Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Ifan de Grier, however, is mine so should you desire to use him you'd have to check with me first. Which I really don't anticipate will be a problem. Isn't his name just beautiful though??? =D
Warning: Slight swearing and homosexual themes. Should that offend you, then you are reading the wrong story.
Remus Lupin sobbed quietly into his drink, tucked into the corner of a dingy bar. The Three Elves was anything but elfish, lacking the culture, the politeness, the finesse of the namesake. No, this bar was nothing like that. Dirt crusted every corner, a foreign sludge making up the floor below the flea-infested booths.
His entire body shuddered as a cold shiver ran up his spine. He wrapped his worn hand around himself, showing off his blackened fingernails, bitten to the quick. Tear tracks ran down his filthy cheeks, greasy hair hanging into tired eyes.
He wanted to so much to go somewhere, anywhere else than here. To go and see his friends again, see James's broad and easy grin, Lily's tender smile, Peter's bright eyes, even to hear Sirius's bark of a laugh. Even to see Sirius only to kill him with his own bare hands. To shake him and ask him what the hell he thought he was doing that night. To demand to know why he took away everything Remus had.
Even just to place one more kiss in that special place just below his ear but above the corner of his jaw. That place that made Sirius gasp and moan for Remus to give him more. Even to give into Sirius's selfish desire and give himself to the older man and be lost in lust.
But Sirius was what seemed to be worlds away. Locked up in Azkaban. Remus chuckled darkly to himself.
After all, Sirius was the one who killed James's grin, never to be flashed casually again. Slaughtered Lily, her bright eyes gone out. Obliterated Peter, leaving nothing but a measly appendage to show that a Peter Pettigrew had once existed.
Oh, how Remus hated him.
But how Remus loved him still, despite everything that he had done.
He hated himself for loving that murderer.
But not as much as he hated Sirius for leaving him all alone.
Ifan de Grier stepped off of the train and onto the platform of Kings Cross Station. Mouth held down in a stubborn frown, he tugged at the handcuffs that held his hands together behind his back.
His personal auror stepped out after him. She reached into her purse and withdrew a key, with which she unlocked the handcuffs and placed both back into the bag.
"Ifan de Grier, you are hereby released from my holdings on you. As a now legal werewolf, you are stripped of some rights, as stated in the Ministry's Guide to Dangerous Animals, Werewolf Edition Section 2.4. This has occurred for your own good, as well as the good of the citizens of England. You are on probation. Should you attempt to flee the country again, you will be incarcerated for a period of no less than three months," she informed him.
A man beside her handed her a dark-wooded wand, which she accepted with a cool smile. "You are being given back your wand this time, as it's only your second offense against the Ministry. Should you do anything against the law again, it will be snapped in half and you will be deprived of wand-magic."
She handed it to Ifan. "Here you are," she said. "Oh, and breaking the law applies to even minor things, such as shoplifting, loitering, vandalism…"
"I would advise not doing it," she told him.
He nodded. "Is that all?" he drawled, a thick Irish accent on his tongue.
She frowned. "For now," she replied crisply. "Korev!"
Korev, the other man with them, cast a charm over Ifan, making him shiver as the coolness of the magic settled into his skin.
At Ifan's questioning look, she explained, "Just a standard tracking spell. We're required to do it with all people the Ministry are keeping tabs on."
"Meaning werewolves," Ifan said.
She smiled unsympathetically. "Werewolves are a menace to society," she sniffed. "If I had my way you'd all be locked up in a silver-lined cell for the rest of your pathetic little lives."
Korev cleared his throat behind her. He gave her a warning look.
She turned back to Ifan and rolled her eyes. "However, there are still some people that believe that method of treating the plague of dangerous creatures unethical," she finished, "What they're thinking, I haven't a clue."
Ifan's unpleasant look turned sour.
She smiled brightly. "Don't make us come and get you again, Mr. de Grier. Believe me, you do not want to cross the Ministry twice."
She flounced away from him, with Korev following slowly. Ifan stuck his wand in the back pocket of his jeans and turned to leave, when he heard her say, "Oh, and have a nice day!"
He growled in response, "Believe me, I won't."
He glanced around the station at the busy crowds of people. "Where to now?" he wondered aloud.
Remus slammed his fist against the door of his house angrily. A letter emblazoned EVICTION NOTICE was tacked onto the red paint he himself had taken the time to apply one summer. More important that that was the padlock his landlord had placed over the doorknob, keeping him from entering the warmth, or at least warmer than the frigid wind that bit at his bare skin.
"Shit," he uttered.
He rested his forehead against the door. The cool paint was sticky against his forehead, to which he chuckled to himself about. What an anomaly. Wouldn't it be the opposite?
Summoning up all the energy he had left, he made for his landlord's house, which was located near the back of the hundred acre estate. Remus's home had just been a worn out little flat before he fixed it up. When you entered through the door, you soon ran into a wall and had to turn into the tiny little living room off of the kitchenette. Then when you got to the spot of hardwood floor beside the living room's carpeting and kitchen's linoleum, you turned into a hallway that led to a single bedroom and small bathroom.
He gritted his teeth.
He was the one to pour all of his blood, sweat, and tears into that shit hole to make it a home. He was the one who had painted everything over with his own money and hours of his life. The house was easily worth three times its value when he was done with it.
How could that son-of-a-bitch throw him out after all he'd done?
He calmed himself as he walked with purpose down the dirt path and through the forest.
It was illegal for werewolves to own property or else he would have been out of there the moment he had saved up enough money. Instead the Ministry forced him to rent from a squib that was prejudiced against Remus's very being, Remus having to grovel and beg the entire way along.
"Findish!" Remus called as he pounded on the door of the landlord's house.
A scuffling came from inside, and Avery Findish opened the door a crack so he could see out. When he saw that it was Remus who was standing out there, he stiffened. "What is it?" he spat out.
Remus frowned. He didn't want an argument with the man, but if that's what it came to, he'd be more than happy to oblige. "Why is there an eviction notice on my door?" he inquired calmly, "Haven't I paid my rent on time? Haven't I done everything you've asked of me without batting an eyelash?"
Findish shut the door and unchained the lock. When he opened it back up, Remus could see into the filth of his house. A dog ran out between the space between its master's legs and the doorframe. Remus stepped aside to let it through.
"I don' wan' you on my property anymo', we'ewolf," he said simply through a mouthful of chewing tobacco.
Remus grimaced at the sight of the dark liquid spilling out of the other man's mouth with every word he said. "There are bylaws that you have to follow in evicting one of your tenants, Avery, even for werewolves," he explained.
Findish spat on the ground, dangerously close to Remus's feet. He grinned, showing off yellowed teeth and dark gaps where they had fallen out. "The Min'stry don' require me to do nothing," Findish drawled.
Remus frowned. "Yes, actually, they do…" he begun, but the other man cut him off.
"No, actually, they don'," Findish interrupted. "Acco'ding to these new laws just passed, we'ewolves have less rights than house-elves." He smiled widely. "I can do whateve' I want to now an' they wouldn' give less of a damn."
Remus grew pale.
"An' that's exactly why you can' live here anymo'," Findish finished with a nod of the head. "An' don' think that I'm only evictin' you 'cause you a we'ewolf. I don' want no queers on my land eithe'."
Remus turned to leave. Findish frowned, but let him go. "An' get you' shit outta tha' house befo' nightfall or it's mine!" he called after him.
Ifan stepped into the Leaky Cauldron. He had asked a woman who had also gotten off of the train, and she had given him directions. He smiled. If she had known what he was, he was sure that she wouldn't have given it a second thought before she walked away. Or calling the police for him 'harassing' her.
He found that things were a lot different now than he remembered them being before he had left England five years ago. Werewolves still had some rights; they were still treated like one would treat a decent human being. Now it was like he was walking leprosy, like everything he touched had to be decontaminated or else something awful would happen.
He hated it here.
Before that woman, Megan Samuels, had tracked him down, he had been enjoying himself in New Zealand. Ifan had been living in an inn for free rent, as he helped the woman who owned it fix up the place. He had been a person in that muggle community. Eventually, he had to tell the woman what he was, and she let him use her basement for transforming.
But now he also knew who had turned him in to the English aurors that had been scouring the world for their werewolves. They wouldn't have cared about him if he was American or Russian. He was a sodding Englishman.
And apparently, the Ministry keeps their own within eyesight. They obviously didn't want their mess to turn up on foreign soil, afraid of the many complications it would cause.
"Do you have a room for one?" he asked the bartender with a toothy smile.
The man nodded and knelt behind the bar to get something. When he returned to his previous stance, he know was holding a key ring. "Follow me, sir," the bartender told him.
Ifan was taken aback. He hadn't been called 'sir' for a long time. Ifan had thought that there was some kind of brand on him that stated 'I am a werewolf, don't get within a ten foot radius of me'. He shook his head and followed to man up the stairs.
"I'm Tom, should you need anything I'm usually downstairs. If I'm not, Margie's the cook and she'll get you whatever you need," Tom said kindly. He unlocked the door and opened the door, letting Ifan in before leaving.
Ifan observed the room. The floors were shining, boasting that they were newly scrubbed, and the bed had fresh linens. He threw himself down on top of the four-poster and sighed.
Back home at last.
"Hello, Tom," Remus greeted the man as he sat down at the bar.
"Remus!" Tom cheered, "Long time no see, my friend." Tom set down the glasses he was cleaning and poured Remus a drink. When Remus protested, Tom put it in front of him anyway. "On the house," he insisted.
"Thank you," Remus said softly before taking a sip. He turned his gaze back onto Tom. "I need a room for awhile," he told him. "Just until I can get back on my feet. I can pay up front."
"What happened to your place?" Tom inquired, taking the money that Remus drew out of his wallet.
"My landlord decided that I was no longer welcome there," Remus replied simply.
Tom smiled sympathetically. "Well, you'll always be welcome here. When you're done with your drink, just holler for Margie and she'll take you up to your room. I have a meeting with a man named Roger to decide how much he'll be getting paid for selling me his produce this year."
Remus told him goodbye and good luck. To which Tom thanked him.
When Tom had left, Remus noticed how bare the usually bustling pub was. He glanced at the calendar on the wall. December 20th. Most people were at home with their loved ones, getting ready for Christmas.
He sat at the bar alone and nursed his scotch.
--
The next morning, the Ifan found himself downstairs eating breakfast alone at a table. He pushed the porridge around with his spoon, not really wanting to eat the grey sludge. He sighed and scooped a spoonful into his mouth.
Remus walked down the stairs, book in hand, into the dining area. Not paying attention as to where he was going, he nearly walked into Ifan's table.
"Oh, excuse me," Remus apologized, flushing with embarrassment, "I was just so wrapped up in my book, I didn't even notice where I was going."
Ifan raised his hand to wave away his apologies and finished chewing the lumpy oatmeal. "Not a problem," Ifan told him. "What book are you reading?"
Remus paid more attention to the man and noticed that a scar ran down the middle of his face. Four parallel claw marks across an otherwise attractive face. "The Picture of Dorian Gray," he said, "This is my first time reading it."
"Good book," Ifan agreed. Remus stood awkwardly at the other end of the table. "Sit down," Ifan invited. At Remus's uncertain look, Ifan said, "I've always wanted to discuss it with someone. And now we can over breakfast."
Remus obliged, but did not talk. Instead, he continued to stare at Ifan's face.
Ifan's mouth quirked into a smirk. "What?" he asked, "Are you stunned in awe of my beauty?" He snorted. "Yeah, I know I'm not a looker. Ladies don't like me much. But…if that's going to be a problem…"
"No, no," Remus said, flushing an even brighter red. "It's not that at all. You look perfect…ly fine," he recovered, not wanting to scare away what could be a prospective friend. "It's just," his voice dropped to a whisper. Ifan leaned into hear him, and Remus leaned in as well. "Did it hurt much?" Remus inquired softly.
"Yes," Ifan didn't turn his eyes away but continued to stare into Remus's with confidence. "Very much."
So, new story. This one'll be on the backburner for bit until I finish up Elegy. Which should actually be quite soon. But expect the next chapter within a week.
Up next will be a continuance of Ifan and Remus's conversation plus some more stuff.
Let me know what you think, please and thank you.