Title: It's About Survival
Fandom: Harry Potter
Prompt: #1 Pickpocket for livejournal's tamingthemuse
Warnings: reference to prostitution
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 956
Summary: Remus Lupin simply wants to survive. Pre-books.

Survival was a natural reaction for any human, wizard or muggle. It was also the same for wolves, though their desire to survive was on a different level than humans. Typically, wolves weren't selfish and would easily starve to death if it meant their pack continuing.

Well, that was what Remus had always believed. He would die for any of his friends. Not that he had any friends left. No, friendship didn't mean as much to everyone else it seemed. Sirius was away in prison, a place Remus couldn't bring himself to go near let alone think about. James and Lily, along with Peter, were dead.

Remus, much to his own grief, was still alive. The thought wasn't as comforting as one would think. Being what he was—oh, how he hated even thinking the word werewolf—he could not die easily. Most curses bounced off his hide, leaving barely a sting. Remus didn't even know if the Avada Kedavra would affect him, though he wasn't about to experiment. Food had long ago became a passing thought, for he had no money and his stomach was now shriveled up to nothingness. Still, he was alive and thriving thanks to his curse.

Maybe thriving wasn't the word he was searching for? Remus shrugged to himself and curled up tighter, fighting off the cold that had become a permanent fixture since his last meal. He sighed and stared up the alleyway, toward the bustling street. He could hear someone cough in the distance: another homeless man, begging for food as wizards in business robes passed by without a glance. Remus scowled and clenched his fists tightly.

He felt a slight twinge of hunger, shooting through his abdomen. He forced himself to not acknowledge it.

Days passed. Maybe it was weeks? Remus couldn't tell. He could barely see the sun, for the energy to raise his head was too much. Still, he could feel the pull of the moon calling to him. It was time to get up and move on. He couldn't be this close to civilization when the beast was released, hungry and demanding flesh. Remus forced himself to his feet, leaning against the brick wall as his brow glistened with sweat.

It took Remus a moment to realize that it was dark. Blinking up at the three-quarters moon, Remus breathed in the night air. He could smell bread baking in someone's apartment above. The temptation was too great.

Remus wasn't sure how long he walked. Soon the streets became grittier and the buildings dirtier. Remus could tell that he had entered what was often called the bad side of town. With a slight huff, Remus realized he had walked the wrong direction and was now deeper within the city. This wouldn't do for a transformation. He needed to get away from people. He knew from experience that it could take days, even weeks, to find a suitable location for the full moon. He needed to get out quickly, but he had no money.

Remus passed yet another alleyway filled with homeless men and women. Remus was tempted to pull out his wand and cast a heating charm on the alley in order to help the poor souls, but starvation had left him too weak to perform magic. Sighing, Remus continued walking.

When it began raining Remus darted into the nearest alleyway, pressing himself against a large trash bin for protection. Gritting his teeth, Remus felt annoyance boiling under his skin. Normally he was a calm mannered man, but sometimes he wanted to scream at the world for its injustices.

It wasn't fair, damn it! He was a good person, his friends had been good people, and now look at them! Remus was cold and hungry, pushed so far past malnourishment that if he were human he would have been dead. Yet, life just kept kicking him when he was down.

Fighting back a cough, Remus pressed his forehead against the cool metal of the trash bin. He could hear scuffling farther down the alley. Curiosity getting the best of him, Remus leaned forward and peaked around the bin. A man stood, back pressed against the brick wall and hips arched forward. Remus cringed and turned away, ignoring the sight of the young boy—thirteen, possibly fifteen—on his knees.

Werewolves could smell pheromones up to three blocks away and, even in the state he was in, Remus was no different. The smell of sex and release drifted over to him. It was enough to make him want to vomit. How could people live like this? How could they let things get so out of control that…? Remus snorted and looked down at his dirty hands.

Standing, Remus pushed himself through the thick blankets of rain. He needed to get away before the idea of survival was too much and he considered, just for a moment, getting on his knees for money.

Remus hated giving into the darkness within him, but the urge to stay alive was too strong. Feeling the guilt already built up within him, Remus made he way back to the nicer part of the city and threw himself into the nearest crowd of people. It was merely a job of keeping himself hidden: nothing to see here, just a simple werewolf out for a stroll.

Stepping back into yet another alleyway, Remus emptied out three wallets and a coin bag. He counted his so called winnings and, after dumping the remains into a trashcan, aimed for the bus depot. Survival was a natural reaction, but sometimes it required more than just the desire to live. Remus sighed, fingering the money in his pocket. Wolves fought to survive for the better of the pack, but Remus was alone. He was the pack.

Maybe, hopefully, that justified theft.