Losing Focus

Details: Starring: Remus – implied Snupin.

Time Frame: Post-OotP

Summary: While on a mission for the Order, Remus finds himself suddenly pulled into a difficult situation.

Author's Note: I've been working on this since before DH. If you've read the book, the irony won't escape you. Some implied Snupin.

Part 1 of 3:

The heavy wooden door opened with a protesting creak as a dozen or so weary faces turned to look at him. It was an unusually empty pub for a Saturday night, but it was a small town after all. He spotted a nice abandoned corner booth and slid across the leather, his feet squeaking against the wet floor. In fact he was soaked; the famed British rains were certainly taking their toll on the countryside, and even though March was not a normally remarkable month in terms of rainfall, this year the records seemed to be making an exception. He slumped appreciatively into his seat and mumbled the first alcoholic beverage that came to mind when the server approached.

"Ale. Lots of it."

The heavy woman nodded slowly as she scribbled on the tiny pad of paper. Remus took off his hat and grabbed a bunch of napkins in a feeble attempt to dry himself. He desperately wanted to remove his trench coat, but knew that doing so would make his wand visible. Years of experience had taught him that wasn't the best of ideas in a suspicious, backwoods, muggle town like this one. Taking a napkin in each hand, he tilted his head forward to scrub his dripping hair vigorously, putting them aside once he was satisfied that his hair was no longer sending trails of water down his neck. Next he took a handful of napkins and closing his eyes, allowed the course things to absorb the moisture from nooks and crannies around his eyelids. It was good to feel a bit less like a walking puddle.

As he was wiping down the back of his neck, he took a good look around at the people sitting about the tavern. There were about fifteen people total, most of whom were crowded around the barstools, their black and brown coats touting darker tones from the torrential storms. A sparse few were sitting at the round, rickety wooden tables like himself, and upon seeing the plates of food they were munching, his stomach made a loud growl of jealousy. Remus sighed. He'd been sorely tempted to order a nice big meal instead of the watered-down house whiskey to fend off his growing appetite, but the price was too stiff for his meager monetary earnings. In the end he'd decided the warm beverage was preferred over the more-than-likely cold food anyway.

Though he'd been given numerous Order tasks over the years and was used to working odd wizarding jobs on the side, Remus had grown accustomed to a small, even sometimes meager paycheck. In fact many in the Order could agree that their earnings were on average far better than his. Even Mundungus was able to create a decent living off of his swindling and thievery. Yet regardless of his funds, Remus was often kept in high esteem within the Order. In fact he was often called in to do delicate work, often involving negotiations, and especially when other potentially dangerous lycanthropes were concerned.

Throughout his years of experience in mingling with the shadows and putting his "silver tongue" as Aleister referred to it to good use, Remus was always keen to keep a careful eye on his environment . It always amazed him how wizards viewed muggles as being so foolish and simple. Talking to Aleister, you'd think they were a mass of defenseless cattle awaiting Voldemort's slaughterhouse. Even Albus tended to assume that muggles were a naïve lot. Perhaps they were naïve in ways of Wizarding politics, and yes, they could quite easily be the victim of a stray killing curse, but Remus had found that they were quite apt at taking care of themselves. Ignorance of spells and wands didn't make them ignorant of lore and superstition. Unfortunately, many muggles didn't need a class on Defense Against the Dark Arts to figure out that a werewolf was among them. It was strange but it was easy to tell just by looking at them that they didn't trust him, and if something strange happened in town, they'd be more than willing to blame him for the whole mess. In fact, the more distant you lived from the technologically advanced major cities, the more sensitive the muggles were to the magical world.

After many a hard day at work, Arthur had a tendency to regale Remus about his difficulties with Muggle Relations, and the amusingly quaint inventions they make – like electricity. He always acted as though they were confused, lost, defenseless things – and oh how creative they are given their meager tools – and my what a discovery for a muggle to make. Listening to him talk made Remus wonder if he was referring to muggles or five-year olds.

Sometimes they would discuss matters long into the night until the first rays of pink and purple began to creep up from the horizon. Arthur happy to be able to speak freely about his irks at work and Remus simply glad for the company. Every once in a while Severus would join in – if "joining in" was the proper phrase for anything Severus did. He'd snort at Arthur's complaints and once outright laughed at the man's comment of how he didn't know what muggles would do without the Ministry's aid. Remus would just shake his head. Sometimes it was disturbingly obvious that Severus was half-blood if not downright muggle-born. He'd never let on to Severus of course, but every once in a while when he showed his true colors, Remus couldn't help but smile. There were times when even a slippery serpent like Severus simply couldn't hide very well in the tall grass.

The large woman brought back an equally large mug of drink, and Remus drank it gratefully feeling the heat trickle down his throat and warming his insides on the way down, gratefully quieting his stomach for the moment. The chill began to reluctantly leave his limbs and he sighed in appreciation. It was then that he noticed the woman was still standing there watching him.

"Um, is something wrong?"

"No, nothin's wrong, Sweetie. That's from your mate over at the bar. On 'im."

Remus only then noticed the large roasted pork leg that lay steaming before him. He blinked in confusion as he breathed in the aroma of the pink meat. Seeming to realize the deception, his stomach gave voice to a howl of painful hunger. He looked back up to the woman, "But who…?" But she was already making her way to another table. He squinted, scanning the stools at the bar more slowly this time but all of them looked the same - drunk, drenched men talking amongst themselves in gleaming, dripping overcoats. Then one of the men at the far end of the bar turned and smiled as he caught sight of him.

Remus didn't recognize him, but a single glance at his amber eyes told him all he needed to know. As the dark figure stood and made his way around the round wooden tables to reach him, Remus wondered to himself how he could have ever missed him. After all, if there was one thing Remus was good at, it was spotting another werewolf.

"Evening," the man smirked, large hands shoved deep into his pockets. "Mind if I have a seat?"

"Not at all," Remus forced a smile. Meeting a fellow werewolf in a foreign town could have a number of different meanings. Perhaps the two of them were kindred travelers, merely passing through. If that was it, then Remus had little cause to worry. However, if he wasn't…

The tall man sat down opposite him, blue eyes looking him up and down as he got comfortable. He must've only recently come in because he looked worse than Remus did, black hair forced into pointed clumps that framed his pale face. His instincts on edge, Remus wondered if perhaps he had been unwittingly followed. Could this werewolf be working for Greyback? The stranger propped his elbows on the table, resting his face against his fists.

"Thank you for the meal," Remus murmured uncertainly.

He smiled, "Oh don't mention it. Anything to help out one of our own, eh?"

Remus still hadn't touched the food, despite his stomach's accusatory cries. For all of his friend's incessant nagging, Aleister's severe distrust of strangers was a worthy trait. But it was more than simple distrust, the man sitting opposite him was far too eager. His slightly pointed teeth glinted in the dim light of the tavern.

The stranger's blue eyes narrowed "Think of it as a farewell gift."

They locked eyes for a moment. So he was trying to muscle Remus out of town. It wasn't the first time he'd had to deal with territorial wolf kin, but it was never handled in public locations like this. The unusual situation made him very nervous. Although it was normal for a werewolf to be protective of his home – two werewolves were far more apt for discovery than as a loner. Usually there was a fair amount of modesty and respect involved in a territorial dispute for the humans that lived nearby. After all weren't humans the only true threat to a werewolf?

Remus smiled at the man, more warmly this time, "Of course. I wasn't expecting to stay more than a night."

"Well that's a shame," the dark-haired man growled, leaning back in his chair but keeping his hands on the table, giving him the posture of a cat about to pounce, "because you'll be leaving tonight."

The hair stood up on the back of Remus' neck as he blinked in confusion. This wasn't just a territorial issue. This man was protecting something… or someone. There was obviously more going on here than he'd first thought, this stranger's urgency was proof enough of that. Remus knew that he had much more important errands left to resolve, and was more than ready to do as this opponent wished. He wanted to attract as little attention as possible on this outing.

"Then I suppose I'd best be off then," Remus began to stand but the man shot out his hand to grasp Remus' arm tightly. Remus sucked in a breath, his opposite hand unconsciously reaching beneath the wet layers of his trench coat to take a tight grip on his wand. But the opponent smiled wide, showing off his teeth all the more brazenly.

"You mustn't… waste the fine meal I bought for you! Damn shame to waste a good-natured gift – I hope the food here isn't too rancid and poor for your tastes…" the man's eyes were hard as he raised his voice a bit at the last sentenced and slowly released his grip. By this point Remus was entirely on edge and was acutely aware of the growing pairs of eyes that were locked onto the two of them. A few muggles at the bar had even turned around in their chairs when the stranger had raised his voice. Behind them the bartender, bottle in one hand and still empty glass in the other watched the couple untrustingly. He looked as though he was debating whether or not to bash the two of them with the heavy glass bottle in his hand to prevent a long night of cleaning up after a brawl. With great reluctance and fighting back his instinctual urge to fight against this dangerous werewolf Remus sat back down, eying the man and the plate with growing suspicion as his whiny stomach growled in annoyance. He spoke in a whisper hoping to deter the curiosity of the others.

"Alright, whoever-you-are…" Remus paused, hoping his opponent would divulge a name, a position, some kind of membership to a pack, something to give him some sort of ground. But his strange dinner partner remained silent, his face betraying his pleasure at the confusion that must have been evident on Remus' own. "What exactly do you want from me? You say you want me to leave but obviously you want something from me first. If your only intention is to play games with me all night, I have far more important things to do."

"Well, first of all, I never said I wanted you to leave."

Remus cocked an eyebrow at the man, "Well why the hell did you follow me here then?"

The stranger blinked, laughing nervously and pushed a strand of his sopping wet black hair out of his face. "Because I wanted to know more about you. It's not every day I find others like me."

Judging from the man's behavior for merely the past ten minutes, Remus determined this to be a complete lie.