Chapter Ten

When the sun began to set- early in the evening, for the year was heading into winter and the nights drew in early - the old lady from next door arrived at the house and Sirius let her in and showed her around, explaining where everything was.

'You don't have a telephone,' she said, looking around.

'No.'

'Well what do I do if I need to contact you?'

'Why would you need to contact us?'

'If something goes wrong - with Harry.'

Sirius shook his head, 'nothing will go wrong. We'll be back in,' he checked his watch, '... about 15 hours. Honestly, Harry will sleep for most of it. Just - settle down, make yourself at home. The fire's already lit, there's a radio in the kitchen, you can move it in here if you like. Teabags are in the cupboard - and there's food in the … the big, cold cupboard. The one that hums.'

'The fridge?'

'If you say so.'

'You're a strange, young man.'

He gave her his best, roguish grin, 'you don't know the half of it.' He winked - and she blushed and giggled, and seemed to forget her worries about not being able to contact them in the event of an emergency.

...

Once he had seen her settled in front of the fire with her knitting, the radio on, he went upstairs to get Moony.

...

Remus was in his room, lying on his bed - his breathing was shallow and sounded pained, and it hurt Sirius' heart to see him this way. But he didn't let Remus see and - instead - fixed his roguish grin back on his face. 'Ready to go?'

'As I'll ever be.' Remus smiled at him - and it seemed to Sirius that he too was forcing the smile on his face; that they were both faking - both trying not to let the other see their worry.

'Here - let me give you a hand.'

'I'm fine.' He sat up and got off the bed … But when Sirius wrapped an arm around him he sank gratefully against his chest and let himself be supported.

They went down the stairs, wrapped up in each other - and then Sirius left Remus alone in the hall just long enough to stick his head round the door and say goodbye to the old lady and Harry - and then they were outside.

...

They staggered down the path - making it look like they were leaving the house, headed for shore and then a boat off the island. But, once they were out of view of the house, they apparated into the back garden and - under the cover of the darkening sky - snuck unnoticed into the abandoned air raid shelter.

...

Once inside, Remus collapsed gratefully onto the nest of mattresses and blankets and Sirius took his wand out and performed the charm to seal the doorway from the inside. No matter what - no one else was getting in there tonight.

Then - once he was happy they were hidden and secure - he went and sat down on the mattress beside Remus and took hold of his hand again. 'It'll be over soon.'

'Yes - the change - it's close… I can feel it.' He tried for a weak smile - and looked around the shelter, at the crimson walls and golden decorations and the cosy, warmth of the light. 'Thanks for doing this, Padfoot - there was - really, there was no need.'

'Yes there was. This place before - you wouldn't have wanted to be in there.'

'The wolf wouldn't care.'

'You would. And I care that you care.' There was a fierceness to his voice that he worried betrayed too much of the intensity of his feelings - and yet he could not control it.

Remus squeezed his hand, 'you're a good friend - I don't deserve all this … it looks - it looks a bit - like home.'

They both knew where he meant by that - the place they had met, the place they had been happiest, the place they had lived before all this darkness and desperation had come over them.

...

They were quiet and still for a moment, hands held and their eyes shifting around the little room, remembering happier times.

Then Remus sighed and shifted on the mattress. 'It's - it's going to happen in a minute. I need to …'

He left the sentence dangling, and Sirius understood. He nodded, got up, transformed into Padfoot and turned his back - to give Remus some privacy. But even in dog form - he couldn't resist taking the occasional peek.

...

Remus had stood up and was struggling - with his muscles aching and his limbs weary - to tug his robes over his head.

...

Even with his mind more simple and doggish, Sirius wished that his friend would allow him to help. Not because … not because thoughts of him and Remus undressing each other were his darkest and most guilty pleasure that he imagined every night before sleep - but because Remus was in pain and Sirius wanted to make it better, make things easier.

But Moony was always too private and too proud. He would strip himself and not allow anyone to fuss over him no matter how much he hurt. And he would dress himself in the morning - again, regardless of the pain, the bruises and cuts.

...

Finally the robe was pulled over his head and now, in just his underwear, Remus carefully folded the robe and put it out of the way. Even in pain and weary with exhaustion, he was still fastidious in his tidiness.

Another struggle and he pulled his t-shirt over his head, again folding it and placing it out of the reach of the wolf.

His chest was bare now - and Padfoot pretended not to watch, but all the while drinking him in with his eyes.

...

Remus was tall and broad shouldered - he was powerfully built, but years of sickness had left hollows above his collarbones - his ribs stood out just a little too pronounced. And then there were the scars that tracked their way all over his torso, cutting into the downy hair on his chest and snaking pathways along his skin. Each one told a tale of pain, suffering and immense bravery - and though he knew Remus hated them, Sirius thought they were beautiful.

...

Remus suddenly stiffened and glanced over his shoulder as if checking he was unobserved. Sirius pretended he wasn't looking - just a dog, sitting quietly, waiting patiently - thinking doggy thoughts.

Maybe he was fooled - perhaps he wasn't - either way, Remus turned his back before divesting himself of his boxer shorts. Once again, the clothing was folded and stashed away - and now Remus was naked, and uncomfortably waiting to transform and protect his modesty under the wolf.

...

In the warm, red glow of the shelter - Remus seemed to flush, perhaps feeling Sirius' eyes on him - a strawberry stain of heat crept from his feet, up his legs, blushing his chest before travelling up his neck and staining his cheeks.

Sirius watched the heat rise in him, wishing he could follow its progress with his tongue - licking right the way up his friend's body … though that must be the dog thinking that. Dogs liked to lick things.

But before he could convince himself that was all there was to it - Remus' body had seized up, his limbs began to shake. He started to snarl; deep and throaty and terrible sounding. His head and body began to lengthen, his shoulders hunched, his hands curled into paws and hair began to sprout visibly on them, on his face - and all over his body.

...

Within seconds the transformation was complete - and Remus was lost completely, the werewolf rearing up in his place - snapping its jaws.

It raised its head and howled - a long, spine chilling note that made Sirius' fur stand on end.

And then it stopped and sniffed, scenting Padfoot close by. It turned, its hackles raised, a low growling emanating from its throat - and then it snarled, snapped and lunged at the dog.

...

Padfoot reared up to defend himself, snapping back - batting with his paws, knocking the beast away from himself. The wolf lunged again, and landed on top of him, and they tumbled over and over; a whirl of fur and fangs - hot breath, sharp claws and snapping teeth.

When they separated again, getting back to their paws, Padfoot's muzzle was bleeding, there were tear marks in his shoulder where the wolf had shredded him … but he stayed standing, facing down the creature and waiting for the next attack.

He would spend the night like this - if this was what it took - sparring, wrestling, fighting with the werewolf; fending off attack after attack - for hours at a time, if necessary, allowing himself to be scratched and bitten - so it did not bite and scratch and attack itself.

Severus arrived back in his room at The Leaky Cauldron, weary and ready for bed. Having spent the morning interviewing Walburga, in London, he had spent the afternoon on the Welsh border - interviewing old man Lupin.

But Lyall had known even less than Mrs. Black - not even a bit of potion persuasion could get him to tell anything that Severus did not already know.

...

The old man had just wept. He had seemed broken, when Severus arrived; hunched shouldered and red rimmed eyes. His hands had trembled as he had made them some tea - so that in the end Severus had offered to do it … which of course gave him ample opportunity to spike Lyall's drink.

But it did him no good.

Mr. Lupin sat shaking in his armchair, sipping his tea and shaking his head. This couldn't be happening. Remus was a good boy - he would never join You Know Who. His mother had been a muggle. Remus had adored his mother, had been truly heartbroken when she died - never the same since. He would never join a cult that wanted people like Hope Lupin hunted and killed, or enslaved.

And he would never turn against James. Of all things, Remus was loyal to his friends. With his condition, friendship had meant more to him than anything else - he was so grateful for any companionship. He would never hurt those who could accept him for what he was.

...

Severus had taken a copy of The Daily Prophet out of his bag.

But according to the papers, he had said, Remus had not turned on all his friends. He was loyal to one. When two friends turned against each other - for those in the middle, their loyalties were divided. Was it not possible Remus had had to make a choice … and chosen?

...

But at the sight of the paper, Lyall had begun to cry in earnest - tears streaming down his cheeks and his whole body began to rock with misery. His son. His precious boy - they were hunting him. They were talking of putting him down - putting him down! - Like he was a rabid dog!

Severus had had to work hard to control his impatience, biting his tongue to stop himself from yelling at the man and telling him to stop snivelling. His so-called "precious boy" was a murderer - had murdered Lily, or at least abetted in her death. And if the Department for the Disposal of Dangerous Beasts saw fit to hunt him down, cage him up and execute him without trial then that was precisely what the filthy halfbreed had earned for himself.

...

But he didn't say any of that - he had simply grit his teeth, taken a deep breath and asked Mr. Lupin what he knew about Sirius Black.

But the answer was not much. Unlike Walburga, he had at least met his son's friend...if that's what they called themselves. Sirius might not have dared bring a werewolf into the hallowed halls of his own home - or possibly had just had no desire to let his friends see where he came from - but Lupin had brought Black round to his sometimes, in the summer.

...

Mr. Lupin thought Black had seemed a perfectly charming boy, a little cheeky - a bit too willing to get into trouble, but he had been a good friend to Remus and made him happy and that was all Mr. Lupin and his late wife had cared about.

He made no mention of the things Walburga had hinted at.

Clearly - if Remus reciprocated Sirius' feelings for him - he kept it better hidden from his parents. Did not wear his heart so much on his sleeve. But then, perhaps that was to be expected. He must have learned very young to be guarded and cautious, to keep his deepest self hidden. It would be necessary for a young werewolf - especially one hiding his true identity so he could go to school.

...

A bit more questioning and it became clear that Mr. Lupin had no better idea than anybody else where the two traitors might flee to. He just wept and refused to believe it. It couldn't be true - and his son had never told him anything that might help Severus now.

...

So, in the end, Severus had given up - left the old man to his tears - and apparated back to London.

Two dead ends in one day. He would need to search some other way tomorrow … think of some other new avenue to investigate.

...

But, for now, he sank into the armchair in his room, drank a goblet of wine and stared out of the window, up at the full moon; thinking about where Lupin was right now, what was happening to him as he transformed - and whether or not he was putting anyone in danger.

If nothing else, he hoped tonight's transformation would prove unusually painful.

Not far from where Snape was sitting, beneath the streets of London - the lights still burned on level four of the Ministry of Magic - where the Department for the Disposal of Dangerous Beasts was located.

Ormerod Bloom was heading up the squad and he had rolled maps out across a large table for his most experienced and skilful hunters to examine.

'We work in units of three,' he told them. 'One on point and two to flank. We're not letting this nasty critter sneak up on us. We're not losing any men on this - or having one of us turned. Wands drawn at all times. The first spell cast, as soon as you touch down in a location, is 'lupus revelio' which should sound an alarm if the beast is anywhere near - put you on your guard, so to speak.'

He cleared his throat, 'now - when checking the area - and I know this is no one's first quidditch match, I know you all know this but: safety first ... Do not go physically rooting through any underbrush. If you hear a noise, clear the shrubs by magic. If it sounds big, stun first and check later.'

He began to point to the map. 'Now, it's likely that the beast is away from populated areas. They are in hiding, after all; these two filthy, Dark Lord loving traitors, and the last thing they want is a werewolf attack to draw attention to where they are. That means we check moors, forests, mountains - anywhere with few people and lots of places to hide.'

'MacGinty,' he pointed to a grizzled looking man with a nasty scar above his right eyebrow, 'your team will take Snowdonia. Cover as much ground as you can - push on into North Wales.'

'I heard the wolf was Taffy,' MacGinty said, nodding grimly.

Bloom shook his head, 'there's no need for that language. I don't care if he's from Timbuktu or the dark side of the moon - our job is to catch him. Briars,' he turned to the next man. 'Your unit takes the south downs, the weald; push on up to the Chiltern Hills, if you get a chance. Enderby - you take the Cotswolds, Cranborne Chase, the New Forest. Blebbins- you and yours are in the Peaks and the Forest of Bowland. McGillyCuddy - you're in Yorkshire: Dales, Moors and anything in between and McNair, Runcorn and I will head up to the Highlands. The wolf and his Death Eater chum have not long since left Hogwarts - they might feel more at home up there.'

He looked around at them all. 'Gentlemen - this is a capture mission, only curse to kill if absolutely necessary. I want that beast caged, I want him changed back and to see the whites of his human eyes as he realises the jig is up. I want him to know what we're going to do to him. That monster will not die quickly, if I have anything to say about the matter.'

The men all nodded their understanding - a muttering and murmuring of agreement breaking out among them. Bloom waited until they were quiet again. 'I need not remind you that, if we are not successful tonight, we must wait another month to hunt again. That is too long. We'll not leave this beast out there to hurt people - not if we can stop him. Finding him might help us find Black - might lead us to little Harry.'

He began to smirk, his face taking on an expression of pleased malevolence. 'And whoever brings him in - I'll let you be the ones to lock the silver chains on him. Now - go.'

And without another word, they all apparated from the room and off to their destinations - with only a faint popping sound to mark their vanishing.

Back in Rickmansworth, Rita Skeeter had arrived - and her quickquotes quill was working overtime, taking and embellishing everything that Peter had to say about Remus' transformations as a boy, and how he would be feeling come the morning.

Rita smiled to herself - as she listened to all the gold Peter was pouring out. Her readers would lap this up. 'So…' she fixed her smile on Peter, 'if he isn't caught and killed - what do you think the day after the moon will look like for the wolf? What will he and Black do, once the transformation is behind them?'

Meanwhile, far away from the hunting and the hatred and the spin, beneath the island - in their air raid shelter, the wolf and the dog saw the full moon out safely. Sometimes Padfoot managed to quiet Moony, make him rest, lie beside him - nuzzling him gently. Sometimes Moony would rear up - a savage, wild thing once more, snapping and snarling and trying to break free.

And then Padfoot would struggle with him, they would duck and dive around each other - one grabbing the other by the neck, wrestling it to the floor. Claws would gleam in the light and slash out. They would roll over and over, growling the whole time and tearing their surroundings apart - smashing into things or ripping through them with claws and teeth … and then eventually Moony would fall quiet again, and they would both catch some rest.

...

In the early morning - as the moon began to set and a grey, murky light began to trickle into the pitch black of the sky - the wolf's body suddenly went rigid; shuddering and shaking and then reversing the process of the night before. The snout shrank back, the fur melted beneath his skin, paws unfurled into hands and limbs straightened and became human once more.

And then Remus was lying on the floor - naked and unconscious, his chest slowly rising and falling.

...

Much quicker and easier and far less painfully, Sirius transformed back into his own human form. He looked down at his friend - too lost in the depths of sleep to realise his carefully concealed modesty the night before had all been for nothing, that he was now lying out on the floor fully exposed.

But it wasn't Remus' beauty that Sirius was taking in now, though God knows there was enough of it to stop anyone's heart - it was his injuries. There were deep scratches, like bright crimson rivers tracked into his skin; across his torso, on his legs, even on his face. A bruise was blooming over his ribcage - all blue and yellow and sickly green. There were little divots of claw marks nipped into his flesh and even the occasional bite mark, where Padfoot had sunk his teeth in. Sadly, Sirius ran his eye over every fresh cut and bruise, wishing things could be easier for Remus.

He assumed he looked little better - though the fact he could transform clothed offered him some protection from harm even in animal form.

...

Tearing his eyes away, he picked up his wand and waved it around, putting right all they had destroyed in the night - magicking the feathers back into the split mattress and closing the seam … And then he picked up his injured friend and carried him over to the nest of bedding.

Once Remus was carefully covered by a blanket, and sound asleep, Sirius finally allowed himself to lie down beside him - and gratefully nodded off himself.