Chapter 1: A Grisly Culture
I was packing everything, again, into the ratty old suitcase that had held my belongings since I received it for my 17th birthday. Sirius had given it to me. It was as much a tease as it was a friendly truth. It was engraved in gold with the (now peeling) words: Professor R.J. Lupin. Don't think about that. I told myself sternly. I couldn't let my thoughts about Sirius get in the way. I had to think of a way to keep from being recognized.
I sighed, glancing at the calendar. Today was July thirtieth; tomorrow was Harry's birthday. Walking over to the dirty window, I stared out of it from the study in Sirius' house. The room was as grim as any other, air thickly clouded with dust and grime that clouded up from the once rich carpet at my every step. Last year, Dumbledore had sent my to the werewolves to act on behalf of the Order and gain support as well as information on what the werewolves were doing.
At first, I simply kept a low profile, learning their ways, and trying to copy them and adapt to this new culture before really attempting to communicate. Even if someone got suspicious, once I did start talking, they'd just figure I was shy and went through hardships before seeking safety with my own kind. Finally, I believed I was ready. The first person I really talked to was a young boy.
"Sir? Are you lost?"
Remus looked up from the small, faded street sign nailed haphazardly to the trunk of one of the trees making up what the werewolves called the Hall. He had been wondering about the sign for quite some time. "Itzal's Den" it read. Remus supposed this meant the underground city that he had heard people in the upper village talking about, but he couldn't find an entrance And so, baffled, Remus had recently settled with returning to this very spot each day and staring, idly at the street sign.
"Yes, I was wondering, would you happen to know how to enter Itzal's Den? You see, I'm new here, and don't quite know my way around."
"Sure! It's over here!" The boy said happily, dragging Remus by the sleeve of his shirt (werewolves, determined to hatefully set themselves away from wizards, did not wear robes). Remus stared, amazed as the boy led him through a tunnel covered in all directions by the low, full branches of an evergreen tree.
"Do you live with your parents?" Remus asked softly.
"No," the boy said, still leading Remus through the tunnel, "but I don't need them. Fenrir raises all the orphans. He is our father. He trains us too. Even the adults and non-orphaned children put him above everything else."
Remus was quiet as they walked on.
"Here we are!" Remus stepped out of the tunnel. Just a few paces away from the tunnel opening was an arched gateway. Beyond that lay a huge underground city. It was lit with millions of lamps lit up the city as well as the candles of the houses carved into the clay walls of the huge, man-made cavern. Between the walls were houses made of stone or the same clay-like dirt from the walls, forming streets bustling with crowds of people.
"Thank you," Remus said to the boy, but looking around, Remus saw that he was already gone. Remus had immediately reported the werewolve's cult-like actions to Dumbledore.
As the year passed, I had grown accustomed enough to the painful way of the werewolve's lives, and stayed there to learn more about what part Fenrir planned to take in the growing war. Unfortunately, through the whole year, the only other information that came up was that Fenrir was a Death Eater, which was already highly suspected.
Then there came to night at Hogwarts. I had been reached by owl from the order about the attack and had rushed to help Hogwarts. The others and I had thought at first that we had gained a victory, but then the news reached us that while the school remained standing, Dumbledore had died.
Still feeling a need to act upon Dumbledore's orders, however, I was preparing to return once again to the werewolves. There was nothing left for me at Grimmauld Place, I had the feeling that not even Harry would be coming here. Even if he did, he wouldn't need to see me moping around. I sighed as I left the window and exited the study, clicking my suitcase shut. My biggest fear being the possibility of being Fenrir recognizing me from the fight at Hogwarts.
I managed to survive the first few months of my stay. I hadn't taken the wolfsbane potion in so long, that I sometimes feared for my life. Every full, moon I not only became vulnerable to, but also controlled by a wolf desperate to rip me out of himself and stay wild, free, and blood-thirsty forever. But I managed, I always did, though sometimes I was uncertain if I should be grateful for such survival, for it only left more full moons to plague my future. However, besides my pain-induced morbidity, all seemed well. Until I was summoned.
The guard led me through the dusky hall of trees. The werewolves didn't bother building houses in the above ground section of their realm (for lack of a better word), knowing that it would just end up being destroyed. Instead, they preferred to build simple huts that took a mere day's work to build from the extra wood of the forest.
The hall was simply trees planted close together, forming a long, leafy green hallway. At the end of the hall was a tunnel leading to the underground where the bulk of the city, including the main palace was located. But, instead, I was led to the other palace. It was no exception to the rules of building above ground. It was simply a larger hut with a throne and more windows than most It was the one completely unopened to the public. The one saved specially for Fenrir's... amusement and revenge saved for those he viewed as enemies or criminals.