THE HUNT
This story is AU and set in my Once a Werewolf universe. It probably makes more sense if you've read that one. But in case you haven't and are going to read on anyway: the premise is, that Remus Lupin, the werewolf, died during the Battle of Hogwarts and came back to life as a normal human being, no longer afflicted by lycanthropy. He went to live with Andromeda Tonks to help her take care of Teddy and ultimately married her. Together they have a daughter named Irene.
Unfortunately, Remus is unable to prove he is no longer a werewolf: among other things, the proof demands that he take the Wolfsbane Potion, which is fatal to non-werewolves. Under the new Minister of Magic Shacklebolt, though, most of Umbridge's anti-werewolf legislation has been repealed and Remus is currently working for the Werewolf Support Services at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Beings. Harry Potter is an Auror.
Disclaimer: JKR wrote the HP originals. This is just a fanfic.
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Part One
0.
Rory Whitaker left the supermarket with a six-pack of beer and two packets of crisps when he saw the man leaning against the lamppost. He was dressed in a shabby raincoat and frayed trousers, and he looked vaguely familiar. 'Hello Rory,' he said. 'Long time no see.'
Rory must have looked puzzled, for the man said: 'You don't remember me.' He bared his teeth in a grin. 'I used to live here when you were a kid - before my wife chucked me out with the garbage. I remember you riding your first bike along this very road. And now you're going out with my daughter, I hear.'
'Eunice.' Rory smiled dreamily. 'I did. I mean, I still want to, but she's at that boarding school of hers, somewhere in Scotland. They're very stern there - she has to sneak out to make calls. But we'll be seeing each other soon, when she returns home for Christmas break. She'll be visiting me the same evening.'
'You know what girls like?' Eunice's father looked up at the sky. 'Romantic walks in the moonlight. My wife did, when she was young. Ah, those were times. A pity some things don't work out. I wish you better luck with my daughter. Cheers!' His gaze on the six-pack, he raised his hand in a mock toast.
'Thanks.' Rory hesitated. 'Want a beer?' He didn't wait for the answer, but tore a can from the six-pack and tossed it to the shabby man.
The man caught it in one hand; his reflexes were good. 'You're a fine boy, Rory,' he said almost sadly.
1.
Early in the evening of 19 December 2002, the two Aurors on duty in the Ministry of Magic received an urgent Floo call from a witch in Wiltshire. Her name was Lamia Leach, and she claimed she had seen a werewolf near her village. On hearing this the senior Auror, Vigilia Mottlee, exchanged a look with the junior Auror, Harry Potter. As it was twenty minutes to seven and the full moon wouldn't be up until eleven past, the sighting seemed premature.
When Mottlee pointed this out to the caller, Mrs. Leach admitted that the werewolf had been in his human form when she spotted him. However, she had recognised the creature from pictures in the Daily Prophet, and she knew who it was: the notorious Remus J. Lupin. If Lupin was out so shortly before moonrise, his intentions could hardly be benign. She was of the opinion he must be hunted down and apprehended before he could inflict any damage to proper human beings.
Mottlee thanked the witch for her timely warning. Mrs. Leach's head disappeared from the flames. Turning to his colleague, Harry Potter remarked that he was sure Mr. Lupin was the very last person in the Wizarding World who would want anyone to receive a werewolf bite. There was no need to panic: Lupin would most certainly not remain in the open if he were about to transform. They couldn't even be sure it was him Mrs. Leach had seen; what if she had mistaken someone else for Lupin?
Vigilia Mottlee eyed him sternly. It was a well-known fact that Harry Potter was Mr. Lupin's friend and it spoke well of him that he trusted a friend to behave responsibly. All the same, he ought not to let personal feelings interfere with his Auror duties. It was plain and simple: in his capacity of magical law officer he was obliged to act on a warning like this. She proposed that they inform the Werewolf Capture Unit and ask them to send their people to Wiltshire and search for Lupin until moonrise - after which they would be searching for the werewolf. For Mr. Potter's friend's sake, she hoped they would be able to catch him in time - it was well known that not all werewolves survived capture. As it was a quarter to seven, they would have to be quick.
Potter, however, objected. 'Let's make a Floo call to Remus Lupin's house first,' he suggested. 'If Remus is at home, there's no need to waste the time of the Werewolf Capture Unit.'
This, Mottlee had to admit, was a reasonable proposal.
About half a minute later, Harry Potter's bespectacled head appeared in the fireplace of the Mudhole, where the Lupins lived. Andromeda was sitting on the sofa, reading a bedtime story to the children, Teddy and Irene. She was mildly surprised at his appearance; the two toddlers clambered from the sofa to bounce up and down excitedly, shouting his name. When Harry finally got around to ask if Remus was in, Andromeda shook her head. 'He said he'd be home late today, probably not before eight o' clock, maybe even later.'
She smiled knowingly. It was eleven minutes to seven.
Four minutes later, the people from the Werewolf Capture Unit summoned by Mottlee arrived to ask about the details of the sighting. There were three of them, two wizards and a witch, fully prepared, two of them equipped with magical nets. Provided with the necessary information, they made to go. At that point Potter asked if he could accompany them. Not as Lupin's friend of course, merely as a Junior Auror who could use a little experience in these no longer quite so eventful times.
The werewolf captors and Mottlee eyed him suspiciously, but he remained the Man Who Lived Twice. It was difficult to refuse his request. They took him along.
It was three minutes to seven; fourteen minutes left to moonrise.
2.
In Bentley Wood, not far from the village of Buckholt, a man awaited moonrise. He crouched among the brittle leaves of autumn, shivering and peering into a darkness soon to penetrated by pale rays slanting freely through the bare branches of winter.
Not many people would venture outside in the December cold, but it was early in the evening, and some would be bound to leave their homes. The majority of the villagers were defenceless Muggles, but he knew that a few of them were wizards and witches.
She was living there. They were. They had to be near, and tonight was the night when he would find them.
Though he had sold his watch long ago to buy food, he knew that moonrise was near; his skin prickled in a familiar way and his senses seemed to be sharpening. Even in the dark, the trees were more than vague shadows. His ears caught the difference between the rustling of the wind through the layers of dead leaves on the forest floor, and the restless scurrying of tiny, living creatures. And if he breathed in slowly through his nose, he could smell it, faintly but unmistakeably: the scent of blood.
3.
The solitary walker sat down on a tree stump by the roadside, watching the white puff of his breath dissolve in the cold air. He checked his watch by the light of his wand. One past seven. Ten minutes to moonrise - too early to return to the village and make his call. He would wait another five minutes; it was a short walk and the moon had to be visible when he arrived, or his visit would be pointless. Or mostly so. Lamia Leach could do with a verbal thrashing in any case.
The wind tugged at his clothes and pulled at the branches of the trees behind him. He heard them gnarl and groan in protest amongst the swishing boughs of the evergreens and the brittle leaves whispering on the ground. The sounds were not reassuring. He rose and turned, his shining wand outstretched to shine on the nearest trees. They loomed tall and forbidding, guardians of their own secrets, and the blackness beyond was impenetrable to his human eyes.
A short, dry noise in the distance caught his ear. A snapping twig perhaps, he thought. It had seemed to come from the direction of the village, though he wasn't entirely sure. Then he heard it again, a kind of crack, closer by now, and then again, and suddenly he knew what it was.
Quickly, he murmured 'Nox', and his wand light went out. He could only think of one reason why wizards would Apparate here. Someone had seen him and alerted the authorities.
4.
In a house at the edge of the village, Eunice was having a heated discussion with her mother. The seventh year Gryffindor wanted to visit her boyfriend, a Muggle named Rory. He lived at a farm, a quarter mile outside Buckholt, not far from the main road. The last time they had seen each other was the day before the Hogwarts Express left King's Cross Station, about six weeks after their first date. They had phoned each other a few times - the cell phone she had bought during the summer vacation actually worked on the very outskirts of Hogsmeade - but today was the first day of Christmas break and they couldn't wait to meet in the flesh again.
'But the moon is full tonight,' her mother objected. 'It'll be up any minute now, and I know there's a werewolf on the loose. And why, for Merlin's sake, do you insist on dating a Muggle?'
'The moon is not up yet, and I'll take my broom.' Eunice shrugged off her mother's beseeching hand. 'Also, I'm of age, I can Apparate, I'm good at Defence, and you're always seeing moon frogs everywhere. I've got every right to visit my boyfriend, and if you object against him, you must be a pure-blood maniac.' At Hogwarts, this invective was getting old, but her mother was properly outraged and raised her wand.
However, Eunice was a forceful young woman, quick on the draw. Her mother's half-hearted restraining hex bounced on a swiftly cast Shield charm. Quickly Eunice left the house, wand in one hand, broomstick in the other, looking forward to what had to be the tryst of the year.
It was seven past seven, four minutes to moonrise.
5.
The people of the Werewolf Capture Unit gathered at the edge of the woods, only a few yards from the road running past it. 'He was walking towards Bentley Wood,' Lamia Leach had said. Apparently, he planned to transform there, but the Wood was too close to the inhabited world. The thickset werewolf catcher without a net, Batthew, neatly transfigured his clothes into the uniform of a Muggle please-man. He left to intercept anyone trying to leave the nearby village of Buckholt without a car. Batthew was the only one among the werewolf catchers officially licensed to Obliviate Muggles.
The second wizard, an intrepid young man named Gameworthy, proposed to venture into the Wood, as the werewolf was most likely hiding there for his transformation. Among the trees and bushes, it would be easier to catch. The witch, called Scaddie, preferred to try and draw the creature out; surely it would get wind of them anyway. In the open, she argued, they'd have a better view. Having little experience with this kind of thing, Harry didn't know which idea was better. The two were still arguing when Gameworthy suddenly fell silent in the midst of a sentence. He pointed at the horizon beyond where the road turned to the right.
'Look. The moon is rising,' he said.
Somehow, it was both a beautiful and a chilling sight, Harry thought, seeing the point of light just above the horizon expand, slowly but steadily. At the moment, it was still small, but before long it would turn into a gleaming orb, which would slowly disengage itself from the dark mass of the earth to make its dignified ascent to the heavens. It would suffuse the sky with its deceptively innocent glow, bright enough to give anything a shadow, dim enough to keep everything a mystery. And cruel enough to turn some unfortunates into monsters.
A sound shook him out of his reveries. It came from somewhere in the woods and it was hair-raising: an inhuman, tortured wail that changed while they listened and ended in the drawn-out, furious howl.
The howl of a werewolf.
'Lupin,' hissed Scaddie.
No, Harry protested silently. Impossible.
6.
The first minutes of their reunion were entirely dedicated to hugging and kissing, but when they ran out of breath, they took a small step back to devour each other all over again with their eyes. Rory smiled and told her once more how beautiful she was and how much he had missed her - though certainly no more than Eunice had missed him, as she assured him.
Laughing softly, he gestured at something behind her. 'Look,' he said, and she turned to see the treetops in the southern part of Bentley Wood lined by an eerie, white sheen. 'The moon is up. Soon, it'll rise above the trees. Shall we go out for a walk in the moonlight?' he asked, proving himself the greater romantic of the two.
A slight frown marred Eunice's brow, otherwise glowing and beautiful like the moon. 'But its cold.' The mist of breath leaving her mouth did its best to underline her words.
The cold wouldn't bother them half as much if they walked arm in arm, her boyfriend pointed out, smiling so adorably and knee-weakeningly that she simply had no choice but to capitulate. That was, if she could bring her broom.
Rory was momentary baffled at the idea of a girl bringing a broom to a tryst with her boyfriend. Was she a Wiccan, or something? He wasn't into New Age stuff at all.
When he opened his mouth to reply, a strange kind of yowl in the distance cut him short. It was long and chilling and definitely made by an animal.
'What the blazes was that?' he cried. He didn't think he'd ever heard a dog howl like that.
Eunice bit her lip. 'A wolf.'
'No, it must have been a dog. Probably one in pain. There are no wolves in Britain. '
'I wouldn't be so sure.'
Rory stared at his girlfriend, who had a knowledgeable look in her eyes. Broomsticks, and wolves... Suddenly he got the unnerving feeling he didn't know her at all.
He shook it off. 'Okay. Let's go and see then; if it's a dog in need, maybe we can help. I'll get a torch from the tool shed, and the rifle. Just an air gun, but it'll do.' He grinned. 'You get your broomstick, and if it's the big bad wolf, we'll have at it. You game?'
Whether she believed he was taking her seriously or not, she took him by his word. 'I'm game, if you are.' She put a hand in her pocket and he saw it turn into a fist, as if she was gripping something
7.
To his annoyance the remaining wizards, two dressed in dragon skin with nets slung across their shoulders and one in a cloak, were barring his way to the village. They were standing too close to the road he had planned to take and it would be impossible to get past them without being seen. He squinted. In the clear, cold air the light of the newly risen moon was getting brighter with the minute; he could almost see their faces. One of the wizards was a witch, he saw. And the one with the cloak looked very familiar, his hair ruffled worse than ever in the evening breeze. I'll be damned if it isn't Harry.
He smiled to himself. Lamia Leach could wait. Harry Potter and a couple of fellow Aurors, or whatever they were, was much better.
At the sound of an approaching car, they withdrew into the trees. He didn't stir from the spot; his presence wouldn't mean anything to Muggles. When the car had vanished into the night, the three appeared again. They were looking his way now, but he sat motionless, half in, half out of the shadows, in a drab, nondescript cloak. They showed no signs of having seen him. Should he rise and approach them?
At the sudden, unexpected screaming of a werewolf in the process of transformation, his head jerked up. The screams turned to howls. He cringed. He knew what he was going to do when coming face to face with a transformed werewolf who hadn't taken the Wolfsbane Potion, but that didn't mean he liked it. Again, he studied the outfits of Harry's companions, and belatedly, it dawned on him what they were.
Werewolf catchers.
In past times he would have fled, even in the brightest daylight. Even now, part of him wanted to Disapparate. But he was a man, no longer a wolf, and therefore not at fault when he wished to roam about during the full moon - except perhaps for being reckless and stupid. He would not run from them.
They had seen him, he noticed. The male werewolf catcher pointed at him, and Harry and the woman peered into his direction.
Remus Lupin pulled up the hood of his cloak, rose and ambled towards them in the moonlight.
(TBC)