8:00 PM – November 2, Hogsmeade
Remus Lupin walked into the Three Broomsticks, not expecting anything new. He was typically laid back, not someone who was rushing around, chattering with friends, and making meetings. No, he liked his privacy. Not that anyone would want to be around him anyways. He had accepted this fact, but did appreciate that he had true friends, though few they were.
Lupin took a seat at the bar, and a young witch looked at him, raising an eyebrow. Lupin smiled and nodded, but the witch got a disgusted look on her face, and scooted down a few seats. Lupin sighed, and resisted teasing the poor witch by scooting down next to her again. Being single had its good points, but the reason why he was single didn't.
"Ah, Lupin. Back again?" Madam Rosmerta walked up and placed her hands on her chin, leaning over and looking at Lupin.
"Yes, Rosmerta. I do believe it'll be, ah, butterbeer again!" He smiled, but Rosmerta did not return it. Her face fell.
"Lupin, before you go getting drunk, and I know you'll want to after you hear this, poor dear... Erm, have you heard about any recent events? Anything that startled you?"
Lupin frowned. "No, not really."
"Ah. Well, take a gander at this." She handed him a newspaper. "Be right back with your butterbeer."
Lupin scanned the main headline, a title that said in big, block letters, 'MURDER IN LONDON RAISES QUESTIONS'. Lupin read on and absentmindedly sipped at his butterbeer when Madam Rosmerta gave it to him. As he reached the end of the article, he read aloud to himself, barely above a muttered whisper.
"The Ministry is reluctant to release a list of suspects but they do know what committed the murder against the Muggle. 'We do not want to sound prejudiced, given the current lore and tribulation surrounding these creatures, but a werewolf is highly suspected.' - WHAT?"
Lupin slammed the mug down on the bar and some of the drink splashed out onto the counter. He sat there in shock, rereading the article, willing it to change. It didn't.
"Whiskey? Scotch? Take your pick, Remus." Rosmerta smirked and walked back into the kitchen.
Staring blankly into space, Lupin finished his butterbeer and shakily got to his feet. He heard snatches of the young witch's conversation with her friends as he walked out the door.
"... werewolf... murder... him? Of course!… only one in London..."
Lupin stomped into the foggy night, teeth gritted. He glanced up at the Shrieking Shack, hating it, himself, and whoever bit him. He continued walking and found that people went out of their ways to not walk close to him or pass close to him. When it started to rain, he didn't bother to pull out his umbrella. He simply walked along, teeth chattering involuntarily until he found himself facing a somewhat welcome sight- Hogwarts. He paused, considered things, and made up his mind.
Five minutes later found him at the front door to the castle, bundling up his soaked coat, and fingering the wand in his pocket. He opened the door, and walked in.
Severus Snape strode out of the Great Hall and into the huge foyer. Dumbledore had said, seemingly on a whim, to check and see if anyone had come in from the rain. Snape had though the request a sign of Dumbledore's old age and had almost dismissed it. What he saw was something he couldn't dismiss or grasp fully.
"Remus?" he said, barely whispering. "Remus Lupin?" His voice rose to a regular volume, but his tone dripped of hate and disgusted surprise. "How dare you show you face here."
"That's your opinion, Severus. Now, tell me, please, where is Albus?"
"Hmph." Without another word, he turned on heel and walked briskly back into the Great Hall. Lupin hung his coats on the huge rack (it bowed and said "Good day, sir!" as he left) and headed up the stairs to the Great Hall. He stopped as he realized that there were students in there. Merry chatter and clicking of plates sounded fainter than he remembered it- but they weren't in Hogsmeade. Must be at a Quidditch match.
He caught himself backing down the stairs, away from memories and fear. Lupin recomposed himself, convincing his mind that he was being foolish. He walked through the doors. Instantly, the Hall fell quiet. There were only about forty students, but they all paused, forks halfway to their mouths, interrupting sentences, and stopping dead. Lupin nodded politely and walked down the middle between the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables to the Teachers' Table. He stopped and looked up at Dumbledore.
Talking resumed, slowly but surely. A few students left, but Lupin didn't notice them. "Albus, good to se you again," he said quietly.
"And you, Remus."
"My office, I presume?" Dumbledore got up from his chair.
Lupin nodded, some tension leaving his face. He glanced over at Snape, who looked away. The Potions master's face was screwed up into a mask of loathing and hate. Ignoring the strange looks they got, Dumbledore and Lupin walked out of the Great Hall as quickly as Lupin had come.
"So, Remus... welcome back." Dumbledore looked over at the 'retired' Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. "How have things been since you left?"
"Dismal, as usual," Lupin said, his cracked voice barely above a whisper.
"Ah, but surely you haven't been sad all along?"
A strange look passed over Lupin's face. "No."
"Well?..."
"Er... uh, Crookshanks keeps me company. Sirius will visit once in a while... and of course I have my books."
"It is a good thing to be consumed in books rather than other things," Dumbledore mused with an oblique glance at Lupin.
Lupin almost laughed bitterly, remembering Madam Rosmerta's comment on him becoming a drunk. He replied, "We'll see how long that lasts."
Dumbledore's stride slowed down for a split second, but he regained his sweeping gait as they reached his office.
"Mouse knees!" the headmaster rumbled, and the gryphon statue in front of the hidden doorway rotated around to reveal a flight of stairs. The two men walked up to the lavishly decorated quarters above and sat down in two chairs.
"Anything to drink, Remus?" Dumbledore asked.
"No, I'm fine."
"Then what brings you here if you don't want any of my famous cocktails?" Dumbledore said lightly trying to lighten the mood.
Lupin chuckled. "I was... mildly disturbed by the article I saw. What is with them jumping to conclusions? It could have been a vampire murder, or even a regular Muggle." But he knew he was trying too hard by the look on Dumbledore's face.
"This was no work of a Muggle, Remus, and I suggest you not present that story when you come before the Ministry."
"What?" Lupin sputtered angrily. "A trial? No one has told me! Why those bastards..."
"Now, hear me out... They are pretty sure its a werewolf... no other creature could inflict such wounds. It also happened on a full moon. The reason they are pointing to you is because you are the only registered werewolf in the London area. That's the bad side. The good side is the fact they are even giving you a trial at all, Remus. I don't think you really understand how dangerous this situation is." Dumbledore paused, and looked over at his bookshelves. He got up with some effort and walked over to the one nearest the table. Blowing dust away from the side bindings so he could read the titles, he pulled a book from it. Walking back over to a confused Lupin, he sat the book in front of the young man.
"Here. It's a book about previous werewolf trials. I know you love books, and so I thought maybe you would like to read up on what you are fixing to go against. I think its time you know something- what the Ministry wants... it will get."
Lupin looked up and stared at Dumbledore like he was crazy.
"Ok. Thanks very much, Albus. I will probably owe you alot when this whole ordeal is over."
"Good luck, Remus." Dumbledore smiled and they shook hands. "Just remember that most of us here at Hogwarts are on your side, so don't hesitate to come back."
Lupin nodded, and went back down. The gryphon statue blinked once and said in a weedy voice, "Have a great day, sir!", with a heavy Irish accent.
"Sure," the werewolf muttered, and once off the hogwarts grounds, he Apparated back to his only other comfort zone, his house.
* * *
7:00 AM – November 3, London
Constable Glen Quigley of the London Police Force paced outside the yellow tape, shaking his head at the murder site. Though the body had been picked up and shipped off to a lab, the bloodstains remained on the ground and on the walls of the flats. Bending over with some trouble, due to his rotund middle, he ducked under the tape that yelled in text "CAUTION! ACHTUNG! CUIADO!" at anyone that dared come near.
"Glen, sir?" The constable turned around to see Stanley Jackson standing there. He rather disliked the 23-year-old American, who always seemed to know what was going on even better than his veteran officers.
"What, Jackson?" Glen turned and held the youngster with a harsh stare.
"Er..." Stanley seemed taken aback. "I, eh, uh, I mean… Is there any new evidence?"
He seemed rather uptight that day. Indeed, the day before, the killer had been identified as a male in his 20s or 30s. Glen thought it rather strange, though, that Stanley was always sticking his abnormally large nose (no, really) in the higher affairs of the department.
"What do you care, rookie?" the constable teased.
Stanley seemed to take offense. "Jus' wondrin' sir!"
"Well, stop wondering and get back to your work."
"This is my work, Mr. Quigley."
"Do you want to be fired, young man? I said get back to your work."
"Yes sir," Stanley muttered, and walked off.
Glen Quigley laughed and snorts peppered his glee. How he hated Americans, coming over in their supposed rich splendor. Filthy pigs.
He refocused on the scene before him. The blood was splattered randomly, going up the wall in patterns taller than himself. The puddle was around five feet across, meaning the girl lost a heck of a lot of blood before and after dying. But what puzzled him most were the footsteps leading away. They were long and shuffled and seemed to change as they went along. The body had been dragged a few feet that same way, but the murderer had obviously dropped it. Too heavy? Fear of being caught? There were endless reasons why.
Turning away and closing his head, he walked around the corner of the building and entered the Lion and Unicorn Tavern. As soon as he disappeared, Stanley Jackson walked hurriedly back into the alley. Whistling innocently, he tapped the wall.
Coming out from under his invisibility cloak, Cornelius Fudge did a double take at the scene, thought he had been staring at it through the cloak for twenty odd minutes.
"Wow," he murmured, in shocked awe.
"Yeah, its pret'y ugly, sir. But I did find somethin' a tad strange, sir…"
The young man trailed off, gazing oddly at the red stains that climbed the wall. He pushed fudge closer and pointed to some funny marks next to the red. They were black, and came off to the touch.
"Know what that is, sir?" Stanley said, a tone of slight worry entering his tenor voice.
Fudge shook his head, at a momentary loss of words.
"Soot, sir. Burns. There was fire here, and I'm not thinkin' that it was a cozy camp fire." He raised his eyebrows, shrugged, and walked off, leaving Fudge to himself.
* * *
9:00 PM – November 7, Lion and Unicorn Tavern
Gabrielle Delgado rushed about in the kitchen, her ridiculously curly black hair bouncing off her shoulders. She kept smoothing her apron, which rode up and stopped in a bunch at her thighs, causing great discomfort. Yelled orders bounced off the brick walls that held in the heat and smells, mixing and whirling in a never-ending wind reeking of tavern life. Some days she hated it, some days she didn't. There were always waitresses complaining about looks from guys cause of their short skirts, cooks complaining for pay raise, and customers walking off drunk without paying checks. But Gabby survived it all and dealt with each little scenario as it came along.
"Gabby? We have a drunk out there trying to start a fight! Well, ok, it hasn't happened yet, but he's picking at some guy and they're looking pretty… angry, and… oh help!" The timid waitress, Tina Longfellow, was near tears. She panicked at every little thing. Gabby wondered if she should be working in the harsh tavern environment.
"Ya go sit down back here, hon, an' I'll get this," Gabby said reassuringly.
She slammed open the kitchen doors and stomped out, he heels clicking loudly on the wooden floor. The tall Chilean woman crossed the room in what seemed like two strides and gave two men a wilting stare. They were arguing loudly in drunken slurs, balling their fists. One was tall and lanky, with shaggy brown hair that fell to his shoulders. He was bent over slightly, in a position that suggested that he was not in favor of winning any fights. The other man was just as tall but muscular, and wore a tight t-shirt that showed it. He had dark blonde hair and beady brown eyes that looked almost black in anger.
"There a problem wit'cha, boys?" Gabby said in her heavy New Yorker accent.
They both looked at her with mixed reactions.
"No, ma'am," the muscular one said. "Just straightening a problem."
He talked in a low, insinuating tone that meant trouble for anyone who got in his way. He also had an accent Gabby couldn't quite identify. She looked at the thinner man.
"And you?"
"No. Nothing." There was something of hidden panic and anger in his voice.
"Ok then. If you ain't here to get'chaselves some drinks, I suggest ya leave."
The think one nodded and walked out, still hunched somewhat. The muscular one followed, eyeing Gabby with one last angry look.
"Man, people these days, I tell you. Gabriella, you better watch out. Men giving you nasty looks, yes?" LeAnna walked by, a tray full of margaritas balanced on one of her splayed hands, held above her head.
"Yeah, LeAnna. Listen, is what Louise tellin' me true? Ya sista's havin' a baby?"
"Yes, yes! How she know?"
"Ah, word gets 'round I guess. Um, how would ya feel 'bout a break?"
LeAnna's black eyes widened considerably. "Yes, yes! I would love it!" She deposited the margaritas in the hands of the already tipsy customers, who tipped her with a generous 5-dollar bill and proceeded to trip over each other out the door.
"Now, LeAnna, ya can go home and spend a week with ya niece. Or nephew, whatever tha tyke is."
"Oh, thank you so much! Bless you!" LeAnna fairly skipped back to the kitchen, undoing her apron as she went along. Gabby chuckled to herself and walked back behind the bar. She leaned on her elbows, putting her face in her hands, and looked around the little tavern that had been her own baby for the past six years now. She would dearly hate to leave it, but they had been losing a lot of business at a fast rate due to the recent murder that happened right outside their door.
Another hour or two passed, and closing time rolled around. All the cooks left, joking and slapping each other on the back, laughing uproariously over something that had happened earlier that night. Gabby stayed last to lock everything up and make sure no fires were left on or any refrigerators left open.
BAM. The wall facing the flats shook. Gabby caught herself on the counter, slitting her palm on a knife.
"Ah!" she cried, biting her lip. She squeezed her hand, looking for a paper towel, but they were all put back in storage for the night. Taking in a shaky breath, she clicked open the back door that lead into the alley. "Hello?" she said softly.
CRACK. She turned to the left in time to see a figure slam to the ground, their head bouncing off the pavement with a sickly crack. Another figure stood over the fallen one, laughing. Gabby quickly recognized the man on the ground as the tall, lanky one in the tavern earlier, and the standing man as the muscular one who had given her the nasty look.
"You seriously think you can defy me, Mnakana?" the dark blonde said. Gabby frowned- she had never heard a name like that. She crept slowly out into the alley, hiding behind a large, brown trash bin.
"No, but-"
"Then what's your problem? The Alpha ordered me to do a job, and you will not stand in either of our ways. Do you understand?"
Mnakana whimpered, and for a moment said nothing.
"Answer me, fool," the other man snarled.
"No, Srhat, I don't defy you and Ankhari. I simply defy the Old Ways and what they stand for," Mnakana answered quietly.
With a roar of rage, Srhat bent over and grabbed Mnakana's collar. He lifted him into the air. But that wasn't the only thing. As the smaller man was lifted into the air, Srhat began to change. Fur spread across his body. His frame, already huge, grew taller and more trunk shaped, like an animal's. His face pushed outward into a short, heavy-set maw, and soon after saber teeth slid down past his lips. His eyes changed to a golden color, and became pupiless.
"How dare you even suggest that! You are a subordinate! This would mean death for even a higher ranked Pyran than you!" the creature that was Srhat snarled in a guttural, growly voice.
Mnakana started to twist his body around, trying to get free of Srhat's paw-like hands that sported long, sharp claws. The claws twisted into the shirt that Mnakana was wearing, tearing the fabric and almost ripping it from his body.
Mnakana too began to change, and when he was done, he was also a creature like Srhat. He was shorter and his fur was brown-and-white mottled. He growled and lashed out at Srhat. The other wolf-like creature blocked the block with his arm, which was torn open. He snarled again and dropped the smaller wolf-creature.
"You disgrace the name of Pyrans everywhere, lowly scum!" Holding out a huge paw-hand, Srhat closed his eyes. A small ball of golden light was forming in his palm. Mnakana took this chance and leapt up, aiming for the larger creature's throat. As he made contact, Srhat let out a gargling sound and fell back, clutching his throat. A trail of blood so dark it seemed black began to trickle down his chest.
Srhat's eyes went wide with pain and he sank to his knees, cursing as best he could with half his windpipe gone.
"You'll pay…" he wheezed, barely able to breath.
"We'll see, Srhat," Mnakana said coldly.
Gabby let out a horrified squeak, and got up to run for the door. Both creatures (which she now knew were Pyrans) looked over at her, narrowing their solid, glittering eyes. Mnakana dropped to all fours and reached Gabby in two bounds, growling low.
"You... you ain't… h-h-human!" she screamed. She backed up, tripping over a trash pile and falling into a puddle of muddy water.
"Bring the girl!" Srhat rasped, and seemed to disappear into midair.
Mnakana narrowed his eyes, not in anger, but instead there was an almost sympathetic look on the Pyran's face.
"I'm sorry," he said in his low, rocky voice, and picked Gabby up. Slinging her over his massive shoulder, he muttered a few words. Gabby felt as if she were falling into a deep pit, with the sound of water roaring in her ears, pounding on her head. Falling… floating… falling… falling…
Blackness.