Remus didn't wake up until the afternoon. There were no owls from the Order, and since the Ministry had dictated that he would be unemployed until there was an upheaval in the government, nothing was preventing him from returning to Knockturn Alley.

Already dreading what he would see, Remus slowly unwrapped the cloth that Persephone had bound around his hand. The wound no longer bled, but an angry red scar gashed across his skin where his finger had once been, the finger that had been with him all his life and now lay at the bottom of a cauldron somewhere. He couldn't even bury it.

He couldn't bury Sirius.

But a dark kind of resolve had come over him; maybe he couldn't bury the finger, but perhaps he could see his lover again. He changed into a threadbare robe and with his good hand, threw down a cloud of Floo Powder to take him to Knockturn Alley.

He found Persephone Dell'Arta at the Serpent's Tail. Although it was only two o' clock, she was already halfway through a tall glass of absinthe.

"I was wondering when you'd turn up," she said.

"I've made it this far," he said, "I can't very well back out now, can I?"

She stood and motioned for him to follow. He thought that they would have gone back to the strange little room with the skulls and candles, but she was heading for the back of the pub to a private booth. He sat across from her, watching her drink and wishing that he had a drink of his own.

"Do you like absinthe, Remus?"

"I haven't drank it in a very long time," he admitted.

"There are so few bars that serve the genuine article," Persephone mused, "Fortunately, this is one of them." She took another slow sip, and asked, "How is your hand?"

She sounded concerned -- he hadn't expected that. "Er...fine," he said.

"No, it's not," Persephone said with a ghost of a smile, "And it probably never will be. You carry a little bit of death with you now, in your blood."

It would be a small price to pay, he thought, but he knew it wouldn't be the only one.

As if reading his thoughts, Persephone said, "Of course there's more to it than that. If all it took was someone's finger, people would be resurrecting each other all over the place."

"Just tell me what I need to do."

A look of contemplation crossed Persephone's face. She reached for something within the folds of her dress, hesitated for a moment, and then took it and placed it on the table. It was a small flask, the sort one might use at school for handing in Potions samples.

"What is it?" Remus asked, but Persephone's attention was diverted by the elderly waiter shuffling past their table.

"Two glasses of absinthe, please," Persephone said.

"It's two in the afternoon!" Remus protested.

The yellow eyes sparkled with a hint of laughter. "All the better. You'll be needing an early start."

Something in those innocent words -- no doubt meant as an attempt at levity, Remus told himself -- made him shiver. Still, he wasn't about to decline any diversion. Since his first encounter with Persephone, his heart had been hammering madly.

The waiter returned with absinthe in a bottle, two glasses, and a bowl of sugar cubes. Remus watched Persephone strain liquid from the bottle through the sugar and into her glass, the dull olive transforming into shimmering green. He followed her example when she had finished.

"I can think of few vices as exquisite as this one," Persephone said, "Perhaps love..."

He drank. It tasted of liquorice and wormwood, and he felt it burn all the way down his throat.

"Did you go to Hogwarts?" she asked. He nodded absentmindedly, caught up in the way the burn seemed to spread throughout his body.

"I went to Durmstrang," her voice pleasant, "It's a much more difficult curriculum, I gather. We had classes six days a week, and it was all in German. But I think we learned more, in the end..."

He wanted to tell her to get on with it, but somehow his mouth wouldn't work. There seemed to be a green cast to everything -- no, he corrected himself -- it was more of a green sound, or smell; everything was vibrating emerald. Remus giggled at the thought. Only belatedly did he realize that it was the first time he'd laughed since Sirius died.

Sirius. Be serious, he told himself, then giggled again.

"You have no alcohol tolerance," Persephone observed.

"Tonight's a full moon," Remus said, "I always get...strange around this time." He blinked, trying to clear the green fog from his eyes. "What do I need to do?"

"It shouldn't be hard," Persephone's voice lowered, and she removed the stopper of her flask. What she poured onto her fingers didn't look like a potion -- more like a powder -- and she leaned forward across the table to press her fingers against his forehead. "You are marked now, Remus Lupin," she continued in the same quiet tone, "You will be able to find her."

"Her?"

"Bellatrix Lestrange," Persephone spoke slowly, as if to a child or an idiot, "The woman who killed your lover."

"Why would I need to find her?" And not tonight, he thought in a sudden panic -- tonight is the full moon.

"Remus," Persephone said gently, "Isn't it obvious?"

"I'm not a killer."

"You're a good man," she said, "But your wolf, like all wolves, is a killer."

Remus swallowed hard. The absinthe-drunkenness was no longer at all pleasant.

"Sirius wouldn't want it this way."

This time, Persephone's laugh was a harsh cackle. "Remus, Remus. He died for his rashness, his anger, his impatience. He would do the same in your place." Finishing her drink, she stood up to leave. "If you decide to go through with this, bring back her ashes and meet me here again when the moon wanes."

+

He could feel the change beginning. For the last few years, he had locked himself in a cage behind his shack every month. He missed running underneath an open sky, but it couldn't be helped.

Now, consumed with grief and pain, Remus had his hand on the cage door and his head bowed. He knew what he would have done once. He knew what he was expected to do. But somehow, he couldn't open the door.

This isn't just for me, he thought, Bellatrix Lestrange deserves to die. She's a Death Eater -- she's tortured and killed and no prison will hold her. This is what the Order would want.

But he was not a murderer.

A faint thrill -- the call to the hunt -- coursed through the length of his body. This was his last chance to turn back -- to remain on the side of the light. He had to make a choice.

He chose...

+

And Remus became the wolf.

This time he was focused. The wolf-brain commanded him, urged him on to tear, to kill, but it would not be distracted by the myriad scents and noises of the London streets.

He was surrounded by prey, but they held no interest. He padded along the sidewalk, ignoring the human stares.

"...nice doggy..."

"...could bite stay away..."

He understood biting. He understood the feeling of rending flesh from bone.

He could smell her, the prey. Rage consumed the wolf-brain. The absence of its pack-mates was palpable.

The wolf saw in black and white. The tattoo on her arm burned through her sleeve.

He followed her as she slipped into a dark alley, silent. Both of them hunters. She sensed him, turned around.

There was a stick in her hand. The wolf growled.

"...stupify!..." the blast missed, then, "...avada kev-"

He leapt for her throat before she could finish.

The ecstasy of hot blood filled the wolf's mouth. She beat at him with failing strength. He saw in black and white and red.

The woman made a cry like a wounded animal. A prey-cry. Disgust leaked into the wolf-brain. A hunter should die like a hunter, not a cornered rabbit.

He went in for the kill.

+

Remus awoke with a corpse in his arms.

He didn't feel any Darker. His left hand still hurt horribly, but there was no mark, no burn on his arm. He had taken a life, and he thought that he should be changed somehow, but he wasn't.

Give it time, he told himself.

He could vaguely remember the night before, but even still, he was shocked at the sight of what his wolf-self had done. Almost as an afterthought, he felt Bellatrix's ruined neck for a pulse, but it confirmed only what he knew already.

The tattered remains of his robes were stiff with the dead woman's blood, and he rose to his feet with difficulty. His guilt wouldn't bring her back -- and he was startled that he didn't feel that guilty.

Perhaps this was what becoming Dark felt like. Little by little, a change one didn't feel, until there was nothing left at all.

He wrapped her in a black plastic bag that he found in a dumpster and lifted her over one shoulder. In death, she was quite light, and the journey home was not difficult at all.

He burned the body in his backyard. The shack was guarded with several protection spells, and his Muggle neighbours noticed nothing.

+

Remus collected the ashes in a glass jar. For the next two days, he locked himself in the cage, ignoring the wolf's blood thirst and thwarted joy.

When Remus dreamt, he saw with his wolf-eyes. He ran beside a silver dog, beneath the silver moon.