Disclaimer: This was inspired by the Dangerverse (written by my beta, Whydoyouneedtoknow), cradled by the old style of writing, and nurtured by the Harry Potter series (written by J.K.Rowling). Thus, the only part I really played in this was the singing of the lullaby and changing of the melody. And so, without further ado, I present to you my ink-and-parchment infant...
A PACK APART
PART ONE: FAMILIA LUPINA CATENATA
The Grim Prologue
October, 1094
The Marauders' Den had a reputation—at least, for the few people who'd been there—for being a house of chaos. With four children, three adults, and one adult who acted like a child all penned up in the one building, it was easy to see why one might long for a place of solitude.
Especially with the war that's raging beneath me at the moment...
Sirius Black grimaced as the shouting rose another notch. As if it's not enough that she's standing four feet from him…at least, that's where they were last time I checked. They might have moved closer after I left.
There was no mistaking the fact that Gertrude Granger-Lupin—more commonly known to the occupants of the Marauders' Den as Danger—was furious. Furious about several things, in fact, but Sirius knew that there was one reason in particular. Not that Remus had much to do about the matter…but if shouting at Remus seemed to help, Sirius was quite keen on leaving her to it.
That's a sight better than her blowing up at me, in any case. My head is still reeling from our oh-so-quaint conversation just last night about my stories…a conversation in which she threw my marble paperweight out the window, incidentally.
Not that he could blame her. As the days passed, it was becoming more and more frequent for someone to be caught at loose ends. Hermione was especially moody around this time, warning everyone to steer clear from her. Just this last fortnight, Aletha had been going spare because she couldn't for the life of her remember where she'd put her vial of blood-replenishing potion. And yesterday, Draco was furious at the person who'd dyed the handle of his broom so that when he sat down, he got a brown streak across the seat of his pants.
Under normal circumstances, Sirius knew that Draco would have simply tried to curse Harry and then laugh about it afterwards. Now, however…
Well, Draco has a better reason then the rest of us, but everyone has been on edge for quite some time. And rightly so…Lucius Malfoy escaped from Azkaban three months ago, and every sighting of him brings him closer and closer to us…
Damn that bastard.
He grew sober as he stared at his blank parchment once more. Somewhere in the house he heard a door slamming and, not even a second later, saw Danger storming off towards the stables.
Well, it looks like that was settled nicely.
Sirius battled in his mind whether or not to go downstairs to see what it was Danger was on about this time, but finally decided against it. If it were any other day, he would have been tempted, but when the Muse called…he answered.
That's becoming an increasingly bad habit of mine. But then again, I'm not much one to keep her waiting.
He grinned, but it wilted as soon as he glanced again at the blank parchment piled atop his desk.
…And then, of course, not even ten minutes after she calls, she trips back down the little dale she came from, leaving me quite alone in the literary department. I drag the desk up here, rummage around the weeds to find my blasted paperweight, and as soon as I get all set up, she's gone. Figures.
It really hadn't taken him long to levitate the desk and then his dragon-leather armchair up to the attic (or the third floor, seeing as how it was now occupied by three of the cubs) and then through the trapdoor and up onto the widow's walk. It had become a habit of his to start writing his stories up here. Despite the trouble he had to go through every time, he really wouldn't write anywhere else.
When Remus first found out, he looked at Sirius as though he were absurd (which really is quite true), and said, "And this is better than writing in the library with the window open how?"
To which he'd replied, "Those musty old tomes you have simply suffocate me, Moony. If I were to go for suicide, I'd much rather stick with heights, thank you."
The view was by far the better, anyway. They really couldn't have picked a better place than this for a home if they had tried. On three sides of the Den as far as he could see were forests and valleys while a small, unused road led away from their land and snaked through the forest to the small village of Ottery St. Catchpole. To the south lay the shoreline, just skirting their land, the sandy beach where the cubs loved to play on summer days, the rockier area where Harry swore they had found a secret cove…
The Marauders' Den. What a place of mystery and magic…and hidden secrets lying around every corner…it's the perfect hideout away from the world…the perfect place for a criminal, his wife, a werewolf, and a werewolf-tamer to hide.
He chuckled, Of course, the cubs are the ones who really make it worth living in…
But thinking of the cubs brought him back to the matter at hand: writing the damnable story.
Humph. Perhaps a prompting is needed?
He put on a solemn face and raised his arms up to the air. From his perch on the highest peak of the house, he was quite sure he cut a ridiculous figure, but he didn't care.
"O gentle and gracious Muse," he intoned. "I ask thee to take pity on and bless this poor and humbled spirit, modeled after thine own mind. Call upon him that he might once again feel the graciousness of thy bounties. Show unto him a sign, that he may—"
An enormous gust of wind passed right by him, startling him, and the stack of parchments flew right off the desk. His eyes snapped open. "OY!"
With his wand, he was able to Summon them back…with the result that they all zoomed towards him with such alarming alacrity he dropped the majority of them all over the floorboards.
Grumbling, he bent down to pick them up and when he'd gathered them all he glared up at the deities above.
"You are aware that when I said 'show me a sign', this wasn't exactly what I meant," he said. The billowing white clouds just moved further across the sky, disdaining to answer.
Hmm…the clouds are coming in from the sea quite fast, and from the scent in the air, I'd say there's going to be a storm tonight…
He shrugged. No matter. My only concern at the moment is how to start this story out. And then to write…or really, to talk!
He grinned—how he loved magic. For, there on his desk was a perfectly normal quill, but for what it could do when he commanded it. Pulling out his wand, he activated it and all at once it came alive. Springing upright, its long feathered tail in the air, the DictaQuill hovered above the leaf of paper, quivering.
"Now, how to begin…" he said, deep in thought. A shock went through the over-excited quill as it registered his voice patterns, committing them to memory.
He stared at the parchment, a thick creamy color, which reminded him of Hermione for some reason…and thinking of Hermione brought him back to thinking about books, fairy-stories in particular, since he caught her reading one of those to Meghan just last night before Denning…
What was that story called, again? Oh, something or another about King Arthur and his knights, I'm sure. I wasn't really paying attention, just watching those two together. But out of curiosity, how did that story start? How do any stories start, really? I've written enough, I should know…but as to how this certain tale started, it was simple enough.
He thought back to when they had first gotten the children, all the different times, circumstances, and reasons; from when the Pack first began, to the many times it expanded and grew. But this started before that, even…before the children's time.
It happened once upon a dream…or once upon a prophecy…or once upon a war…or once upon a time….
Huh. Sounds kind of catchy, that…once upon a time…
He grinned. It's actually pretty good! How come no one's ever used it before?
"Once upon a time…in a world fraught with magic…"
And with that small phrase that would, in hundreds of years to come, become quite popular indeed, he began his tale. Of course, after this first line, another appeared in his mind, then another, and as he kept telling the story to his invisible audience, his faithful quill wrote away….
Once upon a time, in a world fraught with magic, the kingdom of England was in turmoil.
In this kingdom, it so happened that every Being, albeit good or evil, was capable of magic in some form. Some had learned to channel this ability through an instrument, of wood or steel, iron or stone, it mattered not. The most powerful instrument was known to all as the wand, which was made of wood with a magical core. But these instruments were hard to come by and, whether by intention or not, 'twas only those of royalty or nobility who could afford such objects. Thus, the village people learned to live without, getting by on their own and working for their needs.
Now, there happened at that time a Council, that all dukes, marquesses, earls, and viscounts, or whosoever else who owned any province of importance, were required to attend.
At this Council came to pass many things under discussion, but one in particular brought about a large debate. Now, there were many who strove for equality throughout the land concerning the nobility and those of a lesser state. One such item that was brought up was the situation of the magical peasantry.
A proposition was made for the nobles to give one share of their profits for the constructing of wands for all of English origin, and many agreed. However, there was one such lord who rebelled…
In fact, this lord had been using his magic for wicked and evil purposes for quite some time. It was he who desired above all things to rule over the land and to teach his Dark magic to all, bringing unto subjection all peasants under his rule.
With his tempting and conniving ways, he was able to persuade many of the Council of the way England should be ruled. However, not all were caught under his spell, a certain Duke in the far north being one of them. This Duke had taught this Dark Lord in his early years, and thus knew his manipulative ways.
An argument broke out which led to this Dark Lord pulling out his wand in anger. With it he cast on the king a curse such as had never been known before. This curse was later to be known as the Killing Curse. After his heinous and horrible crime, he and those who followed his ways fled back to his estates. With all those who believed on his words, they strove to create an army to bring down the kingdom as it was.
The land soon erupted into a civil war, pouring into every household; from the widow queen's luxurious chambers to the nearest village pub. Years of strife and misery went by. All over the countryside there was news of another battle, another death.
The evil lord's followers grew and grew so that they came to be known as the dreaded Knights of Walpurgis. By him they were taught Dark spells that tortured and killed and did many other wicked things that are not to be told in this tale. For never before had any one spell been known to do these horrific crimes. The worst of these began to be known as the Unforgivable Curses.
In the Dark Lord's name, the Knights of Walpurgis went forth across the land, always masked and never revealed. They tried to bring every peasant into submission of this lord, and those who fought were tortured and slain.
Many soon began fearing even to speak the Dark Lord's name, for his forces were growing and, try as the Queen's subjects might to reduce them, he was becoming far too powerful. With his followers' help, more and more of the dangerous magical creatures were joining his side, which did not bode well for the kingdom. But whether it was by force or by consent, no one knew.
Spurred on by the giants' revolt, the Crown began to round up the Dark creatures, intent on keeping them far from the Dark Lord's reach. The Queen's army began to slay as many dragons as they could get their hands on, so as to not have them befall any ill-use; and even the werewolves were gathered up and locked away in a remote fortress in the country, where their keepers slowly poisoned them each night of the Full Moon.
It was the dark minions called dementors, however, that the Crown was intent on keeping for their own devices. They were sent to guard the dreaded Azkaban Isle, where a fortress was built and they were sending all those they captured from the Dark.
It was just as the war was reaching its climax when a decree was sent throughout the kingdom, calling on all those able to aid in the good cause against the evil lord. Messengers were sent out to bring all of the Scryers, prophets, and seers to the Crown, to spy on the enemy and predict the outcome of the war. But it wasn't long after these orders were carried out that the Dark Lord demonstrated once more his power and cunning. His forces outwitted and outfought all those of the Crown, and every Scryer, every seer, and every prophet in the kingdom fell into the hands of the Dark Lord for him to use as he would.
In that same year, the attacks were becoming more frequent and much worse. None of the villages throughout the countryside were safe anymore. The people couldn't depend on the Crown for safety, so they were all fleeing to the one safe haven they had left: Hogwarts.
The Castle Hogwarts lay in the northern-most part of the kingdom, in the wide province of Dumbledoreshire. It was ruled justly by the Lord Albus, who took in all who asked for his help, whether they be of noble birth or peasants. For, before the war, the Castle Hogwarts had been known throughout the country as a school for all magical children, albeit nobility or commoner. In height of the war, however, the school had to be discontinued so there would be room for all as a haven of the mass destruction happening throughout the kingdom.
Now among these people there was a group of friends who had grown up with each other during the earliest years of the war. This circle was made of six: two noble-borns, two peasant-borns, one who was both and yet neither at the same time, and one who had a secret so terrible that it would cost him his life if ever anyone found out. Four of the group were male, two female, yet friends they were and friends remained.
They were all brought together at the start of the war; learning, playing, laughing, growing as one, though the world around them was lit with death and destruction. As they grew older they were taught how to fight with all manner of weapons as were customary: long-sword, broadsword, axe, staff, spear, javelin, archery…But all around them, the Knights of the Dark Lord were learning to torture and kill using magic, of which many of these weapons could be of no use. In order to protect themselves against this unknown onslaught, they had to fight fire with fire.
The war was very much a part of their world, but they learned to live their lives despite it. There were funerals and deaths but marriages and births as well. The group expanded with the birth of a child to two of the number and they became seven instead of six.
Then one day, it was all destroyed.
A prophecy was made stating that one soon to be born would have the power to vanquish the Dark Lord. When the child was born—the child of the two of the aforementioned group, as it happened—the Lord Albus underwent great pains to ensure the small infant was safe inside the castle, where the Dark Lord could not get to him. But try as the Lord Albus might to secure this information, the Dark Lord came to know of it, and sought to kill the child.
As the war reached its peak during the Full Moon in the fall of that year, the Knights of Walpurgis came to the fortress where the werewolves were kept. They had been locked away in the remote lands of Wolvershire for nearly a year, now, and having been denied the taste of human flesh, they were on a rampage. The followers of the Dark Lord smote down the guards and released the werewolves into the night.
As a pack, the now-crazed werewolves followed the scent of human flesh and travelled to the nearest town in the neighbouring shire… which happened to be Dumbledoreshire.
With the werewolves loose in the countryside, the Dark Lord set the rest of his forces upon the outspreading village of Hogsmeade as a diversion, and many of those from the castle went out to fight them off.
The following battle came to be known as the bloodiest during the course of war.
It was then that the Dark Lord forced his way into the castle and, with help from a traitor, he was able to sneak into the heart of Hogwarts where they were hiding the child. He killed the father and then the mother, and attempted to murder the child himself…
That was his downfall.
The deathly curse he used to strike down the child rebounded upon him, destroying him utterly. At that moment, the tides of the war turned. Without their leader, the Knights of Walpurgis fled.
The war was over.
In the aftermath, however, Lord Albus still had much to piece back together. Too many had died or been injured in some way. The great village of Hogsmeade had been almost destroyed by the invasion. And this child, a mere infant, had just saved the entire kingdom from the single, greatest threat in over a century…and had escaped with nought but a mark on his forehead.
But what to do with him…for the Duke knew that this child was special and had to be protected beyond any simple means. The Lord Albus knew more than any other what this Dark Lord had done—what he was capable of— and knew that if he ever rose again, he would go straight for this small babe.
Thus, he went against his fatherly instincts and took the child away to the seaside town of Portsmouth, where the child's only blood relative lived. Lord Albus gave the child to the pompous merchant and his overbearing wife (who had been the sister of the boy's mother) and lay thick the spells and enchantments over their house, to keep the boy safe as he grew up.
Back at Hogwarts, however, the loss was too great. This circle of friends, once so happy, was now no more. Three were dead by the hand of one they had once called their best friend, and this traitor, who had brought about the destruction and the saving of the magical world, was soon apprehended and sent to live out the rest of his life in the dreaded Azkaban Isle.
The remaining two were not slain, but the loss of their five friends, including the traitor and the child, was too much. The remaining lady was greatly injured from the battle; for many months, none were sure whether she would live or die. The last one, in the grief of his losses, fled the castle.
He went to the solitude of the mountains and stayed there for several months, eating or drinking hardly at all, killing himself slowly. Every night of the Full Moon, he let his curse—the dreaded curse of the Werewolf—take him over, bit by bit, though he was always careful to confine himself. His grief was a private matter, and he wished no harm on the innocents who lived nearby.
Then, one night, five months exactly after the Full Moon that had changed his life forever, he decided to end it all. For he had had a dream that the Werewolf had taken him over completely and loosed itself on the countryside. He would not let that happen.
Before the moon rose at its normal time that evening, he was ready. He cast a ward over the opening of his cave so that the Werewolf could not exit in that way. He then caught a rabbit and injected silver into its bloodstream; with no humans to attack, the Werewolf would kill and eat the rabbit.
He would be dead before sunrise.
His changes began and all went according to plan, but just as he was about to lunge at the rabbit, something happened he had not planned on. A small opening near the top of the cave, which served the human man as a window, now admitted both the smell of human flesh and the cry of a small child. The dual lure was too great for the Werewolf to resist, and he hurled himself at this opening—
And broke through it. With a howl of triumph, he took off into the dead of night, now on the scent.
In a cottage less than a mile away, a maiden had just got her small sister to sleep. She lay the girl down beside a little boy for whom she was caring whilst his aunt and uncle were away. As she exited the room and closed the door softly, she had a sudden urge to lock it. Just as she had done this, the front door burst open behind her. She whirled around to come face to face with a werewolf.
At once he tried to attack the woman, but she fended him off, flinging her apron at his face until he backed away with a snarl. Then the crying started again—one of the children had awakened. The Werewolf lunged towards the nursery room, but the woman threw herself in front of him, her hand connecting with his paw…
The rest was history.
This maiden turned out to be a werewolf-tamer…one of the only ones of her kind. Through her wild, untamed magic, she could also prophesy in dreams about what was to come. It was through these same dreams that the man, when he awakened again in his human mind, learned the truth about his circle of friends. The one they'd thought was dead had really been the one to betray them all, and the one imprisoned on Azkaban Isle had really been innocent all along.
And the child…the one everyone was calling the Boy-Who-Lived was not lost to him after all, but there in that very cottage. For by some unknown coincidence, this woman was employed for the pompous merchant in Portsmouth, as the child's nanny.
As more of his humanity returned to him, the man recognized the cottage where he lay. It was the very one that he and his circle of friends had often escaped to during the Full Moons for his time as a werewolf. When he had ceased to use it, this woman's family had moved into it and lived happily there until her parents were both murdered one night before the final battle.
The man also learned through the tamer-maiden that his secret was out and he was now wanted all throughout the kingdom for being a werewolf. Those in power not only wanted all werewolves locked away forever, but were now seeking to kill them all for fear of having another massacre. He was now a wanted man.
With the woman's sister and the famous child playing under the table, the couple sat down and tried to piece together this tangled web. Their first action was to contact the last lady of the circle—who had not died as her friend had assumed—and with her help, they conjured a plan…one of daring brave and nerve and willing sacrifice.
For they were going to accomplish the impossible and break into the Azkaban fortress, rescuing the innocent man. They also planned on stealing the child away from his unloving relatives and raising him up as their own. With an escaped convict, a wanted werewolf, and a stolen child among their numbers, however, they would need a place to hide from the world, where they could raise the two children in peace and live together in happiness.
Thus the cottage was renamed the Wolves' Den and history was made. The four adults assumed different identities, and lived in the cottage in the woods just outside of Hogsmeade…the unlikeliest place imaginable to be the home of a werewolf, a werewolf-tamer, an escaped convict, his rescuer, the Boy Who Lived, and the Girl Who Was Saved.
Sirius came to a pause and looked over at what had been written.
"Oh, damn, I forgot to say how she came by that name," he muttered, re-reading that last sentence. Still activated, the DictaQuill hastened to copy down what he'd just said.
"No, no, I didn't mean for you to...scratch that!" he ordered, and the quill immediately obeyed. "Good. Now if we could just back up a bit...no, further...further...stop! That's it, right there. Are you ready?"
The quill quivered.
"Good. No more inserting swear words in there?"
The quill quivered again, and a few drops of ink leaked out.
"Good. Now to start..." Sirius cleared his throat and began again, the DictaQuill plunging in right where he said to.
"Now, while the Castle Hogwarts was being invaded and the village was being plundered, the woman who did not yet know she was a werewolf tamer and her small sister were in the midst of it all. After her parents' deaths just two months before, they had moved to the village so that she could both work and care for her sister. Then the attacks started.
"In the dark of the night, half the village was burning. The Knights of Walpurgis were torturing countless many in the streets. The maiden decided to stay behind and help fight them off, so she gave her sister to a friend, who was fleeing with some other people from the village, knowing that she might never see her sister again.
"The group escaped safely with the little girl and a few other children. They fled into the forest, not knowing they were being followed. Many were barefoot, their feet bleeding, and barely dressed against the cold. They walked for what seemed like hours, not stopping until they were sure they were safe again...
"But it seemed that they weren't safe after all." Sirius's face was grim as he recounted the tale. "For the werewolves could smell their blood more than a mile away. And then, when they knew the people's strength would be far too spent for them to fight back...the pack of werewolves began to attack them.
"The men and the women tried to fight them off bravely, but they were no match against the crazed beasts. When all the adults were dead, the werewolves advanced towards the younger children, the maiden's sister being one of them..."
Sirius broke off and stared out at the sun, setting a bright glow over the autumn trees. Judging by its position, it was nearly time for luncheon. His stomach growled while the quill waited patiently for him to start talking.
He began again. "Meanwhile, the maiden had fought bravely in the battle. And when the morn came, she helped to capture many of those that tried to flee after the Dark Lord fell. Then, with the help of some others, she rode out into the countryside to see if her sister and friend had made it to safety. They followed the bloody trail until they came upon the carnage...but in the midst of it all lay the maiden's sister, crying from fear and cold, dead werewolves strewn around her, the only survivor of the battle in the woods.
"No one knew what had saved the small girl from those werewolves that night; they only knew that she should have died. However, she was found with not even a single mark upon her. Thus they began to call her the Girl Who Was Saved." The only sound besides Sirius' voice was the squeaking of the DictaQuill as its end flew across the page in an intelligible script.
Better than my own handwriting, anyway, he thought, staring idly at it.
He stood up and started pacing the small length of the walk. With the bulk of his desk and overlarge armchair, there wasn't that much room. His mind kept going back...going back to the fierceness of that battle. The one where he'd lost everything he'd ever known and loved...
And I wasn't the only one. Harry lost his parents because of it...as did Danger and Hermione. And Aletha...his heart panged as he remembered being led by dementors away from the scene...her still body laid among the rest of the injured.
And none of them thought she was going to live through it. She never even woke up until Yuletide, a good two months after the battle...
Then there was Remus...Remus, who'd fought the evil ones as best as he could until the moon rose…and when he came to the next morning, his world had disappeared.
I don't blame him for running away. I wanted to, as well, but there was a problem. Sirius gave a dry chuckle that held no mirth in it whatsoever. I couldn't exactly go anywhere in my cell, now, could I?
At once the memories of Azkaban Isle came back to him. His gray eyes darkened considerably as he remembered the power of a hundred-odd dementors feeding off of his memories. The darkness…always the darkness…the constant feeling of drowning in the sorrow of everything he'd ever done wrong…
Until she came…
He remembered the time he was saved from that hell as clearly as if it were yesterday.
Even though she was in a different form at the time…and even though I had simply thought it was all a dream…that is, until she changed back once we were safe.
Sirius shook his head, marvelling. Whoever it was up there who said 'the winged truth shall set him free'…well, they certainly weren't lying.
In his mind's eye, he could see what they must have looked like, the pair of them that night. A thin, unkempt man sitting atop a midnight-black, winged horse, flying off underneath the stars…flying on to their haven…
The Wolves' Den.
A few years went by and all was well for this newly formed Pack. The tamed werewolf became its alpha male and his mate, the werewolf tamer, became the alpha female; the man believed traitor and his mate, the Healer who'd saved him, became the betas of the Pack. The two children, the Boy Who Lived and the Girl Who Was Saved, grew up together as brother and sister, and they hid from the world successfully and prospered.
Through her dreams, the warrior maiden was able to ease the mind of the good Lord Albus. Once he was ensured of the safety of the small boy, and convinced of the innocence of the man, he became a powerful ally against the forces of the Crown.
The village wasn't far away, so the warrior woman was able to find work doing what she loved best at the bookshop. The Healer, as well, found a love of potions and apothecary. It was the hidden talent of the innocent man, though, that caught everyone off guard. Weekly, he sent in stories to the village to be published under the name of the Lady Valentina of Jett.
With the happiness of the Pack in their hideout from the world, it wasn't long before the beta female found out that she was with child. In the spring of the following year, a beautiful daughter was born to the two betas, adding yet another cub to the growing Pack.
However, danger was coming just around the corner, for though the Dark Lord had fallen, his followers remained. Some were caught and sent to prison or slain, but some hid their association with him and went on with their lives, ever-watchful should he rise again.
The Earl of Wiltshire was one of them.
A favorite of the Crown, he was able to convince the Queen of the importance of capturing the murderer and the werewolf. He was quite certain that it was the former of these who'd captured the Boy Who Lived, and one day he was able to prove it.
While the members of the Pack were in the large village of Hogsmeade, the Earl spotted the man and the boy together. He revealed them and sought to battle with the man, but the battle was interrupted by the half-giant friend of the Lord Duke. This friend helped the man and the boy against this earl and was persuaded of the man's innocence, thus making him yet another initiate of their secret.
Another year passed for the Pack with the joy and pain of having younglings and a secret to guard. They made weekly dealings with the townspeople, but no one ever learned of their true nature. They wore disguises and took on different names so that there would not be the slightest possibility of anyone being suspicious.
And the Pack prospered and grew and loved each other very much. The three children were very special in many ways, the greatest of these being that they loved and were loved, safe in the gentle shelter of the Wolves' Den. But although they loved to play with each other very much, the children secretly wished they had someone else to call their friends…
It was not long, therefore, before the children found a family in the village whom they all came to love and respect admirably. This family was plentiful in children, and the two youngest happened to be the ages of the Pack's own cubs. For many weeks the two families grew in closeness to one another, although this new family did not know the Pack's true identity.
But the Earl of Wiltshire wanted revenge upon the Pack for thwarting him and his lord, and, although it took him quite a while to find them again, at last he was able to locate where they lived. And one dark day, whilst both families were together in gaiety, he went there in secret and rendered unconscious both parties with one curse. With help from an unknown source, he took both families to his castle manor and imprisoned them all in dungeon cells.
When they awoke, the Pack-parents did not know what the Earl could have done with their friends. He came to their cell, though, and bragged about his plans for their children. The boy-child he would raise up as a brother to his own son, guiding him in the ways of the Dark until his lord rose in power once again. The elder girl-child he would use in blood-magic rituals, joining her and his son together as twins, for in his greed, he believed that her survival of the werewolf attack meant she had power unknown to all. After he'd given her power to his son, he would then dispose of her, as he would the smallest girl.
With these plans in mind, he set about to making them possible. Powerless to stop him, the Pack-parents went through to the torture of having him gloat while he started these procedures. For seven days, he did this and for seven days the Pack endured his taunting.
It was during this time, however, that he had to pay host to a family who was travelling through his lands towards their own estates. He and his lady received the Lord Francis and Lady Alice graciously, and the visiting couple received it in kind, though both wished themselves elsewhere. Their small son called on the earl's son many times in politeness, and they would have become more than just acquaintances had the earl's son been raised differently.
In the short time that they were there, however, the Lord Francis and his lady never suspected that the Earl of Wiltshire was keeping two families hostage, though their son spun tales of a baby girl with whom he had played in the far recesses of the castle. They soon left and it was up to the Pack to rescue themselves.
Thus when it came time for the rituals to begin, the Pack-parents were able to thwart the earl, saving their children and stopping the murder of their Pack-daughter. However, the blood-ritual had proceeded as planned, and their own child and the earl's son were now twins. As well, before they could strike down the earl, he caught the beta male with a deadly curse. Believing himself to be dying, he asked to hold his daughter one last time. As she lay in his arms and he kissed her, a miraculous thing happened: he was healed.
Now, the earl's wife, the Countess of Wiltshire, wished vengeance upon her husband. Instead of recapturing the Pack when she came upon them, she exchanged their freedom and her husband's capture for their adoption of her son, then poisoned herself. And so it was thus that the Pack escaped with their lives...and yet another child.
Meanwhile, the Earl of Wiltshire was stripped of his titles as he was sent to Azkaban Isle; titles and land instead went to his firstborn son. But when guards came to take the man away, they could not find the boy.
Thus the Pack strengthened and became the eight: the werewolf and the werewolf-tamer, the convict and the Healer, the Boy Who Lived and the Girl Who Was Saved, the Boy Who Disappeared and the Girl Who Healed. They returned to the Wolves' Den and taught the earl's son how to do good continually, treating him with love and equality. Their enemy dwelt now in prison, where he deserved to be, and their secret was safe from everyone yet again.
And throughout the kingdom, two more legends were born, one of a vanished child, the other of a missing family. A search was sent throughout the lands roundabout, but the red-haired family was never found, dead or alive, and everyone suspected the worst. No matter how hard they tried, none could get the earl to divulge what he had done with the family.
Meanwhile, the Pack had only been at the Den for a fortnight when they realized that they could no longer feel safe there, and it was desolate without their friends. So they visited with the Lord Duke and their giant friend once more before packing up their cottage (reducing the furniture to fit in their bags) and leaving it forever.
With the gold from three of their vaults, they bought passage on a fine ship. For nigh onto a year they travelled the world to many places, all the while still seeking the lost family. They remembered upon the time they were locked in the prison cell when the earl had said that he had cast them from the kingdom, knowing that they were never to return. So the Pack searched for them for many months, never ceasing…but 'twas all in vain. Finally did they return to England.
For the while they came again to Dumbledoreshire and resided with the Lord Albus until they found a new home. But they knew that they had to live as far from his estates as they could, for the manhunt for the murderer and the werewolf had grown exceedingly, spurred on by the king's advisor and captain of the guard. For while they had been gone, a new king had come up in the queen's stead and wanted to murderer and werewolf brought down. No one knew exactly why he wanted this so much, but they suspected the man he'd brought with him.
It wasn't long before the Pack came to the southern lands and found in Devon what it was they had been looking for. A large, abandoned cottage with plenty of land roundabout, it looked perfect for a new den. They purchased the land and moved in almost immediately, christening it the Marauders' Den.
For many years they grew and flourished. The children were able to make a few friends in the small village nearby, but they still felt that something was missing. The first two children remembered on the two red-haired friends they had made at their other den. The second boy remembered on his childhood with his father and a servant girl he had become friends with. The smallest of the four, the dark girl who healed, remembered as well being at the late Earl of Wiltshire's estate and meeting a shy boy visiting with his mother and father, who had discovered her by accident.
Meanwhile, the Pack-friends – as the Lord Albus and his giant friend were coming to be called – soon numbered to four, and though the last gave them all quite a scare, they profited from it eventually. All was well.
By this time, it had been nearly four years since they had returned from their travels and the children were growing. They made themselves known in the village; the warrior lady working at the village spellbook store, and the Healer lady became well-known in the subtle arts of potion-brewing and healing.
The men were able to amuse themselves in other ways, one of these being to teach the children well in all manner of subjects; namely, literature, mathematics, spellwork, healing, hand-to-hand combat, and sword fighting, each child excelling in different things.
The children came to know learning and hard work well, though they often found a way to turn things to their advantage, as shrewd and cunning as they were. By the time the oldest children were ten and the youngest had turned seven, they had traveled the kingdom many times, to Dumbledoreshire to converse with the Lord Duke, and to London to learn of the Court and the Crown.
It was on one such journey that they had stopped at the home of the Lord Francis and Lady Alice on their way to the Den, wearing disguises and going by false names so as not to be recognized. However, little by little, Lord Francis and Lady Alice worked out who it was exactly who had come to their estates. They were able to learn the locations of the Pack and, believing that they were bringing to justice a murderer and a werewolf and the kidnappers of two famous boys, they sought a way to capture them.
With many of their own guards and soldiers (the captain of these being an experienced scarred man, who greatly wanted the murderer brought to justice), they came to the Marauders' Den. The Pack, however, had been forewarned through the alpha maiden's true-dreams, and was able to make necessary preparations. They were helped, of course, by the unknown beings who often made their way into the lives of the Pack. They were able to send the children away to safety, transfigured into animals by their Pack mother. The soldiers advanced and a battle followed as the Pack fought for their home and family, not wanting to be torn apart again.
It wasn't too long before both the alphas were unconscious, leaving the other two to hold them all off. Things were at their bleakest when the children arrived with the Lord Albus, and they were able to convince the lord and lady of Longbottomshire of their innocence. Then, faced with the task of keeping the secret limited to just a few, the Lord Albus had to erase the incident from all of the soldiers' memories.
Greatly chagrined, the Lord Francis and Lady Alice desired to help in any way they could. Soon, they came up with a solution so that the Pack could stay in their Den without any fear of anyone finding them out ever again. With the Lord Albus's help, they performed the Fidelius Charm, and the Longbottoms were named Secret-Keeper for the Pack.
Then they parted ways yet again. The lord and lady returned to their estates, knowing that it was dangerous for them ever to contact the Pack, lest they were found out about holding the secret to their hideout. And for the many years that followed, none ever found them again…
"...And though they faced many dangers after that – no pun intended – the Pack only grew to love each other all the more and to understand others," Sirius finished, with a wide smile. "Thus is the legend of the Werewolf and the Werewolf-Tamer, the Grim and the Healer, the Boy Who Lived and the Girl Who Was Saved, the Boy Who Disappeared and the Girl Who Healed. And they lived happily ever after to the end of their days…"
He paused, looking for just the right combination of words to end his tale. "Erm…'The end'?"
Applause sounded from behind him, making him jump from surprise and embarrassment.
"Bravo! What an inspiring tale!" Aletha cried, looking up at him from halfway though the trapdoor. "Magnificent, darling, simply superb! Do I hear an encore, perhaps?"
Sirius recovered by giving her a deep, sweeping bow. "Thank you, thank you. How could a humble man such as myself decline such a woman of beautiful stature?"
"Beautiful stature, eh?" she said dryly. "Try telling me that when I'm not hunched on a ladder, with cherry juice in my hair and flour smeared on my dress, why don't you? Maybe then I'll believe you."
"But, my fragrant blossom, your divinity surpasses all others, no matter what exquisite state you are in. Why, even the sun itself—"
"Oh, stop the theatrics and help me up, you knave. I think my knees are stiff from standing over that cursed stove all afternoon…may Hades come and take it to the Underworld…" she added as an afterthought.
"Dost mine ears deceive me? My fragile wife darest to lift a lovely hand in the kitchen? What mockery is this?" Sirius said in mock outrage. "Come, woman, and tell me where the ungrateful wench is who left you with such a burden! I shall have Cook fired for such a crime!"
Aletha shoved him. "Call me fragile again and I'll make you wish you were, and call Danger 'Cook' to her face and you soon will be! And why do you keep talking like that, anyway?"
"What is this? An accusation? Oh, confound me! What a great danger I have laid myself upon, living with two vengeful she-demons to confer their wrath upon me! Back, ye devil! Back, I say!"
Aletha whacked him and Sirius yelped.
"See if I ever applaud you again," she said, scowling and sitting down in his armchair. "What have you been writing, anyway?"
"Oh…" Sirius stuck his hands in his pockets and whistled absently. "Nothing."
"Nothing? Since when have you ever written nothing and admitted it?" Aletha said, craning her neck to look up at him.
He scowled. "Well, if that's how you're going to be about it…"
"Would a kiss make you feel better?"
Sirius sniffed. "If that's all you can afford," he said pompously, "I believe it shall have to be."
She laughed and drew him close to her so that she could oblige him. When they broke apart, she said, "Was that good enough for you, my dear?"
"Much." He grinned, before going in for more.
"So. Why are you covered in flour again?" he asked when they were through. Below them they could hear the familiar sounds of Remus tuning up his violin. A delicious smell was wafting up to the widow's walk, and Sirius's stomach let out a loud growl.
She smiled. "That's why. Now can you help me find the cubs to tell them it's ready? I know they're around here somewhere…"
"Don't think you'll need to tell the boys; they'd be able to smell it a mile away. The girls'll be much harder, however…"
She dismissed him with a wave. "Oh, Hermione's probably up in a tree somewhere, reading, and last I saw Meghan, she was making her way down to the beach. The way she keeps going on like that, her feet will freeze to the water."
"Well, it's not like we can just take her away. She spends almost as much time down there as she does with us," Sirius said, deactivating his DictaQuill and gathering up his parchments, nearly all of which were now written on.
"Still, I wish she wouldn't get all these colds in the fall. She is not a pleasant patient, let me remind you!" Aletha shrunk his desk until it was no bigger than a mixing bowl and proceeded down the trapdoor. Sirius followed, with the parchments under one arm and tucking the now-miniature armchair into his pocket.
"So did you want to hear what my latest is about?" he asked as they headed past the older cubs' rooms and down the hall.
"Of course I do. It's about us, isn't it? I caught that much," she answered him.
"Yes, it's about us. Our past. Everything that's ever happened to us – well, except for the Philosopher's Stone…I didn't put that in. Or the Basilisk and the diary…didn't have much room for that, either. But those are their own stories, and they're not really mine to tell."
Aletha set down the desk, restoring it to its original size, then turned around and smiled at her husband. "And is this story about facing peril and dangerous quests?"
"But of course…"
"And is this story about great romance and chivalry and brave knights in shining armour?" She asked, taking a step forward.
"As always…" He moved closer to her as well, picking a cherry bit out of her hair.
"And does this story have a certain man in it, intent on wooing his lady fair?" she asked, now a mere six inches from his face.
"Wouldn't have written it, otherwise…"
"Good." She closed the distance between their lips, pulling him to her and wrapping her arms around him, deepening their kiss.
Elsewhere, a violin kept playing as its musician drew his bow across the strings, his mind lost in the music. Not too far away, a brown horse galloped through the luxurious fields, both rider and horse marvelling in the salt-breeze and the wind, while a girl played in the shallows of the beach, feeling the cool water wash over her dark skin. Sword clanging also split the air as two boys took up the best way to cure boredom. And a curly-haired girl turned the page of her book from her perch high up in her favourite tree, lost in her own world.
Thus did the members of the Pack spend their afternoon in their beloved home, the Marauders' Den.
Author's Note: So did you like it, hate it, despise it...what? I know it's different, that's why I'm calling it by a different verse so people don't get too horribly confused. As some people have already pointed out, there are some things that have changed that have not been mentioned. Over the entire story, we'll be seeing some flashbacks shown from different characters points of view, so the readers can see how things have changed, where it's all changed, etc.
The next chapter will be called "Less than a Pearl", and will be jumping right into the story, whereas for this prologue, I had to recount everything. So stay tuned! Dunno when I can post it, seeing as I'll be moving over the next few weeks, but any free time I have, I write. And please, don't forget to review!
And this is my present to a certain birthday girl, who happens to be turning sixteen today. Happy birthday, Cherry! I hope it's a good one!
Cheers!