Silver Bullets

by AshenMoon42

Remus has lived in Greyback's pack all his life. Sirius is the Order member assigned to capture the Alpha. / / Five months in the midst of the war / / Wolfstar AU

2. Moon After Yule

MOON AFTER YULE

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January 13th 1979

THE HUNTING GROUND

#174

The Pack ran.

Moonlight flashed on his eyelids; the wind brushed through his fur; the rumble of thundering paws sounded through the night. Howling, long and clear and full of the joy of freedom, rang around them. Pounding, beautiful energy like flowing water rushed through Remus's body, and as he ran he felt muscle and fur and four legs, and it was the only thing he had truly wished for all month.

After a few miles, the Alpha came to a halt and the wolves looked to him with clear expectations: where's the meat, Greyback? Where've you taken us to?

They'd stopped on a hill overlooking a valley, mountain grass swaying beneath them. The round moon shone on the horizon, risen only two hours ago, illuminating a village that sat smugly between this hill and the opposite peak. A few lights glinted from windows, but the noise was such that most of the inhabitants must have been at the pub. Every wolf in the pack was panting, tongues lolling, eyes shining, breath curling like dragonsmoke in the cool night air. Remus looked at the Alpha the same as everyone else did, wondering what was in store for them this month.

Greyback, with his silver-flecked fur, gave a curling grin, his tangerine eyes flashing in pleasure. He turned, trotting along the plateau for a moment before plunging headlong, scrambling down the steep sides of the hill.

The Pack followed.

They were at the bottom of the valley in minutes, leaping over a shimmering stream and sipping through the cobbled village streets. Silent as shadows, fast as lightning. In this form, they were so much more than wolves.

The local pub seemed to house half the village, talking and laughing and singing, and Remus started salivating at the smell of such an abundance of meat, but Greyback shepherded them behind into an alley where they wouldn't be seen by any of the patrons.

All the way through the village they slid until they stopped in a copse of trees near the edge. Everyone could see the hunger in Greyback's eyes, see the drool dripping down his muzzle.

They had arrived.

Through the trees was a modest cottage, a wisp of smoke escaping the chimney, a sliver of light peeking through the curtains. Remus could smell blood inside and was tempted to charge straight in, but he'd be punished severely for such impulsiveness. Besides, they had to follow the Alpha.

Greyback, the Alpha in question, looked back over the Pack and raised his nose high. The only noise carried by the night air was a murmur from the far-off pub, and Greyback cut into that still quiet with a hair-raising howl. It was a howl of hunger, of bloodlust; it was a howl of danger, a warning for the doomed inhabitants of the cottage: we're coming. The Pack is coming. It was a noise promising blood and meat. As the last note reverberated through the trees, the wolves spread out, surrounding the cottage with bloodthirsty snarls hovering on their lips.

With the thrill of the hunt, the tang of promised blood, the bracing air still whirling around his ears, Remus dove in with the rest of them as they smashed through windows, knocked down doors, swarming in like bees to honey.

In seconds, two bodies lay beside the fireplace and another was being dragged in. These were presumably the couple who owned the house and the grandmother. In the corner, quivering and whimpering, was a boy with eyes bleeding fear. Him, they left for later.

Greyback got the first pick. It took painfully long for him to seize his share, the wolves watching as he devoured the tender human flesh of the young woman. He emerged from her body with blood coating his muzzle and as they watched, he moistened his lips slowly, almost taunting them to go in before he decreed.

Remus almost went for it. The smell was so dizzying now that he couldn't think of anything else, only the taste of flesh and the yawning emptiness of his stomach. Lightheaded, all he could do was watch as Greyback canted his head, examining each wolf carefully. A string of drool dripped from his muzzle in a puddle on the periwinkle carpet.

So distracted by the promise of the waiting bodies, when the Alpha finally gave the go-ahead he was a crucial second late, and blocked by a writhing mass of fur and gore. He could merely watch, struggling against the tide, as blood sprayed into their coats, staining their lips, lapped up by quick tongues. Remus just watched as they sank their fangs into the flesh.

Snarling, growling, he lunged forwards about to nip the wolf in front of his in the flank, but suddenly there were fangs in his neck and he was thrown back. The other wolves, busy with their prize, took no notice. Greyback, however, the wolf who had thrown him, silver fur glinting in the flickering firelight, herded him towards the shivering boy in the corner.

Time for the Turning.

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January 14th 1979

THE FOXHUNT

The Foxhunt, the sign read.

The pub had been difficult to find, hidden in a maze of winding alleys, welcomed by dim lights and drunken hysterics. Once Sirius pinpointed it, he wasn't sure why he had wanted to at all. A group of cloaked women stood outside with rotting teeth and greying hair, reaching out to him with long yellow fingernails and offering their wares. The windows were steamed up, but inside he could see—and hear—a rather violent brawl going on, swearing and yelling, wands discarded who-knows-where.

But it was cold, so he entered, forcing the heavy door open and stamping his feet on the mat. A busty barmaid sashayed up to him with a flirty smile on her lips.

"Hello," Sirius said. "I'm looking for some friends of mine."

"I know," she laughed, low and throaty, before walking deeper into the pub, gesturing for him to follow.

Seated in a booth at the far end of the pub, away from the arm wrestling, was the Order of the Phoenix. Or part of it, anyway.

Dumbledore, whose white beard was tucked into canary yellow robes that Sirius wasn't too sure suited the old man at all, nodded at him grimly. Alastor Moody, recently named "Mad-Eye" for the most recent addition to his injuries: a lost eye, replaced by a startling blue one that often whizzed to the back of his head. Emmeline Vance, a woman whose hair reached her knees when it was let down and gave Sirius useful tips for his own locks. Caradoc Dearborn, an older man who simultaneously thought himself to be still in his youth, and to have superiority over Sirius and James. Alice Longbottom, recently married, with a smile that could light the darkest of rooms. Finally, James Potter, a lanky Indian boy who stood when Sirius approached, engulfing him in a strangling hug.

"Been so long, hasn't it?" said Sirius, who had seen James that morning.

They sat, and the mood darkened because there was a reason they had gathered, and the Order of the Phoenix wasn't a cheerful pastime. This meeting had been arranged that afternoon, just for this small group of them, and neither Dumbledore nor Moody looked happy.

"What is it?" Alice asked tentatively.

Without a word, Dumbledore drew out a newspaper and spread the front page out in the middle of the table. Sirius craned his neck to look.

DERBYSHIRE WEREWOLF ATTACK

Yet again, the remains of a family have been found on the morning after the full moon. The mutilated bodies of Nigel (43), Gretel (35) and Cynthia (72) Adamson were found in their Derbyshire cottage the morning after the event, when the milkman found the door hanging open and windows shattered. Aurors are still searching for the Adamsons' child, Jake (8), whose body has not been found.

Readers are encouraged to report suspicious activity and signs of werewolf action. Advice and necessary precautions against werewolf attacks can be found on page 4. More information on the murder of the Adamson family can be found on page 7.

"Another one?" James asked when they had all finished reading. "That's … what, one every month?"

"Nearly," Moody said. "And they're all muggle-born families."

Sirius looked up. "You don't mean…"

The look on Moody's face was grave. "That's exactly what we mean. Voldemort is in contact with the packs."

"Then … what are we doing to stop it? It's been going on a while—aren't the Aurors doing anything?" Emmeline said, voice low as if afraid of eavesdroppers, despite the silencing charms around their booth.

Moody growled under his breath. "The Minister's restricting us. As the Order, we'll help, but officially I'm allowed to put two men on the job—no more, no less. I was hoping … James? Sirius?"

James, ever eager to help in any way, immediately agreed. "Of course, Sir."

Sirius, however, hesitated. Werewolves were vicious, and it was usually more senior Aurors assigned to serial killings like these, especially when Dark creatures were involved. But the idea of danger had never deterred him before, and this was helping all of Wizarding Europe from Voldemort's wrath. "Alright," he said. "Where do we start?"

.

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January 14th 1979

THE FIELDS

It was difficult to recall the events of the full moon, but Remus always remembered more than most. He had woken the morning after with a piercing headache, scratches on his chest, his ear missing the lobe, and his mind clouded with post-moon bleariness. A handful of other wolves were up too, staggering to their feet in much the same state as him.

This point had clearly been planned, because clothes were stashed in a nearby hollow tree trunk, and they dressed, washing the blood off themselves in a nearby stream. The water was frigid but fresh, and Remus sighed in relief as it cooled his aching ear (or lack thereof).

After a few of the more critical injuries were dealt with, Greyback yelled some sharp commands and the Pack, now human and a lot less agile, responded with the usual grumbling, standing unsteadily and following their Alpha through the fields.

Remus first walked with an older man known only as Doc, a term first used by Greyback to mock the man's past muggle academia.

"Hello, Remus," he said.

"Hey Doc. Good moon?"

"Fine. Well, I think so. What about you?"

Remus frowned. "I'm not so sure. Something feels … off."

"Well, your ear isn't looking good, is it? As for me, I can hardly remember anything these days. I'm … I'm tired, Remus."

Doc had never been one for extended conversation or general company, so Remus nodded before moving to stand with Lisa, a girl around his age with straw blonde hair and jaded eyes.

"Alright, Lisa?" Remus asked.

"Fine," she said. "You?"

Her familiar East London accent that she'd somehow retained all these years in the Pack warmed his ears—or ear-and-a-half, anyway.

Remus thought about the niggling feeling in his head that something was off. He thought about his stomach, which still felt achingly empty, and about his ear, which had clearly been nipped by sharp fangs. "Fine," he said as if he meant it.

Lisa frowned; she knew him well enough to tell he was lying, but didn't ask, because Remus Lupin generally knew the right thing to do. He had that kind of reputation in the Pack—young, strong, intelligent... someone to rely on. Someone who answers the questions.

The fields were dusted with snow like icing sugar, and the trees stood like lone figures on the horizon. Mountains rose in every direction, grassy peaks with white caps at the summit. The air was crisp and the clothes they'd stored weren't nearly enough to block out the January chill. After only ten minutes of hiking, Remus's hands shook and the tip of Lisa's nose was red.

They walked in near silence for an hour or two until they reached an abandoned flint cottage on a mountainside. Boards were hammered across the windows, but through the gaps, Remus could overhear the clumsy voices of the pups rising above each other in excitement as they heard the arrival of the pack.

One girl had been bitten nearly right through her arm, and a boy was sobbing in the corner, but soon enough they were on their way again, the cubs huddled at the back of the group, complaining about aching legs and frosty toes.

As he walked, Remus tried breathing smoothly. The more steps he took, the more the fog in his head receded, and soon enough he had a rugged outline of the events of the night before. And he didn't relish what he recalled.

Greyback had been questioning his loyalty for the last few months, probing him with stricter rules, harsher punishments, and more daring orders.

As for this order… had he done it? That's what Remus needed to know—had he bitten the boy? The child in question was being carried by one of the stronger men at the front, the crescent wound on his shoulder seeming to grin tauntingly at him.

He wasn't sure if he wanted to have done it or not. If he had, he would bear the responsibility of turning this boy into a werewolf, doomed to suffer poverty. If he had refused, then as soon as Greyback regained his memory, there would be hell to pay.

Hell.

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January 15th 1979

THE CRIME SCENE

The crime scene was covered in anti-muggle wards; Sirius shivered as he felt them brush over him. The cottage, even from far off, looked a wreck. The windows were smashed in, the garden trampled, the door swinging on a single hinge. Broken plant pots lay dejected on their sides, spilling soil onto a kicked-up lawn. Everything was coated in a thin layer of glittering frost.

James stood beside him, a grim expression twisting his mouth, and together, without the need to converse, they stepped inside. Forensic investigators were surveying the place, looking for signs of magic or for the fur of the wolves in the hope they could identify any culprits. The room in which the action seemed to have taken place was untouched.

A woman stood in the corner, a clipboard in hand. She smiled as they entered. "Melissa Mandrake, from the Werewolf Capture Unit." she said, "You must be the Aurors?"

"Yeah," James said, shaking her hand. "I'm James Potter, and this is Sirius Black."

As expected, she froze for a moment at the surname, but continued when he held her eyes in a ready stare. "I'd be happy to take you through the information we've gathered so far if you'd follow me."

They did, into what appeared to be a bedroom. "The older woman, Cynthia Adamson, was here, presumably reading," she said, pointing to a fallen book. "She was killed in this room, or at least mortally wounded." At this, she pointed to a puddle of dried blood on the floor. "The blood is confirmed to contain the saliva of a werewolf. She was towed through the hallway, as you can see by the blood, and taken into the living room, where the rest of the family—her son, daughter-in-law and grandson—were. The three adults were slaughtered and eaten by the wolves before the fireplace." By this time, she'd steered them back into the living room, and Sirius looked closer.

The carpet was stained with blood so that he couldn't see the original colour beneath it, but the remains of the bodies had been removed. Translucent images—three-dimensional, of course—of the bodies lay in their place. The corpses themselves … from what the images showed, they had been torn apart completely and nearly all eaten. Only the slightest bits of meat clung to the three piles of bones, and the … well, the organs … lay amongst them.

"If you'd look over here, Mr Black—"

"Sirius, please."

Melissa Mandrake continued, "If you'd look over here, Sirius, Mr Potter, this is where Jake was. Because of the lack of control that children have with their magic, we can detect the faint traces of fear-induced sparks right here that show he crouched in the corner by the piano. Do you see? Anyway, right here in front of him, there was clearly a scuffle either before or after he was Turned."

James frowned. "Can we assume he was definitely bitten? Not dragged off and eaten, or escaped?"

"Almost certainly. An entire pack was captured just four months ago—did you see in the news?—and among them, we found ten lost children who we had assumed dead. The packs take the children to become the next generation."

"That—" Sirius started.

"Disgusting, I know," she said, making a face.

"I was about to say it made sense. How else would they get more werewolves? Besides, my mother always told me if I didn't behave she'd give me to the werewolves."

Melissa looked appalled. James just snorted.

"Do you have any idea what pack it was?" Sirius asked.

She frowned. "From the fur we've found, and the particular state and positions of the bodies, we're quite sure it was Greyback."

James winced. "Isn't he…?" He trailed off.

"Yes. I suppose you've seen him quite often in the papers and heard rather a lot about him in the Auror office. Fenrir Greyback is quite infamous."

"Thanks, Miss Mandrake. We should get going. Lots to do, you know. C'mon Sirius."

Taking one last look at the mutilated bodies of the Adamsons, and another at the corner where Jake had crouched, Sirius followed James out of the swinging door.

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January 16th 1979

THE DEN

Cracking wallpaper over mouldy walls. Nails poking through the floorboards. A bare bulb hanging from the ceiling by a single wire that produced a measly amount of flickering illumination. The cold seeping through the thin glass of the window.

The room was dingy, but at least it was a room. Last month, Greyback took them to an abandoned quarry in the Peak District, and they had slept every night with slate poking into their backs and legs, the cold living among them like part of the family. This month, it was an old Victorian workhouse on the outskirts of a small Yorkshire town. They were housed in the old living quarters for the paupers who had worked here, the rooms obviously fitted with electricity since then. Remus shared a room with six other men, all older than him but none stronger, bar Emil Cadd, short but rippling with muscle. Cadd spent most nights out anyway, hunting muggles in the neighbouring villages, returning with blood dripping from his fully-human jaws. There was no official Beta, but if there had been, it would be Cadd, whose voice would commonly ring throughout whatever den they had adopted that month, yelling orders which were received and followed, as if he had a divine right.

Remus was unpacking his few possessions when he felt a breath of air on his neck. The door creaked as it opened, and a distinct heavy footstep landed in the room. Remus turned.

Fenrir Greyback stood in the doorway. His glittering dark eyes pinned Remus where he stood. "Lupin," he growled.

Remus straightened a little, inclining his head slightly in respect. He kept his eyes fixed to the Alpha. "Greyback."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the other wolves from his room slipping out the doorway, Cadd catching Remus's eye as he left, his lips forming the word 'goodbye'.

"Three nights ago was the full moon," Greyback said, moving a little closer. "It took me a while to realise why I was so angry, and why the boy's blood was in my mouth, but soon enough I remembered."

His voice was a low growl, deep and dark, and when Remus heard it, he felt like his own grave was being dug between them, ready for him to step in.

Greyback took a step forwards. "I've done so much for you, boy. Even as a child, I gave you an important role in the Pack. You fill the role, Lupin, but nothing beyond it. You may be decent in the bedroom, but what are you outside it? Worthless—where is your hunger, eh? Where's the bloodlust, or at least some simple loyalty? You're a disgrace, Lupin. Still a pathetic pup at your age. You should learn to follow orders."

Remus didn't dare blink.

"Why didn't you do it? Why didn't you bite the fucking boy?" His voice suddenly amplified. Remus flinched. Greyback was standing so close to him that his rancid breath—reeking of meat and blood and gore—tickled his cheeks.

Remus swallowed his fear and disgust "I couldn't."

"What?" Came the growled return, the exhale hot against Remus's skin as the man's dirty fingers crept up his throat.

"I said, I couldn't do it."

In a moment, he was rammed against the wall, Greyback's long yellow nails digging into his neck. The older werewolf pressed his lips to the shell of Remus's ear. "WHY?"

His throat was blocked, but he managed to choke out: "What do you mean?"

"I mean, have I not prepared you enough for this, Lupin?" He could feel Greyback's fangs on his throat now, pinching slightly. "Why aren't you ready?" Greyback's saliva was dribbling down from his jaw, and he whined, barely stopping himself from closing his eyes. The Alpha was biting gently into Remus's neck, drawing blood that ran hot and red down into his shirt. He scratched until a vertical line ran from ear to collarbone, seeping more blood that he lapped up with his sandpaper tongue, sucking every little drop with a moan of pleasure.

"I—" The syllable was riddled with strain.

Greyback grinded his hips into Remus's, growling deep in his throat. His erection dug into Remus's thigh. "I'm not averse to killing you now, Lupin. I could cook you and share you out to the others. I'm sure even the pups would welcome some more meat on the table."

Remus just whimpered. His neck was bleeding fire. "Please…"

"You want me to stop?" Another violent thrust of the hips. He bit down.

A cry from Remus. A moan from his Alpha. "Yes."

Greyback's teeth still dug deep into his neck, painfully warm and smooth. Heat ran down his collar. "Do it then. Next month. Prove your worth."

"Yes."

The older wolf pulled back and stepped away, and all at once the heat receded, the wound was left open, the feeling of suffocation ceased. He licked a coat of blood of his lips, smiling with fangs bared. "You better be ready, Lupin. You better."

Then he punched him in the face, sending Remus flying back into the wall, groaning and holding his cheek where a dull pain lay. His head spun, the room swimming in circles. Greyback punched him again and again until he was on the floor, and the world was spinning and the lights were dimming and then the Alpha was kicking him in the side, causing his stomach to lurch, and he was striking him what felt like a hundred times until tears streamed down Remus's cheeks and he was begging, begging…

"Please…" he sobbed. "I'll do it. I'll do it. I will. I promise. I fucking promise!"

Greyback stood above him, Remus's blood drying on his chin. He smiled once more, murderous eyes glittering maliciously. "Please and…"

"Thank you," Remus whimpered, curled up on the floor, bleeding into the floorboards, blubbering like a pup. "Thank you. Thank you, Alpha."

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January 17th 1979

THE NOBLE AND MOST ANCIENT HOUSE

Sirius paused on the doorstep, straightening his cloak on his shoulders and brushing the dust off his trouser leg. He straightened his face until his expression was as vacant as he could manage, and knocked twice.

After a moment, the door was unfastened from the inside. A slight figure, reaching just above Sirius's knees, scowled at him from below a long nose and little hooded eyes. He turned to face the corridor behind him, and screeched, "Master Sirius is here!"

Without a word to Kreacher, Sirius strode inside, promptly adopting the arrogance and briskness of a member of the Black household. He swept off his cloak and pitched it into the air, where it was seized by a wind charm and floated into the cloakroom. Underneath, he wore his second best robes, as was expected every week when he returned to his family home.

Regulus appeared on the staircase just as Sirius was straightening his tie. Their relationship had crumbled over the last few years until their looks were haughty and their words brusque.

"How is she?" Sirius asked after a moment of hesitant silence between the brothers.

"Awake," said Regulus. "Better than last week."

With a nod, Sirius pushed past his brother on his way up the stairs, barely sparing him a glance. He climbed until he reached the fourth floor of five, and paused on the landing. His mother's door, as always, looked more imposing than it should. It was mahogany, with a simple nameplate reading W. Black, and a rune carved into the wood itself. The latter was a recent addition, and Sirius took a moment to process it. It was gouged with a shaky hand, the symbol created to ward off enemies. He wondered who had carved it: Walburga herself, or Regulus, whose own mental health seemed to be declining nearly as fast as his mother's.

With a sigh, he gave a sharp knock, waiting for the standard "Come in!" before entering.

His mother was propped up on her pillows, sitting straight like a queen reclining on her throne. Her dark hair held not a single strand of grey and was splayed around her, wreathing her pale face like a mane. Her glittering eyes clung to more life than Sirius had seen in them for a long time, and her chin was tilted slightly again, making her seem more confident and arrogant than ever. "Better than last week" was an understatement.

Sirius could remember the last time he had stood here, looking upon his mother's weak frame. She had looked like a bird with broken wings—delicate and utterly useless. Her hair had hung limply over her face, which had been beaded with sweat. Her body had been wracked with constant shivers, and her eyes spun left to right to left to right as if searching for an enemy. She hadn't uttered a word to him, just muttering deliriously, and Sirius had almost—almost—felt sorry for her.

"Good afternoon, Sirius. Finally decided to grace us with your presence, have you?" Her voice was loud and condescending. Sirius nearly sighed in relief.

"How are you, Mother? You seem well."

"Do not treat me like an invalid, boy. You'd think your mother taught you nothing of the way to speak to a lady. Sit up straight!" She snapped, reminding Sirius of how she had been before the death of her husband. Cold, commanding, and ever so sharp.

He straightened his spine on impulse, though he knew his mother could do nothing if he refused. Just two years ago, she would have flung hexes at him for such a foolish mistake as to slouch.

"Have you acquired a wife yet?" She asked next, the same question as two weeks ago, and the week before that, and the week before that, and that, and that.

"No, Mother."

"It's time to settle down, boy. To remain a bachelor perpetually would be another disappointment to add to the list for you. You'll end up like my ghastly brother."

Sirius nearly flinched when his mother mentioned Uncle Alphard. The man had been his favourite relation and had consistently invited the family to his countryside estate every year, where Sirius and Regulus had flown the broomsticks Alphard gave them across the extensive grounds. Sirius hadn't seen—or heard from—his uncle in years.

"Naturally, Mother. I'll look into it." He wouldn't, but he said this every week and his mother could be relied upon to forget before their next meeting.

"Very well. I could draw up a list of potential suitors if you'd like."

"I can manage."

She frowned. "And you've been invited to the Malfoy's dinner on the 29th. I told them you don't live here anymore, but still, they use me to deliver mail to you. I say, what a mess this has all become. Why can't you just tell me your address, Sirius?"

He shrugged. "I'm never there anyway."

His mother quieted, and they sat in silence for a while, Walburga staring out of the window and Sirius wondering why he still came here. Duty, of course. It was always about his familial duties. If he was seen to neglect his ill mother, what a scandal it would be. The front page of the Daily Prophet: BLACK HEIR WAITING FOR MOTHER TO DIE IN ORDER TO CLAIM INHERITANCE, or, BLACK MATRIARCH ON DEATHBED WHILE HEIR ENJOYS NEW JOB. And the last thing Sirius wanted was to be in the public eye again. Now that the Black family's dealings in the Dark Arts had calmed down since Orion's death and Walburga's incapacitation, Sirius was away from the headlines and any unwelcome attention.

And of course, unwelcome attention meant the attention of the Death Eaters (most married-off family members or old family 'friends'), who would surely learn of his high grades in NEWTs, of his duelling skills, and assume he would be honoured to join their hallowed company, just as his cousins had been.

"Sirius?" his mother spoke.

"Yes, Mother?"

"Have you acquired a wife yet?"

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January 19th 1979

THE HOSPITAL

Remus groaned. His entire body ached; his neck was prickling unpleasantly, his face felt like a leaden weight was clinging to it, and his stomach and side felt as if they'd been trampled by a pack of wolves. When he opened his eyes, the world danced in dizzying circles and swam with black spots, and a spike of pain impaled his temples.

"Hey, Remus." Said a familiar voice. He took a moment to place it as Lisa's, before wondering why he had taken so long to place it at all, seeing as hers was the only voice he could count on to hear every day.

He opened his mouth, letting out only another moan, and then a rasp when he tried forming words. He felt cool water lifted to his lips, trickling down his throat.

"Hey Rem."

"Hey, Lisa."

"You passed out. Pain or blood loss, I dunno. Carla 'ad some wizarding potions stashed under 'er bed, so we think you'll be fine. Doc's been in and out, says e'll come see you later. Nasty cut, though. 'ow you feelin'?"

"Eurgh. Awful. Like I've been smashed in the head with half a brick and then had several large trees fall on me, and then been attacked by a penguin with a butter knife."

"Well, you're certainly feelin' better."

"How would you know? 'S not like you've got any medical history."

"Cos you're talking like yourself again."

There was silence for a minute before Lisa spoke again. "How'd you get it?"

"What?"

"The cut."

Remus shrugged as well as he could while lying down and barely in control of his body. Lisa would understand, but did he want her to? She would never have hesitated to bite the boy. Remus, however, was just soft-hearted, which was not a quality possessed by any of the great werewolves of Britain. A quality which would ultimately bring him failure soon enough.

"Emil 'ad one of 'is rants again. Said you were long gone. Was it 'im?"

He snorted. "No. No, I could deal with Emil Cadd."

She raised a single critical eyebrow, leaning back a bit and suppressing a grin. "So you'll fight Cadd tomorrow and win, will you?"

"Alright, I couldn't. But he'd be pretty bloodied up too."

She laughed. "If you say so. Who then?"

He shook his head.

"Greyback?"

There was no point pretending otherwise, else Lisa would list every wolf in their pack, and Remus would eventually have to say it was someone, and imagine the shame if he accidentally said "yes" when she said the name of one of the five-year-old cubs. With reluctance, he nodded.

"Why? Why'd the Alpha…?"

He tried to remain nonchalant. "Dunno," he said, shrugging. "Dominance? Boredom?"

She sighed. "Whassa matter this time then?"

"It's like always, Lisa. I'm not contributing enough. I'm not—"

"Not contributing enough? The rest of us aren't losing all our sleep to 'im and 'is sick games. Nearly every night you 'ave to—"

"Look, Lisa. He can choose anyone to … to do that to. I'm not special or anything. If I'm gone, he'll just move on and start again with someone younger. He thinks I'm not loyal."

She made a face. "Not loyal. It's jus' cos you're a decent person, ain't it? Jus' cos you're the only decent man in the Pack. 'Es jealous, 'e is. 'E knows you're too good for the rest of us. 'S why 'e tries to dirty you up."

"Lisa, I don't—"

"But it's always you! He's obsessed! It's just always you, Rem."

They were interrupted by three sharp knocks on the door. In walked Doc, his clothes tidier than any other wolf's, his back straighter and smile warmer. "Remus."

"Hey, Doc."

He sat, perching on the end of the bed. "How are you feeling? You've got a nasty concussion."

"Fine."

Doc, bitten as a young adult, brought manners and education to the entire pack. For those who wanted it, he occasionally ran lessons—reading, writing, muggle life—and for years Remus had attended every one. Spending all that time with Doc, he had picked up the Queen's English (or something resembling it) and as many manners as he could deal with in the pack environment. The man was a father figure and a teacher to every cub that grew up in the Pack.

Greyback, of course, despised him. A man who bore the news of the world outside the Pack was one who endangered the Pack's very infrastructure, challenging Greyback's own attempt at propaganda. Some wolves had disappeared, never to be seen again, but said to have tried their luck with the wizards. But of course, there was no way of disposing of the man who handled the paperwork. Doc was the only wolf who had the skills to effectively cover their tracks every month when they moved on and also to avoid the all-seeing eye of the Werewolf Registry.

In short, Doc was loved and hated, the kind-hearted genius of the werewolf pack.

"Anything go on in the last couple days?" Remus asked, confident Doc would have the information, as he always did.

"You've missed the first few fights. Most are betting for Cadd, but I reckon Blakesley will step in last-minute and take all again. She may be ancient, but she's still far too fit and ... well, enthusiastic to be underestimated."

"Mmm. That's one word for it."

Doc frowned. "You're fighting this month?"

"If I have to. Not against Blakesley, that's for certain."

"Do be careful, Remus." He sighed and said, "Greyback's angry. I suppose you know why?"

"Mmm."

"He'll want to see you as soon as you're able."

Remus winced, wondering how long he could pull off being 'too injured' without looking weak. "Yeah, alright. When I'm up again."

.

He went down to lunch that day, sore and shaky. The Pack ate together, gathered in the main room of the old factory. When he walked in, Lisa by his side, the usual yells and grumbles from his family reached his ears, their violent antics his eyes, and the smell of raw meat his nose.

He didn't want to know what the meat was. It was just barely cooked and tough-looking, but his stomach complained noisily when he considered missing out. He took a bowl from the cook, who leered at him and giggled when he asked what it was, then headed over to the most private space he could see.

As he sat down against the wall and tucked into his bowl of who-knows-what, he felt Greyback's eyes on him, scrutinizing him hungrily.

It would be a long month.

.

.

INTERLUDE

A far-off whispering from the winter breeze through the cedars. The sky broiling with the black smoke that tumbled out of the tall gothic chimneys.

The Dark Lord sat on his throne, eyes flashing in the feeble light of a chandelier.

The man—was he a man at all?—knelt at the foot of the great stone chair. "Just one condition, my lord."

A voice like the hiss of a bed of filthy snakes. "And what is that, wolf?"

His sickly yellow eyes moved upwards to rest on the snake-like features of the ghastly man. "There is a man I want dead, his invention destroyed, and I would like your help."

.

.

January 20th 1979

THE REGISTRY

"All missing werewolves in the last fifty years and the missing children of victims, please," James said to the man at the Werewolf Registry office.

The man flicked his wand towards the rickety shelves behind him, and in moments a stack of files emerged in a cloud of dust to settle onto the desk.

James winced at the sight of all the papers. "Thanks," he squeaked.

Sirius barked a laugh and clapped James on the back. "This'll be fun, won't it?"

.

.

January 23rd 1979

THE CUBS' ROOMS

Remus was up again. His neck was bandaged up, and the bleeding had mostly ceased by now. His headache still prevailed. Nothing could be accomplished for the bruising on his side and face, but he borrowed a thick woollen scarf for his neck which blocked out the cold as well as hiding the damage.

He passed into the cubs' rooms.

"Remus!" Came a voice, and then another and another and another. Soon a small crowd of five-to-ten-year-olds were gathered around his knees, none even reaching half his height. Then again, it was rare for adults to grow as tall as Remus, never mind children.

"Hello," he said gently. "How'd the moon go?"

"Good!" declared one boy, Daniel. Dan had been bitten three years ago and was now eight (apparently—no-one but the lad himself was counting), and regarded Remus as his dad, which probably wasn't healthy at all. "I got Kelly! There was blood and everything!"

Remus winced. "Where's Kelly now?"

"Next door. Crying. Doc said he'll have to cut her arm off cos' it's infected." Dan looked almost … proud. He shouldn't be. Somehow an eight-year-old boy was proud of causing his friend's amputation.

He sighed, rolling his eyes. "Go apologise. Go on!"

Wading through the sea of cute but abnormally violent children, Remus found himself standing over the boy who had been bitten by Greyback the night before. "Go back to whatever you were doing," he said. "Bloody hell. These kids."

The boy stared up at him.

"Hello," he murmured, sitting down beside the boy, leaning against the wall with his long legs folded in front of him. "Are you alright?"

The boy looked terrified. His brown eyes were blown wide and fearful, his skin pale, a scratch on his face still healing.

"'Course you aren't. I'm Remus."

The boy remained silent.

"You don't have to say anything, but I think you'll find it better here if you do. You should try to make some friends. They're nice kids, really. A bit bloodthirsty, but that's … well, that's to be expected. Honestly, it's not as bad as you think." His neck itched as he said it, and he winced at his own lie. "Really, just try talking to someone. Now, let's try again: I'm Remus."

The boy frowned for a moment before replying. "Jake."

"I was terrified when I first got here, too. It gets better. Really, it does."

Remus shivered from the cold and tried to believe it himself.

.

.

January 24th 1979

THE AUROR OFFICE

Sirius and James had been poring over a hundred reports, files and maps since they'd investigated the wreck of the Derbyshire cottage. Their shared desk space was covered in papers, flapping every time the office door opened, their quills splitting by the day with the rate they were writing.

Even so, Moody had to drop by every so often to ensure they hadn't fallen asleep ("CONSTANT VIGILANCE, Black! You can't be ready for an attack if you're napping.") or trailed off ("This is an investigation, not a playtime! Stop talking about the quidditch scores and start talking about the murders!").

They'd transferred names from the werewolf registry, noting missing children whose parents had been attacked by wolves and disappearing registered werewolves. Now, five days after the full moon, they had produced a list.

"Recognise any of these, Moody?" Sirius asked his superior.

The grizzled Auror scanned the names for a moment. "Well, Fenrir Greyback of course. A particularly hostile one, he is. That's the pack you're looking for?"

"Yeah."

"Well, Frances Lowell. She's old now, so won't be one of the big figures. Emil Cadd is tiny—probably half your height, Potter—but he's as rough as you can get. Lorraine Blakesley … absolute maniac. We brought her in once, and she tried to gnaw an Auror's arm off in human form. Remus Lupin—I met him once, right before he disappeared. His father still works at the ministry. The others… I recognise a few more—Lisa Connolly, Kelly Slater, Cecil Read. There are hundreds of them." Moody sighed, still reading through the names, flicking absently through the lists. "You've done a good job; by the next full moon, we'll be prepared. Look for werewolf activity and try to identify a pattern. We have to work out where the next hunt is."

They were drowning in papers, and Moody was no lifeguard.

.

.

January 26th 1979

THE ALPHA'S QUARTERS

Remus entered when commanded.

Greyback had a room to himself. It appeared to have been the factory boss's office, furnished with a tattered button-back chair, a woodworm-infested desk, and—what seemed like a recent addition, presumably from another room—a sturdy double bed. The sheets of the bed were the same quality as the ones the rest of the Pack had been given—tattered and scratchy and riddled with holes.

Greyback was sitting in the armchair, eyes fixed hungrily on Remus as he walked in. "You're recovered?" he growled immediately.

"Well enough," Remus said, wondering immediately whether Greyback would be gentler if he had said no. But the price for lying was worse than whatever was in store for him tonight, so he shut his mouth to prevent himself from amending his answer.

"Good."

The Alpha walked out, presumably to take care of some other business before dealing with Remus, so he moved over to slump on the crumpled sheets of the bed, ready for a long wait.

In fact, it was only a few mere minutes before Greyback returned, and his gaze fell on Remus. He growled deeply as he shut the door behind him. "Did I ask you to move, Lupin?"

"No."

"No..?"

"No, Alpha. I'm sorry, Alpha." He scrambled to get up and return to the place he had been standing, but suddenly Greyback was in front of him and was striking him hard across the cheek. He fell back onto the sheets.

"Get up, Lupin. Stand here." He gestured to a spot in the centre of the room, and Remus hurried to obey. The older wolf stood just behind his shoulder, crooning in his ear, his voice a deep rasp, scraping against the air. "What's on the menu tonight, little pup? I could fuck you into the wall, Lupin. Or the bed or the floor, or over the desk. What do you think?"

He shrugged, knowing Greyback preferred him to be silent.

In a moment, the Alpha rammed him into the desk, and he made contact with the hard wood, the crash jarring him for a moment. Then Greyback's hips were grinding against Remus', his claws scrabbling at buttons and zippers, ripping at the younger man's clothes with his teeth.

There were no more words that night, just growls of pleasure and whimpers of pain and the knowledge that there was no way out.

.

.

January 27th 1979

THE DINING ROOM

As Sirius sat, he registered the faces of the guests at the dinner table. He had consulted the Order about the dinner party at the Malfoy's, and they'd been ecstatic at the chance to gather some intel. First in the mental checklist was names. There were many faces along the table, and Sirius took in the ones he knew.

Evan Rosier, his flushed angel's face as beautiful and captivating as ever.

Philip Avery, a familiar sneer scrunching his long nose.

Narcissa Malfoy, her golden locks bouncing as she turned her head to look down the table.

Lucius Malfoy, waving around a hand covered in jewelled rings.

Abraxas Malfoy, his cold dead eyes staring into the polished wood table.

Antonin Dolohov, his charming foreign accent snaking through the air like a twirling ribbon.

Madison Bulstrode, digging into her second course of dessert.

Walden Macnair, a man whose stony silence filled more room than any voice could.

Theodore Nott, whose polished smile could blind the most unruffled of witches and wizards.

Terence Travers, remaining a small presence in the company of more important people.

Aria Zabini, her beautiful mahogany skin and glittering black eyes already attracting several admiring glances from all over the table. (She remained the only woman Sirius had ever felt attracted to.)

Andrew Selwyn, who was definitely trying to cramp Sirius's style with that haircut.

Bellatrix Lestrange, loud and unafraid to show any man that she was in charge.

Rodolphus Lestrange, trying to escape his wife's wrath by talking to whoever else was nearby.

Rabastan Lestrange, the quietest of the Lestranges, but certainly not any less sly.

Regulus Black, looking rather overwhelmed with it all.

In short, Sirius was sitting in a room of Death Eaters or their accomplices, and there was at least another three hours until it would be acceptable to leave.

Better make use of it then, he thought, already noting the people to 'accidentally' encounter once they began to mingle. They'd eaten already —seven courses of flaunted exuberance, cooked to perfection and presented with finesse. With luck, the guests would be satiated to the point of laziness, at which point their tongues would slip, and their secrets given straight to Sirius like late Christmas presents.

Sirius's mind, of course, was still thinking of the werewolf situation, and he had to physically shake himself in order to brush that from is mind —this was a different job, a different skill. He needed to use every ounce of his pureblood upbringing in order to fit in well enough that they were comfortable with him.

The chime of a champagne glass. The slide of a chair. Lucius was standing, looking up and down the table waiting for silence and attention.

"First of all," he said, "Thank you. Thank you all for coming. I do hope you enjoyed the meal, and be aware when we move into the next room there will be more drinks, so there's nothing to keep you here. Do feel welcome to mingle with everyone else —we're all friends here, and it would be a shame to see anyone not enjoying themselves on such a lovely evening." He gave a smile. "Now I must cease my talking; I'm sure you're all tired of me already. The next room is just through the door to my right."

There was a general scraping of chairs and a raise in chatter as the room stood as a group, migrating into the next room.

Endless chatter. Polite conversation. Chumming up to slimy gits. Sirius wanted to retch for all the money wasted on a single serving of the nibbles. Dinner was over, yet people still feasted on the finest caviar and drank glass after glass of champagne, some too tipsy to care how expensive it was.

Sirius had to hold himself back from another glass —he had to be sober in order to retain enough information and to not give himself away.

It was at the end of the evening that he heard anything at all. He sidled up behind Regulus.

"I'm going to head off," he said quietly.

Regulus gave a quick nod and rejoined the conversation he was part of.

Sirius left, nodding goodbyes to whoever he passed, saying a quick thank you to Lucius, and entering the corridor that led to the front doors. It was just as he swung his cloak on, as he was about to leave, that he heard hushed voices.

They came from a room to his left, and the door was slightly ajar, so he pressed against the wall beside it, listening.

"...meeting with the werewolves in April." The first voice was gruff and scraping.

The next, high and brash, Sirius could easily recognise as Bellatrix. "The Dark Lord will be there himself?"

"Yeah. I've been invited, too. He's allying himself with that big pack."

"Where?"

"Somewhere in Southern Ireland. Storming the house of some potioneer —Belby? Anyway, it's some big thing. The werewolves and us Death Eaters … it's gotta be something big, innit?"

"Can we talk on Tuesday, Travers? I'd love to hear more. I've been in contact with Greyback myself. I've got to be going now, though." Came the sly croon of Bellatrix. "Rodolphus will want to leave soon. Tuesday."

Too late, Sirius heard the high-heeled footsteps coming this way and immediately he ripped the door open, throwing himself out and slamming it behind him. He apparated away before Bellatrix could see him.

.

.

January 29th 1979

THE STREET

Three werewolf cubs, including Kelly with her newly amputated arm, sat next to the bus shelter clutching onto a hat.

"Please sir," said Daniel, "Spare some change?"

The man walked on by, briefcase swinging on his arm.

"Madam," Kelly murmured, "We're destitute and penniless." Remus had no idea what the word destitute meant, and neither did Kelly. He gave her an amused smile from where he stood nearby.

The woman skirted around the group of dirty children.

Remus frowned, looking at the small bag of knuts and sickles he'd nabbed off a group of women going shopping. As he walked past the children, he dropped a knut into the hat, offering them a wan smile.

"Thank you, sir," said Michael, playing along, "That will go towards a meal for us. You're awfully kind."

"We should all be giving money to those in need," Remus said unnecessarily loudly. "All these selfish people walking past should be ashamed."

As he continued speaking, a woman suddenly relinquished a couple of sickles, and a man with a frustrated expression doubled back holding a few muggle pence. The children smiled. "Thank you, kind Sir, Madam."

Grinning, Remus walked on. As he passed a mother scolding her misbehaving daughter, he slipped his hand into her coat pocket and snatched a purse, replacing it with a sheaf of papers about the same weight. It was all in the speed and fluidity, speed because she might notice if not, and fluidity so that anyone watching would assume nothing was out of the ordinary. Remus walked calmly onwards as if he hadn't just stolen her week's wages.

He lingered on the street corner, pretending to be observing the clothes on display in the window, but he was really regarding a man nearby who had just paid for his fruit at a market stall with money from his bulging left pocket.

Curls of sandy hair hung at the top of his vision and he wondered if he should cut it again, quickly scrapping the idea when he remembered the shoddy job he'd done last time. Maybe he could convince Lisa to do it for him. He doubted she'd comply.

As he thought of her, the blonde werewolf appeared at his left, looking into the window like he was. "You lookin' at 'im?" she asked.

"With the blue coat?"

"Yeah. Stuffed pocket."

"I can distract him."

"Sure."

Remus turned from the shop window and started wandering down the street, looking around with wide eyes as if the sights were new to him. When he neared the man, he frowned up at an older, grander building, turned to the man and said, "Excuse me?"

The man looked up. "Yes?"

He cleared his throat, clipping his accent until he sounded like a posh student. "Do you have any idea what that building is? It looks awfully impressive for a street like this."

"I'm afraid I don't live here; I'm travelling with my wife. Though I'm certain the shopkeeper would know if you wanted to ask him—" Bumbling fool.

He let himself smile as he spotted Lisa'a retreating figure. "Yes, of course. I'll do just that. Thank you, sir."

Walking off at a relaxed pace, Remus grinned. Another bulging bag of either pounds or galleons (you can never be sure in mixed wizard and muggle towns nowadays) in his—well, Lisa's—pocket.

He rejoined with Lisa. "Pink heels?"

"Pink 'eels."

.

.

January 31st 1979

THE MAP ROOM

Maps, stuck with pins of different colours, with photographs and notes stuck around the borders, lead to numerous locations with red string.

"Devon twice," Sirius murmured, "Somerset, then Berkshire, Gloucestershire, Radnorshire, Merioneth, Flintshire, Staffordshire, Derbyshire, now Derbyshire again."

James came to the same conclusion he did. "North," he breathes. "They're going farther north every month, right up along the west coast. Where's next?"

Sirius frowned. "Looks like it could be Lancashire or Yorkshire, but Nottinghamshire's a possibility … even Lincolnshire. We'll need to look for more similarities between the attacks before we can hazard a guess. We can't make a mistake, James. We've only got one shot at this and twenty days to get it right."

James was already searching through the piles of paper for the reports on each attack. "We better get started then."

.

.

February 2nd 1979

THE BASEMENT

They'd found an appropriately deep basement under the factory. It had clearly been used as a storeroom, but after half an hour's work the Pack had cleared it out, and they stood in the dark chamber. Almost the entire disjointed family of the Pack was gathered in groups around the room.

Emil Cadd flashed a grin that revealed every one of his rotten teeth. "Perfect," he hissed into the darkness. "Who's in tonight?"

A man Remus knew as Cecil stood up. "I'll do it."

The basement filled with sound as he stepped into the centre of the room. There were some playful jeers and a few shouts of encouragement for Cecil, who was one of the more recent members of the Pack, but still a year or two older than Remus.

Remus stood with Lisa in the corner as he usually did, choosing not to join the conversation or the incoming fight as he didn't maintain a desire to be torn to pieces or be shamed. Instead, the two of them watched, usually picking opposite sides and betting against each other, cheering the other wolves on as they got their paws dirty.

Cadd looked around, eyes catching Remus's. He tried to pull further into the shadows but before he had the chance, Cadd growled, "What about Lupin? Come on, boy. You haven't fought in a year, at least."

Suddenly Cecil seemed to be taller, the shadows murkier, Cadd's eyes more feral. Almost the whole Pack was watching. Refusing would be worse than losing.

"Sure." The word was casual. The man behind it was not.

Another roar from the surrounding crowd, cheering or jeering for Remus, who was already thinking back to the days when he had been a regular fighter, and a good one too until he'd been challenged by Lorraine Blakesley and had been too proud to back out. His winning streak ended in a pool of blood and days drifting in and out of unconsciousness, followed by a full moon in an old World War II pillbox they'd found to keep the bloodthirsty pack of wolves from hacking him apart even further.

As he pulled off his thick jacket, passing it to Lisa, he briefly wondered whether he was still competent enough. Two years ago, he would've beaten the inexperienced Cecil to a pulp, but now, completely out of practice, he worried for himself and for the still-healing bite on his neck. Rip that any deeper, and he'd be in trouble.

His shoes were off next, and he ran his hands along the dusty floor.

As he straightened, he offered a nod to Cecil. Cecil nodded back.

Bare feet scraping against the harsh surface of the stone. Eyes lit with fire. Sweating palms. Heart beating, beating, beating, awoken by the promise of a fight.

The crowd fell silent. Some sat, others leaned against the walls, eyes fixed on the two circling wolves. Remus indistinctly heard Emil muttering bets to another wolf, but he barred it out, focusing all attention on Cecil.

They circled for a moment, eyes levelled on each other, bare feet silent on stone, crouched low, knees bent, muscles tense, and—

Remus pounced, knocking into the shorter body of Cecil, slamming him back into the crowd with his full body weight. The crowd pushed the pair back into the centre of the room, and Remus threw his first punch, hitting Cecil solidly on the jaw.

The crowd cheered.

The blow knocked Cecil back, and they stood watching each other for another moment before Cecil lunged forward, hands scrabbling for Remus's already injured throat. Sidestepping, Remus lifted a leg and thrust his knee into his opponent's side, causing him to double over. Before he could recover, Remus was on him, fists flying, nails scratching, hands tearing at his hair.

Soon enough, he had the other man in a headlock and lowered his mouth to Cecil's ear. "Come on, Cecil," Remus growled, "Concede. Just do it. Just fucking do it already."

With a yell, Cecil freed an arm from Remus's grasp and dug his nails into the bandages that covered his neck. Crying out, Remus stumbled back, barely lifting a hand to his neck before Cecil came at him, claws aimed for his eyes. Remus kicked out again, raising his foot higher so that it connected with Cecil's stomach, eliciting a pained groan, but the older man continued forwards, throwing himself into a mighty punch that caught Remus's cheek.

A flash of pain. Remus grunted, but Cecil had been carried forward by his own momentum, and soon enough Remus attached himself to Cecil's back, dragging him downwards, fingers attacking his throat. Cecil spun, trying to fling him off, but he held on with a vice-like grip. His feet were dangling by Cecil's knees, and he kicked forwards sharply, bringing the other man crashing to the floor in a heap.

Remus stood above his heaving body as the crowd whooped and cheered.

"That it, Cecil? You concede?"

"Yeah," Cecil choked. "Yeah."

Grinning, Remus held a hand for his fallen opponent and helped him up. "Well fought."

Cecil spat blood onto the floor and made a face, clutching at his jaw. "Yeah, you too. Well won."

Cecil staggered over to his friends, who laughed and patted his back as he sat down, while Remus returned to Lisa, who raised an eyebrow. "That was alright," she said. "You've done better."

He laughed. "What a compliment. Thanks ever so much, your highness, for such high praise I surely did not deserve. A shower would do nicely."

Lisa laughed. "No such luck, Lupin. The nearest runnin' water's down at the river, and it's bloody freezin' outside."

"Eugh. Couldn't Greyback take us somewhere a bit nicer?" He complained as they started to walk out.

"What, a five-star muggle 'otel? That would go well."

"I jus' meant running water and electricity."

Lisa smiled wistfully. Behind them, new fighters were being nominated, the cheers from each wolf growing fainter as they climbed the stairs to the ground floor.

"Come on, I'll replace your bandages. There's a stove in my room—maybe we can light it and warm up some water."

Remus smiled gratefully as she led them through the factory.

"You think you'll start to fight again?" she asked.

"Dunno," he said. "I should. Then I'll be prepared next time I'm forced into it. I wouldn't want to be put against someone when I'm not prepared."

"Like last time?"

"Like last time."

They passed identical doors along identical corridors, passing no-one. All the older wolves were downstairs, enjoying what little entertainment there was in this place. The lone person who never ventured into the cellars was Fenrir Greyback, who spent all day languishing in his room, periodically taking other wolves —commonly Remus —in for a little 'fun'. The Alpha presided over his pack, never stooping to their level, never taking the chance of losing a bet or a fight. If he was beaten, it could be seen as a challenge to his leadership.

Lisa stopped at a door like any other, forcing it open and beckoning him in. She lugged a box from under her bed and sat, patting the sheets beside her for Remus to do the same. He did, and as she peeled off his bloodied bandages, she started to speak:

"Do you ever wonder whether it would've been better out there?"

Remus frowned, tilting his head to the side as she dabbed at his wound with a cloth. "What do you mean?"

She stopped what she was doing, staring out the window as if she meant what she was saying. "I mean … if 'e'd left us. As pups. Would we survive with the wizards?"

"He says—"

She shifted her eyes to him, wide and believing. "I know what 'e says. I know 'e says they 'ave their 'tame wolves', who don't hunt, who live in their society, who everyone treats like the dirt on the bottom of their shoes, but is that true? Could a wolf survive every moon, never to 'ave a pack or a huntin' ground, never to bathe in the light of the full?"

"I reckon it's true. They hate us enough to do that."

Leaning forwards, she spoke as if she'd thought too long and too hard about it all. "But would we be better off? Better off without 'aving to hide like this, in places with no runnin' water, never enough food, being attacked or … or repeatedly assaulted by our own Alpha." She ran a finger down the wound on his neck. "Would we not be better alone? We could get jobs and money. Remus, we could build a life—"

"No. They wouldn't allow it. You don't understand how much they… how much they hate us, Lisa. We're all alone. It's us and them. Wolf and wizard don't mix."

"Could they not learn?" Her hands were still on his neck.

Remus leaned out of her reach. "Look, if I met the Minister of Magic, I'd kill him. I'd rip him apart with my bare hands. Him and all his werewolf-hating colleagues. Who knows what Cadd or Greyback or Blakesley would do? They've made life hell for us, for every werewolf, even their own bloody tame wolves. They just … they just hate us, and we hate them, alright? It's never gonna happen."

"But…"

"You can't teach an old dog new tricks, Lisa. If it hasn't happened already, it never will."

.

.

February 4th 1979

THE POTTERS' PLACE

Euphemia's face lit up when she saw him.

"Sirius! James said you'd be coming over soon! You're looking as charming as always, of course."

Her dark eyes crinkled at the edges when she smiled and spread her arms to engulf him in a hug.

He managed to groan a rather muffled "Thanks, Mum," before his face was pressed tighter to her shoulder.

"Is Peter not with you? I haven't seen that young man since he left school. He's not struggling, is he? Let him know we're always here. He should know that."

"Haven't seen him in a while, actually. Me and james think he could be trying to get out of it all, run away to France or something."

She tutted. "Poor boy."

When he was eventually let into the house, he was greeted by the familiar smell of Euphemia's legendary curry and the cutting MEOW of the family cat, Grunnion (named after Alberic Grunnion, inventor of the dungbomb, naturally).

Sirius grinned. "Alright, Grunn?"

Euphemia, ahead of him, sighed. "Don't encourage him. He hasn't stopped screaming for weeks now."

They continued into the living room, where Fleamont smiled from his place in his armchair.

"Doing the crossword, Dad?" Sirius asked, walking over and perching on the arm. The paper was held in his hands, a pen in his mouth, a look of concentration set in every line of his face.

"Yes." Fleamont mused. "Did you learn anything in class between all those pranks?"

He laughed. "Perhaps."

"Transfiguration spell causing the growth of antlers on the head of the victim."

"Oh. I used this in our fourth year…"

Just then, a knock came at the door, and in strode James. Behind him stood Lily, who was much meeker in her entrance, smiling in turn at Mrs and Mr Potter, and then pulling a face at Sirius.

"James!" said Euphemia, "Lily! We didn't expect you until tomorrow. Is everything quite alright?"

James grinned, a slightly mad look in his eyes, his hair looking a little tamer than usual, his smile a little brighter, the bags under his eyes shallower. "Yes. Fine. I need to talk to Sirius about something."

"You mean … work?"

"Yes. Work."

Mrs Potter, knowing exactly what work meant, sighed and walked back into the kitchen, presumably to tend to her curry. Lily took the place Sirius vacated and leaned over Mr Potter's shoulder. "Anteoculatia, I think. Seven down." She muttered. "A - N - T - E - O - C ..."

Sirius followed James, who was practically skipping into the corridor.

"James?"

"Sirius." James was full-on beaming. "I was talking to Lily, and she worked it out."

"What do you mean? What did she work out?"

"The attacks. There's a connection."

.

.

February 6th 1979

THE FOREST

They were on the way to work. That's how it happened, every morning. Every werewolf was woken by the shouts of the others, and they trudged in a bedraggled cluster through the forest to the adjacent town, shaking off the early-morning slumber with a walk through the frosted woods.

Those who didn't go to town were obligated to hunt with Greyback, catching various animals (and the odd child) for supper each night.

Remus, as usual, was with Lisa, as well as a couple of the younger ones, who had dubbed the two of them as the most likely to offer protection from the likes of Cadd and Greyback.

The atmosphere was both amicable and tense, as it usually was with the Pack. They were a family, sure, but certainly a dysfunctional one. Everyone knew everyone's names (just about), but there were petty arguments and long-lasting feuds within their tight-knit group, like a class of squabbling primary school children.

Squabbling, for sure. Remus never got on with the others too well. Cadd and Blakesley and the rest of the higher-ups always smirked when he passed, murmuring about 'Greyback's little fuckboy' and laughing like crazed hyenas.

Here, in the tranquility of the forest, it was unmissable when the mood shifted—there was a murmur, descending into silence, and the whole forest seemed to freeze as if playing a game of musical statues. A tremor shuddered through Remus's body, and he could almost feel the temptation coming from the front of the Pack—was it Emil making that hungry growling noise? Was that Lorraine's breathing going deadly still? Then everything moved again, the Pack converging upon a pair of struggling figures in muggle clothing.

Snarls and growls, a flurry of nails and teeth, hard punches, a scream. Through the mass of scrabbling bodies, Remus glimpsed the figures again, just two Muggle children, crying and screaming amidst it all. There were many more like him hanging back at the edge of the Pack, reluctant to join in.

Briefly, as he watched them pound the muggles, Remus wondered what made him different. He'd spent many a night sorting through his memories, considering him and them and everything in-between. What was it that made him reluctant to hurt, to kill, to bite? Was it the lingering whispers of his long-ago childhood—the impression of a smile, a gentle caress of his brow, tinkling laughter accompanied by the soft haze of a summer's evening—or his life in the Pack? He had joined and was immediately spotted by Greyback … was it the steadily more intimate relationship with the Alpha that meant he had never hero-worshipped the older wolves, meaning he had never given in to the primal urges to be accepted and therefore never felt the need to be so violent? For the same reasons, he had always remained a loner, not following the Pack in situations like these.

For whatever reason, he knew this was wrong. Should he do something? Should he stop them?

Remus turned away, wiping the disgust off his face with a shaking hand.

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February 7th 1979

THE DEPARTMENT OF MYSTERIES

The most boring room in the Department of Mysteries was decidedly this one. Sirius and James had been led through rooms painted in every shade of red, to little corridors with the floor made of bone, to rooms in which there had been no sound. Yet here they were, in … an office.

The Head of the Department of Mysteries (whose name was as of yet unknown to the two Aurors) sat in front of them, shuffling through some paperwork and taking a sip of his far-too-milky tea.

"So," he said, "You have managed to find this connection."

James stated: "It was my wife, actually—"

"Yeah," Sirius interjected, "We did."

Looking rather affronted, James asked, "Is it … is it alright? I mean, is it true?"

The man frowned and looked up from the papers. "It most certainly is. This werewolf pack has been attacking the Department of Mysteries employees. We can deduce that the motive isn't to find out any of our mysteries, due to the efficient killing and their lack of ability to hold back and ask the questions, so it seems they want something to be hidden from us, something stopped. They want one of our secrets kept secret."

Sirius leaned forward eagerly. "Which one?"

The man sighed, raising an eyebrow. "I may be Head of the department, Mr Black, but do not think I know everything that goes on here and don't expect me to tell you even if I did know. We will conduct a search, but we may never find the answer; the Department of Mysteries is a maze of different objects. It could be any one, or any word in any piece of paperwork, or any whispered story told here, or any prophecy or spell." He paused, taking another sip of his tea. "Good day, sirs. You have my luck in your investigation." And he went back to his paperwork, not giving them another glance.

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February 9th 1979

THE FACTORY FLOOR

They gathered in the main room of the old factory, still littered with the odd piece of a Victorian machine—a cog in the corner, a piece of metal on the floor, an abandoned leather shoe—and building dust on every surface. The floor was rotted where rain had leaked through the hole in the roof and leaves built where they had blown in through the smashed-in windows. Remus wondered, again, why their rooms had been done up at all … what purpose would anyone have to refurbish rooms but not the main space? Forgotten thoughts of the past, he supposed. Unfinished business, a beautiful building left to crumble.

Greyback stood at the head of their crowd, balancing precariously on an old desk he had found, a satisfied grin on his face. He stomped hard to capture everyone's attention.

"My Pack!" he said once every eye was on him. "Another moon is coming. Only three days now and we can hunt again!"

There were a few halfhearted cheers.

"We have found a suitable target that will allow us to expand our Pack more than ever." Greyback leered at them, pausing while they looked on expectantly. "There is an Orphanage barely five miles from here, owned by one of our enemies who lives in the house two doors down. The Pack will split, one headed by me, and the other by a wolf … of my choosing. Every child in the orphanage must be Turned."

Remus shivered involuntarily, and he heard several intakes of breath. On the other side of the room, he glimpsed Cadd with a few of his lackeys, grinning hungrily, eyes alight with anticipation. As Remus looked back at Greyback, he found the Alpha's apple cider eyes on him.

"Lupin will lead the orphanage raid." His name rolling off Greyback's lips made the word sound dirty. "I want him to be watched—make sure he's the one to Turn some of them."

He masked his face to fight the turmoil underneath. By 'proving himself', he had expected maybe one kill, but leading half of the Pack? Turning dozens of children?

"To the house with me, I want Blakesley, Johnston…"

Greyback's voice faded into white noise as Remus started imagining himself in six nights time—where would he be? Either triumphant or dead.

The noise of the room was overwhelming, the excited or disappointed comments spinning around, jealous complaints containing Remus's name, growing louder and louder until a monster of sound permeated the room, and it was too much for Remus, who couldn't lead older and stronger wolves. He wasn't too keen on the kill itself, waking to remember the light fading from an innocent person's eyes, feeling their flesh heavy in his stomach. But he would do it. He had in the past. But being in charge of dozens of deaths was nothing to being responsible for turning a child's life into whatever this was. He dreaded the waxing moon more than he had ever done before, wishing he could drag his heels and make some stupid excuse. But he had to. Of course, he had to—failure wasn't considerable.

Greyback approached him, yellow teeth bared in a snarling smile. His tone was low, as if somehow it would make his words less cruel. "Are you prepared, Lupin? Ready to prove yourself? And remember: if you fail, we'd all welcome some fresh meat on the table." He grinned wider, fangs bared. "And I'll see you tonight, eh? Get there a bit earlier, will yeh?"

And he strolled away, followed by the loving eyes of his followers. Remus sighed, the breath halting in his throat.

Triumphant or dead.

.

He hesitated on the threshold.

Greyback sat alone, frowning through a sheet of paper on the desk. Remus didn't know why he bothered; the Alpha couldn't read.

The older wolf stood when he caught Remus's scent. They were alone, and yet again Greyback was beside him in an instant, breathing hot air into his neck. "Are you ready, Little Pup?"

"Yes, Alpha." His words flowed out like tar, reluctant but already programmed to do so. He remembered the first time he had done this, when his words had stuck in his throat and Greyback had yet to break him in. Between then and now, he'd endured all sorts of horrors: barely holding back tears as his Alpha cut him from hip to ankle and lapped up the blood in a single swipe of his tongue, or shaking incessantly as he was beaten over and over and over for the other man's sick pleasure.

He knew, after years, what to do and what not to. He knew the only way to end the agony was to bring it to a finish as soon as was acceptable. He knew, most of all, that there was no avoiding this. He till shuddered as he remembered the time as a child he had spent crafting excuses and faking injuries, and the consequences that followed.

When they were interrupted by a smirking Cadd, and Greyback strode out of the room, half-dressed, Remus was left alone on the coarse bedsheets, and he let himself start to cry only when he heard the heavy footsteps disappear around the corner.

Naked, he lay there like a cut of meat on the counter, waiting for the butcher to return.

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February 10th 1979

THE HOG'S HEAD

It was an Order tradition to meet in a pub. Perhaps it was because Dumbledore's brother owned one so it was readily available or maybe just because the old man liked a good pint of bitter once in a while.

Regardless, this was no exception. Busty barmaids and hooded customers swarmed everywhere, rushing for their Saturday evening pint. Sirius was given a grim smile by Aberforth, who jerked his head towards the back room. Slipping past a weeping banshee, Sirius entered.

The full Order was here, or those who weren't on mysterious missions anyway. Dumbledore and Moody headed the table as usual, with even Arabella Fig attending, who had clearly managed to drag herself away from her beloved cats.

Taking a seat next to James and Lily, who were squabbling as they customarily did, Sirius observed the whisperings of Moody and Dumbledore, their heads bent together and lips moving to form words at magnificent speed.

"Hello Lil'," he said, interrupting their argument.

Lily looked up from her glare to greet him. "Hello, Sirius. Y'alright?"

He shrugged. "Fine. You?"

"Okay, thanks."

"Alright, Jim?" he asked his best friend.

"Alright. Have you seen Pete? Mum was asking about him, and ... well, I forgot about him, in all this going on."

He frowned. "She was asking me too. He hasn't been around for a couple of weeks, at least. Why?"

"He seemed anxious the other day, that's all. I think his mother's gone down with some muggle illness. Has to stay home to mind her."

"Oh, poor Pete. I do hope she's alright—do you think if we visited, she'd be able to make those delicious scones again?"

Before James could answer that, no, Mrs Pettigrew was likely too ill to bake scones for them, Dumbledore stood up and cleared his throat. The table quieted, and Aberforth came in from the other room, standing in the doorway.

"The scouting of the vampire colonies went well, I hear, with minimal danger to our members, and certainly a handful of vampires more reluctant to join the Death Eaters. Patrols around … certain areas were undisturbed, and I'll let you know what your duties are for these next couple of weeks. Death Eater activity has been limited, as far as we know, so be on guard as usual, and report anything out-of-the-ordinary immediately. You know where to find me.

"Before I go on, does anyone have anything to say to all of us?"

Sirius spoke up, "Do you want information about … our special project shared with the group, or would you prefer if James and I spoke to you privately at the end?"

The headmaster hesitated. "I think we shall gather our group from earlier this month to decide our course of action for Monday night. We wouldn't want any of that information leaked, would we?"

"Ah," Sirius said, imagining the precious hours of research slipping through his fingers. "Of course."

The rest of the meeting was more instructions and some reports by some of the scouts, then a discussion about various upcoming social events of the Pureblood elite, something Sirius would certainly be involved in once they came around.

When it was all wrapped up and people began to trickle out, Dumbledore asked for the members of the werewolf mission to remain behind. "Thank you, brother," he said to Aberforth, who gave a nod and returned to the bar.

"Call if you need me, Albus."

Eventually, it was just them, and after a comment on Caradoc's newly groomed beard and Emmeline's perfect (as ever) hair, they got to business.

"Sirius, James, if you could present your findings."

James, after a look at Sirius, nodded. "The attacked families all have Department of Mysteries employees in them. We spoke to the head of the department and discovered … well, not much, but we know they're trying to cover up some sort of big secret. This is Greyback's Pack, by the way, who are presumably carrying out Voldemort's orders. Anyway, due to another pattern in their locations, we know they're somewhere around Lancashire or Yorkshire. Now, only two of the department's employees live in that general area. It'll be one of them."

"Is there a pattern for what they were working on at the time, or…?"

Sirius spoke up bitterly. "The department's so bloody secret they won't even tell us enough for us to work that out. This is all we've got, and with two days until the full … well, it'll be tight."

"Could we wait for next month? Perhaps we'll have more information by then, and we'll know for sure…"

"No. We can't. Two is good—who knows how many will live in the next target area? We've got a fifty percent chance of getting it right."

"Or we could split up," said Emmeline. "Half on each house. One of the groups will get him."

"But that'll be … what, three or four people against an entire pack?" Alice interjected. "We can't fight off an entire pack of werewolves on the hunt."

Moody tapped a fist on the table. "Show me the locations," he growled.

They did, and the entire group pored over the map together, pointing out whatever they saw that could be in any way useful.

Finally, it was Caradoc that spoke up. "All the victims have children. Only this employee here has a child. That'll be it."

Sirius looked at him. "Are we absolutely sure? If they find out what we're doing and we get it wrong..."

"The Pack are trying to expand, aren't they? They're visiting every Department of Mysteries employee every month and taking their children while they're at it. Two birds with one stone—this secret staying secret, and the Pack constantly growing larger … it's only common sense they'd go for the one with the children if there was a choice."

They sat in silence for a moment.

Moody banged his fist against the table, hard this time. "CONSTANT VIGILANCE! What are we doing here, sitting on our arses and staring into thin air? Let's get a move on! What's the plan?"

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February 11th 1979

THE ROOF

Lisa and Remus lay on the roof. Above them, forming a glittering canopy over Yorkshire, was the inky darkness of the sky, black and cold and unforgiving.

"Sometimes," Lisa said, "I wish I knew the names of all them stars."

Remus, propping himself up on his elbow, looked over at her. "Yeah?"

She sighed, blue eyes sparkling in the moonlight. "Yeah." The moon itself —nearly full —seemed to glow, and Remus couldn't decide whether it was kind or mocking. "It's like … it would be bringin' me closer to 'em. If I knew. You prob'ly fink it's stupid."

"Nah," Remus inhaled the night air. "'S not stupid."

"We're … we're stuck down 'ere, is 'ow I see it. And they're, like, watchin' us. They're lonely. And if we all knew their names, they might be kinder." The look in her eyes was infectious. Dreaming hopefully at the same time as being shattered into a million pieces of despair.

"Kinder?"

"Yeah. Don't they look cruel?"

They lay in silence for a moment. Their breath clouded, carried away by the slightest breeze. Their eyes were studded with the reflections of the stars. Lisa finally turned her head towards Remus.

"Rem?"

He turned his head, and suddenly she leant forward, pressing her lips against his. Remus froze in shock as she pressed into him with a sudden passionate movement. His lips were warm for a few startling moments before she pulled away, a new light in her eyes, a smile on her lips.

Lisa leant forward again but Remus pulled back.

"I … I'm sorry," he whispered.

She looked to the stars again, slumping back against the roof tiles. "No. I thought…" She frowned. "I thought you … well."

"I don't … well, I'm not sure. I've never really…" he trailed off, wondering who he was, really. Wondering how he could put this so it wasn't weird. How he could put this and feel comfortable with his own conclusion, while the stars judged above. "I guess I don't really like girls."

"What d'you mean?"

He shifted uncomfortably, looking away, looking anywhere but Lisa and her piercing gaze. "I mean … I mean the way the others talk about women, I —I've just never … well."

Lisa's voice was sharp. "What about men?"

Blink. "What?"

"There are some people … well, do you think about men … like that?"

He frowned, trying to lose himself in the stars. How he wished one of them would fall right now, glowing as it dived, burning holes through his hands and ending him and Lisa and the foreign words between them. But the stars remained where they were. "Yeah, I guess," he whispered. "Sometimes."

"Oh."

Sighing, he gave a bitter laugh. "That about sums it up."

Still staring into the dark landscape of the Yorkshire countryside, with every vibration of the tiles beneath his fingers, he felt rather than saw Lisa leave.