Taking Charge

A Harry Potter Fanfiction

by Drauchenfyre

Chapter 21: Wandering and Werewolves

24 March 1992

Somewhere North of Inverness

0423 am

Tom Marvolo Riddle, the self-styled Lord Voldemort, moved quietly through the woods, his tattered cloak pulled tight around him.

His resurrection had gone without a hitch, once he had an easily-duped minion to sacrifice. Directing Wormtail to the Horcrux in his grandfather's shack, then using his life force to activate the Horcrux bound to the Resurrection Stone, and the experienced mind of the seventy-something Voldemort was back in his restored twenty-something body.

He'd forgotten what it was like to have hair. And a nose. He missed his fangs though.

The ring now sat on his finger. Without his wand, and Wormtail's having been broken during his death-throes, he had been forced to bring the Horcrux with him, rather than leave it unprotected in the shack. He'd immediately headed across the valley to his father's old manor house, the location of one of his hidden stockpiles-

-only to find the place burned to the ground. Apparently recently, judging by the lack of weeds in the rubble.

Thinking nothing of this, he'd apparated to northern Scotland, intending to make his way to an abandoned Death Eater property: the former home of the late Oglethorpe Avery. It had become another of his hidden stockpiles after the man's death in 1979, a place that, among other things, included a pair of spare 'not-quite-a-match' wands.

His yew-and-phoenix-feather wand was missing. Probably picked up and destroyed by the Ministry at the Potter House in Godric's Hollow. Until he could get a new matched wand, a spare would have to do. He knew that some of his followers were reluctant, and he dare not approach any of them without a wand, to ensure their cooperation. Wandless magic was notoriously unreliable, and Riddle had never learned to fight Muggle style.

He had to keep to the shadows, avoid places where wizards might go, until he was armed. Some of his old 'friends' might not be inclined toward a friendly chat if they recognized him. Heck, his old roommate Alastor would probably hex first, hex later, hex some more, then not bother with questions.

Honestly, you cut off a man's leg and he holds a grudge forever. He still had another one.

The wards were down. Not exhausted or collapsed. Torn down. Someone had been through here in a hurry.

Gliding forward even more cautiously, he saw the still-smoking rubble of what was once an impressive fieldstone house. The fire was out, but the smoke still rose. This fire had happened in the last day at most.

Wards ripped down. Two of his stockpiles destroyed, recently.

Tom Riddle had a bad feeling about this.

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIISCE NE BREAKIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

27 March 1992

An Unplottable Island off the Coast of Wales

Remus John Lupin stood outside his tent, a warm mug of coffee in his hand, watching the sunrise. Life was better than it had been for him in a long time.

Infected with Lycanthropy at the tender age of five, he had had a hard life, being ridiculed and hated for something he'd had no control over. At the age of eleven, he had attended Hogwarts School, the only student in history to attend while infected. There he'd met some great friends, James Potter, Sirius Black, Frank Longbottom, Lily Evans.

It was one of these friends who had been responsible for Remus's new situation. On February thirteenth, he'd stopped at Hogwarts to speak to his old Charms Professor, Filius Flitwick. Filius and another faculty member, Penny Flamel, had hunted down and slain Fenrir Greyback, turning in his bounty to the school to buy new broomsticks for student use.

That they had slain the psychopath who had Turned young Remus had him bringing a bottle of 1929 Glenfidditch he'd secreted away for this occasion, a gift to the man who had avenged him. Over drinks, Filius and Penny had brought Remus up to date on the happenings in the fight against the Darkness. He'd seen Harry for the first time since James and Lily died. The boy, once told of Remus's condition, had understood why he stayed away, and forgiven him, calling him 'Unca Mooey' just because Remus had admitted to Harry calling him that as a baby.

Filius had then told him of the exoneration of Sirius Black. He had pointed his Floo at Ted Tonks's Clinic and practically shoved him through.

Sirius had forgiven his packmate before he'd even stammered out an apology. He then proposed a job for which Remus was ideally suited. Upon becoming Lord Black, Sirius had found, among his property holdings, an Unplottable and uninhabited island roughly halfway between the Isle of Mann and the Welsh coast. He proposed a use for this land.

Remus would contact the various werewolf packs and bring them there. The land would be dedicated as the Hunter's Claw Sanctuary, an entire island for the weres to call their own. Here they could build a town, plant crops, tend livestock, fish- and live their lives.

After all, why try to integrate into a society that hates and fears you for something beyond your control, when you had enough of your own kind to say "screw 'em" and build your own society.

With Greyback dead and his more violent Betas having slaughtered each other during their squabbles to take over the vacant Alpha position, most of the remaining Weres were common everyday people who just wanted to live their lives. Almost every Were in Britain and Ireland now lived on the Isle of Hunter's Claw, and the packs were becoming a community. Remus had been unanimously elected the first Governor of Hunter's Claw.

Yesterday, they had put the finishing touches on the main tavern, The Blue Moon. Today, they were raising the steeple for the town's Anglican church (Christianity being, oddly, far more common amongst Weres than amongst ordinary wizards). Once the public buildings were standing, they would start on private homes. Until then, Sirius had provided hundreds of wizard tents for them to live in.

A home of their own, built by their own hands. Already, fields had been plowed and seeded, livestock fenced in. Remus watched as two small fishing boats headed out in the early light for the morning catch. A community built to be self-sustaining.

Feeling a gentle hand on his back, Remus turned to the brown-haired woman beside him, her own coffee steaming. Rebecca Kincaid had been a fully-qualified Healer before she was infected five years ago. Now, here, she could practice her craft again. She had been keeping company with Remus since she arrived, their quiet, studious natures meshing well with each other. They were not official, only casual thus far, but Remus had a feeling that someday, Father Mike Flaherty (Ordained 1977, Infected 1986) would be pronouncing them husband and wife.

Yes, life was good for Remus Lupin.

CHAPTER END

A/N: Can't believe I forgot Remus this long. Well, how's this for the werewolves? An island sanctuary where they can run free on the full moon without infecting anyone. Don't worry, Voldie will get a wand- eventually. For now he's a menace lurking in the dark, not ready to strike.