A fence seperated them. The village from the mountains, the civilized from the feral, her world from his. The chain linked fence which was continually bolted shut with a rusty padlock, represented the boundaries of Hogsmede Village.
The members of the werewolf pack never dared to go near it, or even to speak of it in the day light. When they did name it, in huddled masses by small fires on chilled mountain nights, they called it The Cage. They said the name with such a fear and reverence that an outsider might believe them to be speaking of a divine being the Feral's worshiped. The god that kept them bound to the mountains never to be seen by the wizards except in their monthly beast personae.
Fireside conversations about "The Cage" in the feral camps mostly consisted of horror stories told by friends of friends of people who had allegedly made an experimental leap onto the other side of the boundary fence.
"...The second 'e landed on the other side, the wizards were there. First they stunned 'im wit' one a' their spells. Then two o' these huge muscley lookin' guys held up both of 'is arms, and then two or three more of 'um started prodding 'im with these huge silver picks." One of the youngest members of the fireside audience, a girl no older than thirteen gasped. The speaker, a man in his late twenties smiled darkly almost triumphantly as he continued.
"... All of 'um swooped down on 'im and slit both sides of 'is arms and legs with these things, then they made marks on 'is face and 'is chest. There was so much blood it was runnin' down the mountain side. More blood than you ever seen in your life. Then they just sort of hauled 'im off in this big black flying thing. No one 'ere ever 'eard from 'im again."
A sort of reverent silence for a fallen comrade (whom no one seemed to know personally) overtook the fireside congregation, until a slightly indignant snort was heard from somewhere near the back end of the group.
"What?" The speaker said searching for the heckler and finding the scarred, middle aged face of Remus Lupin whose hazel eyes gleamed with slight amusement.
"Nothing. It was an interesting tale, if not entirely believable."
"And what's not believable about it? My cousin saw that with 'is own two eyes 'e did!"
"Well, I believe it." This time a young woman with tattered blonde hair that hung to her waist spoke up. "I've heard about what their ministry thinks of our kind on the other side. I wouldn't put anything past them."
"Yeah," A boy no older than fourteen. "Me dad says that when he was bitten, their healers were talkin' about doing all these medical experiments on him. When he heard that he ran for it."
Remus looked at the boy, one of four children huddled by the fire.
The words he spoke, in fact the children's very presence yanked at his soul more than any of the adults there. Two of the children: A girl of thirteen and a boy no older than nine were bitten by Greyback and stolen from their parent's homes when they were too young to remember. The older boys one 12 and the fourteen year old who had spoken were born to werewolves and bitten by their parents who simply wanted to 'keep the family together'.
Strangely, even considering his history with Greyback, the fate of the older boys which disgusted Remus even more thoroughly. It was evil plain and simple. He could not imagine how any parent would wish such a fate as this for their child.
Love, especially love of one's own child, meant giving them protection, even from one's self. As he thought this he tried desperately not to remember her. He did not need to remember.
Instead he cleared his throat and began his usual rebuttal to the fireside tales.
"I remember quite vividly the time I spent in a hospital on the other side after I was bitten. As far as I can remember no one preformed any medical experiments on me."
The boy shrugged non committal and looked back to the jumping fire. Remus took the lack of outraged response from the crowd in general as a sign that it was safe to continue.
"And while I have heard of many ministry atrocities towards our kind, I can say with absolute certainty that they are not waiting beyond that fence for us, and with equal certainty that they do not use sharp silver instruments to subdue us."
"How do you know?" The twelve year old boy asked. His tone was curious, not cynical like the others had been, and he looked to Remus with wide, almost hopeful eyes.
Remus nearly gave an audible sigh. This question would require a story of his own.
"I know, because, many years ago, I knew someone who worked for the ministry quite well..."
Thus, Remus jumped into the story of how he had met her. In his tale he described her the way she had looked that night; light brown hair littered with small, shining, pink highlights that stopped at her shoulders, and soft violet eyes that sparkled when she smiled.
He did not mention the order, or Dumbledore, or Harry Potter, or the war. Even her name was reduced only to 'She' and 'Her', suggesting to his audience that she was something like the Cage; a thing to be worshiped and feared all at the same time. In his tale she was not a metamorphmagus, or even an auror. She was the cousin of one of his friends.
Simply a woman, a woman who did not care that he was a werewolf. A woman who accepted him, just as he was.
Once he had finished there was another silence, though without the reverence that the cage inspired. The boy was still starring at him, seemingly mesmerized.
Finally, the young man in his twenties spoke up.
"You expect us to buy that a ministry type didn't say anything about you being one of us? Accepted it just like that?" He laughed.
"And you say my story was unbelievable!"
"Yeah, nice try mate." A man who looked to be nearly as old as Remus said from his right side. "You're not foolin' anyone though. I've heard of those ministry blokes. What they do to us once we cross over, why my mate's brother was walkin' by the cage one mornin' and..."
Once again, they had reverted to the horror stories and fearful references to the wizarding world outside their own.
Remus remained silent as he listened to the rest of the tales. It was no use trying to argue any more tonight. He would have to try again soon. Not too soon but soon.
Time passed and the fire died. Their small congregation dispersed as each returned to their sleeping spots where most of them had spread only one tattered blanket and a few meagerly possessions.
As the colony settled down for the night, Remus walked out of the cave and out onto the small hill over looking the fence. He knew she was there, just on the other side. In the village. Sometimes he pretended that he could see her. He would pick a cottage near the village border and claim it as hers.
Tonight, he found a small dwelling with a thatched roof just two cottages inside the boundary. This cottage had a pot of tulips in the kitchen window. She had always liked tulips, thus for tonight at least, the home was hers.
He sat down on the hillside and watched the house intently, thinking of her inside performing simple, everyday tasks.
She was washing the dishes, then she picked them up to put them away, she cursed when she dropped a mug, scrapped her foot on the shattered glass, and grabbed a bar of chocolate to calm herself.
Finally, after what may have been an hour or five minutes, the light in the cottage window was turned off.
He smiled.
"Goodnight Tonks."
"Who're you talking to?"
Remus turned to see the twelve year old boy from the fireside walking out to join him on the hill.
"Hello," He said. Feeling awkward for not knowing the boys name. Then again no one used names here. A name gave you identity, made you different from everyone else. Werewolves were not different from each other.
"Hi. Who were you talking to?" The boy asked again. Apparently very curious. He sat down next to Remus and brought his knees up to his chest.
"No one. I was just thinking."
"About her?" The boy looked up to him almost hopefully, and Remus gave him a small smile in return.
"Yes."
"Was that her name then? Tonks?"
Remus thought for a moment of how best to answer. He was under strict orders not to give names in the feral camp. Still, could he trust this boy?
Before he could form an answer. The boy spoke again.
"Seems like sort of a funny name for a girl."
"It does, doesn't it?" Remus said hoping that this would be enough.
"So, those stories you tell us sometimes. Are they... true?"
"Why do you ask?"
"Only 'cause they sound nice. I mean I've never been on the other side before. I don't know what it's like really. But if it's like how you say it is, I might like to try going over someday."
"It's not all nice," Remus was forced to say with only the slightest bitter edge. After all, while he would like this boy to have a chance at a normal life, he also did not want him going into that life with a false hope.
"You mean they're not true?"
"Oh no. They are very true. I do know people on the other side who are kind, and honest and accepting no matter who you are. But there are also people who aren't so kind. There are people who won't accept you. Like with everything else you have to take the good with the bad."
"I'll take anything that's not this place."
Remus smiled. For a moment, the boy seemed to resemble a completely normal and restless teenager wanting to get away from his parents. In this particular case, Remus could not blame him.
"Would I get to go to Hogwarts? That castle school you told us about?"
Ah yes. Remus remembered telling them about the first time he had gone off to school on his own, about the headmaster who had let him in, and the friends he had made here. This boy would have been in his second year, if his parents had allowed him to leave the cage.
"Yes you would go to Hogwarts. And it would be hard at first, but I'm sure you would've managed just fine."
"Yeah. I wouldn't even mind transforming in that shack you told us about. 'Sounds kind of nice actually."
Remus could certainly see how, compared to the violent and volatile wilderness terrain out side of Hogsmead, the Shrieking shack seemed like a haven.
Both of them sat in silence for a few moments before an even deeper chill could be felt in the night air.
"It's getting cold," Remus said finally, "We should go back to the cave."
The boy nodded silently, and allowed Remus to lead the way back up the hill. They had nearly reached the cave's mouth when the boy asked suddenly:
"What happened to her?"
"Who?" Remus asked, although he already had a very good idea 'who'.
"Tonks."
Remus gave the boy a tight lipped smile.
"That's a story for another time."
"Do you think you could tell it tomorrow?"
"Perhaps."
"All right tomorrow then. Goodnight."
"Goodnight."
Remus reached his spot slightly removed from the others and took his blanket from the boulder on which it hung. Yes, perhaps tomorrow he would be able to speak of her in a cold detached tone and convince the rest of them it was over. Perhaps tomorrow, he could make arrangements for his young friend to cross over to the civilized village. Perhaps tomorrow he would not go out to the edge of the cage only to find a cottage and imagine her inside it.
Yes. Tomorrow was as good a day as any.