're quick to take measure," said Remus.
"I find I must be," Alpha replied. "We have nothing tangible to give you. But you haven't come for tangible goods." He cocked his head. "I'm afraid I'm not good at small talk," he said with a toothy grin.
"I've come from London." Remus plucked a piece of grass, twisting it between his fingers. "From the wizards there."
"A wizard too, are you?"
"I am."
"I lived in that world for a while, when I was a young man. Tell me, do they still ban us from drinking at the same bars as human wizards?"
"Not in written law. It was repealed about ten years ago." If he remembered rightly, Dumbledore'd had a hand in that. "But ten years isn't very long, for some things."
"Ah. Even worse."
Remus winced, slightly, and Alpha outright laughed.
"And you think we're the barbarians," he said, leaning back. "The monsters."
"I didn't say that."
"No, but you thought it. All the city wolves do. The humans do. Muggle and wizard."
"I didn't know enough about you to say that."
"Yes...yes, and that's the way we like it," Alpha agreed. "So tell me why you're here, Interloper."
Remus tilted his head. Alpha shook his own.
"When you are in the pack, you are named by the pack. Why should I call you by human names? I don't obey human rules."
"You read their books, though," Remus said, nodding at the slim volume sitting beside Alpha's thigh.
"Well, I didn't say they're entirely stupid," Alpha replied, fingering the blue-bound volume. "We take what we need from the humans down the village. Including, in case you wanted to confirm the rumours, their men and women."
Remus stared, and Alpha burst out laughing.
"For the pack, Interloper, not for food. We've enough of that. And most come willingly, you know. But you're not here to study us. You're here to ask me for something."
"There's a war coming," Remus said earnestly. "You know of the Dark Lord."
"I've heard news on the howl of his coming. He's sent people to speak to us. The last ones even got away with their lives." Alpha shook his head. "I was a child when last he came this way himself."
"We're fighting him. Myself and my..."
"Soldiers?"
"My friends."
"Hm. Very little difference, much of the time."
"We found out that the Dark Lord wanted you," Remus continued. "And I came to warn you."
Alpha shook his head. "It won't do. From the goodness of your heart you risked walking among ferals? City wolves fear us too much."
"I was also sent to ask you to join us, if you can."
"Don't want us fighting for him, but fighting for you is all right, is that it?"
"We don't treat people as though they're disposable," Remus said. "He does. He doesn't want you fighting because he admires werewolves. He wants you fighting because he doesn't have to care if you die."
Alpha laughed again. "Interloper, you're not as smart as you look. Why should we help you?"
"Because it's the right thing to do. Because your survival depends on his defeat, and so does mine."
"So you say."
"I'm not going to sit here and justify my reasons to you," Remus said, sharply. "You'd know it's right if you gave it any thought."
"Oh, but I have given it thought." Alpha fixed him with keen green eyes, and he glanced down quickly; to have met them would have been to give a challenge, and Alpha was right -- he wasn't big enough to win. "And what I think is this: we're fine here. We have family. We don't need humans. Humans are what forced us into the wilds in the first place, in my great-grandalpha's time."
"That's not true and you know it. If Wizarding society -- "
"Indeed," said Alpha, gravely. Remus began to feel just slightly frustrated -- and as though it was his status in Wizarding society that Alpha was attacking, instead of the wizards themselves.
"Listen, we're trying to stop the sort of people who keep werewolves out of Wizarding society. Muggle-haters and people who think only about purity of blood. People who loathe the sight of you. Of me. People who want to get rid of werewolves altogether. And if they win, they'll come for you next, and next time they won't want you to join them, they'll just want you to die."
"Let them try. We're stronger," Alpha said assuredly.
"You have no magical education -- no schools of philosophy or art, no high society -- "
"You see? You do think we're barbarians."
Remus rubbed his forehead as Alpha picked up a thick, club-handled walking stick.
"Do you see my cubs?" he asked, pointing to three small, naked children, drumming apparently aimlessly on a tree stump. "They're learning sticktalk. They drum to speak to each other, and we use it across forests. When they're older, they'll learn the old epics. Do you know any of the old epics?"
"Which ones?" Remus asked.
"Our epics. Our blood stories. The tusk-hunters, the African wild dogs, the Firemakers, the Split Creator. No, I can see in your face. You come to me and say we have no art, no philosophy, when you're ignorant of your own blood heritage." Alpha spat. "Can you change at the height of noon? Can you run in a pack? Have you once, ever?"
"I was made what I am by a pack-runner," Remus said bitterly. "When I was seven."
"And your family, what did they do?"
"My father and mother took Muggle rifles, and silver bullets. They hunted down the one who bit me while the Healers were bandaging my wounds. And then my father called the Aurors and they killed the rest. They wiped out a pack the size of yours. It never recovered."
And that had been the final reason Remus Lupin had never dared go to the ferals before; his parents had destroyed the third pack in Britain.
Alpha looked grave. "More territory for the rest of us," he said, as if he could read Remus' thoughts clearly. "If the pack who ran on your land had been taught to stay away from humans, that wouldn't have happened. We keep our distance, and we harm no one. Life is hard, but it's pure. We have our ancestors to guide us. Who are you to say what we should and shouldn't do? Let the Dark Wizards come for us."
"You could keep that from happening."
"And what would you do with us, once a month? Lock us up as you do yourself?"
"There are potions -- it's what the Dark Lord would have used, but if you take them voluntarily -- "
"Water down your blood! No thank you," Alpha sighed. "Our answer is no, Interloper. We will not take sides in this war, his or yours. That is, usually, how we've survived. By taking no side, and making no trouble. If you knew the epics, you'd know that."
Remus rubbed his hands over his face. "There must be something you want. Something you need that we can give you. That would give you at least a little bit of trust, that would let you -- "
"Dignity in the cities," Alpha said, cutting him off. "Can you give me that if we fight for you? Even amongst those who accept you?"
Remus could have lied, but it wouldn't have done any good. "No."
"Then we have nothing more to say," Alpha stood, tapping his stick on the soft soil. Remus followed his lead. "Though when your war is over, if you survive, I should like very much to see more of you. I had forgotten how quickly a city wolf talks. And if you would stay now..." he shrugged. "Stay to see the sun set. Hear one of the epics that you've left too late to learn."
"There are people waiting for me -- "
"Are there?"
Remus paused.
Yes. There were. Harry and Dumbledore and Tonks. Waiting for him in the world across the river.
But they were not his blood kin. And these were.
"There were four Firemakers, in the time before consciousness, when all of us were wolves and wolves alone," Alpha said as they walked. It was hypnotic, the way he spoke. "They were the four colours of the flame -- brown wood, white hot flame, dying brindle flame, and black ash. They fought a war too, but to fight humans you have to become humans. So these four Firemakers taught themselves humanity. They learned to think like humans."
"Unlucky them," Remus murmured.
"I'm condensing it. It's better when done properly," Alpha said, slightly reproachfully. "And when the war was done, it was seen that on the battlefields the humans had built fires. Three of the Firemakers had died in the war; the brown one, who was their Alpha, and the white, who had fought too hard and had consumed himself, and the black, who had given himself over because ash can no longer burn. There was one left, a wolf the colour of the dying flame. And he picked up the fire, and brought it to the camp of his own people, our ancestors."
Remus realised that Alpha had stopped, and several others had gathered to listen as well.
"As long as fire burns for us, as long as the dying flame is not yet ash, we live as humans. We cannot let the fires go out, because we'll die of the cold, but when they are all dead, then we will be wolves again," Alpha recited. He waved a hand at the gathering.
"Tell us we are barbarians," he said softly. "But do not tell us we are fools."
"I'd like to hear your epics," Remus replied, in the same low tone. There was a moment of silence, and then Alpha clapped him on the arm.
"Of course you would! They sing in your blood. Even if you aren't wolf-born," he cried. "Stay to the sunset, and our Speaker can tell you the story of the Split Creator. Your friends can wait a day for you to return to them."
Remus nodded slowly.
***
The evening meal was a late summer doe, dragged to camp by a couple of wolves; those in human-form skewered and cooked the steak meat, while the wolves feasted on entrails. There were also, incongruously, tins of beans and beef stew, from a stash that had apparently been taken out of the grocery in the town.
He was an item of curiousity, but no particular interest; the children were fascinated by his clothes, but the adults barely gave him a second look -- admittedly, after a long first look.
The Speaker was a grey-haired man in a loincloth, his face wrinkled, eyes keen, nose sharp and narrow. Remus, sitting near the fire, watched him as he threw back his head and let out a guttural cry, when the sun began to turn the sky crimson. Everyone fell silent; apparently this was not an every-day occurrence. When the Speaker spoke, even the smallest cubs stopped their squeaking yips, and the children sat very still.
He wondered if the epics were confined to this pack, or if they were shared with the other British pack, and the various feral communities on the continent. Perhaps the pack that the Aurors had destroyed, when he was seven, had known these epics. The story of the Firemakers that Alpha had told him, and now the story of the Split Creator that the Speaker was reciting, much to the delight of the others.
When the epic was finished, and the last remains of the meal had been disposed of, the Speaker found him by the fire, and grinned a gap-toothed smile.
"What do you think, Interloper?" he asked, poking the embers with a stick.
"I've never heard anything like it," Remus replied truthfully.
"Yes, we don't share with outsiders."
"It's a shame."
"It's a necessity."
"Well done, Speaker!" the Alpha cried, coming to join them. He tossed a handful of dry kindling on the fire. "As well-spoken as ever you were."
The Speaker nodded. "Age and time don't diminish the story," he murmured.
"No indeed. So, Interloper, do you go back to the humans now?" Alpha asked. "Or will you stay with us tonight?"
It was a tempting offer, but Remus shook his head.
"I've done what I came to do. Now...either I have to find other packs, or ask you to pass the word along."
Alpha looked thoughtful.
"I say this because you're kin, more or less, and because you remind me of my travels with the humans," he said slowly. "I would not go among the other pack if I were you. They are not as tolerant as we are. They live in colder climes, nearer the cities, and it makes them hard and bitter."
"All the more reason to keep them out of the influence of the Dark Lord."
"Are you sure it's not too late for that?"
"If it is, I have to know."
Alpha tapped his fingers on his jaw. "We'll pass your word on, Interloper. If I hear news, perhaps...perhaps it is time I sent the young out into the world, as I was sent. How can they find you?"
"They can ask for Albus Dumbledore, at Hogwarts School. Anyone in the Wizarding world will know how to send a message there."
"Very well then. I'll send guides down to the river's edge with you, to take you safely back. Can't have you stumbling about in the dark if you can't Change." Alpha clapped him on the shoulder. "Remember. When your war is done..."
"I will. Thank you, Alpha."
"Not at all, Interloper."
***
Alpha called across the meadow for Scouts, as the darkness began to fall in earnest. Five or six heads turned, and after brief conference, two boys -- perhaps eighteen, perhaps a little older -- unbent from crouches around the fire. Three more followed as wolves.
"Take him to the edge of territory safely," Alpha said. "As far as the river and across. You can make your own way from there," he added, to Remus.
Remus went, following the Scouts, who were already loping their way through the trees on the northern edge of the meadow. It wasn't hard to keep up; there was the light of the waning moon, and they moved as slow as he did, though the wolves would dart forward and then come back. Like dogs, Remus thought, playing at follow-the-leader. Except there was nothing at all domestic about it. The boys spoke in low, growling tones, when they spoke at all, and they moved like...
They moved like Sirius had, near the end, well-accustomed to violence, gracefully muscular. Or like Kingsley Shacklebolt. Utterly confident in their strength.
"Do your people know sticktalk?" a tall, fair-haired scout asked, falling behind to walk with Remus as the others forged ahead. He could see the riverbank from here, and the shrub he'd left his bag under.
"We have other methods," Remus replied reservedly, recalling the last time he'd tried to teach Ron Weasley to use a telephone.
"Does everyone dress like that?" the boy continued, eyeing his clothing.
"More or less."
"And you go to war against the Death Eaters?"
Remus looked at him sharply. "How do you know what they're called?"
The boy looked back, eyes wide and innocent, as their feet left prints in the soft soil at the edge of the river.
Remus' eyes darted to his left arm, which was bound in leather.
He couldn't run for the water. The boys were flanking him, and the three wolves stood in a ring between him and the water. He could run for the forest but they knew the way, and he didn't. Even if he yelled, Alpha wouldn't hear him from here.
He began to back away, slowly. They watched him.
"They came to see us," the boy said. "They promised in the new regime we'd have respect. They said we'd be elite."
"I suppose they promised you could hunt humans if you liked," Remus said, dry horror filling him.
"The others set on them and tried to kill them, but we stopped them. The Alpha's very proud of us for that," said the other boy. "So he doesn't mind too closely what we do."
"And look at our reward." The first boy pulled on a lace of the leather, and it fell away, revealing the snake-and-skull tattoo that was the sign of the Death Eaters.
"Just me," he added, with a proud smile. "I'm their Alpha."
"You've no idea..." Remus stammered. He took another step backwards, and nearly stumbled.
It was all the wolves needed. One of them darted forward, leaping for him, and he twisted in the air, falling to the ground. The other two were on him, one fixing on his arm, the other trying to pin his chest.
He screamed in pain and rolled, hand groping for anything, some kind of weapon, closing on a thick length of stick. He bashed at the head of the one gnawing his arm, and it shrieked, but released him -- a sharp stab in the ribs of the other drew blood, and he managed to scrabble backwards while they were regrouping --
Hands clamped on both his arms, and the two boys grinned at him.
"Do you want to see what we do to our enemies?" one of them hissed. His hand went to Remus' throat -- the older man writhed, but couldn't escape. Dark spots began to dance in front of his eyes before he was released.
He fell to his knees and scrabbled for the stick again, but the wolves were on him. Any two he could have fought, but three was too much. Teeth ripped him; claws ripped clothing, shredding fabric, shredding skin. He felt the boys' hands holding him down, their fingers gouging him.
"We don't kill them easy," someone hissed in his ear, and suddenly the teeth and claws and scratching hands pulled back, and instead he was being pushed, dragged across the damp earth, and there was a freezing shock as the river water washed over him. He tried to breathe -- coughed -- his air supply was cut off, his lungs burning as water washed into them.
And then the freezing, sucking blackness pulled him down.
Continue on to the next part
But never doubt, nor yet surprise,
Appeared, and stayed, and held his head
As one by kings accredited.
-- Edwin Arlington Robinson
"I'm trusting your eyes, Moody," Remus said, as they walked along the graveyard path towards the Riddle house. "I'd like very much not to die today."
"Aye, I know," Moody said, with a sideways grin. He looked up at the house, and nodded to himself. "May as well get started. We'll clean as we go?"
"More or less." Remus pushed the front door in, and led the older man to the kitchen. Moody tsked to himself as they stepped inside.
"A right mess been made here," he said. "And a smell."
"I wonder whose blood it is," Remus murmured. "I'll clear the counters."
He raised his wand and managed to get out "Scourgi -- " before Moody clapped a hand over his mouth.
"Just a moment, there," he said sternly. "I wasn't done looking yet."
Remus nodded, and watched as Moody picked up a long-handled wooden spoon, one of the few that wasn't too dirty. Poking with the broad end, he pushed some of the plates into the sink at the end, and shoved others away from or around a series of glass jars and bowls. Finally, he stepped back.
An array of potions ingredients now sat on the counter before them, previously hidden by the mess of rotting food and filthy plates. Remus reached out and picked up a pestle, resting in a large wooden bowl. He took a pinch of the powder in the bowl and sniffed it.
"Hypericum," he said.
"Aye. And Valerian," Moody agreed, picking up another jar. "And Bezoar, and nettles...and..."
He picked up a jar, lifting the lid slightly. Remus felt his chest seize up, his throat close off. He choked and stumbled backwards, mouth working, until Moody slid the lid back on, and waved a filthy towel to clear the air of the scent.
"Aconite," Remus gasped, muscles relaxing again. "It's Aconite."
"Is it now," Moody replied.
"Merlin," Remus breathed, clutching his chest. "You could have checked another way than trying to kill me, you know."
"Keeps you on your toes," Moody said, with a grim smile. "It's toxic to you in powdered form."
"Causes an allergic reaction in all werewolves."
"And yet...with proper preparation..."
Remus' eyes widened as he examined the jars again. "Hypericum, Valerian, Bezoar, nettles, Aconite, and Lycium."
Moody reached into the cupboard above the jars, and took down a stoppered bottle. "Bone infusion," he read. The liquid inside the bottle was a cloudy beige colour. He hefted the only other thing in the cupboard, a sealed canister. "And finally we have...horseradish. Hm. What's 'kosher' mean?"
"They're very simple ingredients," Remus muttered, ignoring the question. "It's the measurement and the infusions you've got to get right. That's the really tricky bit."
"And what potion does this make?" Moody asked, as if he were teaching a private lecture.
"Wolfsbane potion," Remus replied.
"The common name for Aconite."
"They wouldn't need to take the ingredients along with them. They're not expensive, by and large."
"So why do you think," Moody asked slowly, "The Dark Lord has need of a potion to keep werewolves under control?"
***
By the time they returned to Headquarters -- gritty, dusty, and exhausted from the effort of defusing half a dozen traps and cleaning the refuse out of several rooms -- the sun had already set, and most of the Order had checked in and gone home for the evening.
"That's everyone but Kingsley, and Arabella said he was going straight home, so he's off," George said. "Am I glad you're back. Snape's been insufferable all afternoon."
"Up and about then, is he? Ta, Molly," Remus said, accepting a damp cloth from Molly Weasley and cleaning his face with it.
"Up, anyway. Was making us wait on him hand and foot," Fred said, wrinkling his nose. "Finally George cast a silencing spell outside his room, so he couldn't yell for us anymore."
"I fear for your future wives," Remus said, through the cloth. "What're you going to tell him when he asks?"
"That we put it there so that our footsteps outside his door wouldn't bother him," George replied with a grin. Remus sighed.
"I'll wait until morning to talk to him, then," he said. "How's Tonks?"
The boys shrugged. "She went upstairs a while ago, said she was going to Owl the Ministry about taking a few days off. And not to bother her. Harry checked on her -- didn't you, Harry?"
Harry, emerging from the kitchen with a sandwich, nodded. "No answer when I knocked, but she did say she was going to try to sleep. Mrs. Weasley gave her a potion."
"Just to get her to sleep," Molly added. "You look like you could use one, too. Find anything else at the Riddle house?"
"Lots of traps. Moody's eye came in very handy, in that respect. We got rid of anything that might look suspicious."
Moody, tromping in the doorway with a crate under one arm, gave them all a nod, and vanished into the back of the house.
"Molly, I think I need to talk to you and Arthur privately," Remus said quietly. "We found some...disturbing evidence."
"Evidence of wh -- oh. Of course," Molly said, as Remus gave Harry and the twins a significant look. "We can talk in the kitchen...ARTHUR!"
"YES, DEAR?" Arthur's voice drifted through a window. Molly leaned through it.
"Arthur, stop fiddling with Harry's motorbike and come in here," she scolded. "I swear," she added, to Remus, "that man's more excited about it than Harry is."
"I don't think anyone could be more excited about it than Harry is," Remus replied. Arthur walked inside, wiping his fingers on a greasy rag, and smiled.
"Remus needed to talk to us," Molly said. "About what they found at the Riddle house."
"Hope it was more than the absolute zero we found," Arthur said cheerfully. Remus leaned against the wall, and shook his head.
"We found potions ingredients," he said. "Left behind. Measures for a Wolfsbane potion."
Arthur blinked. "A wolfsbane potion? But..."
"...I know."
"The whole thing doesn't make sense," Molly said. "Why would they leave? And even if they left, why wouldn't they come back for the things they left behind?"
"Possibly they thought we were watching the place. I think they must have gone after...after the trouble at the Ministry..." Remus said slowly. "They took nearly everything."
"Except the skeleton," Molly said, with a shiver.
"And the potion ingredients," Remus sighed. "I can't imagine the Dark Lord would allow werewolves in his inner circle..."
"Why else would he have it?" Arthur asked.
"I don't know. Those were the only ingredients...there's not much else can be made with them, as far as I know, though I'll check with Severus when he's...feeling better."
"They wouldn't let werewolves in," Molly said thoughtfully. "Not as conspirators, I mean. But demented animals would make good foot soldiers. Good cannon fodder," she added. "And if you had to have them about -- as bodyguards, maybe -- well, you'd have to keep them tame somehow."
Remus felt a dim horror creep over him, not so much for the idea of Death Eaters using werewolves, but for the idea of the werewolves, drugged into submission by wolfsbane...
"Feral werewolves can shift anytime they like, can't they?" she asked, not meeting his eyes. "I'm sure I heard that somewhere."
"If he was planning to recruit feral werewolves...like he did the giants..." Remus said, the disgust mounting. "He'd want to be able to...to offer it to them? Or slip it to them in order to keep them under control..."
"Either way, we'd better find out if they're still going to try for it, and fast," Arthur said. Remus was still awash in horror at the idea, and didn't respond.
"Remus...?" Molly asked. He shook his head, to clear it.
"I'll deal with it," he said.
"I could ask in the Ministry -- "
"No, Arthur," Remus said. He gave them a tired smile. "I know what to do. I'll start work on it tomorrow."
Arthur gave him an uncertain look, but smiled and clapped him on the arm anyway.
"Get some rest, then. I'm going to make Harry show me how the petrol tank works again," he added, passing into the living room. Remus walked to the window, over the sink, and stared out at the motorbike.
"You should eat, too," Molly said. "You're far too thin."
"I was hungry until about ten seconds ago," he said, fingers curling around the smooth white porcelain rim of the sink. "Now I think I'm just going to sleep for a while. Are you staying here tonight, you and Arthur?"
"I think so. In case there's trouble at all. I have a feeling Severus will need more looking-after than Ron and Ginny would."
Remus smiled. "I have a feeling you're right, Molly." He turned away from the window. "I'll be in my room. Going to try to sleep. Wake me if Severus gets troublesome, or if Tonks needs anything."
"Of course," Molly said reassuringly, and he left her in the kitchen, walking slowly up the stairs to his rooms. He stopped outside the door and listened intently; then, smiling, he pushed it open, and locked it behind him. The door between the study and the bedroom was open, and he could see his bed, an unexpected red blanket on the top of it, and an only-slightly-unexpected figure curled up underneath it.
He sat on the edge of the bed and felt the top of the blanket; as he'd expected, it had a warming charm on it. At least she wouldn't be too stiff tomorrow.
"Din't want to sleep in my bed," she mumbled, into the pillow. "Din't smell right."
"Smell right?" he asked, brushing a corner of the blanket away from her face.
"Smelled musty," she said. "Wanted your bed."
"That's fine. I'll sleep on the couch, I do that often enough. Do you want anything? Another sleeping potion?"
"Stay," she ordered, shifting a little. A wince crossed her face. "Sleep here."
"I don't want to hurt you."
"M'fine."
"You had a nasty fall."
"Don't make me wake up," she said drowsily. "I'll yell at you if I do."
"All right," he said, loosening his collar. He undressed, finding a crumpled pair of pyjama bottoms near the foot of the bed. She didn't make it easy on him; he had to slide past her on the small bed, and slip awkwardly under the blanket.
She sighed a little as he curled carefully against her and wrapped one arm around her waist.
"How did it go with Moody?" she asked.
"I'll tell you in the morning."
"He didn't get fresh, did he?"
Remus laughed. "No, my dear Dora, unless you count giving me a heart attack in the name of 'eternal vigilance'."
"Mm?"
"We found some ingredients for a Wolfsbane potion. The Death Eaters might be using werewolves..."
"Awful."
"I agree. I'm going to send Moody back tomorrow to look around the village. I have a suspicion that I'd like verified."
"You going with him?"
"No, I have other things to attend to. If you're feeling all right in the morning, you might go."
She shifted again, and her hand touched his, thumb rubbing the sensitive skin on his knuckles.
"You're in no shape for our hobby tonight," he said into her hair -- shorter than it had been earlier, but still bright red.
"It wasn't that far," she muttered. "Ten feet at most."
"You fell through a ceiling."
"Flesh wound."
"Dora, you need to sleep," he whispered.
"I know," she sighed. "Remus..."
"Mmm?"
"Do you like it when I touch you?"
He laughed. "Very much. You know that."
"Do you miss me when I'm not here?"
"Of...of course. Why?"
He heard warm satisfaction in her voice. "Just wondering," she replied.
***
Remus Lupin did not need to be told about feral werewolves by anyone.
By the age of ten he was well-versed in what little was published on the subject, not to mention being more knowledgeable about communicable diseases of the blood than most medical students. His father had taken him to countless conferences, universities, and hospitals in his quest for a cure; it always amused Remus, and honed his sense of irony to a fine point, to see his tall, burly father, a rural farmer in patched corduroys and a broad-brimmed leather hat, talking hematopathology with learned doctors and scientists.
He'd studied the feral werewolves, as he grew up; men and women who ran in packs and lived like wild animals even during the days they weren't wolves -- they were rumoured to be able to Change at will and far less painfully, but he felt that this was farfetched. Once in a while he considered joining them, but he'd never been one for camping, really.
There were two packs in Britain -- at least, two that anyone knew about. There had been three, once.
He considered the bag before him. It was just big enough to suit his needs, but small enough to be easily carried. This did not leave a lot of room for things like changes of trousers, books, and food. Perhaps a second bag for food.
He wouldn't need too many clothes; he didn't plan on dressing to impress. He picked up a roll of parchment, quill and ink, and put them in the side pocket; in the main compartment he neatly and efficiently packed a few items of clothing, and after some deliberation, one of the books on ferals, from his vast library on lycanthropy. He also decanted a month's worth of Wolfsbane potion into a vial and added it, wrapped in a worn, threadbare shirt, to the bag.
He surveyed the desk, and his fingers drifted across a small leather case.
It had been a gift from Dumbledore, on his birthday one year; it wasn't a wallet so much as a place to keep things he valued. There was a photo of himself and Sirius and James, taken by Peter their final year at Hogwarts; one of Harry, taken last summer, and one of Dumbledore, Arthur, and Tonks, also from last summer. Various others. A punched ticket from the Hogwarts Express. A rusty key that had once fit a lock in the Shrieking Shack.
He reached over to another pile and dug through it deftly, coming up with a small stack of photos that Arthur had passed on to him just two days ago, of Harry's birthday party. There he was with Tonks, Harry beaming in front of them, over his first ever proper birthday cake.
They could be a family, he thought, with a small smile. If one of them wasn't a werewolf, and one of them wasn't an orphan, and one of them wasn't going to rend him limb from limb if she found out where he was going.
He stuffed the photo into an empty pocket in the case, and tossed it into the open bag.
There was a stirring in the other room, and he pulled the blanket on the couch over, covering the bag. Tonks was sliding out of the bed carefully, rubbing her left shoulder.
"Sore this morning?" he asked, leaning in the doorway. She smiled and walked forward, wrapping her arms around his neck. His hands went automatically -- almost instinctively -- to her waist.
"Not as much as I thought I'd be," she said. "I feel fine. Must have been a good potion Molly gave me."
"Glad to hear it," he replied, moving with her as she stepped forward into the sunny study. He would not look at the bag, hidden under a blanket on the couch. He would not tip her off...
"How are you feeling this morning?" she asked, kissing his jaw. He felt a twinge of guilt.
"I'm...well," he replied.
"You were right about last night," she said, pulling him a little closer. "I wasn't in any shape to do much of anything. But I've the next few days off, courtesy of falling through a ceiling..."
He let her kiss him, let her tongue slide against his lips and even kissed back, as her hands rubbed the sensitive parts of his neck and her body pressed so...close...
"Tonks, I really don't know if this is the ideal -- unh..." He grunted as she pushed him gently onto the couch. "Not that I don't -- oh..."
She really could do the most amazing things with her tongue.
Then she shifted, slightly, and he heard the papers in his bag rattle as her hip bumped against it. She paused and leaned back.
"What on earth..." she asked, flipping the blanket back before he could stop her. "Why do you..."
She took in the clothing, the few toiletries and the careful packing, and turned back to him. "I didn't know you were going traveling," she said, almost laughingly. "Are you eloping?"
"No...no..." he said, not meeting her eyes. "There's some...business for the Order I have to see to."
"You're not taking much," she said, pulling out the book. He winced as she read the title, then looked up at him. He knew he looked guilty. He knew she understood.
"Ferals," she whispered. "You're going to find the ferals, aren't you?" she asked, looking down again at the book.
"Yesterday in the Riddle house..." he said, trying to focus on this and not the feeling of her straddling his lap. "If they're trying to recruit the ferals..."
"Who's going with you?" she asked.
"No one. They'd attack a human, Tonks, you ought to know that."
"You're going alone. To talk to a pack of feral werewolves," she said, her voice growing more dangerous by the second.
"Someone has to," he said helplessly. She leaned back and slid off the couch, rising to pace in the room. "I'm the only qualified -- "
"I don't believe you. If Death Eaters can talk to them, we can," she snapped. "Were you leaving this morning?"
"I planned on it. I was going to tell Fred and George -- "
"Fred and George?"
"Yes, so they'd know where I'd gone. You see, this is exactly why I didn't want anyone else to see me leaving," he said, standing and running a hand through his hair.
"Because you knew we'd try to talk some sense into you? At least take someone along with you!"
"They won't trust me -- "
"They won't KILL YOU either!"
He scowled. "Keep your voice down, do you want to wake the whole house?"
"As a matter of fact, that's not a bad idea!"
"Listen to me. Tonks. Dora. Listen to me," he said, grabbing her wrist. She looked down at it, and then back at him. He let go, slowly.
"Someone has to go now and there isn't enough time to argue this out with the whole Order. I have the right to do this," he said. "And much as I would like to make you happy by dragging some other poor sod along with me, I can't. This is something I have to do alone if it's going to end well."
"And what if it doesn't end well?" she demanded.
"Then the Order goes on," he said grimly. She stared at him.
"You are the biggest...fool...idiot..." she managed. "If you were Severus Snape I'd slap you."
"Well, I'm not. I'm Remus Lupin. I'm a werewolf, do you get that? I am not a human. I am a werewolf," he snarled. "And I have lived around people who are just like me and yet completely alien for my entire life. So even if I didn't have to be the one to go, I would still be the one, because they are my kin, no matter how much I dislike them. No matter how violent or primitive they are. They are my blood."
"And what about us? We're just humans, is that it? We don't matter?"
"Don't put those words in my mouth, Tonks. Not in mine. You don't get to tell me that I hate anyone, because I've been hated and reviled by humans for longer than you've been alive."
She stared at him, open mouthed.
"So yes. I am going to the ferals. I am going to try to stop them from becoming what Molly so charmingly referred to as 'cannon fodder' for the Death Eaters. You don't have to like it but you do have to accept it. I'll pull rank on you if I have to, Tonks. I will be Remus Lupin for the Order and give you your marching papers."
He stopped, and took a deep breath. She was still staring.
"And what about Remus Lupin who went out and got so drunk he couldn't stand," she said slowly, "And begged me...begged me not to stop touching him? What about Remus Lupin who has shared my bed almost every night for the past two weeks?"
He reached over and closed the bag with a snap. "Don't make me remind you, Tonks, that you called all that a hobby."
"Fuck you," she growled. "It was more than that and you know it."
"Was it?" he asked.
"I don't know where you've been the past two weeks, but in case you hadn't noticed, I am falling in love with you, Remus. In case your mind has been on Order business," she said, sharply, "You have been falling in love with me, too. And you know it."
"Don't tell me who I love," he replied. "It's been two weeks, Tonks. Two weeks is barely enough time to know a person -- "
"How long have we known each other? A year? A year and a half? You don't think that part of it counts for anything?"
"I am not going to yell about this with you," he said calmly. "I have a train to catch."
"They'll kill you!"
"They won't kill me," he said, tightening the reins on his temper. "They didn't last time."
"Last time?" she demanded.
"When they made me what I am," he said, quietly. He picked up the bag and slung it over his shoulder. He wondered idly if he should kiss her, and almost moved to do it, but at the last minute he saw her preparing to step away, and he shook his head. "Tell the Order where I've gone."
"I could call the others and we'd stop you."
"Or you could be an adult," he said reasonably, "and let me go."
He didn't turn to see her face -- he couldn't have, even if he wanted to. He let the door swing shut behind him, and heard a noise that sounded vaguely like someone catching their breath.
It might even have been him.
***
The journey wasn't too trying; he could have Apparated, but he needed the travel time to get his thoughts in order, and plan how he would speak to the pack when he arrived. He'd rarely met other werewolves, and never dealt with more than one at a time; he knew a little about how the pack worked, but not nearly enough to be confident he wouldn't offend.
They lived in the few wild places left in Britain, migrating like gypsies when the seasons changed, moving to caves in the winter, forests in the summer. How they maintained their packs was a mystery, but people had theorised about willing members, who would either bear werewolf children or become werewolves themselves...
A werewolf had a one in four chance of their child being a lycanthrope, if the other parent was human. It was a recessive gene in humans, and the old 'pureblood' wizarding families, the Blacks and Malfoys and the like, made sure that nobody marrying into the family carried it. A child of two carriers could be human; a child of two werewolves hadn't a chance in the world.
Ilyssa -- the woman he'd wanted to marry, ten years past -- Ilyssa had been from an old pureblood family, a distant cousin of Lucius Malfoy. He'd known that her family would not want her marrying a carrier, especially an active one, but he hadn't thought she would feel so violently about it herself. He'd thought they could hide it from her family together...
But that rejection was more than ten years past, and the memory barely stung. Ilyssa had at least promised to keep his secret. Not that it mattered, now. Everyone knew now.
He turned back to his notes, ignoring his memories.
Feral werewolves didn't usually come near humans; they didn't have to. They had a pack, and they were wolfborn -- wolfborns had more control than those who'd been bitten. They were said to be able to change seamlessly, any time they liked. The idea had appealed to him as a young man, but he hadn't thought either of the packs would even want him, and a feral had done this to him -- a wild feral from a pack had bitten him...
He rubbed the outside of his left thigh, where he still carried a dark scar from the bite. Werewolves healed quickly...unless the injury was inflicted by another werewolf.
The scenery flew by, outside the window; fields and towns, highways, rivers. Inhabited by Muggles, mostly; the Wizarding population of the world was really quite small comparatively. A world hidden within a world. And his world hidden within that one. Two degrees separate from the life that happened on the other side of the train window.
He had lived apart for so long. By choice, because it was too hard, facing the constant fear of being discovered. By necessity, because he was what he was.
And then blasted Tonks came along and didn't get offended when he didn't react to her and didn't stop trying to kiss him and didn't run away...
Well. That was probably over now, all things considered.
Loved him. Ridiculous. She was young, that was some explanation. Didn't know her own heart. He'd been about that age when Ilyssa --
He slammed his hand down on the table, startling himself.
And then there was the possibility that what she wanted wasn't even remotely close to what he thought, that she'd been manipulating him -- he wouldn't be the first to be taken in by a young, pretty woman...
This was getting him nowhere.
He'd speak to the ferals and he'd ensure that they knew what the Dark Lord meant, and then he'd come back to Headquarters and sort things out. He was exceptionally good at sorting things out. Tonks was Auror trained. She was a professional, she'd take his orders no matter what she thought of him. She wouldn't make trouble.
He'd been alone for a long time. The yawning pit in his stomach would close up, he was sure, once he got used to the idea again.
***
It would have defeated the purpose of having summer grounds if they were easy to get to.
It took him most of the day just to get to the small, rural town that, by the smell of it, was probably raided by the pack on a regular basis. He could see their marks everywhere. He paid a few Muggle pounds for a small room on the second floor of the only pub he could find, and struck up a conversation with the barman over dinner, which consisted mainly of pushing food around on a plate and trying to convince himself he'd eaten anything.
"Don't get many strangers passing through round now," the barman said, sliding a glass of beer down the counter to him. He sipped and gestured with his fork.
"Seems like you'd get a lot of campers."
"Nah, not in these parts. Woods're too rough. Bit wild. Locals don't go into 'em."
"I'm not surprised," Remus murmured.
"Get a bunch round Christmas holiday. Got a holiday fair. Yule festival."
Remus nodded. All sorts of strange Muggle interpretations of old Wizarding holidays cropped up in the little towns like this one. Rolling flaming wheels down hills and whatnot. There was probably a paper in that somewhere.
"What's your business in town?" the man asked, leaning on the bar. Remus shrugged.
"Looking for some family of mine," he said quietly, sipping the beer.
"Got kin around here?"
"I think so."
The man cocked his head, and looked at him closely. "Don't look like any of my regulars," he said with a grin. "Got a name?"
"Mine?"
"Nah. Of your kin."
"Oh. No...not a name. Just a trail to follow."
"Good luck in that, mate."
Remus tapped his fingers on the bar, thoughtfully. "Tell me...do you get much trouble with the wildlife around here?"
"No more than normal, I reckon. Keep chains on the rubbish cans, stay in town after dark. Get some big predators this time of the year. Nother reason we don't get many campers," the man added with a toothy grin. Remus, making an effort, smiled back over the rim of his glass.
"Thanks for the food," he said. "Put it on my room."
"Hardly ate nothin."
"Wasn't very hungry," he said.
"Listen, you look like a man needs a hand. If I can help you find your kin at all, you let me know."
Remus shook his head. "You already have," he said quietly.
It was early evening still, but there wasn't anything to do in town and the barman had made it very clear that going walking alone in the woods at night was a bad idea. Perhaps not for him -- a werewolf wouldn't attack him, even if he looked human, of that he was sure -- but all the same, better to be wise...
There was a small desk and a rickety chair in the room, and he wished that he'd brought more books; anything to distract him from the darkening sky outside and his own thoughts. He slept early, and even in his dreams he couldn't escape.
***
Remus woke to the sensation that someone was attempting to murder him with an extremely heavy feather duster.
The scent of owl invaded his nostrils, and he raised an arm, batting the large snowy bird away from his face. It nipped his wrist and clubbed him across the ear with a wing.
"Geroff already, I'm awake!" he cried, and the bird settled onto his chest, claws gripping the fabric of his pyjama shirt. It gave him an innocently inquiring look, but didn't move when he pushed himself onto his elbows.
"Hedwig, what on Earth..." he muttered, rubbing a hand across his face. She must have picked the latch on the window. She hooted and picked up a piece of folded parchment that she'd apparently dropped on his blanket, placing it in his hand.
"All right, all right -- I haven't got any food," he said, grouchily, laying the letter on the table. "There's bound to be mice around."
She hooted disdainfully and picked up the letter again, urging it into his palm. He sighed, and sat up, unfolding it.
Dear Remus,
I hope you're well wherever you are. They're saying you've gone off to do some work for the Order, but nobody seems very happy about it. Dumbledore says as long as you're being stupid about things you "might as well try to recruit them for our side." Well, he says the second part. Tonks mostly says the first part. He didn't say to me who They are but I hope you're being careful, They don't sound very nice. He asked me to write to you.
If you need help, send a message back with Hedwig. I think I've really got the hang of the motorbike now. Dumbledore also says to read the other page. He says Do It.
Come back safe, I've had just about enough of people not.
Harry
Remus rubbed his fingers on the parchment, and a second page peeled off the first. It was older, but well-preserved; Sirius' scrawling, untidy handwriting.
It wasn't that Sirius didn't know how to use punctuation, he thought with a small smile, it was just that he couldn't be bothered if he knew that anyone reading it would understand it anyhow.
Dear Moony
Things are wicked here got the bike fixed next time dont shift so hard eh? Think youre making a mistake me lad about going off to see That Git. I dont trust that hes really on our side and I think hes trying to recruit you so keep a level head about yourself. Last thing Our People need is two spies. I tell you fair theres suspicion about so just watch yourself Moony. I dont like it either but we cant be too careful and Id hate to have to kill you cos you know too much hahahaha.
Got to trust people anyhow sometime eh? But remember were family and we fight like it too. I mean were family and look at mine. I mean itll all turn out right in the end wont it?
yr
Pads
He furrowed his brow. What on earth was Dumbledore on about, sending him some idiot letter from years and years ago -- the first inkling he'd had that anyone thought he might be the spy. Because he was working too closely with their mole in the Death Eaters -- Dumbledore'd made him do it, since he had a soft touch and you needed that when working with Severus Snape, who in those days was a bundle of nerves and suspicious of everyone. At least this time around Snape had his precious martyrdom to keep him calm.
Remember we're family and we fight like it too...
He wished, just once, that Albus Dumbledore could say a thing outright.
He stuffed the letters into the bag, adding the book and the wolfsbane potion. He wouldn't need to bring his clothing; he didn't suspect he'd be invited to stay overnight with the pack, if he could even find them. He tossed his wand into the bag too.
Hedwig nipped his fingers as he did up the clasps on the bag, and he sighed. "Fine, all right," he said, tearing off a corner of the parchment on the desk, and scribbling a quick note.
Harry, I'm fine. I'll take care. Tell
He paused.
Harry, I'm fine. I'll take care. Tell Dumbledore I'll do as he says.
He folded it, tucked the end under, and handed it to Hedwig, who bobbed her head, satisfied.
"Harry or Dumbledore, Hedwig. Take it to Harry or Dumbledore," he said, and she fluttered away.
He bought breakfast from a bakery that was just opening as he stepped into the street; he wasn't particularly hungry, but he would be by afternoon. Especially if the pack's grounds were as far back in the wild as he suspected they would be.
He had no inkling of how to track them, only what he'd picked up in books and could see with his own eyes -- what he could smell, if he stood still long enough. He could smell and hear better than most humans, though normally in cities there was enough...enough background smells, and sights, and sounds, that it didn't matter.
He walked out of town in a vaguely southward direction, on the main road, which ran parallel to the train tracks, a series of small hills on his right. When the road turned west into the hills, so did he; bag bumping against his back, shoes crunching on the gravel by the side of the road, hair ruffled by the wind. It was not quite high summer, and the day was warm. On any other day, he might have enjoyed this walk.
Remember we're family and we fight like it too...
But in the end, in the last days before Voldemort's fall, even Sirius had suspected him. Because he wasn't family. He was an outsider. Nothing -- not being Harry's guardian-in-name, not being Tonks'...not being whatever he was to Tonks, not being Arthur's friend or Dumbledore's protege, was going to change that. Which was fine. After all, in the end he'd suspected Sirius, too. And he was suspecting Tonks even now.
What had he said to Tonks...you pretend things are all right. And sooner or later you get really good at pretending.
He reached a river around two in the afternoon, and stopped to wash some of the road dust from his hands and face. The pack would probably keep to the river; he couldn't smell them above the water, but he could see animal tracks on the far side.
The river ran north-south, and he was heading west; on either side were muddy banks and long stretches of high-grown grass, and southward, he could see the smudge of trees where the forest began near the base of the hills.
Towards the trees, then.
He'd been walking for perhaps half an hour, still in the tall grass though the other side had long since given way to the trees, when he felt eyes on him.
Standing across the river, staring at him from behind a tree trunk, was a woman. She ducked back when he turned, but he saw her hand slide around the trunk. He let the bag fall from his shoulder and crouched in the tall grass.
After a moment, she peered out again. He tilted his head, waiting for her to get his scent across the rushing water, if she could. She mouthed a word he couldn't hear.
He left his bag under a nearby shrub and stood, slowly taking off his shoes. He'd have to leave his wand behind; they mightn't trust him otherwise.
The woman vanished, but he continued to methodically roll up his trouser legs. The water was chilly when he stepped into it, but shallow enough that he could get across on submerged rocks and gravelly banks, if he was careful.
Two different women had appeared in the space of time it took him to reach the middle. They were watching his progress in amusement. It took him a moment to realise that they were, for the most part, naked.
When he smiled at them, careful not to bare his teeth, there were two loud cracks -- someone had taught them to Disapparate.
The current of the river pulled a little to the southwest, and he realised that it curved, not far away, and vanished into the trees. They'd probably made camp at a bend in the river -- defended on two sides by that and a third by the mountains. At least they had some sense.
His bare feet sank into the earth on the far bank, and he turned to look back.
Well. Into the forest, then.
As he walked he found his eyes adjusting to the way things were, here; to seeing the little paths that animals made, the crushed grass where some large creature had slept the night before. Twigs cut into his legs, but the cuts healed almost instantly. Leaf-cover scratched the soles of his feet.
He sniffed again, far enough from the water now to smell it. Someone was close by -- on his right. Tracking him. He stopped.
"Let's not play games," he said quietly. There was the crack of a Disapparation, and then a second crack on his left. "I'm not here to be hunted."
"Why are you here?" asked a voice.
"I've come to speak with the pack."
"What, all of them?" asked another voice, amused. He rubbed his jaw.
"Or your Alpha, if you have one."
There was a snarl, hastily cut off, and one of the women from before stepped out from the darkness. She wore a strip of fabric tied around her waist, mainly preserving her dignity, and a cord around her neck. And that was all.
"You may call me Mother," she said. He raised an eyebrow.
"Thank you, Mother," he replied. "My name is -- "
She held a finger to her lips, and shook her head. "Tell the Alpha," she said. "I don't care."
Well, at least they were honest.
He followed her across another animal-track, weaving through the trees. She made less noise than he, but then she would be used to this land. He trailed her, occasionally wondering just how far their territory extended -- certainly not beyond one side of the river -- when they emerged into another meadow.
His eyes widened, and he drew a sharp breath. The meadow was dappled with the mid-afternoon sun, and the colours stood out vividly; the green of the grass, dark soil beneath it, trees in the distance, water nearby. And the meadow was filled with creatures.
There were wolves lying in the long grass. He saw them raise their heads as the woman led him forward, and saw the faintest hints of snarls before their nostrils flared. When they caught his scent, the vicious violence all Changed werewolves instinctively felt for humans turned to...puzzlement.
Looks human-shaped, he could see them thinking. Doesn't smell like it though.
After all the rumours about feral abilities...he'd never thought that it would be like this. Two women sat chatting, one of them stringing strange, bone-coloured beads on twine. A man arrived from the direction of the trees, carrying a basket, followed by two wolves. Children, running naked, played around the legs of a tolerant female wolf, who occasionally snapped gently if one of them got out of line. None of them wore much in the way of clothing, and the children wore nothing at all.
The woman led him toward a stocky, black-haired man, wrapped in what looked like a deerhide. He lay in the tall grass, reading a book, his head propped on the back of a sleeping wolf. He sat up slowly, and Remus could imagine the sight; in the midst of naked and half-naked men and women, not to mention the wolves, he must look terribly out of place in his white shirt and brown waistcoat, his rolled-up brown trousers.
"Thank you, Mother," the man said, and the woman nodded, leaving them alone. The man reached around and prodded the wolf behind him, who whined but rose and shook herself, trotting away.
"You smell like the city," the man said, crossing his legs and laying the book aside. "Sit, if you will."
Remus nodded and sat, imitating the other man's posture. He was careful not to look him in the eyes.
"You'll have a name, of course," the man continued. "You're not a pack-runner. Not a...feral," he said, rich humour in his voice.
"Remus Lupin," said the city wolf, quietly.
"We do not have names in the pack. We have no need," the man said. "You may call me Alpha," he added.
"Thank you, Alpha."
"There are many reasons a man like yourself comes to a pack," Alpha said, ruminatively. "You have not come accidentally to the Summergrounds. You are too old to want to leave your family and become a packrunner. Too young to wish to die amongst your own kind. And not quite big enough to challenge me for leadership. You have nothing to sell which we wish, or are able, to purchase. We have no materials you could desire."
"You're quick to take measure," said Remus.
"I find I must be," Alpha replied. "We have nothing tangible to give you. But you haven't come for tangible goods." He cocked his head. "I'm afraid I'm not good at small talk," he said with a toothy grin.
"I've come from London." Remus plucked a piece of grass, twisting it between his fingers. "From the wizards there."
"A wizard too, are you?"
"I am."
"I lived in that world for a while, when I was a young man. Tell me, do they still ban us from drinking at the same bars as human wizards?"
"Not in written law. It was repealed about ten years ago." If he remembered rightly, Dumbledore'd had a hand in that. "But ten years isn't very long, for some things."
"Ah. Even worse."
Remus winced, slightly, and Alpha outright laughed.
"And you think we're the barbarians," he said, leaning back. "The monsters."
"I didn't say that."
"No, but you thought it. All the city wolves do. The humans do. Muggle and wizard."
"I didn't know enough about you to say that."
"Yes...yes, and that's the way we like it," Alpha agreed. "So tell me why you're here, Interloper."
Remus tilted his head. Alpha shook his own.
"When you are in the pack, you are named by the pack. Why should I call you by human names? I don't obey human rules."
"You read their books, though," Remus said, nodding at the slim volume sitting beside Alpha's thigh.
"Well, I didn't say they're entirely stupid," Alpha replied, fingering the blue-bound volume. "We take what we need from the humans down the village. Including, in case you wanted to confirm the rumours, their men and women."
Remus stared, and Alpha burst out laughing.
"For the pack, Interloper, not for food. We've enough of that. And most come willingly, you know. But you're not here to study us. You're here to ask me for something."
"There's a war coming," Remus said earnestly. "You know of the Dark Lord."
"I've heard news on the howl of his coming. He's sent people to speak to us. The last ones even got away with their lives." Alpha shook his head. "I was a child when last he came this way himself."
"We're fighting him. Myself and my..."
"Soldiers?"
"My friends."
"Hm. Very little difference, much of the time."
"We found out that the Dark Lord wanted you," Remus continued. "And I came to warn you."
Alpha shook his head. "It won't do. From the goodness of your heart you risked walking among ferals? City wolves fear us too much."
"I was also sent to ask you to join us, if you can."
"Don't want us fighting for him, but fighting for you is all right, is that it?"
"We don't treat people as though they're disposable," Remus said. "He does. He doesn't want you fighting because he admires werewolves. He wants you fighting because he doesn't have to care if you die."
Alpha laughed again. "Interloper, you're not as smart as you look. Why should we help you?"
"Because it's the right thing to do. Because your survival depends on his defeat, and so does mine."
"So you say."
"I'm not going to sit here and justify my reasons to you," Remus said, sharply. "You'd know it's right if you gave it any thought."
"Oh, but I have given it thought." Alpha fixed him with keen green eyes, and he glanced down quickly; to have met them would have been to give a challenge, and Alpha was right -- he wasn't big enough to win. "And what I think is this: we're fine here. We have family. We don't need humans. Humans are what forced us into the wilds in the first place, in my great-grandalpha's time."
"That's not true and you know it. If Wizarding society -- "
"Indeed," said Alpha, gravely. Remus began to feel just slightly frustrated -- and as though it was his status in Wizarding society that Alpha was attacking, instead of the wizards themselves.
"Listen, we're trying to stop the sort of people who keep werewolves out of Wizarding society. Muggle-haters and people who think only about purity of blood. People who loathe the sight of you. Of me. People who want to get rid of werewolves altogether. And if they win, they'll come for you next, and next time they won't want you to join them, they'll just want you to die."
"Let them try. We're stronger," Alpha said assuredly.
"You have no magical education -- no schools of philosophy or art, no high society -- "
"You see? You do think we're barbarians."
Remus rubbed his forehead as Alpha picked up a thick, club-handled walking stick.
"Do you see my cubs?" he asked, pointing to three small, naked children, drumming apparently aimlessly on a tree stump. "They're learning sticktalk. They drum to speak to each other, and we use it across forests. When they're older, they'll learn the old epics. Do you know any of the old epics?"
"Which ones?" Remus asked.
"Our epics. Our blood stories. The tusk-hunters, the African wild dogs, the Firemakers, the Split Creator. No, I can see in your face. You come to me and say we have no art, no philosophy, when you're ignorant of your own blood heritage." Alpha spat. "Can you change at the height of noon? Can you run in a pack? Have you once, ever?"
"I was made what I am by a pack-runner," Remus said bitterly. "When I was seven."
"And your family, what did they do?"
"My father and mother took Muggle rifles, and silver bullets. They hunted down the one who bit me while the Healers were bandaging my wounds. And then my father called the Aurors and they killed the rest. They wiped out a pack the size of yours. It never recovered."
And that had been the final reason Remus Lupin had never dared go to the ferals before; his parents had destroyed the third pack in Britain.
Alpha looked grave. "More territory for the rest of us," he said, as if he could read Remus' thoughts clearly. "If the pack who ran on your land had been taught to stay away from humans, that wouldn't have happened. We keep our distance, and we harm no one. Life is hard, but it's pure. We have our ancestors to guide us. Who are you to say what we should and shouldn't do? Let the Dark Wizards come for us."
"You could keep that from happening."
"And what would you do with us, once a month? Lock us up as you do yourself?"
"There are potions -- it's what the Dark Lord would have used, but if you take them voluntarily -- "
"Water down your blood! No thank you," Alpha sighed. "Our answer is no, Interloper. We will not take sides in this war, his or yours. That is, usually, how we've survived. By taking no side, and making no trouble. If you knew the epics, you'd know that."
Remus rubbed his hands over his face. "There must be something you want. Something you need that we can give you. That would give you at least a little bit of trust, that would let you -- "
"Dignity in the cities," Alpha said, cutting him off. "Can you give me that if we fight for you? Even amongst those who accept you?"
Remus could have lied, but it wouldn't have done any good. "No."
"Then we have nothing more to say," Alpha stood, tapping his stick on the soft soil. Remus followed his lead. "Though when your war is over, if you survive, I should like very much to see more of you. I had forgotten how quickly a city wolf talks. And if you would stay now..." he shrugged. "Stay to see the sun set. Hear one of the epics that you've left too late to learn."
"There are people waiting for me -- "
"Are there?"
Remus paused.
Yes. There were. Harry and Dumbledore and Tonks. Waiting for him in the world across the river.
But they were not his blood kin. And these were.
"There were four Firemakers, in the time before consciousness, when all of us were wolves and wolves alone," Alpha said as they walked. It was hypnotic, the way he spoke. "They were the four colours of the flame -- brown wood, white hot flame, dying brindle flame, and black ash. They fought a war too, but to fight humans you have to become humans. So these four Firemakers taught themselves humanity. They learned to think like humans."
"Unlucky them," Remus murmured.
"I'm condensing it. It's better when done properly," Alpha said, slightly reproachfully. "And when the war was done, it was seen that on the battlefields the humans had built fires. Three of the Firemakers had died in the war; the brown one, who was their Alpha, and the white, who had fought too hard and had consumed himself, and the black, who had given himself over because ash can no longer burn. There was one left, a wolf the colour of the dying flame. And he picked up the fire, and brought it to the camp of his own people, our ancestors."
Remus realised that Alpha had stopped, and several others had gathered to listen as well.
"As long as fire burns for us, as long as the dying flame is not yet ash, we live as humans. We cannot let the fires go out, because we'll die of the cold, but when they are all dead, then we will be wolves again," Alpha recited. He waved a hand at the gathering.
"Tell us we are barbarians," he said softly. "But do not tell us we are fools."
"I'd like to hear your epics," Remus replied, in the same low tone. There was a moment of silence, and then Alpha clapped him on the arm.
"Of course you would! They sing in your blood. Even if you aren't wolf-born," he cried. "Stay to the sunset, and our Speaker can tell you the story of the Split Creator. Your friends can wait a day for you to return to them."
Remus nodded slowly.
***
The evening meal was a late summer doe, dragged to camp by a couple of wolves; those in human-form skewered and cooked the steak meat, while the wolves feasted on entrails. There were also, incongruously, tins of beans and beef stew, from a stash that had apparently been taken out of the grocery in the town.
He was an item of curiousity, but no particular interest; the children were fascinated by his clothes, but the adults barely gave him a second look -- admittedly, after a long first look.
The Speaker was a grey-haired man in a loincloth, his face wrinkled, eyes keen, nose sharp and narrow. Remus, sitting near the fire, watched him as he threw back his head and let out a guttural cry, when the sun began to turn the sky crimson. Everyone fell silent; apparently this was not an every-day occurrence. When the Speaker spoke, even the smallest cubs stopped their squeaking yips, and the children sat very still.
He wondered if the epics were confined to this pack, or if they were shared with the other British pack, and the various feral communities on the continent. Perhaps the pack that the Aurors had destroyed, when he was seven, had known these epics. The story of the Firemakers that Alpha had told him, and now the story of the Split Creator that the Speaker was reciting, much to the delight of the others.
When the epic was finished, and the last remains of the meal had been disposed of, the Speaker found him by the fire, and grinned a gap-toothed smile.
"What do you think, Interloper?" he asked, poking the embers with a stick.
"I've never heard anything like it," Remus replied truthfully.
"Yes, we don't share with outsiders."
"It's a shame."
"It's a necessity."
"Well done, Speaker!" the Alpha cried, coming to join them. He tossed a handful of dry kindling on the fire. "As well-spoken as ever you were."
The Speaker nodded. "Age and time don't diminish the story," he murmured.
"No indeed. So, Interloper, do you go back to the humans now?" Alpha asked. "Or will you stay with us tonight?"
It was a tempting offer, but Remus shook his head.
"I've done what I came to do. Now...either I have to find other packs, or ask you to pass the word along."
Alpha looked thoughtful.
"I say this because you're kin, more or less, and because you remind me of my travels with the humans," he said slowly. "I would not go among the other pack if I were you. They are not as tolerant as we are. They live in colder climes, nearer the cities, and it makes them hard and bitter."
"All the more reason to keep them out of the influence of the Dark Lord."
"Are you sure it's not too late for that?"
"If it is, I have to know."
Alpha tapped his fingers on his jaw. "We'll pass your word on, Interloper. If I hear news, perhaps...perhaps it is time I sent the young out into the world, as I was sent. How can they find you?"
"They can ask for Albus Dumbledore, at Hogwarts School. Anyone in the Wizarding world will know how to send a message there."
"Very well then. I'll send guides down to the river's edge with you, to take you safely back. Can't have you stumbling about in the dark if you can't Change." Alpha clapped him on the shoulder. "Remember. When your war is done..."
"I will. Thank you, Alpha."
"Not at all, Interloper."
***
Alpha called across the meadow for Scouts, as the darkness began to fall in earnest. Five or six heads turned, and after brief conference, two boys -- perhaps eighteen, perhaps a little older -- unbent from crouches around the fire. Three more followed as wolves.
"Take him to the edge of territory safely," Alpha said. "As far as the river and across. You can make your own way from there," he added, to Remus.
Remus went, following the Scouts, who were already loping their way through the trees on the northern edge of the meadow. It wasn't hard to keep up; there was the light of the waning moon, and they moved as slow as he did, though the wolves would dart forward and then come back. Like dogs, Remus thought, playing at follow-the-leader. Except there was nothing at all domestic about it. The boys spoke in low, growling tones, when they spoke at all, and they moved like...
They moved like Sirius had, near the end, well-accustomed to violence, gracefully muscular. Or like Kingsley Shacklebolt. Utterly confident in their strength.
"Do your people know sticktalk?" a tall, fair-haired scout asked, falling behind to walk with Remus as the others forged ahead. He could see the riverbank from here, and the shrub he'd left his bag under.
"We have other methods," Remus replied reservedly, recalling the last time he'd tried to teach Ron Weasley to use a telephone.
"Does everyone dress like that?" the boy continued, eyeing his clothing.
"More or less."
"And you go to war against the Death Eaters?"
Remus looked at him sharply. "How do you know what they're called?"
The boy looked back, eyes wide and innocent, as their feet left prints in the soft soil at the edge of the river.
Remus' eyes darted to his left arm, which was bound in leather.
He couldn't run for the water. The boys were flanking him, and the three wolves stood in a ring between him and the water. He could run for the forest but they knew the way, and he didn't. Even if he yelled, Alpha wouldn't hear him from here.
He began to back away, slowly. They watched him.
"They came to see us," the boy said. "They promised in the new regime we'd have respect. They said we'd be elite."
"I suppose they promised you could hunt humans if you liked," Remus said, dry horror filling him.
"The others set on them and tried to kill them, but we stopped them. The Alpha's very proud of us for that," said the other boy. "So he doesn't mind too closely what we do."
"And look at our reward." The first boy pulled on a lace of the leather, and it fell away, revealing the snake-and-skull tattoo that was the sign of the Death Eaters.
"Just me," he added, with a proud smile. "I'm their Alpha."
"You've no idea..." Remus stammered. He took another step backwards, and nearly stumbled.
It was all the wolves needed. One of them darted forward, leaping for him, and he twisted in the air, falling to the ground. The other two were on him, one fixing on his arm, the other trying to pin his chest.
He screamed in pain and rolled, hand groping for anything, some kind of weapon, closing on a thick length of stick. He bashed at the head of the one gnawing his arm, and it shrieked, but released him -- a sharp stab in the ribs of the other drew blood, and he managed to scrabble backwards while they were regrouping --
Hands clamped on both his arms, and the two boys grinned at him.
"Do you want to see what we do to our enemies?" one of them hissed. His hand went to Remus' throat -- the older man writhed, but couldn't escape. Dark spots began to dance in front of his eyes before he was released.
He fell to his knees and scrabbled for the stick again, but the wolves were on him. Any two he could have fought, but three was too much. Teeth ripped him; claws ripped clothing, shredding fabric, shredding skin. He felt the boys' hands holding him down, their fingers gouging him.
"We don't kill them easy," someone hissed in his ear, and suddenly the teeth and claws and scratching hands pulled back, and instead he was being pushed, dragged across the damp earth, and there was a freezing shock as the river water washed over him. He tried to breathe -- coughed -- his air supply was cut off, his lungs burning as water washed into them.
And then the freezing, sucking blackness pulled him down.
Continue on to the next part
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*sniff, sniff* Another chapter? Please? Hurry. *sniff*
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That should be 13 - 15 with 16 - 18 below it. :)
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