The Werewolf's Bride
The woman stood alone in the small and neatly-tended garden. In one hand she held a bright yellow watering can, but it dangled loosely in her grasp. Even from where he stood, about a hundred yards down the quiet Muggle street, Remus could sense her complete relaxation, her simple enjoyment of the late summer afternoon, and fading sunlight.
Her hair was a loosely fixed cloud of red and grey about her classically featured and still-beautiful face. He knew from the Ministry files he had researched that she was exactly sixty-two years old, but even disregarding that, her appearance startled him. He wasn't sure what he had expected. Someone more haggard and care worn, perhaps. More worn down by the hardships life had dealt her.
For her life had dealt some harsh blows, he had no doubt of that.
After all, she had spent the last thirty-odd years of her life married to a werewolf.
Remus hadn't even thought it possible. But here was the proof - just as the Ministry files had described her. Benita Herrington. Spouse of Jack Herrington, unregistered werewolf. Unregistered, like so many of the werewolves Voldemort's servants had uncovered, and more often than not, successfully recruited.
In the days and weeks following Elena's traumatic kidnapping, Remus had scarcely seen her. Instead, he had channelled all of his considerable energies into recounting for the Ministry all that he had learned from his audience with the Dark Lord, and organising investigations. Spies had been briefed, and confidences infiltrated. If it was the last thing he did, Remus would find out more about these renegade werewolves of whom Voldemort had spoken. It was important in the war they would have to fight some day soon, but Remus was ashamed to admit that even that concern was secondary. Somewhere in his mind, in every hour of every day, the same questions and the same hope burned... Maybe, just maybe, one of them will be able to tell me, once and for all.... What is our future to be? Do I dare to even dream that we might have one? Most of all, can I survive it if I am told that we do not?
His reasons for leaving Elena behind at Hogwarts were manifold. For one thing, he wanted to give them both a little time to come to grips with recent events. Powerful magic had been invoked, and both their lives were unavoidably altered forever, for better or for worse. After all that had passed between them, it was a bit overwhelming to deal with all at once. And then of course, Elena needed time alone with her adopted brother, successfully rescued from his magic-induced coma in the den of Skarns and Travim. Remus had met the young man before he left. Gerald had been guardedly friendly in his manner with Remus, but he clearly adored Elena, and there was no mistaking his joy at being reunited with her, nor hers at his resurrection to life. Remus had been forced more than once to push down a guilty stab of jealousy as he observed Elena's devoted, glowing affection for the handsome young stranger. After all, there was no blood relation there. He knew it was stupid, and he ignored it as best he could. It wasn't even the main reason he knew he had to leave. Basically what he needed now, more than anything else, was the truth. The truth about his curse. The truth about werewolves. The truth about what his future was going to be.
Unsurprisingly, information had been scarce. By tracing the steps of Voldemort's cronies, Ministry spies had uncovered plenty of evidence that there had indeed been many more werewolves lurking quietly in wizarding society than most had suspected. But most had been living as embittered loners, half-mad with their curse, and very few had resisted the Dark Lord's recruitment. Remus knew that Voldemort's promises of power and glory probably held appeal, but having experienced for himself the hellish life of loneliness and isolation that was the lot of his kind, he realised that for most just the offer of a place in the world would be enough to win them over entirely.
Remus's research team revealed other facts too. For example, they learned that those few who remembered Voldemort's previous reign of terror without fondness, and elected to refuse his generous proposition of alliance, were generally not left alive long enough to regret their choice.
Despite the isolation of individual werewolves around Britain and Europe, rumours warning of this rather brutal recruitment campaign spread amongst them, allowing several forewarned individuals to slip through the network of Voldemort's cronies and disappear. Not particularly concerned by this, the Dark Lord did not waste resources seeking these unpromising renegades out. The Ministry, on the other hand, responded to this information with a great deal of interest. They were very keen indeed to know more about these potential allies.
Unsurprisingly, Remus had been elected to make first contact. He was handed a summarised list of names, and adequate resources were put at his disposal for him to begin investigating more deeply into the lives of the werewolves.
Jack Herrington was the seventh name on that list. Of the first six, two had been untraceable, three had been unwilling to co-operate with the Ministry and one was expressing a guarded interest in becoming allied with the Ministry's cause. All had been loners - completely unattached, with few friends. Each subsequent case depressed Remus further. It did not bode well for his close-held hopes.
It was three weeks before Remus even reached the seventh name. Jack Herrington, previously of Brighton, England. Recently disappeared, along with . Along with his wife.
It took a few seconds for Remus to realise that his hands were shaking. He put the folder of records down on the desk, and turned to stare at the wall for several long moments. When he got to his feet at last, it was very slowly, and with extreme care, as though he were afraid something might break. Gently and deliberately, he closed the folder, then crossed the room and took his long outer robe down from its hook beside the door. For a moment he paused, uncertain and overwhelmed. Then, with a quick shake of his head, he shrugged the robe over his broad shoulders and left the room in swift strides.
And now he was here. He had traced Jack and Benita Herrington all the way to the little Muggle town of Monaghan in Ireland, where they had fled to avoid a confrontation with Voldemort's recruiting minions. Now he would finally learn the truth.
As he approached, Mrs Herrington turned to glance at him. Her head began to tilt in a nod of acknowledgment. Clearly she expected him to pass on by. But as he slowed to a stop in the street before her, she looked more closely, and the detached friendliness in her expression tightened. She took in his hair, thick and streaked with strands of silver, and his face, prematurely lined. She met his gaze, and saw in his eyes deep pools of remembered pain.
And he knew from her expression that the secret he had kept so carefully hidden from the world throughout almost all his living memory had been laid bare in the space of few seconds, before he had even spoken a word. It was unnerving, to say the least. But at least he knew he had the right place. This woman knew all the subtle signs of a werewolf, and knew them well.
Without looking away, she called out to someone in the little house behind her. "Jack!" She didn't sound panicked, just wary and matter-of-fact. "Jack, you'd better come out here."
There was a swift scuffle from inside the house, and moments later, the door was flung open and a man hurried out to stand beside his wife. Remus couldn't help but notice how he angled his own body slightly in front of hers. They were not unaccustomed to danger, this couple.
Jack Herrington looked much older than his wife, with a thick crown of pure white hair and a weathered, grimace-lined face. His whiskey-coloured eyes were fierce and suspicious, and he moved with a limp. Other than that, his body looked solid and strong, and he was unexpectedly quick on his feet.
Again, Remus felt himself subjected to a swift, knowing examination.
"What d'ye want." It was a demand, not a question.
Remus took a breath. "My name is Remus Lupin," he said carefully, keeping his voice low. "I'm a Professor at Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I can see that you both knew instantly what else I am. I know what you are too, and I know what you're afraid of. Believe me, I wish you no harm. I have a proposition for you." He did not mention the Ministry just yet. Werewolves had no reason to trust their fate to a governing body that had never protected their interests in the past.
Even so, the response was terse. "We've had enough of propositions. We aren't interested."
Remus nodded slowly, and swallowed. "Very well. Formal inquiries aside then, I wonder if you would just. answer a few questions. Of my own." His pleading gaze flicked from Benita to Jack and back again. He saw that Benita's expression seemed to have softened very slightly, although Jack was clearly unmoved.
"Please." He said, speaking before Jack could deliver another hostile rebuff. "Please, you don't realise how much it would mean." He stumbled, struggling to explain. "Werewolves don't generally marry, you know. Of course you know. And I . Well, there's a girl. A woman, I mean. But I can't . I won't risk her, you see. But there's just so much I don't know, not for certain. And you. you and your wife. you might be the only people who can help me. Help us. I - " He shrugged helplessly. "Please."
Silence answered him. The Herringtons stared at him, Jack scowling in suspicious indecision, Benita now looking compassionate and a little wistful. She put a hand on her husband's arm.
He looked down at her. She gazed up at him, smiling slightly. "Do you remember?" She asked softly. He huffed brusquely, although without much heat. He turned his head back to face Remus, and looked him up and down once more.
"Right," he said tersely, looking swiftly up and down the street, still not completely at ease, "I'm not sure this is a good idea. But if you really are from Hogwarts then I don't suppose you can be one of Them. You don't have the look of one of them. Suppose you'd better come inside."
For the first time that day, or perhaps even that month, Remus exhaled on a smile.
"Thank you." He said simply. "Thank you very much."
And he followed them into the house.
The woman stood alone in the small and neatly-tended garden. In one hand she held a bright yellow watering can, but it dangled loosely in her grasp. Even from where he stood, about a hundred yards down the quiet Muggle street, Remus could sense her complete relaxation, her simple enjoyment of the late summer afternoon, and fading sunlight.
Her hair was a loosely fixed cloud of red and grey about her classically featured and still-beautiful face. He knew from the Ministry files he had researched that she was exactly sixty-two years old, but even disregarding that, her appearance startled him. He wasn't sure what he had expected. Someone more haggard and care worn, perhaps. More worn down by the hardships life had dealt her.
For her life had dealt some harsh blows, he had no doubt of that.
After all, she had spent the last thirty-odd years of her life married to a werewolf.
Remus hadn't even thought it possible. But here was the proof - just as the Ministry files had described her. Benita Herrington. Spouse of Jack Herrington, unregistered werewolf. Unregistered, like so many of the werewolves Voldemort's servants had uncovered, and more often than not, successfully recruited.
In the days and weeks following Elena's traumatic kidnapping, Remus had scarcely seen her. Instead, he had channelled all of his considerable energies into recounting for the Ministry all that he had learned from his audience with the Dark Lord, and organising investigations. Spies had been briefed, and confidences infiltrated. If it was the last thing he did, Remus would find out more about these renegade werewolves of whom Voldemort had spoken. It was important in the war they would have to fight some day soon, but Remus was ashamed to admit that even that concern was secondary. Somewhere in his mind, in every hour of every day, the same questions and the same hope burned... Maybe, just maybe, one of them will be able to tell me, once and for all.... What is our future to be? Do I dare to even dream that we might have one? Most of all, can I survive it if I am told that we do not?
His reasons for leaving Elena behind at Hogwarts were manifold. For one thing, he wanted to give them both a little time to come to grips with recent events. Powerful magic had been invoked, and both their lives were unavoidably altered forever, for better or for worse. After all that had passed between them, it was a bit overwhelming to deal with all at once. And then of course, Elena needed time alone with her adopted brother, successfully rescued from his magic-induced coma in the den of Skarns and Travim. Remus had met the young man before he left. Gerald had been guardedly friendly in his manner with Remus, but he clearly adored Elena, and there was no mistaking his joy at being reunited with her, nor hers at his resurrection to life. Remus had been forced more than once to push down a guilty stab of jealousy as he observed Elena's devoted, glowing affection for the handsome young stranger. After all, there was no blood relation there. He knew it was stupid, and he ignored it as best he could. It wasn't even the main reason he knew he had to leave. Basically what he needed now, more than anything else, was the truth. The truth about his curse. The truth about werewolves. The truth about what his future was going to be.
Unsurprisingly, information had been scarce. By tracing the steps of Voldemort's cronies, Ministry spies had uncovered plenty of evidence that there had indeed been many more werewolves lurking quietly in wizarding society than most had suspected. But most had been living as embittered loners, half-mad with their curse, and very few had resisted the Dark Lord's recruitment. Remus knew that Voldemort's promises of power and glory probably held appeal, but having experienced for himself the hellish life of loneliness and isolation that was the lot of his kind, he realised that for most just the offer of a place in the world would be enough to win them over entirely.
Remus's research team revealed other facts too. For example, they learned that those few who remembered Voldemort's previous reign of terror without fondness, and elected to refuse his generous proposition of alliance, were generally not left alive long enough to regret their choice.
Despite the isolation of individual werewolves around Britain and Europe, rumours warning of this rather brutal recruitment campaign spread amongst them, allowing several forewarned individuals to slip through the network of Voldemort's cronies and disappear. Not particularly concerned by this, the Dark Lord did not waste resources seeking these unpromising renegades out. The Ministry, on the other hand, responded to this information with a great deal of interest. They were very keen indeed to know more about these potential allies.
Unsurprisingly, Remus had been elected to make first contact. He was handed a summarised list of names, and adequate resources were put at his disposal for him to begin investigating more deeply into the lives of the werewolves.
Jack Herrington was the seventh name on that list. Of the first six, two had been untraceable, three had been unwilling to co-operate with the Ministry and one was expressing a guarded interest in becoming allied with the Ministry's cause. All had been loners - completely unattached, with few friends. Each subsequent case depressed Remus further. It did not bode well for his close-held hopes.
It was three weeks before Remus even reached the seventh name. Jack Herrington, previously of Brighton, England. Recently disappeared, along with . Along with his wife.
It took a few seconds for Remus to realise that his hands were shaking. He put the folder of records down on the desk, and turned to stare at the wall for several long moments. When he got to his feet at last, it was very slowly, and with extreme care, as though he were afraid something might break. Gently and deliberately, he closed the folder, then crossed the room and took his long outer robe down from its hook beside the door. For a moment he paused, uncertain and overwhelmed. Then, with a quick shake of his head, he shrugged the robe over his broad shoulders and left the room in swift strides.
And now he was here. He had traced Jack and Benita Herrington all the way to the little Muggle town of Monaghan in Ireland, where they had fled to avoid a confrontation with Voldemort's recruiting minions. Now he would finally learn the truth.
As he approached, Mrs Herrington turned to glance at him. Her head began to tilt in a nod of acknowledgment. Clearly she expected him to pass on by. But as he slowed to a stop in the street before her, she looked more closely, and the detached friendliness in her expression tightened. She took in his hair, thick and streaked with strands of silver, and his face, prematurely lined. She met his gaze, and saw in his eyes deep pools of remembered pain.
And he knew from her expression that the secret he had kept so carefully hidden from the world throughout almost all his living memory had been laid bare in the space of few seconds, before he had even spoken a word. It was unnerving, to say the least. But at least he knew he had the right place. This woman knew all the subtle signs of a werewolf, and knew them well.
Without looking away, she called out to someone in the little house behind her. "Jack!" She didn't sound panicked, just wary and matter-of-fact. "Jack, you'd better come out here."
There was a swift scuffle from inside the house, and moments later, the door was flung open and a man hurried out to stand beside his wife. Remus couldn't help but notice how he angled his own body slightly in front of hers. They were not unaccustomed to danger, this couple.
Jack Herrington looked much older than his wife, with a thick crown of pure white hair and a weathered, grimace-lined face. His whiskey-coloured eyes were fierce and suspicious, and he moved with a limp. Other than that, his body looked solid and strong, and he was unexpectedly quick on his feet.
Again, Remus felt himself subjected to a swift, knowing examination.
"What d'ye want." It was a demand, not a question.
Remus took a breath. "My name is Remus Lupin," he said carefully, keeping his voice low. "I'm a Professor at Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I can see that you both knew instantly what else I am. I know what you are too, and I know what you're afraid of. Believe me, I wish you no harm. I have a proposition for you." He did not mention the Ministry just yet. Werewolves had no reason to trust their fate to a governing body that had never protected their interests in the past.
Even so, the response was terse. "We've had enough of propositions. We aren't interested."
Remus nodded slowly, and swallowed. "Very well. Formal inquiries aside then, I wonder if you would just. answer a few questions. Of my own." His pleading gaze flicked from Benita to Jack and back again. He saw that Benita's expression seemed to have softened very slightly, although Jack was clearly unmoved.
"Please." He said, speaking before Jack could deliver another hostile rebuff. "Please, you don't realise how much it would mean." He stumbled, struggling to explain. "Werewolves don't generally marry, you know. Of course you know. And I . Well, there's a girl. A woman, I mean. But I can't . I won't risk her, you see. But there's just so much I don't know, not for certain. And you. you and your wife. you might be the only people who can help me. Help us. I - " He shrugged helplessly. "Please."
Silence answered him. The Herringtons stared at him, Jack scowling in suspicious indecision, Benita now looking compassionate and a little wistful. She put a hand on her husband's arm.
He looked down at her. She gazed up at him, smiling slightly. "Do you remember?" She asked softly. He huffed brusquely, although without much heat. He turned his head back to face Remus, and looked him up and down once more.
"Right," he said tersely, looking swiftly up and down the street, still not completely at ease, "I'm not sure this is a good idea. But if you really are from Hogwarts then I don't suppose you can be one of Them. You don't have the look of one of them. Suppose you'd better come inside."
For the first time that day, or perhaps even that month, Remus exhaled on a smile.
"Thank you." He said simply. "Thank you very much."
And he followed them into the house.