sam_storyteller (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sam_storyteller) wrote2005-07-08 04:04 pm
sam_storyteller) wrote2005-07-08 04:04 pm
Entry tags:
Sweet Home, 3 of 7
In all honesty, Remus felt almost triumphant about the photograph, when he thought about it. It meant he wasn't running from it anymore. He'd stayed and faced down his colleagues and they were going to let him keep working.
Two weeks later he decided bolting might not have been such a bad idea after all.
"Lupin!" Hobson called, from her office up the stairs. "Front and centre, Hogwarts!"
Remus, puzzled as to what she meant by that as it wasn't exactly a common nickname (or common knowledge), climbed the stairs and peered in the door. Hobson was seated at her desk, piles of paperwork floating magically over it, some so tall they nearly reached the ceiling. Hobson was not known for her literary efficiency.
"Got a diplomatic job for you, Lupin," she said, rifling through one of the floating piles, pulling a folder out mid-way. "Files tagged you as a Hogwarts graduate, is that right?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Mmh. You were a good little schoolboy. What happened?" she asked with a grin, and he saw his NEWTs scores resting in his dossier.
"Put it to bad use, ma'am," he replied.
"Clearly, if you ended up here," she said, eyes still scanning his file. After a while, he cleared his throat.
"You said something about a diplomat, ma'am?"
"Diplomacy, actually. We've got a bunch of wizarding tourists coming in for the Christmas hols, including a contingent from Hogwarts. Need you to keep 'em from falling off a cliff or getting eaten by a wombat or something," she said, closing his file and tossing it onto the desk. "There's three professors and four students, they're here for a symposium on Magical Creatures. Your job is to take them wherever they want to go and keep them safe."
He blinked. "Hogwarts professors? Here?"
"I always said you were a goddamn genius, Lupin," she sighed. "I've ordered files on them from the British branch, and they're sending details about special housing requirements and the like, if any..." she dug through another pile, producing a scrawl-covered bit of parchment. "Couple of students, ages fifteen through eighteen, Albus Dumbledore -- assume you know him -- "
"Yes, ma'am," Remus said, keeping his voice from cracking only by swallowing quickly. His mouth had gone very dry.
"Right...Minerva McGonagall...is she the animagus?"
He smiled. "One of seven this century, yes."
"She any good for anything aside from turning into a cat?"
"Damn good professor, ma'am."
"Coming from you, high praise," Hobson drawled. "And some chap named Flitwick. Plum job for you, Lupin. Mind, don't let anyone die...off with you, then. They're arriving day after tomorrow, I'll have the files delivered down to you when I get them."
He wasn't sure it was quite good manners to be reading government dossiers on the people who used to be his schoolteachers, especially as he was going to have to spend two weeks acting as tour-guide-slash-bodyguard. Not that Dumbledore needed bodyguarding, he supposed, and McGonagall certainly didn't. Still, it was fascinating reading, and if he weren't bound by a code of conduct he'd definitely have brought up a couple of the more amusing details in McGonagall's file.
They were arriving by chartered airplane, although the transoceanic floo lines were up and operating more or less efficiently. Most people were still wary of them, and if they had students to look after, it would make things difficult. The afternoon of their arrival, he brushed his hair for the millionth time, checked the creases on his trousers and the starch in his uniform collar, shined his shoes, and presented himself at the airstrip where they were landing.
He watched, standing to attention next to Hobson and an official delegation from the Sydney wizarding community, as Dumbledore stepped out of the airplane. He was followed by a string of weedy-looking students -- surely he'd never been so young and gawky? -- and Professor McGonagall, who looked more or less unchanged since his school days. As did Dumbledore, he reflected, but then one expected that of Dumbledore; you couldn't imagine him changing with the years.
And then a dark shape emerged behind McGonagall, a dark shape that was impossibly tall for Flitwick --
"Who the hell is that?" Hobson demanded.
Remus gaped.
"You know him, Lupin? Pull your chin up."
He snapped to, before the others could see his shock, and said, out of the corner of his mouth, "Severus Snape. It has to be."
"Who's Severus Snape? What about that chap Flitwick? Lupin, you're white as a sheet."
"I..." he stammered, but he hadn't the faintest idea what to say. Or why the idea of seeing Snape was so much, much worse than seeing Dumbledore and McGonagall.
"Dives headlong into a four-way fistfight but scared of a Hogwarts professor? What, did he make you do lines in school?"
"No...ma'am...just rather...surprised to hear he's at Hogwarts, that's all. I...we knew each other, sort of, we were students together, I'd lost contact with him over the years..."
And then Dumbledore was coming forward to greet the officials and the students were all being introduced. Hobson was introducing him, too, and Dumbledore smiled and twinkled, and it was McGonagall's turn to gape. A sallow-faced Snape loomed behind her shoulder -- the same lanky build, the same long hair, new lines in his scowling face.
"Lupin," he growled, as they were introduced -- re-introduced.
"Snape," Remus replied. "Professor Snape?"
"Oh -- you hadn't heard?" McGonagall asked. "Severus was a last-minute addition to our trip. Professor Flitwick was called away on family business. He's our new Potions Master -- just over seven years now, isn't it, Severus?"
"Just over," Snape agreed shortly.
"But look at you, an Auror," McGonagall continued. "Australia suits you, Remus."
"He has always managed to suit himself to his surroundings," Snape muttered.
"Lupin's going to be your chaperone while you're in town," Hobson said with an assumed cheerfulness, as she broke away from a quiet conversation with Dumbledore.
"Pleasure to serve, Headmaster," Remus added, as Dumbledore smiled at him again. "I'm here to provide whatever you need. If you come this way there's a cab waiting to take you to your lodgings..."
Severus Snape glared at him, or rather at the back of his head, the whole way there. And glared at him over the dinner they ate at a restaurant Remus recommended. And glared at him as Remus answered students' questions about his job. And glared at him as he left them off at their hotel again.
Considering it had been eight years, not a whole lot had changed.
***
The children that Dumbledore brought along to the symposium were the picture of Hogwarts youth -- intelligent, curious, mischievous, and somewhat distant. Remus had forgotten there were schools in the world where military discipline was not encouraged or relied upon. His own lads at the Academy had been just as smart and inquisitive, but they had also been, if not overly familiar with, then at least open to their professors, as the structure allowed them to be. When a professor asked you a question, you answered it promptly, fully, and truthfully, which often led to surprisingly personal revelations when one was interrogating a boy with a black eye from a bully, or one caught hiding behind quarters because he wanted to have a private cry about his pet who'd just died.
The Hogwarts students were less well-mannered but more frank, and he took a liking to them -- especially Weasley, who had an unparalleled passion for dragons. Young Charlie was fifteen, the son of a man Remus had known slightly from the Order. The Weasleys hadn't been members, but they'd been supporters, and he was passingly familiar with them.
He met the students in the lobby of the hotel for their first morning of the conference, and then presented himself to Dumbledore for orders.
"I can stay with the students, sir, or I can remain with the largest group; I assume you'll be separating during the day, considering the amount of classes and panels being offered," he said crisply. The students were still yawning, except Charlie, who was vibrating with enthusiasm. Snape and McGonagall were examining conference brochures, occasionally comparing notes on an interesting-looking event.
"Minerva," Dumbledore said, and the deputy Headmistress glanced up at him over her glasses. "I believe you wanted to attend the Care And Handling lecture this morning, did you not?"
She nodded. "I don't think it's quite appropriate for students," she added. "If you prefer, I could certainly take them to another lecture..."
"No, I don't see why you ought to. I should like to attend the panel on the legislation of dragons, and I suspect -- " he broke off before he finished, as Charlie's face lit up eagerly. "Well then. That leaves Professor Snape with Bones, Finch, and Gregot; perhaps you ought to go with them, Mr. Lupin."
"As you like, sir," Remus said, inclining his head slightly in what Hobson referred to as Civilian Salute #3: Polite Deference. The students spent a few whispered moments in consultation amongst themselves, heads bent over another conference schedule, before one of them (probably Finch; he'd known a Finch at school, and the girl bore a slight resemblance to her) turned to Snape, speaking somewhat apprehensively.
"We'd like to take the lecture on Griffin Preservation, Professor," she suggested. "And then Gregot and Bones want to see the Kneazle Obedience Trials before lunch. I'd like to hear the talk on Rare Wand Cores."
"So would I." Snape nodded curtly and began to walk towards the conference hall where the Griffin Preservation lecture was supposed to be. Remus gestured for the students to follow, trailing behind them so he could watch them all at once.
"I'll take the pair of you to the Obedience Trials, if you like," he said, to Gregot and Bones. "We're thinking of getting one at the office, like the Muggle police have with dogs."
"Brilliant," Gregot grinned at him. "Bet you could get us really good seats pulling rank, couldn't you?"
"I'm afraid I can't do that, Mister Gregot. You overestimate how important Aurors are around here."
"Oh, you can call me Ath," Gregot replied, and Remus recalled that the poor boy had been saddled with the name Athenaeus Gregot. "And that's Ben," he added, jerking a thumb at Bones. "You're allowed to do that, right?"
"Don't push your luck," Remus said with a smile, as they filed past Snape into their seats. Snape gestured him forward, but he shook his head.
"I'm on duty," he said, seating himself on a step in the aisle. Snape shrugged and seated himself one seat in, leaving the aisle empty. Remus sighed to himself. The irony of being a more-or-less bodyguard for a man he'd once tried to kill wasn't lost on either of them, he decided. Snape hadn't, until sixth year, hated him as violently as he had James and Sirius; after the Prank, it had been closer to fear.
He swept the sizable audience, noticing the doors, the covered-over windows, the magical screen for the slide-show. He didn't actually think any of his charges were in danger, but he was nothing if not thorough. He saw other Aurors, in a variety of colours -- red jump-outs like himself, cream-shirted investigators, beat-walkers in green, and one or two Special Services Aurors in bright canary yellow.
Perhaps some sort of threat had been made against the conference -- he saw no other point in having so many badly-needed Aurors babysitting a bunch of academics. Surely they'd have told them something, though...
A horrifying thought occurred to him; if Hogwarts and -- yes, there were Beauxbatons students in the left wing audience, and he could see Tokyo College of Witchcraft girls filing in past them -- if schools were coming here, perhaps there were Academy boys in the audience.
He stifled the thought quickly; they weren't likely to remember him, if they even saw him. Instead he concentrated on his job, like he was supposed to be doing. When the lights went down for the lecture to begin, he cast an oculis nox charm so that he could see in the dark. He noticed other Aurors doing the same, their eyes glowing like coppery coins in the dark.
He glanced over at Snape, and saw the man's pale fingers tapping almost nervously against his knee. The children had taken out parchment and quill and were taking notes, no doubt with the knowledge that there would be questions about the lecture afterwards.
Snape a professor, and himself an Auror. When had they grown up?
***
The kneazle obedience trials had been almost interesting enough to distract him from his guard duties. Having to mind two teenage boys hadn't helped, especially as Bones had the tendency to wander off. He was glad to rejoin Snape, Dumbledore, and McGonagall for lunch in the big banquet hall, the professors on one side of the table and the students on the other. The children exchanged notes excitedly while Dumbledore tried to draw Snape out of his sullen silence. Remus decided, from the way both Dumbledore and McGonagall were treating it, that this was probably par for the course. A shame that Snape could take so little joy out of life. Or at least a shame that he couldn't try a little harder to pretend to be amiable.
It took him by surprise when, at the end of lunch, Dumbledore remarked as they were leaving that he imagined Remus and Severus were getting on well.
"More or less, I suppose," he said, puzzled. "Why do you ask?"
"Well, you both seem of a somewhat silent, solitary disposition," Dumbledore said. "Severus is not generally friendly with the other professors; perhaps he appreciates someone who does not expect it of him."
"The job doesn't come with expectations, except to serve," Remus replied. Dumbledore smiled a little, gently.
"And is the job all there is?" he asked. Remus felt a sharp twist inside him.
"That's all that matters, sir," he answered. Dumbledore turned to where Snape was impatiently waiting for the children to make up their minds about the afternoon.
"Much of a likeness, the two of you," he repeated. "Ah, and I see a former student of mine, do excuse me. I think you had best stay with the students, wherever they may go," he added, as he ambled away.
Remus considered his words, his mind occupied with them while his eyes and ears were open for trouble. A silent, solitary disposition...surely not. He spoke as much as any of his fellow Aurors; he never particularly wanted to be as close to anyone as he had been to James and Peter and Sirius at school, or -- or Gabriel.
If Snape was solitary, he thought, it was probably because he was a grown man, chaperoning a handful of teen-aged students and accompanied by two senior professors. It wasn't as though he had much in common with either his colleagues or his charges.
Which was probably what made him stop Snape, just after the panel on Magical Zoology let out, with a hand on his sleeve. The students were with McGonagall; they'd be all right for two minutes.
"Severus," he said quietly. "Can I have a word?"
Snape looked at him, alarmed, and allowed himself to be pulled out of the flow of foot traffic.
"Something the matter, Auror?" he sneered.
"No -- nothing to do with the conference," Remus replied evenly. "I know you've some free time after the keynote dinner -- a few of the other Aurors and myself are going for drinks. You ought to come along, see Sydney outside of the hotel."
Snape stared at him in utter amazement, and Remus wondered if he was about to sneer again, or merely drop dead of surprise. He didn't wait for him to decide.
"Grand. I'll meet you in the lobby at eight," he said, clapping him on the arm, which was probably an enormous mistake, but he wasn't going to give Snape time to recuperate. "My supervisor wants a word before the dinner, excuse me," he added, and ran to catch up to Hobson, who was buttonholing Aurors as they passed, handing out parchment letters.
"Lupin, how's the delegation from the mother country?" she asked with a feral grin, and pressed a letter into his palm. "Some notes about tomorrow, nothing urgent."
"Thanks -- have you seen Karls? He was organising a pubcrawl tonight and I wanted to let him know I'd be there."
"Drowning your sorrows?"
"And a friend's."
"I didn't know you had friends," she said, with an amused grin to take the sting from her words. He smiled back quickly. "I'll let him know, I've got notes for him. Run along, Hogwarts, and enjoy your reunion."
He saluted quickly, and joined the throngs heading towards the banquet hall for dinner.
He suspected Snape would show up, even if he didn't want to; there had been an element of I-dare-you in his offer, and a quick flash of competitive spirit in Snape's eyes. If nothing else, the evening would be...interesting.
Oh good lord, what had he got himself into.
***
They started drinking at a hole-in-the-wall downtown that evening; Karls, Hobson, the regrettable Balcock, Jones, and a few others converged on the little bar, frequented by policemen and Aurors, Remus leading a reluctant and recalcitrant-looking Snape. He introduced him as a mate from school, which made Snape scowl but made the others rather more welcoming.
"So here's my plot," Karls said, as they clustered around one of the small tables, sipping drinks. "I say we take off from here after another round, hit George Street, head out to The Rocks and cause trouble there, circle back...Lupin, are you still on terms with that bird from the Plucked Emu?"
"We talk," Remus said shortly.
"No reason she'd like to throw a drink in your face?"
"None I'm aware of," Remus said, and a few of the others chuckled. "It's down near that curry place. Good eating there, the late-night chef doesn't ash in the food."
He saw Snape's lip wrinkle slightly in disgust, and fought down a smile. At least it was a reaction.
George Street's bars were dingy and slightly grubby, but the drink was cheap, and Remus stood his round there, which freed him from the guilt of drinking the rounds others paid. Most of the Aurors drank Muggle, Victoria Bitter, as it was hard to come by firewhiskey or butterbeer and one never really knew when it was safe to order it -- that was what all-wizarding pubs like the Plucked Emu were for. It helped that the Auror uniforms weren't robes, and one or two Muggles were clearly surprised by Snape's somewhat antiquated dress, but as he was drinking with a gang of what looked like off-duty police officers, nobody made any trouble. Remus had been grateful, many times, for the Australian flag and Auror's patch on his shoulder; it smoothed the way in so many troubling situations.
They lost Jones and Balcock somewhere between arriving at the Rocks and deciding, admittedly fuzzily, that it was time to stop off at the Plucked Emu before returning to the hotel, where most of the Aurors were staying, and where Remus could walk or get a cab back to his boardinghouse.
"When," Karls asked, waving his bottle at Remus as they finished up in the Plucked Emu, "Are you going to get a real place, Lupin? Stead of a scrubby li'l room?"
"Saving up," Remus replied. "S'not cheap you know. Never had a place of my own."
"What, never?" Snape asked, surprising him.
"Nup," he said cheerfully. "Well. Lived with m'dad when I was little, and then Hogwarts -- not exactly private. And then, and then..." He screwed up his face slightly. "Slept on James' couch for a while. Couldn't find a job."
"James Potter?" Karls asked. Remus nodded. "You knew 'em, didn't you?"
"We both did," Remus said, indicating Snape.
"Much to my regret," Snape growled.
"Mustn't speak ill of the dead," Remus chided.
"Why mustn't we? I think there's a great deal to be said for speaking ill of the dead. They can't fight back, for one," Snape replied tartly.
"James Potter was -- "
"An absolute prat, and didn't deserve Lily Evans."
"Right, right," Remus agreed. "But. He tried. After a while he tried. Say what you like, he tried. And that's the thing about Sirius, y'see..."
"Sirius Black?" asked one of the other Aurors. "Chap who's in Azkaban?"
Remus waved a hand irritably. "Yes, that's the one. Should have suspected him. He never even tried. Bloody hated you, you know," he added, to Snape.
"I was aware of that."
"Not like that's a mark against you, mind," Karls put in. "Bloodthirsty Death Eater, after all."
Remus saw Snape's hand drift up his left arm, fingers wrapping around the spot where his Dark Mark would have been. Ah yes, Severus; you might know I'm a werewolf but I know what you were, too, and you chose to be one...
And in the end, what does it matter? You're a teacher who never talks and I'm a copper who never feels.
No wonder Dumbledore had thought they were alike.
They left the Emu around closing time, wending their way back through a couple of alleys and side-streets until they found themselves in front of the hotel again, having lost a few more people on the way. Hobson straightened up, with the help of Karls' shoulder, and turned to face them.
"Present for inspection!" she said, and the rest of them fell into some kind of order, grinning and nudging one another when they started to lean. Snape, Remus saw, was standing quite straight; he hadn't been drinking as much as the others, though he'd certainly had his share. Remus, remembering his Academy training, got himself fully upright, balancing precariously.
"Right then," Hobson said. "A lowlier bunch of scum never patrolled the streets of this blasted city. But you're my scum," she added, "And by god you're at least properly trained scum. Dismissed!"
Remus stumbled into Snape, and decided he might as well follow the rest of them into the hotel; he could sober up a bit before going home. He didn't have to be on duty again tomorrow until noon, anyway; there weren't any lectures in the morning, and an auxiliary shift was doing general duty.
Somewhat supporting each other, they stopped in the lobby while Snape fumbled for his key, leaning against a handy wall. Remus watched his hands search his trouser pockets, then the pockets of his robe before they found the small brass key and hotel tag. Without thinking, he touched his left hand. Snape looked up at him, sharply.
"I am sorry," he said slowly, fingers exploring Snape's outspread palm, "For what James and Sirius did to you."
"Hardly heartening," the other man replied, gripping his key tightly.
"Too little too late," Remus agreed. "But I am. And was, too. Then. Sorry, I mean. We were stupid."
"That I did know."
Remus saw a flash of pain behind Snape's dark eyes, quickly shielded. He pressed his thumb to the centre of Snape's palm, soothingly.
"They can't ask you to forgive them," he murmured. This was dangerous business, but they were, after all, somewhat alike...and it had been a long time, he suspected, since either of them had trusted anyone enough to get close. Mutual distrust was almost as good, he decided, swaying forward. "But I can."
For a split second he felt Snape respond, felt his head incline to meet Remus' as they kissed in the dark, empty lobby; it was a fantastically bad idea to be doing this, especially in public, but what the hell, it wasn't like the man wasn't going back to England day after tomorrow, and he really did feel he ought to show how very sorry he was...
Then Snape's hand, still somewhat entangled in his own, moved suddenly and swiftly, hitting him flat in the centre of his chest and shoving him backwards, off balance, until he caught himself on the wall.
"Do not think," Snape said, raising his hand again to wipe his mouth almost delicately, "that you are in any way welcome to take liberties with my privacy or my person."
Remus simply watched, wordless, as he turned on his heel and vanished up the stairs, into the gloom of the hotel.
"Bugger," he said, with feeling, and closed his eyes. There was no way he could have screwed that up more if he'd tried.
"Lupin?"
Damn. Maybe there was a way.
He opened his eyes and saw a silhouetted figure standing nearby. Too short to be Snape, returning; he recognised that imposing stance and those sharp eyes...
"Professor McGonagall," he said, managing not to slur too much. "You're up rather late."
"So are you," she said, touching his elbow. "Are you quite all right? I saw Severus shove you into the wall..."
He straightened. "Fine, thanks. Bit of a misunderstanding, that's all. Do you need something?"
She smiled. "I was going to the bar to see if they had any tea. I don't sleep well in unfamiliar rooms. Join me, if you like."
Tea sounded quite good, and although the idea of attempting to appear sober in front of his former professor did not, he was hardly in a position to resist. He followed her through the lobby and into the bar, where a few lamps were still lit; she asked for tea from the bored man behind the counter, and brought it back to the table he was sitting at, head resting on his arms.
"I had hoped to have time to speak with you, though not at one in the morning," she said, as she put a teabag into the pot and spooned sugar into her teacup. "I was surprised to see you in Australia. Perhaps I shouldn't have been; Dumbledore mentioned your letters, back when you still wrote to him, and you didn't seem very interested in putting down roots anywhere."
"Nowhere was much interested in having me," he replied, waving away her offer of sugar.
"You had a good job there, though -- I recall you were teaching?"
"For a little while."
"Why did you leave?"
He considered telling her he simply hadn't liked teaching, but he'd loved teaching, and besides, she knew what he was. "They found out about me, and marched me out of the school at riflepoint."
"Oh."
"So I came here."
She nodded. "I wish we'd known. Dumbledore wanted to write you. He spoke to your father, but Mr. Lupin seemed of the opinion that you would probably rather not hear from us."
Remus shrugged. "Wouldn't have mattered, either way. Didn't think you'd be interested."
"There was an invitation for you, actually; you've missed your ten-year reunion."
Remus ducked his head. "Probably just as well. Can't have been many Gryffindors there; most died fighting Voldemort."
She flinched at the name, just slightly. "Yes; there weren't any Gryffindor boys, and Severus is the only Slytherin boy. He chose not to attend."
"None at all? What about Michael and Hyperion, they were Gryffindors..."
"Michael was killed in a Muggle auto accident, two years after the Potters died. I'm surprised you hadn't heard. Hyperion committed suicide not long after. His family chose not to publicise the fact."
Remus stared at her, stunned. "Surely not...I knew him. He was in the Order. He was a good man."
Minerva nodded. "I think old memories finally caught up with him. He left a note saying he didn't much like the world anymore. One more reason Dumbledore wanted to know where you were. Do you realise, Remus," she said, pouring the tea, "That you and Severus are veterans of a war? You weren't just boys playing at games. You were soldiers, and no-one ever told you that."
"Nothing to be done about it," he answered. "Can't change what's happened."
She gave him a shrewd look, and he drank his tea to hide anything his face might be betraying.
"At any rate, there aren't many students to return to Hogwarts, even if they wanted to," she continued. "But there are children coming. The classes are larger every year. James' son will be attending, you know, in another three years, as will Frank Longbottom's."
"How are Frank and Alice?"
"Much the same," she said, and they were both silent for a moment.
"Tragic," he murmured. "Better off dead, one would think."
"Perhaps. But I'm sure you know how proud their family is, being an Auror yourself now."
"It's just a job, really," he answered. "I mean. There's nothing particularly noble about it, from where I sit. Something to put food on the table."
"A very Gryffindor sentiment."
He smiled at her, tiredly.
"I should be off," he said. "Thank you for the tea."
"I don't know that I'll see you again before we leave -- I'm lecturing all afternoon tomorrow. Look after yourself, Remus," she said, as he stood to go.
"I always do," he replied. "Do tell Severus I'm sorry, if you see him. I'm sure that's not what he wants to hear, but tell him all the same."
When he left the table, he felt more than sober; he walked slowly out of the hotel, woke up a cab-driver who was sleeping in his car, and gave the address of his boarding-house. He wondered if he'd be able to sleep, considering the news he'd had and the memories it brought up. Frank and Alice without change -- not to mention the deaths of the only other two Gryffindors in his year, after James and Sirius and Peter. Poor old Hyperion, he'd deserved better. And Michael certainly deserved better than getting run down by some mad Muggle driver.
Which meant that now, of all the Gryffindors in the class of 1976, he and Sirius were the only ones still living. If you could call it that.
Still, when he reached his bed, he barely managed to undress before he fell asleep; it was fitful and restless, but it gave him enough energy to face the following day.
He saw neither McGonagall nor Snape before they left, and he wasn't sure whether to be sorry or grateful. He gave Dumbledore his address, if he wanted to write to him, but smiled and politely turned down the offer to come visit Hogwarts at some point in the near future. Hearing about the others had been bad enough. He had no wish to relive his school days or the days immediately following; he spent enough time there in his nightmares.
***
Trailing a handful of students around a conference was perhaps the easiest job of his career as an Auror; jump-out assignments were dangerous things, and more than once his durability probably saved his life. He'd been shot by Muggles, hexed and cursed by troublemaking witches and wizards, and bitten by dogs. Occasionally it left him sore for a day or two, but it rarely put him out of action for even as long as his full-moon nights did.
They lost two men in February, and another in April of that year; worrying rumours began to trickle in about a revival of the old Death Eaters, though it had never been a very large organisation in Australia to begin with. Remus, however, remembered the sheer power of numbers they'd had in Britain, and began walking home while it was still light out and double-locking his door at night.
They actually encountered a Death Eater in late June, though not, apparently, out on business; merely drunk and disorderly who got out of hand and happened to have a Dark Mark on his left arm. Some of the local Muggle papers were running stories about a strange satanic cult, and the Wizarding ones were nearly hysterical at the idea of an upswing in any sort of activity related to You-Know-Who. But when the rumours appeared to be false and two months passed without any further mention by either the Aurors or the general public, media paranoia -- and Remus' -- began to fade.
He still felt especially vulnerable during the full moons, and began to look at actual houses in the area around headquarters; he had nearly enough saved for a down-payment. A house would be nice. Especially since Hobson had started walking home with him sometimes, though his flat was northwest of hers and quite out of her way. He'd wanted to invite her up, but there wasn't much hospitality to offer in a boarding-house room. Instead he'd begun asking her to dinner, once in a while. He liked Hobson. She understood. Only other Aurors ever really understood. She liked him, too; after dinner, once, she'd kissed him in the doorway to his building, pressing quickly against him, hips and breasts warm under her uniform, molding to his body.
But he wasn't thinking of Hobson that evening, as he locked himself in the closet and waited for the moon to rise. The wolf didn't think, hardly, and certainly not about Hobson.
Her voice was there, though, when he came out of his dawn Change; he'd snatched perhaps an hour of exhausted, bleeding sleep, too tired to dress his wounds (the bloodstains would never come out of the floor, but the security deposit hadn't been that much) before curling up and willing the world away.
Now the world was back, insistently, in the form of a loud, full voice in his rooms.
"Lupin? Lupin! Answer your page!"
Damn, it was Hobson --
No, just Hobson's voice, he said to himself, as the closet door swung open and he staggered half-upright into the room, fingers of one hand groping for bandages while the other picked up the small pyramid-shaped block Aurors used to communicate with each other. He held it flat on his palm and felt it sink into the skin ever so slightly.
"I'm here, Hobson," he rasped.
"About time!" Her voice jarred in his ears, and he winced, tearing a strip of bandage with his teeth and adhering it magically to the claw marks on his forearm. "You must've been dead asleep, I've been paging you for twenty minutes!"
"Rough night," Remus murmured, sinking onto the bed as he wrapped more bandages around the deep gashes on his lower legs, where his hindquarter claws had caught against each other in his desperate attempts to break free of the closet prison.
"Listen, we've got a big problem and Karls said to call you. He wants you to meet him at the Sydney Harbour Preserve," Hobson continued. "You've got forty minutes."
"The Preserve?" Remus asked. "Listen. Hobson, you know I called in sick, I'm not even walking around very well."
"Suck it up, England, duty calls. Sydney Harbour Preserve, forty minutes. Thirty-nine, now."
"Yes ma'am," he sighed, and dropped the pyramid back onto the table. His bones protested every movement and his joints creaked; the throbbing of the cuts on his arms and legs, across his torso, and -- he lifted a hand -- yes, a few on his neck this time, those were nothing in comparison to the all-consuming exhaustion of the body, and in some ways of the mind. His hips hurt when he walked, and his shoulders when he bent.
He managed to get himself bandaged and dressed, grateful for the long sleeves of the Auror uniform. He didn't dare Apparate, but he managed to get hold of an operator at headquarters who directed him to the closest floo to the Preserve. He was only five minutes late when he arrived at the entrance to the park on foot, gritting his teeth against the pain.
Hobson, Jones, and Karls were waiting for him, and he rubbed his forehead as Karls greeted him quietly.
"What's going on?" he asked, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"Briefing time. We've got to move quickly, this one'll get away from us otherwise," Karls said briskly. "Walk and talk."
They dutifully followed him into the Preserve, under a thick green canopy that shaded the dusty hiking trail. Karls spoke as they moved, rather like a tour guide leading a field trip.
"The Sydney Magical Zoo is shielded in the Preserve," Karls said, keen eyes roaming the underbrush. "There's an entrance near the big fallen tree -- just up there," he said, pointing. Hobson and Jones followed his gesture with their eyes; Remus merely kept walking, head bent, trying to put one foot in front of the other. "There's been an escape from the zoo, and death involved in it." He took a deep breath. "It's a werewolf."
Remus, who had long ago learned subtlety, did not jerk his head up, or tense, or gasp.
"We have a werewolf in a zoo?" was all he asked, vague horror breaking through the haze of exhaustion.
"Not most of the time," Karls replied, making his way closer to the fallen tree. "He's actually quite a famous attraction. Sydney Magical Zoo is one of only three in the entire world that can boast a live, captive werewolf. It's terribly difficult to get one."
"Can't imagine why," Remus murmured, before the impact of the statement truly hit him. "Captive? They keep him caged?"
"Only during the full moon. The rest of the time the cage is open to visitors. There's a little educational film, I believe," Karls said thoughtfully, laying one hand on the fallen tree. "The afternoon of the full moon he shows up to the cage, they lock him in, and he transforms. The zoo stays open extra-late so people can come see him change. Next morning, they carry him out on a stretcher, see to his wounds, and send him on his way."
Remus felt as though all three of them could see through his jacket and uniform shirt, to the broad swathes of bandages underneath.
"You look hungover," Jones muttered to him.
"I'm dying of pneumonia," he muttered back, and she grinned.
"Last night, one of the bars on his cage snapped, and he got out through it. There's a zoo security guard dead, and another one who's going to have to spend the rest of his full moons in a similar situation to our assailant."
Remus kept his face perfectly blank, though Karls was looking right at him. "Lupin, you've had some experience with werewolves in America, else we wouldn't have called you in. I've already got two teams sweeping the park, but it's a big preserve and it's not likely we're going to just stumble across him. Hobson, Jones, the two of you should fan out within the zoo, make sure none of the animals look like they've been mauled. Lupin, you're with me."
Remus nodded and followed Karls through the hidden entrance, Jones and Hobson reporting to a zoo official once they were inside.
"Ugly business," Karls said, as they walked briskly towards the werewolf enclosure. Some zoo designer had thought it would be cute to put little wolf tracks leading up to it. Remus felt he might retch. "I'm really sorry, Lupin, but you know -- "
"If he's killed someone we have to catch him," Remus answered shortly. "What do you need?"
Karls nodded. "He'll have changed back by now. We've got photographs..." he passed one across as they stopped at the entrance to the cage. One of the bars was bent outward, and another was gone entirely. "He wears a mask when he does the Change, so that people don't know who he is, but the Zoo keeps employment records of everyone who works for them. That's Lacon Chaney. Earns the rest of his living, what the Zoo doesn't pay him for this dog and pony show, as a croupier at a Muggle casino."
Remus looked down at the man curiously. In the photograph, he smiled and waved at the camera. A perfectly normal human being.
Once.
"I need to know everything you know and I need to know it now," Karls continued. "Where you think he'd go, what you think he'll do. I know you've studied this."
Remus bowed his head, acknowledging that it was true.
"I'm told," he said cautiously, "That for a werewolf, turning or killing a human being is...well, it's supposed to be euphoria-inducing. It can also lead to a delay in Change -- he might still be out there as a wolf, especially since he got two people..."
Karls touched his arm, as he breathed deeply, fighting nausea.
"I'm sorry, this close after -- "
"I wouldn't have called you, except..." Karls looked vaguely distressed, and Remus shook his head.
"No, if he's loose we have to catch him -- and if he's Changed back, he may try something desperate," Remus whispered. Karls frowned. "If I found out I'd killed someone...I'd take my own life before anyone else tried to take it from me."
"Can you track him at all? Is there a scent you could pick up?"
"Not in this shape," Remus said with a wan smile. "That's where he got the guards?" he asked, pointing to a taped-off area, and Karls nodded. He walked forward, inspecting it, and then stepped past the tape, standing carefully away from the bloodstains on the pavement.
He straightened his shoulders, lifted his chin, closed his eyes for a minute, and then opened them again, looking around himself with the eyes of a desperate animal.
He remembered full moon nights with James and Peter and Sirius, remembered being the wolf; the frenzy that took hold when the wolf encountered a human, and the two near misses, not counting Snape, that only James and Sirius had saved him from, with horns and teeth and sharp hooves kicking him away from his target.
If he were that creature again, crazed by blood and the orgasmic sensation that a werewolf supposedly experienced after a kill...
Too many human smells, too many animals. He would want to find a private place to lick the blood from his fur, somewhere to roll in crushed grass and leaves to hide his own scent.
He sniffed. Karls, nearby, smelling of sweat and anxiety; blood from the ground; animal dung and musk...
And a fresh green scent borne in by the wind, from the river that ran through the zoo.
"The water," he said. "He'll go to the water."
Karls followed him as he made his way past a few enclosures, following the signs to a small wooden footbridge. Cool water after the panic of escape; he'd leap off here and let it carry him downriver.
"Where does the water lead?" he asked, aware his voice was still raspy and almost able to feel the dark smudges under his eyes.
"Back out into the Muggle area of the preserve -- should I call Hobson?"
"Yes," Remus said, leaning heavily on the rail of the footbridge -- a few inches from the deep score marks that told him his guess was correct. "I definitely think you should call Hobson."
Karls nodded and Remus continued to stare at the water, listening to their conversation. When they were done speaking, Karls touched his shoulder lightly and pressed something cold into his hand.
"Standard issue on this one," he said quietly. "I know werewolves aren't hurt by much, but other werewolves -- "
"It's a pistol," Remus said, shocked.
"With a silver bullet," Karls answered, and Remus could feel the silver even through the cold steel, an unpleasant warmth in his palm. "He may go for any one of us. The agents out in the preserve already have rifles, and Hobson and Jones have pistols like that one. One shot each. I don't want anyone else dying."
Remus looked up into the hard, grim lines of Karls' face.
"It may not be up to you," he said softly.
***
By the time they reached the entrance to the zoo again, Remus was ready to collapse; Karls put a shoulder under one of his arms and half-supported him back out onto the footpath, walking both of them slowly and warily down to the river. There were other Aurors there, patrolling with a couple of in-the-know policemen and some cringing, terrified scent-hounds. Remus kept well away from them; dogs knew what he was. (He suspected that cats could also tell, but simply didn't care.)
"You look like you already got in a fight with a werewolf," said a deep voice, and Remus saw Anson approaching, rifle slung carelessly over his shoulder. "Guess you weren't kidding when you called in sick."
"Sorry, sir," Remus said, releasing Karls, standing only slightly unsteadily.
"Karls here says you've tangled with these beasties before? Right nuisance," Anson said, glancing around. "Course, it's only what you get when you put one up on display. They're not museum pieces, for Merlin's sake."
"No," Remus muttered, seating himself on a convenient rock at the river's edge. "Suppose not."
"Lupin says he'll follow the river, and I believe him," Karls told Anson, who nodded. "Don't reckon he's gone too far; he'll want to regroup. Far as we can tell he's naked, so if he leaves the preserve he'll make a splash fairly quickly," he added sardonically.
"Hopefully he found somewhere to hide. A rational man can be told to surrender," Anson replied. "Oi! Those dogs helping at all?"
One of the Muggle policemen looked up, haplessly. "Whatever it is you're chasing, sir, it's got the dogs frightened. They won't track," he added, as the large German Shepherd on the other end of his lead tried to pull him off his feet, in a path perpendicular from the river.
"Fine, get them out of here then, they'll only be in the way," Anson snapped. "Listen up, you shower! Split off. I want two men on each bank going north and south. If you see actual signs of him, which do not include half-crushed leaves or anything less corporeal than good old fashioned spoor, sing out. No use sending a team in the wrong direction," he added. "Lupin, Karls, coordinate from here."
Remus had only been half-listening, but as he tried to turn his head to acknowledge Anson's order, something out of the corner of his eye made him pause. He could hear the others, already dispersing, and the crack of a branch under Karls' foot as the other man moved. Remus scanned the patch of undergrowth on the other side of the river -- narrow at this point, barely as wide as a small creek -- for what had caught his eye. A shadow where a shadow shouldn't be.
"Anson, stop them," he said, watching the dark patch move, trying to identify shape from shade.
"What?"
"Call them back," Remus said, just as smoothly. He couldn't see them behind him, and his whole attention was focused on that moving, shifting trick of the light, which resolved itself into a head of auburn hair. Karls swore softly under his breath.
"He's human," Anson said.
"There's something positive," Karls muttered sarcastically. Remus was willing the man to raise his head, lift just a little so that they could see his eyes. Now that he could follow the shape of the head and neck, he could imagine the body as well. Moving upriver from them, cautiously, but not with human caution; with the grace and care of an animal quietly fleeing danger.
"Lacon," Anson called, and the man's head did snap up them.
Remus stared.
His face was human, more-or-less; a certain sleekness across the cheekbones indicated the Change wasn't complete. Remus had never seen a half-Changed werewolf; had never seen a Changed one at all, for that matter, except in photographs. Changed werewolves were nightmare visions, like an animal with brain damage, goaded to madness. Remus could see the same look in this man's eyes. Red-rimmed eyes, with blue-white pupils.
"Lacon, we're here to help you," Anson continued. Remus heard the other Aurors, the ones who'd been within earshot, reassembling behind them. He moved his hand slowly towards the pistol he'd set next to his foot. "Lacon," Anson repeated, "come across the river. You know you're going to have to."
Remus knew it was a mistake the minute Anson invited him across the river. He ducked for the pistol and tried, at the same time, to throw himself backwards with only about half the mobility he normally had. He just managed to get hold of the weapon and was coming back up when he saw Lacon coil and spring easily across the river, muscles standing out painfully tight on his not-quite-human body. He lifted his left arm up to protect himself, and Lacon hit him off-centre.
Something ripped the flesh of his left hand, just below the palm. He screamed, adrenaline strengthening him enough to roll, to try to pin the half-animal monster that had gouged him with a rock clutched in its right hand. Legs kicked and struggled, and he blocked a knee to the groin with a well-timed hand, trying to control the creature.
"Shoot it!" Anson was roaring in the background. Remus thought he heard Hobson yell his name. They couldn't shoot Lacon, as long as he was underneath Remus, and so he gave up and let himself be rolled --
Two shots fired; Lacon didn't even flinch. Instead he licked his lips (all too human lips) and opened his mouth (not at all human teeth) and latched onto Remus' neck, tearing a good three inch strip out of the sinew below his jaw.
Remus screamed again and thrust him off, saw bloody chin and cheeks as Lacon charged in the same direction he'd been flipped, down on all fours. He was going for Hobson, who was frantically squeezing the trigger on her empty pistol.
There was an explosion so loud Remus thought his eardrums had burst, and a puff of white smoke. Blood spattered across Hobson's red shirt.
Remus stared. It really doesn't show the stains, said a small rational voice in his head.
His right arm was still outstretched, pistol clenched tightly in it. He pulled again, experimentally, forgetting that Hobson was now in his direct line of fire. The hammer clicked. Hobson flinched. Empty gun.
Empty gun.
I shot him.
He dropped his hand and saw Lacon lying in the grass, a bloody, black-edged hole between his shoulder blades.
His head was too hot. So was his hand. He turned it palm-up to see where the other werewolf's makeshift weapon had gouged a deep slice in his flesh -- already healed, barely even a scar.
Then he brought his other hand up to his neck, felt wetness and a horrible softness where smooth firm skin ought to be.
"Did I kill him?" he asked, uncertainly. Karls was kneeling by the body, examining it.
"I think s -- bloody fuck," Karls said, turning to look at him. He skidded across from the body on the ground to where Remus knelt, pulling his hand away from his neck. "Fuck, fuck, fuck. Jones, call a Healer! Now!"
Remus realised it hurt to move his head, hurt to keep it upright, and he rested it on Karls' shoulder while the other man pressed painfully against his neck. "Ow," he complained.
"You'll be okay, Lupin," Karls said. "He missed your vein. You breathing all right?"
Remus tried to say that Karls was hurting him, but a sudden wave of nausea passed through his body with almost physical force, and that was the last he knew for a while.
***
He woke to the antiseptic smell of hospital and the white ceiling of same; also to absolute silence, so overwhelming that he wasn't sure, for a moment, if he actually had woken at all. He closed his eyes and opened them again; they felt gritty and dry.
An ache began to make itself known in his shoulder; a soreness that felt like the last time he'd been shot, when his body had healed up around the bullethole and for two days he'd been unable to move properly while the muscles recovered. The ache spread up his neck and across his jaw, but didn't seem to affect him anywhere else.
He lifted a hand slowly, fingers exploring his shoulder even as he probed his memory for what had happened.
No, it had to have been a dream. He must have dreamed it after the Change, and perhaps he'd hurt himself so badly this time that someone had come looking for him, and that was why he was here. He had not been attacked and savaged by another werewolf, not in front of Anson and Jones and Hobson -- he hadn't shot a man. He hadn't. He wasn't a murderer. He'd never killed anyone. Not even as an officer of the law.
His fingers slid over his neck, finding the pulse, resting for a moment on the solid, even beat of blood under his skin. A little lower --
Not a dream, then, he thought, as he found a jagged-edged indentation in his neck. It didn't hurt to probe it, though pressure made the ache worse. It felt as though it was almost healed, and what he was exploring with his fingertips was probably a scar.
He closed his eyes. Werewolves healed fast, but not from bites by other werewolves. If the bite was already healed, that meant he'd been in this hospital, unconscious, for a while.
His joints protested tiredly when he pushed himself up, and pain flared in his head; he pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, breathing deeply until it subsided somewhat. Then he let his hands fall, and looked around him.
It was a small white room, typical-hospital style; door with a window in it, cart with spare sheets and other supplies in the corner, piles of the white flannel hospital pyjamas he was wearing. There was a bank of windows along one side, and sunlight streamed in through them. He could see downtown Sydney through the window; he must be at the Sydney Hospital for Wizardry.
He tested the muscles in his legs, clenching each one slowly to make sure they still worked; touched each finger on his left hand to his left thumb, then did the same to his right. Forearms, biceps, shoulders -- pain rippled dully over his neck and down his back when he tensed the muscles there. Everything seemed to be working -- if not perfectly, then at least protestingly.
He felt as if he'd forgotten something important for a second, and then it came back to him again. He'd shot that man. A black-edged hole between the shoulder blades, and before Karls had pressed a hand to Remus' neck he'd said something about it not being -- him not being --
He'd killed Lacon Chaney. A person. He'd killed a person.
He never thought he'd do it while he was on two legs.
He hoped he'd never do it even on four.
He wanted to lean back on the bed again and curl up into a ball, shut out the world, but he couldn't; he had to know too many things. Who had seen Lacon bite him, who knew he was a werewolf, whether he still had a job, how long he'd been here, whether Lacon had survived.
He moved slowly, sliding his legs out of the bed and testing his weight on them before standing, hands outspread in case the blood rushing to his head made him dizzy. When a mild wave of nausea subsided, he took a step forward; having decided he could walk again, he went to the door and opened it, sidling outside.
An Auror, a man he recognised from the training class after his, was sleeping sitting-up, outside his door. A guard? To keep him in, or to keep someone else out?
There was some sort of medical station a few doors down. He walked there slowly, feeling the cold tile smooth and pleasant under his bare feet. The mediwitch behind it looked up, and her eyes widened in surprise.
"Excuse me," he said, almost shyly, voice slightly hoarse. "My name is Lupin, I'm in the private room down the hall -- "
He was cut off by a buzz as she pressed her wand against a panel and spoke. "Healer Carver to second floor, please, your coma patient is awake."
"Coma?" Remus asked, slightly frightened now. "I'm sorry, I just woke up and no-one was..."
He trailed off as she circled the station and grabbed his elbow, pulling him back towards the room. "You're not supposed to be out of quarantine," she snapped, putting an entirely unnecessary shoulder under his arm.
"Quarantine? But I'm not sick -- " he paused. Memories washed over him. Quarantine in a hospital, even though it was nearly a day before they could get him to one -- a bandage on his thigh, Healers in beaky white masks just in case, because the werewolf gene could mutate and become airborne-contagious right after a bite...
He'd been six the last time he'd been in quarantine.
Because he'd been bitten by a werewolf.
He let himself be guided back onto the bed. He sat limply while she took his pulse and temperature, casting a fussy disinfectant spell after she did so. There was a rap at the door, and a man in the unfortunately-familiar white beaked mask entered.
"Walked out to my station, cool as you please," the witch muttered to the healer, who nodded and gestured her through the door, taking a chart from the end of Lupin's bed.
"Hold still, please," he said, and his wand hovered in the vicinity of Remus' neck, glowing faintly yellow. After a second of this, the man nodded, and pulled off the mask.
"I doubted you were contagious, but it never hurts to be sure," he said with a smile. "I'm Healer Carver, Apollo Carver. A pleasure to meet you, finally."
Remus regarded the outstretched hand, then shook it slowly.
"Do you know why you're here?" Carver continued, as he repeated the mediwitch's actions, taking Remus' pulse and shining the lit end of his wand in his eyes.
"I was in a fight in the Preserve..." Remus said hesitantly. "I was attacked...he's dead, isn't he?"
The Healer's eyes cut away.
"I don't suppose, being an Auror, you subscribe much to the theory of coddling one's patients," he said. "Yes. Lacon Chaney bled out before the Healers even arrived. Your bullet passed his spine, damaging the spinal cord, and by the time it had reached the heart it was doing enough damage that it pretty much destroyed it."
"I didn't mean -- " Remus said, but Carver held up a hand.
"There's already been an inquest, as much as there could be without your testimony," he said. "He would have killed the woman..."
"Hobson?"
"Yes, that's her name...someone had to shoot him. Out of personal curiousity..." Carver leaned closer, his voice low and confidential, "Was it dumb luck or good aim?"
Remus ducked his head, though it hurt to do so. "I don't know," he answered, just as quietly. "It happened too fast."
Carver nodded. "Well, at any rate, your vital signs look good and you seem to be alert. What's the last thing you remember?"
"Passing out after Karls got hold of me."
"Probably a good sign. You've been unconscious since then. We've had you here about three weeks."
Remus tensed. "Three weeks?"
"Yes -- you lost a lot of blood, and it's tricky, dealing with werewolf physiology," Carver said gravely. "Admittedly, I didn't expect you'd be unconscious quite this long, but your body -- really, the way it works is quite remarkable, and we thought it best to leave it alone. We've been feeding you via potion infusions, so you're going to have to get back on solid foods slowly, but otherwise..." he smiled a little. "You seem like a healthy young man."
Remus nodded, mulling it over. Carver bit his lip.
"You were a werewolf already, weren't you?" he asked. Remus looked up. "The scars. One of your friends said you told them it was...some kind of torture when you were younger, but those are claw-marks, aren't they?"
"Does everyone know?"
"I haven't told anyone. Your story seems to be passing for truth, and I only noticed because..." Carver shrugged. "Well, I'm trained to, aren't I. Listen, it's all right. We have a confidentiality clause. It hasn't even been in the papers, the bite I mean -- your superiors put it out that you'd been nearly bludgeoned to death with a rock. You've been quite the local hero, this past month. That's what the arse of a guard on your door is supposed to be doing, keeping the scandalmongers out."
"Thank you."
"Part of the service." Carver made a notation on the chart and hung it on the end of the bed. "Now, I can answer your questions, or I can call anyone you like; your superiors have been notified and are probably on their way. I should notify the newspapers that you're awake, but I can probably get away with keeping it quiet until tonight."
"You can tell them," Remus heard his own voice saying, distantly. "They'll find out sooner or later anyway. The inquest..."
Carver nodded.
"Did Chaney have any...family? Children?"
The Healer looked thoughtful. "Yes, I believe he was married. No children. He had a brother who was at the inquest, with his wife."
"Oh." Remus stared at his hands. "I don't, you know. Not here, anyway. My father's in England. I live nearly...entirely...alone."
Carver watched him, warily.
"He had a family," Remus continued. "A house?"
"I believe so, yes...Mr. Lupin, I know you have no idea who I am, but..." Carver spread his hands. "You're an Auror. It's your job to protect people. He was a danger to himself and everyone around him. He killed a man, far more coldbloodedly than you killed him."
Remus drew his knees up against his chest, resting his bare feet on the edge of the bed.
"But I still killed him," he whispered.
Chapter 4
Two weeks later he decided bolting might not have been such a bad idea after all.
"Lupin!" Hobson called, from her office up the stairs. "Front and centre, Hogwarts!"
Remus, puzzled as to what she meant by that as it wasn't exactly a common nickname (or common knowledge), climbed the stairs and peered in the door. Hobson was seated at her desk, piles of paperwork floating magically over it, some so tall they nearly reached the ceiling. Hobson was not known for her literary efficiency.
"Got a diplomatic job for you, Lupin," she said, rifling through one of the floating piles, pulling a folder out mid-way. "Files tagged you as a Hogwarts graduate, is that right?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Mmh. You were a good little schoolboy. What happened?" she asked with a grin, and he saw his NEWTs scores resting in his dossier.
"Put it to bad use, ma'am," he replied.
"Clearly, if you ended up here," she said, eyes still scanning his file. After a while, he cleared his throat.
"You said something about a diplomat, ma'am?"
"Diplomacy, actually. We've got a bunch of wizarding tourists coming in for the Christmas hols, including a contingent from Hogwarts. Need you to keep 'em from falling off a cliff or getting eaten by a wombat or something," she said, closing his file and tossing it onto the desk. "There's three professors and four students, they're here for a symposium on Magical Creatures. Your job is to take them wherever they want to go and keep them safe."
He blinked. "Hogwarts professors? Here?"
"I always said you were a goddamn genius, Lupin," she sighed. "I've ordered files on them from the British branch, and they're sending details about special housing requirements and the like, if any..." she dug through another pile, producing a scrawl-covered bit of parchment. "Couple of students, ages fifteen through eighteen, Albus Dumbledore -- assume you know him -- "
"Yes, ma'am," Remus said, keeping his voice from cracking only by swallowing quickly. His mouth had gone very dry.
"Right...Minerva McGonagall...is she the animagus?"
He smiled. "One of seven this century, yes."
"She any good for anything aside from turning into a cat?"
"Damn good professor, ma'am."
"Coming from you, high praise," Hobson drawled. "And some chap named Flitwick. Plum job for you, Lupin. Mind, don't let anyone die...off with you, then. They're arriving day after tomorrow, I'll have the files delivered down to you when I get them."
He wasn't sure it was quite good manners to be reading government dossiers on the people who used to be his schoolteachers, especially as he was going to have to spend two weeks acting as tour-guide-slash-bodyguard. Not that Dumbledore needed bodyguarding, he supposed, and McGonagall certainly didn't. Still, it was fascinating reading, and if he weren't bound by a code of conduct he'd definitely have brought up a couple of the more amusing details in McGonagall's file.
They were arriving by chartered airplane, although the transoceanic floo lines were up and operating more or less efficiently. Most people were still wary of them, and if they had students to look after, it would make things difficult. The afternoon of their arrival, he brushed his hair for the millionth time, checked the creases on his trousers and the starch in his uniform collar, shined his shoes, and presented himself at the airstrip where they were landing.
He watched, standing to attention next to Hobson and an official delegation from the Sydney wizarding community, as Dumbledore stepped out of the airplane. He was followed by a string of weedy-looking students -- surely he'd never been so young and gawky? -- and Professor McGonagall, who looked more or less unchanged since his school days. As did Dumbledore, he reflected, but then one expected that of Dumbledore; you couldn't imagine him changing with the years.
And then a dark shape emerged behind McGonagall, a dark shape that was impossibly tall for Flitwick --
"Who the hell is that?" Hobson demanded.
Remus gaped.
"You know him, Lupin? Pull your chin up."
He snapped to, before the others could see his shock, and said, out of the corner of his mouth, "Severus Snape. It has to be."
"Who's Severus Snape? What about that chap Flitwick? Lupin, you're white as a sheet."
"I..." he stammered, but he hadn't the faintest idea what to say. Or why the idea of seeing Snape was so much, much worse than seeing Dumbledore and McGonagall.
"Dives headlong into a four-way fistfight but scared of a Hogwarts professor? What, did he make you do lines in school?"
"No...ma'am...just rather...surprised to hear he's at Hogwarts, that's all. I...we knew each other, sort of, we were students together, I'd lost contact with him over the years..."
And then Dumbledore was coming forward to greet the officials and the students were all being introduced. Hobson was introducing him, too, and Dumbledore smiled and twinkled, and it was McGonagall's turn to gape. A sallow-faced Snape loomed behind her shoulder -- the same lanky build, the same long hair, new lines in his scowling face.
"Lupin," he growled, as they were introduced -- re-introduced.
"Snape," Remus replied. "Professor Snape?"
"Oh -- you hadn't heard?" McGonagall asked. "Severus was a last-minute addition to our trip. Professor Flitwick was called away on family business. He's our new Potions Master -- just over seven years now, isn't it, Severus?"
"Just over," Snape agreed shortly.
"But look at you, an Auror," McGonagall continued. "Australia suits you, Remus."
"He has always managed to suit himself to his surroundings," Snape muttered.
"Lupin's going to be your chaperone while you're in town," Hobson said with an assumed cheerfulness, as she broke away from a quiet conversation with Dumbledore.
"Pleasure to serve, Headmaster," Remus added, as Dumbledore smiled at him again. "I'm here to provide whatever you need. If you come this way there's a cab waiting to take you to your lodgings..."
Severus Snape glared at him, or rather at the back of his head, the whole way there. And glared at him over the dinner they ate at a restaurant Remus recommended. And glared at him as Remus answered students' questions about his job. And glared at him as he left them off at their hotel again.
Considering it had been eight years, not a whole lot had changed.
***
The children that Dumbledore brought along to the symposium were the picture of Hogwarts youth -- intelligent, curious, mischievous, and somewhat distant. Remus had forgotten there were schools in the world where military discipline was not encouraged or relied upon. His own lads at the Academy had been just as smart and inquisitive, but they had also been, if not overly familiar with, then at least open to their professors, as the structure allowed them to be. When a professor asked you a question, you answered it promptly, fully, and truthfully, which often led to surprisingly personal revelations when one was interrogating a boy with a black eye from a bully, or one caught hiding behind quarters because he wanted to have a private cry about his pet who'd just died.
The Hogwarts students were less well-mannered but more frank, and he took a liking to them -- especially Weasley, who had an unparalleled passion for dragons. Young Charlie was fifteen, the son of a man Remus had known slightly from the Order. The Weasleys hadn't been members, but they'd been supporters, and he was passingly familiar with them.
He met the students in the lobby of the hotel for their first morning of the conference, and then presented himself to Dumbledore for orders.
"I can stay with the students, sir, or I can remain with the largest group; I assume you'll be separating during the day, considering the amount of classes and panels being offered," he said crisply. The students were still yawning, except Charlie, who was vibrating with enthusiasm. Snape and McGonagall were examining conference brochures, occasionally comparing notes on an interesting-looking event.
"Minerva," Dumbledore said, and the deputy Headmistress glanced up at him over her glasses. "I believe you wanted to attend the Care And Handling lecture this morning, did you not?"
She nodded. "I don't think it's quite appropriate for students," she added. "If you prefer, I could certainly take them to another lecture..."
"No, I don't see why you ought to. I should like to attend the panel on the legislation of dragons, and I suspect -- " he broke off before he finished, as Charlie's face lit up eagerly. "Well then. That leaves Professor Snape with Bones, Finch, and Gregot; perhaps you ought to go with them, Mr. Lupin."
"As you like, sir," Remus said, inclining his head slightly in what Hobson referred to as Civilian Salute #3: Polite Deference. The students spent a few whispered moments in consultation amongst themselves, heads bent over another conference schedule, before one of them (probably Finch; he'd known a Finch at school, and the girl bore a slight resemblance to her) turned to Snape, speaking somewhat apprehensively.
"We'd like to take the lecture on Griffin Preservation, Professor," she suggested. "And then Gregot and Bones want to see the Kneazle Obedience Trials before lunch. I'd like to hear the talk on Rare Wand Cores."
"So would I." Snape nodded curtly and began to walk towards the conference hall where the Griffin Preservation lecture was supposed to be. Remus gestured for the students to follow, trailing behind them so he could watch them all at once.
"I'll take the pair of you to the Obedience Trials, if you like," he said, to Gregot and Bones. "We're thinking of getting one at the office, like the Muggle police have with dogs."
"Brilliant," Gregot grinned at him. "Bet you could get us really good seats pulling rank, couldn't you?"
"I'm afraid I can't do that, Mister Gregot. You overestimate how important Aurors are around here."
"Oh, you can call me Ath," Gregot replied, and Remus recalled that the poor boy had been saddled with the name Athenaeus Gregot. "And that's Ben," he added, jerking a thumb at Bones. "You're allowed to do that, right?"
"Don't push your luck," Remus said with a smile, as they filed past Snape into their seats. Snape gestured him forward, but he shook his head.
"I'm on duty," he said, seating himself on a step in the aisle. Snape shrugged and seated himself one seat in, leaving the aisle empty. Remus sighed to himself. The irony of being a more-or-less bodyguard for a man he'd once tried to kill wasn't lost on either of them, he decided. Snape hadn't, until sixth year, hated him as violently as he had James and Sirius; after the Prank, it had been closer to fear.
He swept the sizable audience, noticing the doors, the covered-over windows, the magical screen for the slide-show. He didn't actually think any of his charges were in danger, but he was nothing if not thorough. He saw other Aurors, in a variety of colours -- red jump-outs like himself, cream-shirted investigators, beat-walkers in green, and one or two Special Services Aurors in bright canary yellow.
Perhaps some sort of threat had been made against the conference -- he saw no other point in having so many badly-needed Aurors babysitting a bunch of academics. Surely they'd have told them something, though...
A horrifying thought occurred to him; if Hogwarts and -- yes, there were Beauxbatons students in the left wing audience, and he could see Tokyo College of Witchcraft girls filing in past them -- if schools were coming here, perhaps there were Academy boys in the audience.
He stifled the thought quickly; they weren't likely to remember him, if they even saw him. Instead he concentrated on his job, like he was supposed to be doing. When the lights went down for the lecture to begin, he cast an oculis nox charm so that he could see in the dark. He noticed other Aurors doing the same, their eyes glowing like coppery coins in the dark.
He glanced over at Snape, and saw the man's pale fingers tapping almost nervously against his knee. The children had taken out parchment and quill and were taking notes, no doubt with the knowledge that there would be questions about the lecture afterwards.
Snape a professor, and himself an Auror. When had they grown up?
***
The kneazle obedience trials had been almost interesting enough to distract him from his guard duties. Having to mind two teenage boys hadn't helped, especially as Bones had the tendency to wander off. He was glad to rejoin Snape, Dumbledore, and McGonagall for lunch in the big banquet hall, the professors on one side of the table and the students on the other. The children exchanged notes excitedly while Dumbledore tried to draw Snape out of his sullen silence. Remus decided, from the way both Dumbledore and McGonagall were treating it, that this was probably par for the course. A shame that Snape could take so little joy out of life. Or at least a shame that he couldn't try a little harder to pretend to be amiable.
It took him by surprise when, at the end of lunch, Dumbledore remarked as they were leaving that he imagined Remus and Severus were getting on well.
"More or less, I suppose," he said, puzzled. "Why do you ask?"
"Well, you both seem of a somewhat silent, solitary disposition," Dumbledore said. "Severus is not generally friendly with the other professors; perhaps he appreciates someone who does not expect it of him."
"The job doesn't come with expectations, except to serve," Remus replied. Dumbledore smiled a little, gently.
"And is the job all there is?" he asked. Remus felt a sharp twist inside him.
"That's all that matters, sir," he answered. Dumbledore turned to where Snape was impatiently waiting for the children to make up their minds about the afternoon.
"Much of a likeness, the two of you," he repeated. "Ah, and I see a former student of mine, do excuse me. I think you had best stay with the students, wherever they may go," he added, as he ambled away.
Remus considered his words, his mind occupied with them while his eyes and ears were open for trouble. A silent, solitary disposition...surely not. He spoke as much as any of his fellow Aurors; he never particularly wanted to be as close to anyone as he had been to James and Peter and Sirius at school, or -- or Gabriel.
If Snape was solitary, he thought, it was probably because he was a grown man, chaperoning a handful of teen-aged students and accompanied by two senior professors. It wasn't as though he had much in common with either his colleagues or his charges.
Which was probably what made him stop Snape, just after the panel on Magical Zoology let out, with a hand on his sleeve. The students were with McGonagall; they'd be all right for two minutes.
"Severus," he said quietly. "Can I have a word?"
Snape looked at him, alarmed, and allowed himself to be pulled out of the flow of foot traffic.
"Something the matter, Auror?" he sneered.
"No -- nothing to do with the conference," Remus replied evenly. "I know you've some free time after the keynote dinner -- a few of the other Aurors and myself are going for drinks. You ought to come along, see Sydney outside of the hotel."
Snape stared at him in utter amazement, and Remus wondered if he was about to sneer again, or merely drop dead of surprise. He didn't wait for him to decide.
"Grand. I'll meet you in the lobby at eight," he said, clapping him on the arm, which was probably an enormous mistake, but he wasn't going to give Snape time to recuperate. "My supervisor wants a word before the dinner, excuse me," he added, and ran to catch up to Hobson, who was buttonholing Aurors as they passed, handing out parchment letters.
"Lupin, how's the delegation from the mother country?" she asked with a feral grin, and pressed a letter into his palm. "Some notes about tomorrow, nothing urgent."
"Thanks -- have you seen Karls? He was organising a pubcrawl tonight and I wanted to let him know I'd be there."
"Drowning your sorrows?"
"And a friend's."
"I didn't know you had friends," she said, with an amused grin to take the sting from her words. He smiled back quickly. "I'll let him know, I've got notes for him. Run along, Hogwarts, and enjoy your reunion."
He saluted quickly, and joined the throngs heading towards the banquet hall for dinner.
He suspected Snape would show up, even if he didn't want to; there had been an element of I-dare-you in his offer, and a quick flash of competitive spirit in Snape's eyes. If nothing else, the evening would be...interesting.
Oh good lord, what had he got himself into.
***
They started drinking at a hole-in-the-wall downtown that evening; Karls, Hobson, the regrettable Balcock, Jones, and a few others converged on the little bar, frequented by policemen and Aurors, Remus leading a reluctant and recalcitrant-looking Snape. He introduced him as a mate from school, which made Snape scowl but made the others rather more welcoming.
"So here's my plot," Karls said, as they clustered around one of the small tables, sipping drinks. "I say we take off from here after another round, hit George Street, head out to The Rocks and cause trouble there, circle back...Lupin, are you still on terms with that bird from the Plucked Emu?"
"We talk," Remus said shortly.
"No reason she'd like to throw a drink in your face?"
"None I'm aware of," Remus said, and a few of the others chuckled. "It's down near that curry place. Good eating there, the late-night chef doesn't ash in the food."
He saw Snape's lip wrinkle slightly in disgust, and fought down a smile. At least it was a reaction.
George Street's bars were dingy and slightly grubby, but the drink was cheap, and Remus stood his round there, which freed him from the guilt of drinking the rounds others paid. Most of the Aurors drank Muggle, Victoria Bitter, as it was hard to come by firewhiskey or butterbeer and one never really knew when it was safe to order it -- that was what all-wizarding pubs like the Plucked Emu were for. It helped that the Auror uniforms weren't robes, and one or two Muggles were clearly surprised by Snape's somewhat antiquated dress, but as he was drinking with a gang of what looked like off-duty police officers, nobody made any trouble. Remus had been grateful, many times, for the Australian flag and Auror's patch on his shoulder; it smoothed the way in so many troubling situations.
They lost Jones and Balcock somewhere between arriving at the Rocks and deciding, admittedly fuzzily, that it was time to stop off at the Plucked Emu before returning to the hotel, where most of the Aurors were staying, and where Remus could walk or get a cab back to his boardinghouse.
"When," Karls asked, waving his bottle at Remus as they finished up in the Plucked Emu, "Are you going to get a real place, Lupin? Stead of a scrubby li'l room?"
"Saving up," Remus replied. "S'not cheap you know. Never had a place of my own."
"What, never?" Snape asked, surprising him.
"Nup," he said cheerfully. "Well. Lived with m'dad when I was little, and then Hogwarts -- not exactly private. And then, and then..." He screwed up his face slightly. "Slept on James' couch for a while. Couldn't find a job."
"James Potter?" Karls asked. Remus nodded. "You knew 'em, didn't you?"
"We both did," Remus said, indicating Snape.
"Much to my regret," Snape growled.
"Mustn't speak ill of the dead," Remus chided.
"Why mustn't we? I think there's a great deal to be said for speaking ill of the dead. They can't fight back, for one," Snape replied tartly.
"James Potter was -- "
"An absolute prat, and didn't deserve Lily Evans."
"Right, right," Remus agreed. "But. He tried. After a while he tried. Say what you like, he tried. And that's the thing about Sirius, y'see..."
"Sirius Black?" asked one of the other Aurors. "Chap who's in Azkaban?"
Remus waved a hand irritably. "Yes, that's the one. Should have suspected him. He never even tried. Bloody hated you, you know," he added, to Snape.
"I was aware of that."
"Not like that's a mark against you, mind," Karls put in. "Bloodthirsty Death Eater, after all."
Remus saw Snape's hand drift up his left arm, fingers wrapping around the spot where his Dark Mark would have been. Ah yes, Severus; you might know I'm a werewolf but I know what you were, too, and you chose to be one...
And in the end, what does it matter? You're a teacher who never talks and I'm a copper who never feels.
No wonder Dumbledore had thought they were alike.
They left the Emu around closing time, wending their way back through a couple of alleys and side-streets until they found themselves in front of the hotel again, having lost a few more people on the way. Hobson straightened up, with the help of Karls' shoulder, and turned to face them.
"Present for inspection!" she said, and the rest of them fell into some kind of order, grinning and nudging one another when they started to lean. Snape, Remus saw, was standing quite straight; he hadn't been drinking as much as the others, though he'd certainly had his share. Remus, remembering his Academy training, got himself fully upright, balancing precariously.
"Right then," Hobson said. "A lowlier bunch of scum never patrolled the streets of this blasted city. But you're my scum," she added, "And by god you're at least properly trained scum. Dismissed!"
Remus stumbled into Snape, and decided he might as well follow the rest of them into the hotel; he could sober up a bit before going home. He didn't have to be on duty again tomorrow until noon, anyway; there weren't any lectures in the morning, and an auxiliary shift was doing general duty.
Somewhat supporting each other, they stopped in the lobby while Snape fumbled for his key, leaning against a handy wall. Remus watched his hands search his trouser pockets, then the pockets of his robe before they found the small brass key and hotel tag. Without thinking, he touched his left hand. Snape looked up at him, sharply.
"I am sorry," he said slowly, fingers exploring Snape's outspread palm, "For what James and Sirius did to you."
"Hardly heartening," the other man replied, gripping his key tightly.
"Too little too late," Remus agreed. "But I am. And was, too. Then. Sorry, I mean. We were stupid."
"That I did know."
Remus saw a flash of pain behind Snape's dark eyes, quickly shielded. He pressed his thumb to the centre of Snape's palm, soothingly.
"They can't ask you to forgive them," he murmured. This was dangerous business, but they were, after all, somewhat alike...and it had been a long time, he suspected, since either of them had trusted anyone enough to get close. Mutual distrust was almost as good, he decided, swaying forward. "But I can."
For a split second he felt Snape respond, felt his head incline to meet Remus' as they kissed in the dark, empty lobby; it was a fantastically bad idea to be doing this, especially in public, but what the hell, it wasn't like the man wasn't going back to England day after tomorrow, and he really did feel he ought to show how very sorry he was...
Then Snape's hand, still somewhat entangled in his own, moved suddenly and swiftly, hitting him flat in the centre of his chest and shoving him backwards, off balance, until he caught himself on the wall.
"Do not think," Snape said, raising his hand again to wipe his mouth almost delicately, "that you are in any way welcome to take liberties with my privacy or my person."
Remus simply watched, wordless, as he turned on his heel and vanished up the stairs, into the gloom of the hotel.
"Bugger," he said, with feeling, and closed his eyes. There was no way he could have screwed that up more if he'd tried.
"Lupin?"
Damn. Maybe there was a way.
He opened his eyes and saw a silhouetted figure standing nearby. Too short to be Snape, returning; he recognised that imposing stance and those sharp eyes...
"Professor McGonagall," he said, managing not to slur too much. "You're up rather late."
"So are you," she said, touching his elbow. "Are you quite all right? I saw Severus shove you into the wall..."
He straightened. "Fine, thanks. Bit of a misunderstanding, that's all. Do you need something?"
She smiled. "I was going to the bar to see if they had any tea. I don't sleep well in unfamiliar rooms. Join me, if you like."
Tea sounded quite good, and although the idea of attempting to appear sober in front of his former professor did not, he was hardly in a position to resist. He followed her through the lobby and into the bar, where a few lamps were still lit; she asked for tea from the bored man behind the counter, and brought it back to the table he was sitting at, head resting on his arms.
"I had hoped to have time to speak with you, though not at one in the morning," she said, as she put a teabag into the pot and spooned sugar into her teacup. "I was surprised to see you in Australia. Perhaps I shouldn't have been; Dumbledore mentioned your letters, back when you still wrote to him, and you didn't seem very interested in putting down roots anywhere."
"Nowhere was much interested in having me," he replied, waving away her offer of sugar.
"You had a good job there, though -- I recall you were teaching?"
"For a little while."
"Why did you leave?"
He considered telling her he simply hadn't liked teaching, but he'd loved teaching, and besides, she knew what he was. "They found out about me, and marched me out of the school at riflepoint."
"Oh."
"So I came here."
She nodded. "I wish we'd known. Dumbledore wanted to write you. He spoke to your father, but Mr. Lupin seemed of the opinion that you would probably rather not hear from us."
Remus shrugged. "Wouldn't have mattered, either way. Didn't think you'd be interested."
"There was an invitation for you, actually; you've missed your ten-year reunion."
Remus ducked his head. "Probably just as well. Can't have been many Gryffindors there; most died fighting Voldemort."
She flinched at the name, just slightly. "Yes; there weren't any Gryffindor boys, and Severus is the only Slytherin boy. He chose not to attend."
"None at all? What about Michael and Hyperion, they were Gryffindors..."
"Michael was killed in a Muggle auto accident, two years after the Potters died. I'm surprised you hadn't heard. Hyperion committed suicide not long after. His family chose not to publicise the fact."
Remus stared at her, stunned. "Surely not...I knew him. He was in the Order. He was a good man."
Minerva nodded. "I think old memories finally caught up with him. He left a note saying he didn't much like the world anymore. One more reason Dumbledore wanted to know where you were. Do you realise, Remus," she said, pouring the tea, "That you and Severus are veterans of a war? You weren't just boys playing at games. You were soldiers, and no-one ever told you that."
"Nothing to be done about it," he answered. "Can't change what's happened."
She gave him a shrewd look, and he drank his tea to hide anything his face might be betraying.
"At any rate, there aren't many students to return to Hogwarts, even if they wanted to," she continued. "But there are children coming. The classes are larger every year. James' son will be attending, you know, in another three years, as will Frank Longbottom's."
"How are Frank and Alice?"
"Much the same," she said, and they were both silent for a moment.
"Tragic," he murmured. "Better off dead, one would think."
"Perhaps. But I'm sure you know how proud their family is, being an Auror yourself now."
"It's just a job, really," he answered. "I mean. There's nothing particularly noble about it, from where I sit. Something to put food on the table."
"A very Gryffindor sentiment."
He smiled at her, tiredly.
"I should be off," he said. "Thank you for the tea."
"I don't know that I'll see you again before we leave -- I'm lecturing all afternoon tomorrow. Look after yourself, Remus," she said, as he stood to go.
"I always do," he replied. "Do tell Severus I'm sorry, if you see him. I'm sure that's not what he wants to hear, but tell him all the same."
When he left the table, he felt more than sober; he walked slowly out of the hotel, woke up a cab-driver who was sleeping in his car, and gave the address of his boarding-house. He wondered if he'd be able to sleep, considering the news he'd had and the memories it brought up. Frank and Alice without change -- not to mention the deaths of the only other two Gryffindors in his year, after James and Sirius and Peter. Poor old Hyperion, he'd deserved better. And Michael certainly deserved better than getting run down by some mad Muggle driver.
Which meant that now, of all the Gryffindors in the class of 1976, he and Sirius were the only ones still living. If you could call it that.
Still, when he reached his bed, he barely managed to undress before he fell asleep; it was fitful and restless, but it gave him enough energy to face the following day.
He saw neither McGonagall nor Snape before they left, and he wasn't sure whether to be sorry or grateful. He gave Dumbledore his address, if he wanted to write to him, but smiled and politely turned down the offer to come visit Hogwarts at some point in the near future. Hearing about the others had been bad enough. He had no wish to relive his school days or the days immediately following; he spent enough time there in his nightmares.
***
Trailing a handful of students around a conference was perhaps the easiest job of his career as an Auror; jump-out assignments were dangerous things, and more than once his durability probably saved his life. He'd been shot by Muggles, hexed and cursed by troublemaking witches and wizards, and bitten by dogs. Occasionally it left him sore for a day or two, but it rarely put him out of action for even as long as his full-moon nights did.
They lost two men in February, and another in April of that year; worrying rumours began to trickle in about a revival of the old Death Eaters, though it had never been a very large organisation in Australia to begin with. Remus, however, remembered the sheer power of numbers they'd had in Britain, and began walking home while it was still light out and double-locking his door at night.
They actually encountered a Death Eater in late June, though not, apparently, out on business; merely drunk and disorderly who got out of hand and happened to have a Dark Mark on his left arm. Some of the local Muggle papers were running stories about a strange satanic cult, and the Wizarding ones were nearly hysterical at the idea of an upswing in any sort of activity related to You-Know-Who. But when the rumours appeared to be false and two months passed without any further mention by either the Aurors or the general public, media paranoia -- and Remus' -- began to fade.
He still felt especially vulnerable during the full moons, and began to look at actual houses in the area around headquarters; he had nearly enough saved for a down-payment. A house would be nice. Especially since Hobson had started walking home with him sometimes, though his flat was northwest of hers and quite out of her way. He'd wanted to invite her up, but there wasn't much hospitality to offer in a boarding-house room. Instead he'd begun asking her to dinner, once in a while. He liked Hobson. She understood. Only other Aurors ever really understood. She liked him, too; after dinner, once, she'd kissed him in the doorway to his building, pressing quickly against him, hips and breasts warm under her uniform, molding to his body.
But he wasn't thinking of Hobson that evening, as he locked himself in the closet and waited for the moon to rise. The wolf didn't think, hardly, and certainly not about Hobson.
Her voice was there, though, when he came out of his dawn Change; he'd snatched perhaps an hour of exhausted, bleeding sleep, too tired to dress his wounds (the bloodstains would never come out of the floor, but the security deposit hadn't been that much) before curling up and willing the world away.
Now the world was back, insistently, in the form of a loud, full voice in his rooms.
"Lupin? Lupin! Answer your page!"
Damn, it was Hobson --
No, just Hobson's voice, he said to himself, as the closet door swung open and he staggered half-upright into the room, fingers of one hand groping for bandages while the other picked up the small pyramid-shaped block Aurors used to communicate with each other. He held it flat on his palm and felt it sink into the skin ever so slightly.
"I'm here, Hobson," he rasped.
"About time!" Her voice jarred in his ears, and he winced, tearing a strip of bandage with his teeth and adhering it magically to the claw marks on his forearm. "You must've been dead asleep, I've been paging you for twenty minutes!"
"Rough night," Remus murmured, sinking onto the bed as he wrapped more bandages around the deep gashes on his lower legs, where his hindquarter claws had caught against each other in his desperate attempts to break free of the closet prison.
"Listen, we've got a big problem and Karls said to call you. He wants you to meet him at the Sydney Harbour Preserve," Hobson continued. "You've got forty minutes."
"The Preserve?" Remus asked. "Listen. Hobson, you know I called in sick, I'm not even walking around very well."
"Suck it up, England, duty calls. Sydney Harbour Preserve, forty minutes. Thirty-nine, now."
"Yes ma'am," he sighed, and dropped the pyramid back onto the table. His bones protested every movement and his joints creaked; the throbbing of the cuts on his arms and legs, across his torso, and -- he lifted a hand -- yes, a few on his neck this time, those were nothing in comparison to the all-consuming exhaustion of the body, and in some ways of the mind. His hips hurt when he walked, and his shoulders when he bent.
He managed to get himself bandaged and dressed, grateful for the long sleeves of the Auror uniform. He didn't dare Apparate, but he managed to get hold of an operator at headquarters who directed him to the closest floo to the Preserve. He was only five minutes late when he arrived at the entrance to the park on foot, gritting his teeth against the pain.
Hobson, Jones, and Karls were waiting for him, and he rubbed his forehead as Karls greeted him quietly.
"What's going on?" he asked, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"Briefing time. We've got to move quickly, this one'll get away from us otherwise," Karls said briskly. "Walk and talk."
They dutifully followed him into the Preserve, under a thick green canopy that shaded the dusty hiking trail. Karls spoke as they moved, rather like a tour guide leading a field trip.
"The Sydney Magical Zoo is shielded in the Preserve," Karls said, keen eyes roaming the underbrush. "There's an entrance near the big fallen tree -- just up there," he said, pointing. Hobson and Jones followed his gesture with their eyes; Remus merely kept walking, head bent, trying to put one foot in front of the other. "There's been an escape from the zoo, and death involved in it." He took a deep breath. "It's a werewolf."
Remus, who had long ago learned subtlety, did not jerk his head up, or tense, or gasp.
"We have a werewolf in a zoo?" was all he asked, vague horror breaking through the haze of exhaustion.
"Not most of the time," Karls replied, making his way closer to the fallen tree. "He's actually quite a famous attraction. Sydney Magical Zoo is one of only three in the entire world that can boast a live, captive werewolf. It's terribly difficult to get one."
"Can't imagine why," Remus murmured, before the impact of the statement truly hit him. "Captive? They keep him caged?"
"Only during the full moon. The rest of the time the cage is open to visitors. There's a little educational film, I believe," Karls said thoughtfully, laying one hand on the fallen tree. "The afternoon of the full moon he shows up to the cage, they lock him in, and he transforms. The zoo stays open extra-late so people can come see him change. Next morning, they carry him out on a stretcher, see to his wounds, and send him on his way."
Remus felt as though all three of them could see through his jacket and uniform shirt, to the broad swathes of bandages underneath.
"You look hungover," Jones muttered to him.
"I'm dying of pneumonia," he muttered back, and she grinned.
"Last night, one of the bars on his cage snapped, and he got out through it. There's a zoo security guard dead, and another one who's going to have to spend the rest of his full moons in a similar situation to our assailant."
Remus kept his face perfectly blank, though Karls was looking right at him. "Lupin, you've had some experience with werewolves in America, else we wouldn't have called you in. I've already got two teams sweeping the park, but it's a big preserve and it's not likely we're going to just stumble across him. Hobson, Jones, the two of you should fan out within the zoo, make sure none of the animals look like they've been mauled. Lupin, you're with me."
Remus nodded and followed Karls through the hidden entrance, Jones and Hobson reporting to a zoo official once they were inside.
"Ugly business," Karls said, as they walked briskly towards the werewolf enclosure. Some zoo designer had thought it would be cute to put little wolf tracks leading up to it. Remus felt he might retch. "I'm really sorry, Lupin, but you know -- "
"If he's killed someone we have to catch him," Remus answered shortly. "What do you need?"
Karls nodded. "He'll have changed back by now. We've got photographs..." he passed one across as they stopped at the entrance to the cage. One of the bars was bent outward, and another was gone entirely. "He wears a mask when he does the Change, so that people don't know who he is, but the Zoo keeps employment records of everyone who works for them. That's Lacon Chaney. Earns the rest of his living, what the Zoo doesn't pay him for this dog and pony show, as a croupier at a Muggle casino."
Remus looked down at the man curiously. In the photograph, he smiled and waved at the camera. A perfectly normal human being.
Once.
"I need to know everything you know and I need to know it now," Karls continued. "Where you think he'd go, what you think he'll do. I know you've studied this."
Remus bowed his head, acknowledging that it was true.
"I'm told," he said cautiously, "That for a werewolf, turning or killing a human being is...well, it's supposed to be euphoria-inducing. It can also lead to a delay in Change -- he might still be out there as a wolf, especially since he got two people..."
Karls touched his arm, as he breathed deeply, fighting nausea.
"I'm sorry, this close after -- "
"I wouldn't have called you, except..." Karls looked vaguely distressed, and Remus shook his head.
"No, if he's loose we have to catch him -- and if he's Changed back, he may try something desperate," Remus whispered. Karls frowned. "If I found out I'd killed someone...I'd take my own life before anyone else tried to take it from me."
"Can you track him at all? Is there a scent you could pick up?"
"Not in this shape," Remus said with a wan smile. "That's where he got the guards?" he asked, pointing to a taped-off area, and Karls nodded. He walked forward, inspecting it, and then stepped past the tape, standing carefully away from the bloodstains on the pavement.
He straightened his shoulders, lifted his chin, closed his eyes for a minute, and then opened them again, looking around himself with the eyes of a desperate animal.
He remembered full moon nights with James and Peter and Sirius, remembered being the wolf; the frenzy that took hold when the wolf encountered a human, and the two near misses, not counting Snape, that only James and Sirius had saved him from, with horns and teeth and sharp hooves kicking him away from his target.
If he were that creature again, crazed by blood and the orgasmic sensation that a werewolf supposedly experienced after a kill...
Too many human smells, too many animals. He would want to find a private place to lick the blood from his fur, somewhere to roll in crushed grass and leaves to hide his own scent.
He sniffed. Karls, nearby, smelling of sweat and anxiety; blood from the ground; animal dung and musk...
And a fresh green scent borne in by the wind, from the river that ran through the zoo.
"The water," he said. "He'll go to the water."
Karls followed him as he made his way past a few enclosures, following the signs to a small wooden footbridge. Cool water after the panic of escape; he'd leap off here and let it carry him downriver.
"Where does the water lead?" he asked, aware his voice was still raspy and almost able to feel the dark smudges under his eyes.
"Back out into the Muggle area of the preserve -- should I call Hobson?"
"Yes," Remus said, leaning heavily on the rail of the footbridge -- a few inches from the deep score marks that told him his guess was correct. "I definitely think you should call Hobson."
Karls nodded and Remus continued to stare at the water, listening to their conversation. When they were done speaking, Karls touched his shoulder lightly and pressed something cold into his hand.
"Standard issue on this one," he said quietly. "I know werewolves aren't hurt by much, but other werewolves -- "
"It's a pistol," Remus said, shocked.
"With a silver bullet," Karls answered, and Remus could feel the silver even through the cold steel, an unpleasant warmth in his palm. "He may go for any one of us. The agents out in the preserve already have rifles, and Hobson and Jones have pistols like that one. One shot each. I don't want anyone else dying."
Remus looked up into the hard, grim lines of Karls' face.
"It may not be up to you," he said softly.
***
By the time they reached the entrance to the zoo again, Remus was ready to collapse; Karls put a shoulder under one of his arms and half-supported him back out onto the footpath, walking both of them slowly and warily down to the river. There were other Aurors there, patrolling with a couple of in-the-know policemen and some cringing, terrified scent-hounds. Remus kept well away from them; dogs knew what he was. (He suspected that cats could also tell, but simply didn't care.)
"You look like you already got in a fight with a werewolf," said a deep voice, and Remus saw Anson approaching, rifle slung carelessly over his shoulder. "Guess you weren't kidding when you called in sick."
"Sorry, sir," Remus said, releasing Karls, standing only slightly unsteadily.
"Karls here says you've tangled with these beasties before? Right nuisance," Anson said, glancing around. "Course, it's only what you get when you put one up on display. They're not museum pieces, for Merlin's sake."
"No," Remus muttered, seating himself on a convenient rock at the river's edge. "Suppose not."
"Lupin says he'll follow the river, and I believe him," Karls told Anson, who nodded. "Don't reckon he's gone too far; he'll want to regroup. Far as we can tell he's naked, so if he leaves the preserve he'll make a splash fairly quickly," he added sardonically.
"Hopefully he found somewhere to hide. A rational man can be told to surrender," Anson replied. "Oi! Those dogs helping at all?"
One of the Muggle policemen looked up, haplessly. "Whatever it is you're chasing, sir, it's got the dogs frightened. They won't track," he added, as the large German Shepherd on the other end of his lead tried to pull him off his feet, in a path perpendicular from the river.
"Fine, get them out of here then, they'll only be in the way," Anson snapped. "Listen up, you shower! Split off. I want two men on each bank going north and south. If you see actual signs of him, which do not include half-crushed leaves or anything less corporeal than good old fashioned spoor, sing out. No use sending a team in the wrong direction," he added. "Lupin, Karls, coordinate from here."
Remus had only been half-listening, but as he tried to turn his head to acknowledge Anson's order, something out of the corner of his eye made him pause. He could hear the others, already dispersing, and the crack of a branch under Karls' foot as the other man moved. Remus scanned the patch of undergrowth on the other side of the river -- narrow at this point, barely as wide as a small creek -- for what had caught his eye. A shadow where a shadow shouldn't be.
"Anson, stop them," he said, watching the dark patch move, trying to identify shape from shade.
"What?"
"Call them back," Remus said, just as smoothly. He couldn't see them behind him, and his whole attention was focused on that moving, shifting trick of the light, which resolved itself into a head of auburn hair. Karls swore softly under his breath.
"He's human," Anson said.
"There's something positive," Karls muttered sarcastically. Remus was willing the man to raise his head, lift just a little so that they could see his eyes. Now that he could follow the shape of the head and neck, he could imagine the body as well. Moving upriver from them, cautiously, but not with human caution; with the grace and care of an animal quietly fleeing danger.
"Lacon," Anson called, and the man's head did snap up them.
Remus stared.
His face was human, more-or-less; a certain sleekness across the cheekbones indicated the Change wasn't complete. Remus had never seen a half-Changed werewolf; had never seen a Changed one at all, for that matter, except in photographs. Changed werewolves were nightmare visions, like an animal with brain damage, goaded to madness. Remus could see the same look in this man's eyes. Red-rimmed eyes, with blue-white pupils.
"Lacon, we're here to help you," Anson continued. Remus heard the other Aurors, the ones who'd been within earshot, reassembling behind them. He moved his hand slowly towards the pistol he'd set next to his foot. "Lacon," Anson repeated, "come across the river. You know you're going to have to."
Remus knew it was a mistake the minute Anson invited him across the river. He ducked for the pistol and tried, at the same time, to throw himself backwards with only about half the mobility he normally had. He just managed to get hold of the weapon and was coming back up when he saw Lacon coil and spring easily across the river, muscles standing out painfully tight on his not-quite-human body. He lifted his left arm up to protect himself, and Lacon hit him off-centre.
Something ripped the flesh of his left hand, just below the palm. He screamed, adrenaline strengthening him enough to roll, to try to pin the half-animal monster that had gouged him with a rock clutched in its right hand. Legs kicked and struggled, and he blocked a knee to the groin with a well-timed hand, trying to control the creature.
"Shoot it!" Anson was roaring in the background. Remus thought he heard Hobson yell his name. They couldn't shoot Lacon, as long as he was underneath Remus, and so he gave up and let himself be rolled --
Two shots fired; Lacon didn't even flinch. Instead he licked his lips (all too human lips) and opened his mouth (not at all human teeth) and latched onto Remus' neck, tearing a good three inch strip out of the sinew below his jaw.
Remus screamed again and thrust him off, saw bloody chin and cheeks as Lacon charged in the same direction he'd been flipped, down on all fours. He was going for Hobson, who was frantically squeezing the trigger on her empty pistol.
There was an explosion so loud Remus thought his eardrums had burst, and a puff of white smoke. Blood spattered across Hobson's red shirt.
Remus stared. It really doesn't show the stains, said a small rational voice in his head.
His right arm was still outstretched, pistol clenched tightly in it. He pulled again, experimentally, forgetting that Hobson was now in his direct line of fire. The hammer clicked. Hobson flinched. Empty gun.
Empty gun.
I shot him.
He dropped his hand and saw Lacon lying in the grass, a bloody, black-edged hole between his shoulder blades.
His head was too hot. So was his hand. He turned it palm-up to see where the other werewolf's makeshift weapon had gouged a deep slice in his flesh -- already healed, barely even a scar.
Then he brought his other hand up to his neck, felt wetness and a horrible softness where smooth firm skin ought to be.
"Did I kill him?" he asked, uncertainly. Karls was kneeling by the body, examining it.
"I think s -- bloody fuck," Karls said, turning to look at him. He skidded across from the body on the ground to where Remus knelt, pulling his hand away from his neck. "Fuck, fuck, fuck. Jones, call a Healer! Now!"
Remus realised it hurt to move his head, hurt to keep it upright, and he rested it on Karls' shoulder while the other man pressed painfully against his neck. "Ow," he complained.
"You'll be okay, Lupin," Karls said. "He missed your vein. You breathing all right?"
Remus tried to say that Karls was hurting him, but a sudden wave of nausea passed through his body with almost physical force, and that was the last he knew for a while.
***
He woke to the antiseptic smell of hospital and the white ceiling of same; also to absolute silence, so overwhelming that he wasn't sure, for a moment, if he actually had woken at all. He closed his eyes and opened them again; they felt gritty and dry.
An ache began to make itself known in his shoulder; a soreness that felt like the last time he'd been shot, when his body had healed up around the bullethole and for two days he'd been unable to move properly while the muscles recovered. The ache spread up his neck and across his jaw, but didn't seem to affect him anywhere else.
He lifted a hand slowly, fingers exploring his shoulder even as he probed his memory for what had happened.
No, it had to have been a dream. He must have dreamed it after the Change, and perhaps he'd hurt himself so badly this time that someone had come looking for him, and that was why he was here. He had not been attacked and savaged by another werewolf, not in front of Anson and Jones and Hobson -- he hadn't shot a man. He hadn't. He wasn't a murderer. He'd never killed anyone. Not even as an officer of the law.
His fingers slid over his neck, finding the pulse, resting for a moment on the solid, even beat of blood under his skin. A little lower --
Not a dream, then, he thought, as he found a jagged-edged indentation in his neck. It didn't hurt to probe it, though pressure made the ache worse. It felt as though it was almost healed, and what he was exploring with his fingertips was probably a scar.
He closed his eyes. Werewolves healed fast, but not from bites by other werewolves. If the bite was already healed, that meant he'd been in this hospital, unconscious, for a while.
His joints protested tiredly when he pushed himself up, and pain flared in his head; he pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, breathing deeply until it subsided somewhat. Then he let his hands fall, and looked around him.
It was a small white room, typical-hospital style; door with a window in it, cart with spare sheets and other supplies in the corner, piles of the white flannel hospital pyjamas he was wearing. There was a bank of windows along one side, and sunlight streamed in through them. He could see downtown Sydney through the window; he must be at the Sydney Hospital for Wizardry.
He tested the muscles in his legs, clenching each one slowly to make sure they still worked; touched each finger on his left hand to his left thumb, then did the same to his right. Forearms, biceps, shoulders -- pain rippled dully over his neck and down his back when he tensed the muscles there. Everything seemed to be working -- if not perfectly, then at least protestingly.
He felt as if he'd forgotten something important for a second, and then it came back to him again. He'd shot that man. A black-edged hole between the shoulder blades, and before Karls had pressed a hand to Remus' neck he'd said something about it not being -- him not being --
He'd killed Lacon Chaney. A person. He'd killed a person.
He never thought he'd do it while he was on two legs.
He hoped he'd never do it even on four.
He wanted to lean back on the bed again and curl up into a ball, shut out the world, but he couldn't; he had to know too many things. Who had seen Lacon bite him, who knew he was a werewolf, whether he still had a job, how long he'd been here, whether Lacon had survived.
He moved slowly, sliding his legs out of the bed and testing his weight on them before standing, hands outspread in case the blood rushing to his head made him dizzy. When a mild wave of nausea subsided, he took a step forward; having decided he could walk again, he went to the door and opened it, sidling outside.
An Auror, a man he recognised from the training class after his, was sleeping sitting-up, outside his door. A guard? To keep him in, or to keep someone else out?
There was some sort of medical station a few doors down. He walked there slowly, feeling the cold tile smooth and pleasant under his bare feet. The mediwitch behind it looked up, and her eyes widened in surprise.
"Excuse me," he said, almost shyly, voice slightly hoarse. "My name is Lupin, I'm in the private room down the hall -- "
He was cut off by a buzz as she pressed her wand against a panel and spoke. "Healer Carver to second floor, please, your coma patient is awake."
"Coma?" Remus asked, slightly frightened now. "I'm sorry, I just woke up and no-one was..."
He trailed off as she circled the station and grabbed his elbow, pulling him back towards the room. "You're not supposed to be out of quarantine," she snapped, putting an entirely unnecessary shoulder under his arm.
"Quarantine? But I'm not sick -- " he paused. Memories washed over him. Quarantine in a hospital, even though it was nearly a day before they could get him to one -- a bandage on his thigh, Healers in beaky white masks just in case, because the werewolf gene could mutate and become airborne-contagious right after a bite...
He'd been six the last time he'd been in quarantine.
Because he'd been bitten by a werewolf.
He let himself be guided back onto the bed. He sat limply while she took his pulse and temperature, casting a fussy disinfectant spell after she did so. There was a rap at the door, and a man in the unfortunately-familiar white beaked mask entered.
"Walked out to my station, cool as you please," the witch muttered to the healer, who nodded and gestured her through the door, taking a chart from the end of Lupin's bed.
"Hold still, please," he said, and his wand hovered in the vicinity of Remus' neck, glowing faintly yellow. After a second of this, the man nodded, and pulled off the mask.
"I doubted you were contagious, but it never hurts to be sure," he said with a smile. "I'm Healer Carver, Apollo Carver. A pleasure to meet you, finally."
Remus regarded the outstretched hand, then shook it slowly.
"Do you know why you're here?" Carver continued, as he repeated the mediwitch's actions, taking Remus' pulse and shining the lit end of his wand in his eyes.
"I was in a fight in the Preserve..." Remus said hesitantly. "I was attacked...he's dead, isn't he?"
The Healer's eyes cut away.
"I don't suppose, being an Auror, you subscribe much to the theory of coddling one's patients," he said. "Yes. Lacon Chaney bled out before the Healers even arrived. Your bullet passed his spine, damaging the spinal cord, and by the time it had reached the heart it was doing enough damage that it pretty much destroyed it."
"I didn't mean -- " Remus said, but Carver held up a hand.
"There's already been an inquest, as much as there could be without your testimony," he said. "He would have killed the woman..."
"Hobson?"
"Yes, that's her name...someone had to shoot him. Out of personal curiousity..." Carver leaned closer, his voice low and confidential, "Was it dumb luck or good aim?"
Remus ducked his head, though it hurt to do so. "I don't know," he answered, just as quietly. "It happened too fast."
Carver nodded. "Well, at any rate, your vital signs look good and you seem to be alert. What's the last thing you remember?"
"Passing out after Karls got hold of me."
"Probably a good sign. You've been unconscious since then. We've had you here about three weeks."
Remus tensed. "Three weeks?"
"Yes -- you lost a lot of blood, and it's tricky, dealing with werewolf physiology," Carver said gravely. "Admittedly, I didn't expect you'd be unconscious quite this long, but your body -- really, the way it works is quite remarkable, and we thought it best to leave it alone. We've been feeding you via potion infusions, so you're going to have to get back on solid foods slowly, but otherwise..." he smiled a little. "You seem like a healthy young man."
Remus nodded, mulling it over. Carver bit his lip.
"You were a werewolf already, weren't you?" he asked. Remus looked up. "The scars. One of your friends said you told them it was...some kind of torture when you were younger, but those are claw-marks, aren't they?"
"Does everyone know?"
"I haven't told anyone. Your story seems to be passing for truth, and I only noticed because..." Carver shrugged. "Well, I'm trained to, aren't I. Listen, it's all right. We have a confidentiality clause. It hasn't even been in the papers, the bite I mean -- your superiors put it out that you'd been nearly bludgeoned to death with a rock. You've been quite the local hero, this past month. That's what the arse of a guard on your door is supposed to be doing, keeping the scandalmongers out."
"Thank you."
"Part of the service." Carver made a notation on the chart and hung it on the end of the bed. "Now, I can answer your questions, or I can call anyone you like; your superiors have been notified and are probably on their way. I should notify the newspapers that you're awake, but I can probably get away with keeping it quiet until tonight."
"You can tell them," Remus heard his own voice saying, distantly. "They'll find out sooner or later anyway. The inquest..."
Carver nodded.
"Did Chaney have any...family? Children?"
The Healer looked thoughtful. "Yes, I believe he was married. No children. He had a brother who was at the inquest, with his wife."
"Oh." Remus stared at his hands. "I don't, you know. Not here, anyway. My father's in England. I live nearly...entirely...alone."
Carver watched him, warily.
"He had a family," Remus continued. "A house?"
"I believe so, yes...Mr. Lupin, I know you have no idea who I am, but..." Carver spread his hands. "You're an Auror. It's your job to protect people. He was a danger to himself and everyone around him. He killed a man, far more coldbloodedly than you killed him."
Remus drew his knees up against his chest, resting his bare feet on the edge of the bed.
"But I still killed him," he whispered.
Chapter 4
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You have the emotional reaction for this exactly right. There's nothing worse than the irritation of not knowing who you are except for the cold sickened certainty of knowing exactly what you are.
I hope this chapter is never me.
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You sucked me in so totally that I'd forgotten as I read this, and got caught up in Remus' quest to make a life, that this isn't meant as AU or fix-it. It's filler, which means that he's not going to meet Gabriel again and he never gets to have a happy ever after.
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Ah! Sorry to make you sad. BUT! Remember: a) I like happy endings and b) This was written post-OOTP, so two books hadn't come out yet and I could do what I wanted :D I promise, if you read on you will not be disappointed!