CharlieDog, I'm posting this for you; I was so surprised that you'd remembered it. I barely remembered it.
"Remus John Lupin, you stand accuse of war crimes violating, among various others, the Ordinances of 1567 and 1569. Moreover, you are charged with the crime of willful and intentional violation of the terms set forth for werewolves in the Biddlinks Treatsie. How do you answer these charges?"
Remus John Lupin was silent and small on the dais, his gaunt face raised upward as if inadvertently pleading with fate to spare him. His eyes had dark circles under them and his prison robes fit him badly, hanging loosely on his thin frame. When the judge finished speaking, his dark eyes flickered downward for a moment, and he trembled as if a very cold breeze had caught him, but made no answer, and the judge, rather tiredly, repeated himself. It was not the first trial to go thusly, though the judge much preferred the silent ones to the cowards that wept and gibbered on about their wives and children. Remus John Lupin, said the report, had no wife or children. Glancing over at the section of court where the family usually sat, the judge spotted three lone figures – a young woman with frizzy hair, who had her face buried on the arm of a tall red-headed man, and a dark-haired young man who was rubbing his face with the back of his hand in an effort to keep himself awake or from crying – the judge could not discern. He drew his attention back to the pitiful figure on the dais, and his hackles raised slightly out of disgust for this inhuman thing and the murders it had committed.
"How do you answer these charges?"
Slowly Lupin met the judge's eyes, and said, "I have nothing to say."
The dark haired young man started, as if he wanted to protest, but the judge shot him a sharp look. He presented Lupin with his options – imprisonment or exile. Both would be lifelong sentences. Choose wisely, the judge urged him, because a lifetime sentence in Azkaban was not what it used to be, not since the Dementors had gone. It would certainly be an easier life than gouging out a place with the other exiled werewolves – a vicious lot, as he had heard – in the Forbidden Forest. And he would have human company, and Wolfsbane, so that he would not need to become vicious each month, as he would in 'freedom'. There was, of course, one other option, and that was to give himself over to St Mungo's for research. That option would grant him immunity once they had finished with him. The judge suppressed his urge to sneer – the werewolf was already shaking his head, he was not as stupid as he looked, refusing to play guinea pig. Finally he spoke.
"Is it truly my choice to make?"
The judge paused. "There is no jury to decide for you, so, yes."
"Then I choose exile."
The judge nodded, and the representative from the Ministry stepped forward and ceremoniously held Lupin's wand high – beech and unicorn hair – before snapping it over one knee. His papers from Hogwarts, O.W.L.s and all, were shredded, and a few members of the court laughed as the Ministry man scattered them at Lupin's feet.
Now the dark haired young man did jump up, shouting and making all sorts of gestures, but the condemned man did not look in his direction as he was lead from the courtroom, and the judge sighed, belched, and took another swing from the water glass beside him.
"Bring in the next one!"
Bonelessly, Lupin allowed the Ministry guards to take him outside, and someone waved a wand and said some words, and then a comfortable sort of blackness descended upon him.
Harry was livid, his scar standing out on his purple forehead in juxtaposition to a throbbing vein. "I won't do it. I can't deliver an innocent man to his death."
"Don't you understand, you're making sure he's not delivered to his death. And the werewolves aren't as bloodthirsty as that judge was trying to make them out to be, he was just trying to get Remus into Azkaban because that's what those idiots at the Ministry wanted the papers to say – 'Another Heinous War Criminal Safely Behind Bars' – " Hermione plead with him as they walked, quickly because of Harry's agitated pace.
"Then why not just put him into jail? Why even give him a choice?'
"They're playing games with him," Harry cut in, sharply. "If Dumbledore were here – "
Hermione shook her head. "Well he's not, Harry, and he's not coming back anytime soon."
The trio stopped abruptly, and Harry took the opportunity to examine both of his friends. Ron was pensive, slightly distracted, and terribly scarred. He scratched at the spot on his head where he no longer had any hair and stared blankly at the floor. Hermione, in contrast, was slightly flushed and whole and gazing back at him with an intensity he resented, remembering all the hours he had spent on the battlefield while she stayed safe in the underground bunkers and tunnels, devising new schemes that would cost more lives: Dumbledore's life, Neville's life, Severus' life. In that moment, looking at his two friends – the idiot made dumb by the war and the ignorant tactician made arrogant – Harry hated them.
He turned around, ignoring their voices, and Apparated.
Remus Lupin was escorted to the edge of the Forbidden Forest by a doddering old man that he vaguely recognised as the old Hogwarts gamekeeper, Hagrid. He was still rather imposing, but stooped over and white-bearded, a product of the ages. Remus knew, both intellectually and instinctively, that Hagrid had taken no active part in the war. Dumbledore had valued him too much. Dumbledore had done many unwise things.
As he loped after a slightly limping Hagrid, Remus turned slightly to watch the children playing on the front lawns. They watched him blatantly, not bothering to turn away, and whispering amongst themselves, making gestures that they had certainly learned from their parents.
He was glad when the darkness of the forest closed behind his back. Hagrid led him for a little while, until Remus began to recognise a tree here or a peculiar stump there, and then he continued to lead him, deeper than Remus suspected either of them had ever ventured into the forest. The branches overhead locked into one another, creating an impenetrable canopy through which struggled bits of light. They died, however, halfway through their journey down and became lost thoughts and foul air.
Abruptly the weathered half-giant stopped, and without turning mumbled, "Yer here," and wheeled around, heading back in the direction they had come.
"Thank you," Remus called after him, inhaling the evil-smelling air, and then coughing. Hagrid grunted in reply, but did not turn, and soon even the heavy squash of his feet in the muddy ground gave itself up to the hoarse cries of the birds and the rasp of dry trees.
Remus lay down and slept.
Harry didn't bother to visit the Headmistress' office; for one thing, he hardly felt welcome, and for another, he knew that Hermione would have owled McGonagall to let her know about Harry's "little breakdown" as she had probably termed it, and he didn't want to have to wallow through any more shite about his mental state. Instead, he went straight to Hagrid's cottage, and knocked.
Hagrid answered the door, the sharp barks of Fang conspicuously absent, and smiled when he saw it was Harry, beckoning him in. His great mane of hair was pulled over his shoulders in a dripping braid, and he appeared to have been trimming his beard, as a pair of scissors was in his other hand.
"I'm not here to visit, Hagrid," Harry said, shortly, and the groundskeeper's smile faded quickly.
"Ye're not here about'," and he shifted nervously, "th' criminal, are yer? Because then, I canna tell yer anything…"
"Hagrid, Remus is innocent," Harry replied, almost pleading, trying to catch his old friend's eyes. "You know that, don't you?"
"I on'y know wha' the Headmistress tol' me," Hagrid said, but he sounded very uncertain, and squeezed his damp beard in one hand.
Harry hadn't spoken with Hagrid since the beginning of the war, either, much like Hermione. But he still had a lingering respect for his oldest friend. Certainly he knew Hogwarts needed to be protected by someone, and Dumbledore had appointed Hagrid. Dumbledore had done many wise things.
It seemed, however, that naming McGonagall as his successor had not been one of those wise things. Harry's faith in her, too, now fell. He tried one last time, reaching forward to clasp the wet and broad and hand in his own, the deeply grooved wrinkles settling into the scars on his own palm.
"Hagrid," he said earnestly, "you must tell me where you left Remus. I want to speak with him. He's innocent, believe me."
Hagrid stared down at his huge hand in Harry's, eyes welling with tears.
"Mer'in forgive me, 'Arry, I love yer so much. But I canna."
Incredulous, Harry let his hand drop, and stepped back a little.
Hiding his face in his sleeve, Hagrid shut the door.
Remus snarled, facing the beta, arms spread wide in a wrestling position. The man opposite him was small and olive-skinned, with wide black eyes and greasy hair that reminded him, for a fleeting moment, of Severus'. Then the man lunged and he became prey, less than prey, mere competition.
It was understood that Remus was not to try the alpha male, who was reclining, paws crossed, just outside of the clearing. Nor did he even vy for any sort of position within the pack – but he understood the necessity of proving himself to be of some sort of worth. If he refused to fight, then it would be thought that he would refuse to hunt, and a pack member who did not hunt ceased to be a pack member at all.
The beta was small and quick, but lacked in upper body strength and, more importantly, combat training. Again and again Remus threw him to the ground, and again and again he writhed briefly in the leaves and then sprung up to his feet again, with tired ferocity.
When Remus finally scored a mark on the man's shoulder: wide, and barely bleeding, the alpha rose lazily to his feet and whuffed. Immediately the beta dropped back and rolled into a position of supplication. Remus, on the other hand, only dropped to his knees, meeting the alpha's eyes.
The alpha's hackles rose as he approached, and Remus slowly dropped his eyes.
Pausing first at the defeated beta, the superior wolf pressed his milky-white canines into the dark skin at the base of his throat, and growled. The man's eyes widened, but he remained silent.
Then, the alpha padded over to Remus, grinning a terrible wolf-smile, and mouthed at his ear, pressing slightly at his neck to let Remus know who was boss.
He'd been accepted.
Harry wandered the Forbidden Forest for hours, using his wand to pinpoint him and swearing as he tripped through brambles and over sinking, stinking layers of mud and rotting leaves. He recognised nothing of it. It had been a long time since he'd gone even a little way into the forest, but he sharply remembered disliking it.
After the fifth hour, he stumbled upon a little woman, naked, braiding her hair and crouched in the hollow of a large tree. When Harry blinked, she was gone.
In her place was a small tawny wolf, who snarled and spat at him, and then threw her yellow throat back and howled. The eerie sound broke the relative silence and reverberated off the canopy above, surrounding them.
Harry lifted his wand, prepared to hex the wolf, but a familiar voice startled him out of his fighting stance:
"Harry?"
He shifted slightly, wand still at the ready, a curse cresting on his lips. The war had taught him to never back down. But it was Remus, naked and dirty and slightly feral-looking – excepting the astonished look in his light eyes.
Surrounding him were three wolves of various sizes and colours, who bristled at the sound of Remus's voice but did not move, dripping jowls aimed towards Harry.
"Remus." His voice cracked a little at this last betrayal, and he shifted uncertainly, wand hand wavering, mind racing. If I hex the tawny first, I can turn it on them…but the curse won't work for all of them, and they'll block Remus, he'll get through easily…
Remus moved cautiously forward, hands raised in supplication, mouth moving quickly under dirty lips. "What are you doing here?"
"Who are they?" Harry asked, whipping his wand around viciously with the anger he refused to show to Ron, to Hermione, to McGonagall, to Hagrid, to the others who had been ineffably changed.
The older man's face was calm under his dirt. He passed through the semi-circle of wolves slowly, and then came to a halt, standing in a semi-relaxed posture, one hand on one hip, gently. He made no attempt to cover himself. "They're my pack, Harry, other werewolves."
"The moon's not out."
"They've all become Animagi. It's necessary, to survive within the woods. I, also, will undergo the process in due time."
Harry shook his head, relaxing only slightly. "You're not staying here."
Remus's body seemed to tremble a little, and then he sighed, looking down at the wolf on his left, a huge shaggy beast that reminded Harry of Padfoot. The wolf looked up at him and blinked and then suddenly wasn't a wolf anymore, but a short man with olive skin and dark eyes, also naked. He reached up and did something to Remus's jawline: licked or nipped or kissed him, Harry couldn't tell, and then led the other two wolves back into the trees. They were closely followed by the tawny, who growled at Harry and dropped her head when she passed Remus.
Harry replaced his wand when the last wolf disappeared and then went to Remus's side, inspecting the shallow cuts and scratches along his frame. "They're eating you alive," he said, with disgust and concern in his still-guarded voice.
Remus watched him with something like amusement. "If they meant to hurt me, I would be dead. These are play-scars, nothing else."
"You can't possibly like them. They're criminals – murderers – rapists – scum – "
"Then I am at home," Remus said meditatively, remembering the glares of the children on the lawn.
"You weren't guilty, Remus. I know what happened."
Returning his level, uneasy gaze to Harry, Remus smiled. "You contradict yourself. Either one statement is true, or the other. If you do know what happened, then you know that I am guilty."
Harry gaped at him. "What?"
"It was Dumbledore's idea." Remus's expression was wry. "Not that I blame him. I agreed, of course. Certain laws must step aside for wartime."
There was a long moment of silence, and then Harry looked up. His face, which had been contorted and stricken, was smooth and slightly bloodless and flat. "What did they do to you?" he asked, simply.
He wanted Remus to break down, to cry, show him his scars, collapse in his arms, howl and curse fate, curse even Dumbledore. But the werewolf only smiled, showing all of his teeth, and rubbed at the back of his neck with a dirty hand.
"It's more of what I did to them," he said.
Harry, afterwards, never correctly remembered the scene that followed. Perhaps he had been the one to punch Remus, or Remus had been the one to shove his lower body against Harry's leg as he brushed past him to go. All that he clearly remembered was coming with only the crumbling dead leaves against his body, and Remus's hand fisting itself into his hair, and Remus's heavier, bigger body grinding his own into the dirt.
He also remembered something Sirius had said to him, the night before the very last raid, schemed up by Hermione and Dumbledore, the one that would condemn them all to some sort of death:
"War's war, Harry, and the wolves will devour even the wisest dogs. One way or another."