And here it is, the second chapter!

A lot of you have said you wanted Chrystal McGowan in it again, with Remus' child, to – to be honest – wreck more havoc on Remus' already troubled life. You can probably already guess why I'm not going to do that; the poor man has enough to worry about already! Trust me, I know what's going to happen, and he – and I – won't be able to cram a baby into this… besides, it would be a bit too much Remus-torture!

Now, as for this chapter; I've never been to Morocco, I don't think I ever will go there. Any mistakes concerning that are completely my fault, and I apologise if I've offended someone actually living there…

The quote is from the film "The company of wolves" (appropriate, eh?) and film-fans might know where Wulf got his last name from…

Enjoy!

Still August 1994.

"Never stray from the path, never eat a windfall apple and never trust a man whose eyebrows meet in the middle."

* * * * *

ENGLAND LOST?! What, are they stupid or something?! Argh. Who's Ireland playing against? Oh, what I wouldn't give for some news…

 Yes, I eat enough, no, I won't stay up late, but staying outside when it rains is unavoidable I'm afraid. Sorry.

Please send news and possibly some newspapers with your next letter.

Padfoot, who's finally realising that reading newspapers might even pay off… (Who would've guessed?)

* * * * *

The golden grille clattered back and Remus got off the elevator, along with three other wizards and a witch, who immediately walked off to their departments. Remus remained near the elevators a little longer. He always had mixed feelings when he was at the Department for Control and Regulation of Magical Creatures. He didn't mind going there to pick Romulus up from work to go and see a Quidditch game on a Friday evening. He even enjoyed being part of a working environment for a short while (even though he was just visiting), and Romulus had always some fascinating creature he just had to show his brother. Romulus worked at the Department that kept an eye on the experimental breeding of magical animals, and his work was "basically telling Hagrid off for Spellotaping some creature together that Mother Nature herself wouldn't have the imagination to invent". It was heaven for someone with a fascination for the bizarre, and Romulus was completely on his place there.

Right on cue, the youngest Lupin-brother walked out of a small room that smelled strongly of coffee. He was clutching a huge mug filled with the steaming liquid, and he looked as if he was mentally still at home, with his head on his pillow. He crashed back to earth when he saw Remus, still standing near the elevators.

"Oh shoot, is it that close to your birthday already?" Romulus stammered.

"Do not tell me you didn't buy me a present!" Remus exclaimed. It wasn't his birthday in a few months, but he wasn't going to remind his brother of that.

"Wait a minute, wait a minute." Romulus was rubbing his eyes to wake up. "It's not October yet. The World Cup hasn't even been played, right?"

"Hmmm, that's what you think…" Remus said mysteriously. He took his younger brother by the arm and started guiding him to the right cubicle. He would not be late for work because of Remus.

"Oh? What happened?" Romulus was awake now but played along with Remus.

"You… got a sudden amnesia… no, it was a very rare disease you got, which made you… travel in time… so, uhm… the World Cup has been played but you weren't there to witness it, because… you travelled in time!" Bah, lame story, he thought.

"Or maybe I got knocked out on a routine check on a report about experimental breeding," Romulus fantasised, "and I got amnesia, and that's why I don't remember anything of the past two months!"

"Or maybe you got so drunk after you found out Bulgaria won – "

"BULGARIA won?!"

" – that you got hangover and that's why you can't remember anything of the past two months." Remus steered Romulus into the cubicle he shared with Mathilda, a witch with violently purple streaks in her hair. She waved at Remus.

"But I betted Ireland would win…" Romulus complained.

"That was why you were drunk, because you wanted to forget loosing all the money," Remus said, "and, well, the forgetting things worked out, but in a wrong way, you see?"

"You two making up weird stories again?" Mathilda wanted to know. She shook her head.

"No, Remus´s informing me why I can't remember anything of the Quidditch World Cup," Romulus explained. He put his cup on the desk and drew his chair closer.

"I´ll leave you two to your very important work," Remus said, and made to leave the cubicle. He was called back by Romulus.

"Oh, if it has already been played, then why is the entire Department of Magical Sports covered in posters announcing it?"

"Obvious," shrugged Remus. "The whole Ministry was sympathetic so they decided to leave the posters to soften the blow for you when you would get your memory back."

"Ah," answered Romulus, as if the story was completely logical. Mathilda, however, crumpled a piece of parchment and threw it to Remus' head. "You seriously need your head screwed on the right way," she said. "Mental, both of you." Remus deftly headed the crumpled parchment back to her with a movement a Muggle soccer player would be proud off, then he walked back to the elevators. He turned left, to where he knew the Werewolf Registry was. Meanwhile, he traced back his line of thoughts.

What was he thinking of again? Ah, when he liked going to the Ministry, and when he didn't like it. He definitely didn't like it when he had to visit the Werewolf Registry for the update of his file, which was always around the time of his birthday (hence Romulus' comment). It was utterly humiliating to have to sit there between the crups and the kneazles, and having to shout his business over the insulting jabbering of the jarveys. Not to mention the looks some people would give him.  

But this time he had been smart enough to go early in the morning, to avoid the crowd. There was no one waiting before him so he could walk straight to the counter. Only one position was opened yet, occupied by a witch who was cleaning her nails with her quill.

"Excuse me?" She turned towards him with a face that didn't really express interest.

"Yes, may I help you?"

"The Werewolf Registry – "

She pointed to her right. "That way, you're the first today, just walk on." She resumed cleaning her nails.

Remus walked into the direction she pointed, and soon saw the familiar tattered sign announcing that he'd reached the Werewolf Registry. There was a portrait of Newt Scamander on the wall, and the founder of the Register was dozing in his frame. Remus resisted the familiar urge to pull a face to the old man, and rang the copper bell on the counter instead.

A young wizard poked his head out of a back-office, saw Remus, visibly paled, and walked, hesitantly, to the counter. "Uhm, can – can I help you?" he asked, fidgeting nervously with the mug in his hands. Remus decided to come to the point immediately.

"Yes, I received a letter about a week ago – " he took the letter in question out of his pocket " – giving me the address of Wulf Talbot, and I went to visit him yesterday, but he wasn't there. And by the looks of it, he hasn't been there for quite a while."

"Oh, ah, yes," the wizard stuttered. "Uhm, let me see. Ah, can I – can I have that letter? Please?" Remus handed it to him.

"It's just… I'm going to – going to see if we know… anything. Er, be right back." He disappeared into the back-office. Remus drummed his fingers on the counter and shook his head. Even the wizards at the Werewolf Registry were apparently terrified of werewolves…

He only had to wait for about two minutes. The Registry wizard returned with a yellow file, from which he took a sheet of parchment. Remus could see that the file was about twice the size of his own file. He couldn't help but feel slightly impressed.

"Ah, Mr Talbot has been taken to St Mungo's a few days ago," Remus was told, "because of, er, silver poisoning." The wizard flapped the file shut again.

"Anything else?"

"No, thank you."

~*~

Silver poisoning. Pretty much the last thing a werewolf wanted. There are only a few things that can really harm a werewolf, since they have the power to virtually regenerate themselves – and a good thing too, because they break every bone in their body twice a month. Remus' cuts and bruises always healed much quicker than those of his friends and family, and he'd barely needed Madam Pomfrey when he'd broken his wrist when he was twelve (courtesy of James and Sirius teaching him how to 'troll wrestle') – by the time he'd reached the Infirmary, his wrist had nearly healed itself. But silver was an entirely different matter. The effect of silver in a wound was the same as when dirt came into a wound; it got infected. It very nearly ate itself a way through the body. Remus had never seen silver poisoning, not even on photos; werewolves avoided silver like the plague. It was the reason why his mother had done away her silver cutlery, a wedding gift from her aunt, with pain in her heart. She'd rather see her son unharmed than cut her meat with a fancy silver knife.

Remus had no idea what to expect, what he would see, and that was why he was now standing in St Mungo's, trying to get enough courage to open the door in front of him. He really felt as if opening that door would start a whole new life, and he wasn't sure he wanted to live it. Part of him wanted to bury his head in the sand and ignore everything, just walk away and pretend nothing happened. His other half knew that walking away was something a coward would do. And he would hate to think of himself as a coward.

He determinedly pushed the door open. The first thing he noticed was how relatively small the room was. He knew, he had been told by a Healer that Wulf Talbot had been replaced from a ward to a room of his own, but he had no idea the rooms were this small. There was barely room for a chair, a table, a closet, a bed and a nightstand. Sunlight poured in through the window, which took up most of the wall opposite the door. Bathing in the sunlight was a man propped up against a pillow, shoulder-length white hair hanging loose. His hands – one, his left, bandaged – were fidgeting with the blanket, uncertainly touching, feeling the surroundings. The man heard the door opening – Remus could actually see the ears moving towards him before the man's face did – and looked at Remus. Well, not really looked. His eyes were a strange milk-white, with only a touch of yellow. He was blind.

"Yes, what is it?" he asked. His voice was deep and hoarse. His ears were moving again, and his nostrils quivered slightly, trying to catch Remus' smell. The man was a strange mix of wolf and man, and it was both fascinating and disturbing to see. "You're not a Healer, are you?"

"No," said Remus. He swallowed. "No, I'm not a Healer."

"Well, come in," the man beckoned. "I don't bite." He laughed a coughing laugh, and Remus flinched. "Who are you then? Sit down, I'm sure there's a chair somewhere." He moved his head around as if he could actually see what was around him. "Somewhere over there." He pointed to the corner with the chair and the table. "Am I right? Now, who are you?"

Tell a lie, a voice in Remus' head whispered. He'll never know. Tell a lie. You can still walk out of here. Go on. Pretend you're someone else.

"I'm Remus Lupin," he said truthfully, ignoring the voice.

The old man went very quiet. "The Lupin kid," he whispered. "Well, well. My second Beta."

"There is another one? You bit someone else as well?" Remus gasped.

"Yes, but he died," Remus' Alpha shrugged. "Come over here, let me see you." He gestured with his left hand, and Remus saw that the bandage around the palm was stained with blood and something greenish.

"He died?" Remus echoed, ignoring the gesture. "How can you be so calm about that? You killed someone!" Wulf scowled.

"Werewolf's law, some live, some don't!" the man snarled. "You and I were lucky, he wasn't, must suck to be him but that's life!"

"Lucky?!" Remus half-screamed. He had forgotten about the chair, all he could think of was the man opposite him, the man who had practically ruined his life before it had properly begun. "I wouldn't consider myself lucky!"

"Why not?" Wulf said. He leaned back in the pillows, an infuriating superior smile on his face. "You're alive. You're lucky enough to experience all the good things in life. Good food, sunshine, whatever you like best. He's dead, and I bet that's not much fun."

"I was five!" Remus was now really shouting. His hands had gripped the railing of the bed to keep themselves from strangling the man, who was still lying there, smiling. But now he pushed himself up, snarling.

"So you were five. So? I was twenty-one! He was forty-seven! What difference does it make, huh? What difference! You were as much at the beginning of your life as I was! Don't be an idiot, boy," the man spat. His blind eyes were staring Remus in the face, and his hands were clutching the blanket much like Remus' were clutching the railing. "Lucky, hah! Stop talking nonsense. You only say that because you hate me, and why shouldn't you? Merlin knows I hate my Alpha. Everybody does, it's natural. But if I´d have to chose between this life or death, I´d chose life!" he barked.  

Before Remus had a chance to answer, the door was slammed open.

"What in Merlin's name is going on here?" a stout nurse demanded. Wulf's head jerked in her direction.

"Oh, it's you," he said disdainfully. She seemed just as enthusiastic, but she ignored him. Instead, she turned towards Remus.

"Were you upsetting the patient?" she wanted to know.

"No, the patient was upsetting the visitor," Wulf said lazily.

"As usual," she answered coldly. "We have discussed this so many times, Mr Talbot. When are you going to co-operate?"

"When the staff of St Mungo's is going to give me the slight amount of respect I deserve, I will be more than willing to be the docile patient you want me to be," Wulf snapped. "But as long as I'm cared for by incompetent nosy women such as – " He was cut short by the nurse, who turned to Remus, bit "you don't have to stay, you know. I can imagine you would want to leave," at him, and stormed out of the room. Wulf leaned back contentedly.

"And?" he asked. "Are you leaving? Amazingly enough, she's right, for once. You don't have to stay."

Remus closed his eyes, breathing slowly, counting to ten. Whatever he had expected of his Alpha, it wasn't this. He had expected more of a… father-figure. Calm. Knowledgeable. This man liked to start an argument whenever he could, enjoying upsetting people. He knew they hated and feared him and he loved every minute of it. Remus started towards the door. He would leave. He didn't want to be here. He had seen the man, had talked to the person who had made him a werewolf, and he had no wish to get to know him better. Wulf irritated and disgusted him.

"So you are going?" Wulf said, baring a set of sharp, excellent teeth in what was a perfect wolfish smile. Remus stopped dead in his tracks.

"Now, go," Wulf continued. "Leave. Flee. Run. Like she said, why would you stay? I'm sure you hate me, it's obvious you hate your life as a werewolf, or Lycantrope, or whatever you people in denial want to call yourself to make it sound more fancy, less dangerous. Yes, go! I don't even want you here. I'm embarrassed, you know that?" Remus turned sharply and yanked the door open. He started to walk away, followed by Wulf's voice.

"Walk away!" the old man yelled. He had pulled himself up, and his hands were balled in two fists. "I'm happy to see you go! You are nothing more but a werewolf who denies himself. You call it accepting, I call it ignoring who you are!" By now, Remus had stopped walking, only a few feet from the old man's room. He was in the corridor, Wulf was in his room. The man was still shouting, he couldn't see Remus standing in front of his open door, listening intently.

"Yes, walk away. Pretend you're human. Act like them. Think like them. But you can never be them!" Wulf continued. Remus was staring at the floor, his nails digging painfully into the palm of his hand. He didn't want to continue listening, but he wanted to hear what was coming next…

"You are a disgrace," the man spat. "You are nothing more but a coward." He let himself fall back on his bed, turning his back towards the door, towards Remus.

His final words had hit target. A coward. He didn't want to be a coward. He didn't want to be unable to look himself in the eye, to have to admit to himself that he had ran away from something he didn't like. Determinedly, Remus raised his head, turned on his heels, and walked back into the room, shutting the door with a snap. Wulf turned around, a slightly impressed look on his face.

"I'm staying," Remus said.

~*~

"Allah u akbar, la ila'ha illallah wa, Muhammad ur rasullah."  

The melodic voice of the muezzin called from the minaret of the mosque, clearly audible, calling the faithful to prayer. It gave the strange impression of being sucked into the tales of thousand-and-one nights, all the more because the setting sun bathed everything in a golden light, colouring the sky a deep blue and the mountains ochre-red.

The sight of it, and the smell of strange fragrances in the air brought a spring to Sirius' step. He was walking back from the medina, the market, to his and Buckbeak's hide-out just outside the village, in one of the many caves. He was in his human form, figuring that he wouldn't be so very infamous and sought after in a small village in Morocco. He had seen himself in a mirror this morning, and had thought that, even if he was being wanted, nobody would recognise him anyway. He had put up some weight, had his hair cut at the local barber (a very enthusiastic man called Muhammad who had insisted to shave Sirius as well) and he'd even got a tan. He'd almost start doubting if Remus, of all people, would know him back.

He was carrying his plastic back, now filled with dates and other local food, through the street that would take him to his temporary home. All around him, people were closing shops and preparing to go home. in some shops, he could see the owner bow down on a small carpet, muttering, their eyes closed. It gave a strange, peaceful feeling.

In only a few minutes time, he had reached the outskirts of the village, and it took him only a few more minutes to reach the cave. Buckbeak was crouched on his own spot on the floor, waiting patiently. By now, the animal had got used to staying indoors, and kept quiet.

"Brought you some food," Sirius greeted the Hippogriff. Buckbeak opened his beak expectantly, and Sirius took out a loaf of bread he had been able to bargain (with a lot of gesturing, much to the amusement of the local people) and threw it to the animal, who caught it in mid-air. They never tired of that trick.

It wasn't until after this that Sirius noticed the snow-white owl on his bed, together with two other owls. "Mail!" he exclaimed. Today must be my lucky day! He quickly untied the first letter.

Dear Sirius,

Sirius smiled. A letter from Harry.

Thanks for your last letter, that bird was enormous, it could hardly get through my window.

Things are the same as usual here. Dudley's diet isn't going too well. My aunt found him smuggling doughnuts into his room yesterday. They told him they'd have to cut his pocket money if he keeps doing it, so he got really angry and chucked his PlayStation –

Sirius didn't pretend to know what that was.

out of the window. That's a sort of computer thing you can play games on. Bit stupid really, now he hasn't even got Mega Mutilation Part Three to take his mind off things.

I'm OK, mainly because the Dursleys are terrified you might turn up and turn them all into bats if I ask you to.

Sirius grinned at that.

A weird thing happened this morning though. My scar hurt again. Last time that happened it was because Voldemort was at Hogwarts. But I don't reckon he can be anywhere near me now, can he? Do you know if curse scars sometimes hurt years afterwards?

I´ll send this with Hedwig when she gets back, she's off hunting at the moment. Say hello to Buckbeak for me.

Harry.

PS: if you want to contact me, I´ll be at my friend Ron Weasley's for the rest of the summer. His dad's got us tickets for the Quidditch World Cup!

At first, Sirius felt a rush of pure jealousy. Harry was going to the World Cup and he wasn't! Of course, it would be suicide for him to go, but still…The feeling quickly subsided, however, when he realised the second message. My scar hurt again. Sirius knew nothing about curse scars but everything about Voldemort, and he knew this wasn't good news. Anything but.

He laid the letter aside and ripped open the second one. This one was from Dumbledore, and it didn't exactly help to improve Sirius' mood. The letter was filled with news of the Ministry still searching up and down England for "the escaped murderer Black", Snape scowling at everybody and who had packed his bags and left for an unknown destination the first day of the summer holidays (Sirius couldn't help but grin at the bitterness the Potions Master had to be feeling), and rumours about Voldemort returning. Combined with Harry's news, it felt bad. Very bad.

Sirius immediately scribbled an answer on the back of Dumbledore's letter, and five minutes later it was zooming back to Hogwarts again. It was too urgent news to not send it back immediately. He sighed. He didn't like it, but it looked as if his vacation was over. He had really wanted to go to Egypt, it was only a day flying away from him, but what was happening in England seemed so urgent… He had already made up his mind. He would go back.

He now realised there was one letter left. Dreading more bad news, he untied it. To his relief and joy he recognised Remus' handwriting on the bundle of Daily Prophets and three sheets of parchment. Remus had truly risen to the occasion. Untying the bundle delivered him not only three papers but also two sheets of Quidditch results of Sirius' favourite team, from 1981 until now.

"Ah, Moony, you know me too well," Sirius muttered, grinning. He walked to the entrance of the cave, sitting down in the warm last rays of the setting sun. I'm going to enjoy it for as long as I can, he thought, as he folded the first paper open.

* * * * *

Padfoot,

As you have undoubtedly noticed, I have sent you a few papers, like you wanted (gasp! Padfoot wants to read! Papers, of all things!). One of them is the newest one I could get – although it's probably already outdated when you get it. The other two are old papers of dates you might find of interest – both have you on the front-page. Shame it wasn't such good news – what I wouldn't give to change it…

On a more 'cheerful' note; yes, England was beaten, and I can't remember it, seeing as I've repressed it all in an attempt to get over the humiliating happening. The Quidditch madness is reaching it's peak here, it's absurd. My brother's going to see the match, and he can't stop talking about it. He reminds me strongly of two other people who couldn't shut up about Quidditch either…

Moony, who is wishing that he had enough money to go see the World Cup.