EGG MOON
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12th April 1979
THE PRISON
#177
Remus felt calm. The den he was in was familiar now: the stench of his blood from the last Full was still present on the walls; the memories were still fresh. This was his territory.
He stalked around the edges, sniffing in each corner, raising a leg to mark a particular spot by the door.
The smells were comforting —blood and sweat and sex. The memories, lingering in the back of his mind, were a welcome distraction. Remus was content to lie down and sleep, settling his head onto his paws with a huff.
.
Boredom. He had slept for an hour or two before hearing the barking of a deer from out the window. Up like a bullet.
He hadn't run for months. He hadn't eaten for months. The deer barked.
Scattering paws against floorboards. He ran from one end of the room to the other, then back. He wanted out. He needed out. His mind, after a sleep, was refreshed. The usual thoughts of pack and prey spun about his head —where was Alpha? Where was the next target?
From the tiny window, the moon slid out from behind a cloud. It shone, round and perfect like a silver sickle.
He stopped running, skidding to a stop where he could see her face.
He arched his back and inclined his head to the sky, letting out a mournful howl at the watching orb.
Then he turned, a wave of revived anger coursing through his veins, and slammed his shoulder against the door.
This was not a den; this was a prison. All Remus needed was an escape.
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April 13th 1979
Waking, unhurt for the most part, he stared holes in the ceiling and tapped out a tattoo with his fingers.
There's the rhythm, he thought. I just need an army. And perhaps a few bugles.
Sirius didn't come in for another hour and looked shocked to see Remus awake.
"Thought you'd still be out," he said, peering suspiciously at the werewolf's unbattered body. "You've done alright this month."
"Mmm."
"I just realised. We missed your birthday, y'know. Tenth of March."
"Oh."
"Don't you care?"
He shrugged. "Not particularly."
Sirius sat down on the bed by Remus. "How are you feeling?"
"Fine."
Frowned. "Really? Because —"
"I said I'm just grand, Sirius." He rose all of a sudden, ignoring a lurching sting behind his eye, and stepped in front of the wizard. He leaned forward and nipped playfully at Sirius's neck. His voice lowered to a growl. "Fine enough to do this."
Sirius, of course, forgot his initial concern. They fell into the bed, and for a moment the world was theirs.
.
He had never felt so confined in his life. Not ever, but for that Moon in the blood-soaked pillbox (stone and stone and nothing but a whiff of fresh air). The room, now that he was recovered and no longer distracted by the hearing, no longer boggled by the new surroundings, or awed by the magic, had lost its foreign taste and become nothing but a memory of the pillbox, the walls encircling him in a cage of brick and plaster. All of a sudden, alone and bored, he hated this gilded prison, and the people who would dare confine the wolf to such a place.
He breathed raggedly: in, out, in, out. He glared at the walls, braced his arm against the window.
And there, below the frame, was a latch, and it swung open at his insistence, the rotten wood splintering below his hands. He opened the window a crack. And breathed.
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April 15th 1979
The phial in Moody's hands was full of transparent liquid.
Remus glared. "Fuck, no. Not again. No way in hell am I letting you give me that stuff."
The Auror unscrewed the stopper and turned to the werewolf, who was struggling to get off the chair. "There's a sticking charm between you and that chair, Lupin. Stop struggling. Makes you look like an imbecile."
He glared.
"Look, you're taking it, Lupin."
He shook his head, fear in his eyes. "No. No, I'm not."
Moody seized his shoulders, and he immediately began to thrash in his seat. The Auror knocked him back, hard, and held his nose shut, tilting his head back so he had to open his mouth to breathe. When Remus finally sucked in a breath of air, he tipped the potion down his throat and clapped a hand over his mouth so he couldn't spit it out.
He worked the fingers of his other hand around the werewolf's throat until he guzzled it down.
He suddenly felt woozy, the surroundings becoming faint blurs of colour, everything moving slower than it should. He slumped in the chair.
"What is your name?" Came a voice from beyond the cotton wool of his vision.
The cold was back. Every syllable they ask was an icicle digging into his neck. "Remus Lupin."
"Who is Fenrir Greyback?"
"A bastard."
Moody frowned. The blizzard picked up. "What is Fenrir Greyback?"
"A werewolf." Remus wanted to laugh.
"How do you know him?"
"I'm a werewolf too." He tried to giggle but it came out as a wheezing cough. There was a shade of amusement behind the monotone.
The Auror cursed in frustration. "Is Fenrir Greyback the Alpha of your pack?"
"Yes." It slipped out before he could think about it.
"Is he in contact with the Dark Lord?"
"I dunno."
"Do you know of the Dark Lord?"
"Yes."
"Who is he?"
"A wizard?" It came out as a question.
"Who is he to you?"
"A wizard."
"Have you ever seen him?"
Remus winced as the cold gnawed at his bones, urging him to answer. "Yes," he choked out.
Moody sat forward. "When?"
He fished in his brain for the vaguest answers he could get away with whilst still speaking only the truth. "In the past."
He sighed, one eye rolling every direction, the other fixed on the strong-willed werewolf. "How long ago?"
"A while."
"Where?"
"From a distance."
"Where was he?"
"On the other side of the room."
"Why was he there?"
Remus shrugged. "Visiting."
"Did he speak to Greyback?"
He couldn't help that one. "Yes."
"What did he say?" Moody, tired of the half-answers, had adopted a hint of venom in his voice.
"I dunno."
"C'mon, Lupin."
"I'm cold. Make it stop. Please. It's so cold here." He tried to look around, but the world was still whitewashed, like a drawing covered in a layer of paint, so all that remained was merely a shadow.
"Lupin, are Greyback and the Dark Lord in an agreement?"
"I don't know."
"What do you think?"
He forced his lips together and jerked his head. "Make it stop. Please. I'm so cold. I can't think. I can't see. Leave me alone. It hurts. It hurts." It's nothing more than the truth.
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April 16th 1979
THE CONFERENCE ROOM
James was smirking at him again.
"What?" Sirius finally snapped.
"Who's the bird?"
He scrunched up his face. "What?"
"I mean ... bloke. Whatever. Who is it?"
"What the hell are you talking about, James?"
"Your face! Recently, you've started … I dunno. Daydreaming. You're either in love or imagining a spectacular shag. Which one? C'mon, fess up."
Sirius stared at him. "Love?"
Both, he wanted to say. Both.
.
.
Remus was recovered and restless. Sirius watched as he paced his cell, waking in the middle of the night sweating and wide-eyed, standing to walk it off and finding himself without a forest to wander in.
"We need to distract him," said Sirius, looking into Dumbledore's carefully blank face and hoping something was getting past it. "He's unsettled. He needs something to do, something to think about, or we'll find ourselves with a much more challenging situation."
Moody frowned from Sirius's left. "What kind of situation are we talking about?"
"We've got a caged werewolf who certainly won't cooperate if he's bored. He needs to do something … why not try for the escape?" Sirius looked at the older men. "C'mon, Dumbledore, Moody, you must understand! If we want to restrain him, we have to house him adequately. For now, lovely as the house is, it's just not enough for someone who's spent their entire life moving around, always in different places, always outdoors and running and fighting. I'm asking for a distraction for him. That's all we need."
A sigh from Mad-Eye. "I might have an idea. Whether it's the right time, I don't know, but it needs to be done."
"What is it?"
"His parents, Black. His parents haven't seen him for fifteen years."
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INTERLUDE
He joined the Pack at age four-and-a-half, but didn't speak to the Alpha until he was seven.
"Do you know why I bit you, pup?"
Remus swallowed uneasily, his shoulder itching in memory. "To Turn me, Alpha."
"But why you in particular?"
"I don't know." His tone was insolent.
Greyback's eyes had flashed. Even years later, Remus always recalled that moment as the time Greyback had first seen him properly.
"How should you address me, boy?"
"As Alpha, sir."
"You'd do well to remember that. And as you're too fucking stupid to play along and guess, I bit you for two reasons."
Remus remained silent, lost in those predatory eyes that pinioned him to the spot.
"First, your father was rude to me. Seems to run in the family, eh?"
He shook his head desperately. "I didn't mean to be rude, Alpha. Please believe me, Alpha!"
"Shut up. Not only was 'e rude, but 'e had the nerve—the fucking nerve—to name you Remus Lupin. Do you know what your name means, pup?"
"No, Alpha."
"Ask that muggle bloke, then. Doc. E'll tell yeh and you'll know what I mean. Your name meant I had to bite you. I couldn't resist. I'm a man of poetry, me. You remember that. Our names, Lupin—we're linked, yeh know? You're meant to follow me. Named for it. Made for it." He leaned in very close, and Remus knew better than to lean back. His rancid breath was hot on the boy's cheeks. "Remember that, alright? Yeh'd do best to remember that."
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WOLFSBANE COTTAGE
That evening, Sirius walked in the receding light down a little cobbled path. The house was far from the road, hiding behind a screen of foliage, accessed by the path, which wound through the trees. A little gate stood at the treeline, one of two openings in the fence. Within the fence itself was a garden, covered in a blanket of blue and purple flowers, broken only by a continuation of the path, which led to the blue front door.
The gate opened with a slight squeak from the hinge.
Sirius's boots clunked loudly like horseshoes on the ground. The flowers lay still.
He stepped up to the door and knocked.
Silence for a moment, and the flowers in the corner of his eye, until the door opened. It was a tentative answer. It only widened a crack at a time, and when the gap was head-sized, a woman's face appeared.
"Hello?" she asked, a soft Welsh accent on her tongue.
"Hello," Sirius said with a smile. "May I come in?"
"What're you here for? We aren't expecting visitors."
"Can I speak to you, Mrs Lupin?"
Her eyes widened at the use of her name. "The house is a mess and —"
"It's about your son."
She quietened, her face going pale. "Alright," she muttered.
The house was tidy but bare. It was as if the life had been stripped from the walls. The soft yellow paint seemed fake. The perfect neatness seemed cold.
She gestured to a seat at the table. "Please sit. Tea?"
"Yes, please. Is your husband in?"
"Sugar? Milk? He's at work."
"Milk, two sugars. When will he be back?"
"Tonight."
"Soon?"
"Yes. How strong?"
"Four minutes."
Her hands shook as she took a teacup down from the welsh dresser.
Teabags in the teapot. Kettle on the stove. Sugar out. Milk out. Hope Lupin had nothing else to do. She hovered for a moment before moving to sit in the seat next to Sirius's.
"The flowers are beautiful." His voice broke the fragile silence.
"Pardon?"
"In the garden. The blue flowers … they're lovely."
"Oh."
He frowned at her reaction. "What are they?"
"Aconite." Her voice became hard all of a sudden.
"Oh."
A whistling. "That's the kettle."
She stood, taking measured steps to the stove, where steam plumed from the spout of the kettle, and from a little hole on the lid.
She poured the boiling water into the teapot, spilling a little on her hand. She swore loudly and fluently.
"Do you want some help there?"
"I'm fine."
"Really, I can—"
"I said it's fine."
She ran the burn under a stream of cold water from the sink.
"I can heal it if you'd like."
"I don't even know your name. I'd rather you didn't."
"Sirius. Sirius Black. When your husband arrives, I'd like to talk to you about your son."
"Alright."
Out here, there was no sound from the road. Even the forest seemed to be devoid of noise. The house stood silently.
The ring of a french timer cut through the veil. Mrs Lupin turned off the tap and poured the tea, the bell still peeling in the background.
It was harsh and high-pitched. With a sigh, Sirius stood, walked over in two steps, and pressed a button to turn it off.
Silence again. He stood by the fridge. "Mrs Lupin, please let me heal your hand. It's swelling."
She short woman sighed. "I'm fine," she gritted out through her teeth, annoyance lacing her tone. Lyall can do it when he gets home."
"Which'll be soon?"
"Yes. I've even made him a cup of tea."
He sat back down.
Water beaded at the head of the tap and dropped as if in slow motion. The sound might as well have been deafening.
Lyall arrived just three minutes late. His tea was still hot. He hung his coat on the hook and stomped his boots out on the mat. His hat came off and was slung on the peg over his coat.
"Hello," he said as he entered, eyes lingering on Sirius. He kissed his wife on the cheek and sat where his teacup was.
Tea was drunk. Hope's hands didn't stop shaking. Lyall's eyes were suspicious. Sirius tapped his foot against the table leg.
"My name is Sirius Black, and I'm here about your son."
Lyall frowned. "My son is dead."
He looked down at the floor, fiddled with a button on his robes. "No, Mr and Mrs Lupin. He isn't."
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April 17th 1979
THE EXHIBITION ROOM
They'd told Remus that he had some guests coming. There had been a suspicious glare behind Moody's eye. There had been a nervous tremor in Dumbledore's hand. Sirius had bitten his lip and looked away.
Remus sat, as he had not done in a while, on the bed, leant over, head in hands.
Guest. The word left an awful lot to be imagined. The phantom of Greyback's words came back to him; "When you want to know about wizarding society, look no further than the executioner standing behind you, gun loaded with silver bullets, barrel pointed at your head," the Alpha had growled when he'd caught Doc teaching about wizarding life to some of the younger ones. Remus had been young then—young and still terrified—and the words had never left his head.
In Remus's head, the man stood behind him, breathing into his ear, then pausing to let him hear the click of the safety. The gun, cold against the back of his head, where the neck joined the skull. The bullet, lodging in his brain with a spurt of blood and an earsplitting shot.
He flinched when a gust of wind blew through the open window and brushed against his throat.
Surely Sirius could never let that happen? Surely after everything recently…?
But no. It was only sex (good sex—Remus could take control, could be the one with the reins for once, could feel the shape of the other man below him rather than above). To Sirius, Remus was nothing but a werewolf and an easy shag. A dead werewolf was not something to cry over. A shag was not something to cry over. Sirius, with his cheekbones and his hair and his blinding smile, could easily find someone else.
"Remus?" came a voice from outside. Sirius.
He didn't reply, preferring to watch the door in silence.
"Here we are."
Three sets of footsteps outside. The door pushed open slowly, tentatively.
A woman and a man, followed by Sirius, came in, looking at Remus in shock as if they'd never seen anything like him before.
Certainly not executioners.
He raised a questioning eyebrow.
"Remus," the woman breathed. The man continued to stare, mouth hanging open, eyes wide.
The werewolf frowned. "Who are you?"
They looked stumped at this question. The man opened his mouth wider, as if to speak, and closed it again. The woman's shoulders drooped.
"Who are you?" Remus repeated, more forcefully this time.
"We're…" the man sighed. "Remus, we're you're parents."
He stilled. With all the possibilities he had considered and despaired about, he had never once considered this.
He drank in the long nose of the man—his father—and the round lips of the woman—his mother. Despite his strength, he'd inherited a gauntness from his father, who was tall and long-limbed. His eyes were the same shape, his chin the same angle. His mother had curls as tight as his own, though darker, and there were dimples on her cheeks as she broke into a smile—dimples which he had always hated on himself, but made the woman have the same cosy, enticing feel as a crackling fireplace or a particularly fluffy sofa.
"We thought you were dead, son." The Welsh accent from his mother cut through his thoughts.
He continued to stare, not quite comprehending the fact that these were his parents. He'd always assumed they were far away, unreachable and long gone and not caring where he was. They had been erased from Remus's mind.
But here they were.
"Remus?"
He looked down, closing his eyes, not able to bear even looking at them.
"Gimme a minute," he muttered. "Could you just…?" Remus tilted his head towards the door.
"Of course, Remus. Take all the time you need," said the woman—his mother.
His mother.
He didn't even see them go out.
Greyback had once told him when he was seven and still crying for mummy, that—
"If your mother looked at you now, she'd cast you out. She'd hate you and scorn you just cos' you're a werewolf. Don't cry for mummy. Even if she could, mummy doesn't want to save you now. Forget it, pup."
She had smiled at him. Her blue eyes had shone. She didn't hate him. Even now, she loved him. Briefly, he thought, why?
And the man … the man who looked just like him. His father.
"Your father is cruel and evil. 'e hates werewolves more than you can even imagine. You father, the bastard, would kill you now, given the chance. 'e'd kill yeh!"
His father had looked shocked, but not angry. Not cruel or horrified or hating.
Greyback's tongue carried nothing but lies.
Sirius poked his head in. "Remus? Do you want…?"
"I … I don't know. I don't know if I can…"
"You can." The smile beneath those grey eyes was enough to convince him. "Of course you can. They're your parents."
"You hate your parents."
"Oh, shut up. That's exactly why you should try now. Because you can love your parents. You can talk to them." He sighed. "Not everyone gets that chance."
"Alright," he said, his voice almost a whisper. "Alright. Let them back in."
And they came back in and he felt like he should close his eyes again because he couldn't help but stare. His head spun, heart raced, hands tremored.
"Remus," one of them breathed. He couldn't tell which, because blood was roaring in his ears. Everything sounded the same. "Oh, Remus. My boy."
There were arms wrapping around his shoulders and he sunk into them, whoever it was, burying his face in their shirt, hiding the redness of his eyes. He shook, tears wracking his whole body. He couldn't remember ever feeling like this before: like his body was out of his control, like his tears would fall until he made a river, like he meant something to someone. He cried and cried until he wasn't sure how long it had been.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm so sorry."
The figure pulled away. "Why? Don't be sorry, son."
"I'm sorry. I just … left you. I haven't thought about you. I haven't asked about you or tried to find you. I forgot I even had parents at all." He spat the words like he was blaspheming. "I thought you'd just … just hate me anyway."
He turned his face away, suddenly embarrassed about the state of his eyes, his cheeks, his nose. He wiped away the tears with a sleeve.
"We could never hate you, Remus. You're—"
"But you could! You could hate me! You have no idea what it's like. I'm … I'm disgusting. I'm a beast."
"You're not—"
"BUT I AM! I AM, ALRIGHT? I'M NOT THE FOUR-YEAR-OLD YOU REMEMBER! I'VE KILLED, YOU KNOW? I'VE KILLED PARENTS—LIKE … LIKE YOU—AND WATCHED THEIR SONS AND DAUGHTERS BE BITTEN LIKE I WAS!" His chest heaved. "I AM NOT YOUR PERFECT SON! I AM NOT THE REMUS LUPIN YOU KNOW! "
They left in a flurry of putting on coats and the creaks of leaving a bed in a hurry.
Faintly, Remus could hear a hushed conversation from outside.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. He gets overwhelmed sometimes. He has his moods. He's … he isn't alright, and I don't think he ever will be, after everything, but he's not a bad person, Mr and Mrs Lupin. Take my word for it."
"Thank you, Mr Black. For everything. I think we should be going." His mother's voice sounded rattled and shaky. Two pairs of footsteps had never been so gloomy.
.
"I didn't know you'd killed before."
Remus shrugged. "I have." His face turned cruel. "And I ate the bodies after."
Sirius sat beside him. They didn't talk about Remus's parents or his explosion or what would happen next. They just sat, and Remus felt the turbulent thoughts disintegrate, and Sirius wondered if they could ever fix this broken man.
.
Remus had returned to a docile state by the time Dumbledore arrived. Sirius gave him a summary of the events and warned him of the werewolf's temper. The old wizard only smiled wanly and walked straight in. Behind him, Moody followed, and the two men stood in front of Remus, who had been sitting in the same position for hours, even since his parents had left, knees tucked into his stomach on the edge of the bed.
Sirius, following them in, heard the tail of the greeting.
"—quite alright, Mr Lupin?"
Remus stiffened. "Please don't call me that."
"Why?"
"I'm not—"
"But you are." He pulled his hat off and sat in the empty chair. "Remus, how did the meeting go?"
"Fine."
"Are you sure?"
Remus looked up and saw the expression on Albus's face. "You know then?"
"Yes. Why, Remus? What happened?"
"You had no right to do that."
"To do what?"
"To put me in that position without warning me." His voice was measured, but anger lay beneath. "I didn't know they were alive! I might not have wanted to see them!"
"But you did."
"You had NO RIGHT, Dumbledore! Don't you understand? They'll live in hope of their son returning when it will never happen. I am not to be trusted. I'm not stable, or whatever. You'll never let me out of here, not as long as I hold information. Not as long as I am still angry, and I will always be angry. I cannot remember a time when I was not angry at something or someone. I'm not ... I'm not him. Their son. The little boy they remember. They have no idea what I've done, what I've seen" He breathed heavily, chest rising and falling rapidly. "I'm not one of them. A Lupin. And … look, I'm not one of you either. I'm just a werewolf, and whatever you tell yourself whatever you make me into, nothing will change that."
"Remus—"
"They'll want to get to know me! I'm not an exhibition. I'm not going to play nice and go out for tea with them. If you let me speak to them as I am, it's a situation you can't control. It's not fair to me and it's not fair to them, alright? So shut up and bloody well ask me before you try and meddle with my mind like that. You have no right to do that again."
Dumbledore sighed. "They're your parents."
"Fenrir Greyback is the only parent I need. I am a wolf! I'm a werewolf, whether you like it or not. Whether they realise it or not. I'M A BLOODY WEREWOLF!"
Remus yelled into the night, and the next morning he was gone.
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April 18th 1979
"Where is he?"
Dumbledore turned around. "Where is who, Mr Black?"
"Remus. You've … you've moved him, or something. You've sent him away. Where is he?"
Sirius stood, hands clenched in shaking fists, anger flaring in his eyes, in Dumbledore's office. The old man frowned. "Mr Black, I have not sent Remus anywhere."
"But…"
"Is he not at the Potters'?"
"Nowhere to be found, Professor."
"Are you quite certain?"
"Yes," Sirius breathed, thinking of the empty room, The Hobbit missing from its place on the bedside table, the bedsheets neat for the first time since Remus had moved in. "It's … he's gone."
It's so empty, he had nearly said. For it was. The room had no life. The house was quiet. The bed no longer looked welcoming and familiar. So, so empty.
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April 23rd 1979
THE WAKE
He kicked at the ground. The forests were turning greener by the day, but warmth hadn't quite reached the north of England (does it ever? he wondered). He'd been wandering all day, waking his legs from the cramped conditions on the trip. Remus had hitchhiked with a group of four women who had gotten quite handsy after an hour or two (he'd politely asked to be let out, and it was a relief when he was finally released.). After the women had been the truck. Unable to find anyone willing to pick him up, he'd leapt into the back of an open truck, sitting amongst bin bags stuffed with stinking who-knows-what for five hours straight. Needless to say, his legs ached from misuse and from sitting on that particularly lumpy cargo.
Why am I doing this? he asked himself with a sigh. Why am I chasing after Fenrir Fucking Greyback?
The truth was, he didn't know. He felt an irresistible pull to the Pack, especially to the man himself—the Alpha. Greyback. Perhaps it was a wolf thing. Was it possible to love and hate a man at the same time?
He'd called Greyback his father. The only parent I need. He shuddered, imagining what the Alpha would have him do if he knew that. 'Call me Daddy,' he'd say. 'Scream it like it's a prayer.'
He quickly cast the thought from his mind.
Shaking his head, Remus sniffed at the air and frowned, rolling over a log with his foot absentmindedly. There'd been reports of mass pillagings in the area recently, but he'd wandered all over and couldn't sense a thing. Usually, he'd smell something, or hear a bark of laughter on the wind, or see the telltale cracked branches and trampled grass of recent inhabitants. Today? He felt like the Pack were taunting him, watching him struggle, watching him chase them as they stayed just out of reach. He would stay in their dusty wake until they finally gave in and indulged him.
"Where are you?!" He yelled suddenly into the silent air. "WHERE ARE YOU?"
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INTERLUDE
The Dark Lord lounged on his throne.
"What do you think of the plan, Lord?" The werewolf asked.
"It works. Lacks finesse, but it works. When is this?"
"We have already confirmed the dates, Lord. Months ago."
"Hush, Greyback. June? The Full Moon?"
"Yes."
"You had better uphold your side of the bargain, wolf."
"Oh, I will. I just need this, My Lord. And the Pack will be yours."
"And why, exactly, do you need this?"
Greyback threw back his head and smiled, rotten gums revealed below his lips. "Freedom, My Lord. Freedom."
As Greyback left, the Dark Lord leant back with a snarl of contempt. His hounds needed no freedom.
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April 24th 1979
WOLF AND HOUND
Another pub with seedy meetings in every booth and curious figures at the bar. The fire glowed green at one end, outlining the shape of a goblin family gnawing on their hippogriff burgers. The air was awash with the sweetness of spilt beer and in every corner was an ancient pile of dusty peanuts.
Sirius nearly rolled his eyes at Dumbledore's stubborn traditionalism.
Their table was at the end furthest from the fireplace, and it was clear the building hadn't caught on to muggle central heating or housewarming spells because a draft brushed straight through the window and settled around them like an unpleasant smell—which is to say, it wasn't out of place.
The table looked a little emptier than it had at the beginning of their mission. Alice and Frank were to be married the next week, and Dumbledore had suggested she take some time off. Caradoc was 'busy', a word which implied either a top-secret mission or the most recent woman he'd taken a fancy to. James was working on the security of his house, which had failed spectacularly during the escape. Remus must've had some magic in him after all.
"Remus Lupin is missing," Dumbledore said, his voice low. "No-one has seen him since the night we introduced him to his parents."
"Well that must've been it then," said Emmeline, flicking a curling lock of hair over her shoulder.
"What happened that night?" Moody growled. "How did he react to his parents?"
Sirius looked at Dumbledore, whose brows came together, concerned.
"He was angry. He was angry we didn't ask him before we introduced them. He wasn't prepared." Sirius looked up, meeting Moody's mismatched eyes with his own. "He was scared."
"Bloody hell, Black—he's a werewolf for Merlin's sake! A beast. Don't tell me you're getting attached."
He laughed as if it was ridiculous. Perhaps it was, to Moody and Dumbledore, who had never seen the glint of victory is Remus's eye when he won a game of chess or the concentration in the furrowing of his brow as he read. They'd never felt his lips on theirs, and the rush of giddying pleasure that accompanied it. They'd certainly never run their hands down the planes of his back, down the hard muscle and the scars, the tattoo gone wrong at his hip. They hadn't seen the gold in his eyes, the bronze in his skin, or hear the silver in the sound of his howl as the moon rose.
They'd not known Remus Lupin. Not even for a moment.
"Of course not, Moody. I'm just concerned, is all. He … he didn't know what to think. What to do. He scared them off because he freaked out."
Dumbeldore's icy gaze has been on him since Moody had asked about his 'attachment'. Sirius was careful not to meet his eyes, knowing all too well the old man's skills in the subtler arts of magic; he'd never quite mastered occlumency.
"We need to find him. He has far too much information about us to take to Greyback."
Dumbeldore finally looked at Moody. "What was his relationship with Greyback?"
"All he said was 'Alpha'."
"Doesn't sound like they were too close," Emmeline mused. "Greyback must be Alpha to all the wolves in his pack."
"We can't take the chance. I imagine that one word means a thousand things we couldn't comprehend."
"Could we track him?" Sirius asked. "I've got some of his stuff. Clothing and whatever."
"Groovy," Emmeline crooned, eyes sparkling with the thought of being able to use one of her famous experimental spells. "I've got a new tracking spell I've been waiting to try out. Been working on it for months."
"Does it work?" Came Moody's snap.
"It certainly works on my cat."
"We'll test it out tomorrow and use it the next day." Sirius suggested. "For now, we need to think about what to do if he does get the information to Greyback."
Moody frowned in concentration. Dumbledore looked down at his own clasped hands. Emmeline sighed. "We pray," she said.
.
The tracking spell did nothing. Remus's clothes had not been worn enough, or the spell was faulty, or Remus himself had covered his own tracks. Something had gone wrong. They tried all the standard spells, but it was fruitless. The werewolf had disappeared.
.
April 26th 1979
THE SPINNEY
Hunger. The wolf in Remus growled. The evening settled over the little spinney in a veil of pink light that glanced through the bunches of growing leaves. All Remus had eaten was three eggs from a fallen nest. they'd been raw and sticky and nowhere near enough to satisfy the void of what his mother had called 'the bottomless pit'. He had laughed as a child and asked what it meant. How did he remember something so small, so sweet? The last week had brought a barrage of memories plaguing him every time he closed his eyes.
Stop thinking of them, he told himself. Just stop.
But he couldn't help it. In the reflection of the streams he had washed in, printed on the back of his eyelids, laced into his own skin … the memories were everywhere. They followed him as if they were tied to him, manacled to his ankles, clattering along the floor as he walked.
Still, he was walking. As a human, his senses just weren't strong enough to find them. Remus needed to change. Remus needed the Full.
.
Every night brought a stronger itch from the waxing moon. His own skin wanted to be rid of itself, as if everything underneath it was rolling around in protest at his puny human form. When he washed, he cursed his ugly human body. When he ran, he cursed the immobility of his limbs. When he slept, he wished for the complicated human thought to float away, leaving the simple focus of the wolf.
It was coming. He begged for it; he longed for it; as the moon swelled, where was the wolf?
.
May 5th 1979
Remus killed a rabbit.
Blood dripped from its broken neck. The fur was sticky with it. Its eyes were wide and glassy.
He could barely bring himself to eat it raw. Months before he would have tucked in with gusto, pleased at a piece of meat just for him that he could at least identify as something other than human flesh. Now? His hunger deserted him and he could only imagine eating it after starting a fire and cooking it.
Was he pathetic? Was he weakened by his time in captivity? How could he ever return to living in the Pack so…
Delicate?
Weak?
Tame?
He shivered at the thought and sunk his teeth into the bloodied flesh, resisting the urge to retch.
.
.
Sirius sat with head in hands.
"He's … he's a werewolf." He whispered into the empty room. "I … I don't care about a bloody werewolf. He's nothing but a beast."
His own mind scoffed at him with disdain. You weren't worrying about that when he was fucking you.