WARNING: DRUG ABUSE IN THIS CHAPTER!

Chapter 12 – Charachas and Jones

Remus leant against the wall, lowering his chin onto his chest and shutting his eyes. He felt utterly dejected. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. The last of his anger left him and he started to feel guilty. Even though nothing was his fault. It was Sirius who had said all those hurtful things … and he was still in love with him. He could forgive his mate for anything – even if he really did want him to drop dead. He would do anything for Sirius, and dying was included if it made him happier.

Suddenly, someone tapped him on the shoulder. In the split second before he looked up, Remus managed to think of about a thousand different bad things that could happen to people who had hung around looking pathetic in dark alleys. Note the past tense.

He snapped his eyes open and looked into the face of a man. He was slightly overweight, wearing loose jeans, a grimy white t-shirt, a black sleeveless jacket and held a flat cap. His hair was thinning on top, but what was left was brown. He looked concerned. "All right there, mate?"

Remus bit back a growl. Then he realised that this man probably didn't realise that a) he was a werewolf and therefore b) no one but Sirius was allowed to call him 'mate'. He sighed. "Yeah, I'm fine, thanks."

"You look a bit down, mate."

"Look, do you think you could stop calling me that? It puts me on edge," Remus snapped. It was the perfect truth. The man held up his hands and apologised, apparently sincerely. The alley was getting darker by the second, and Remus judged it a good time to just go home. "Thanks for seeing if I was OK, but I have to go now. Bye – "

"No, wait – is it the missus?"

"No! No it's – " Remus stopped himself. Even in these supposedly 'enlightened' and 'modern' times, people like he and Sirius were still shunned by part of society. The man replaced his cap and cocked his head on one side. "Girlfriend? Boyfriend?"

Remus really did growl this time. "Is it written all over me, or something? Or am I just carrying a great big sign across my chest?"

"No, no, mate – sorry! Habit! No, I just had a thought – the way you stopped off short …"

"Yeah, well."

"Is it your parents? Or his?"

"No – well, his parents hate us both anyway but … no."

"What is it then?"

Suddenly, a police motorbike went past, blaring its sirens. The man in front of Remus muttered, "Bloody Muggles and their noise."

"You – you're a wizard?!"

"Oh – you are too, I see. Well here's a turn up."

"What?" Remus asked suspiciously. The man grinned and took Remus by the arm. He began to lead him back into the alley, further into the darkness. Remus pulled back. "Whoa! No way am I going into a dark alley with someone I don't know! I really should be going home now – "

"Look, I won't hurt you, ma – sorry. I won't hurt you. I won't force you into anything. I won't even show you anything disturbing. Please, just come and look. Have a coupl'a drinks with the lads and me. We've got a warehouse – "

"Right. My mind's made up. Warehouses and 'lads' are not good signs about people you meet in dark alleys! You're probably … drug dealers, or something! I'm going home!"

"All right, you've got me. OK, we do deal drugs – strictly adults-only. Nowhere near schools, or anything like that. Couldn't anyway – wizarding drugs, they are. We only work with people who are grown past eighteen and know what they're doing – and wizards only, of course. I swear, I won't even offer you anything. You look like a nice guy – come back for a drink. Nothing too strong, even."

Remus' gut twisted, but he nodded slowly. It was probably better than admitting defeat and slinking home to Sirius. Before the man led him into the shadows again, he grabbed his arm. "Your name."

He nodded. "OK. Pete Jones. You?"

"Remus Lupin."

He nodded again and led Remus back down the alley.
It was dingy inside. The lights were dim and there was a bar. There was gentle, jazz-type music playing. Waitresses – apparently not caring that they were part-time whores – threaded between the many sofas and comfy chairs on which were sprawled men and women. They were all in various states of euphoria, depending on the amount of drugs they had taken. Smoke – either cigarette or more drugs or both – hung in the air like some sick, deadly sort of mist. Remus' gut twisted again. He took a deep breath and followed Jones between the people towards a small door set in the wall. Everyone else was avoiding it.

"This is where the boss lives."

"Is he high too?"

"No. Never. Neither am I, before you ask."

"How can you resist?"

"I tried it once. So did he. We regretted it, both of us."

"Why?"

"He lost his whole life – girlfriend, job, family disowned him … and me? Well, I nearly lost part of my lung, and I had to have about five blood transplants."

Remus shuddered. Jones opened the door and gestured Remus inside. The room within was even darker. There was a single light: a bankers' lamp sitting on the desk. There was a leather swivel chair with its back to the door behind the desk. Apart from shelves around the walls, the room seemed otherwise empty. Suddenly the chair swivelled around. "Well, well. Look at you. You don't look the sort to be wandering in here on hearsay. Who told you? Who brought you here?"

"Jones. He met me in – in an alley."

"Not a good place to be, my friend. Not a good place to be at all. Especially not so late at night."

Remus shrugged. The man behind the desk, whose face was in shadow because of the lampshade, stood and walked around until he was close enough to touch Remus. He turned him around and slung an arm around his shoulders. "Come with me. I am Matthew Carachas. My friends call me Matt – but I don't have many friends."

"O-kay," Remus whimpered as he was led back into the … atmosphere of the other room.

"So you, Remus, can call me whatever you like."

"How do you know my name!" Remus yelped, scrambling out from under his arm and staring at him. Carachas smiled. He was careful to keep only one side of his face towards Remus. The people who had bothered to look around at Remus' exclamation had turned back to their friends and were laughing again. Remus, suddenly curious, asked tentatively, "What's wrong with your face?"

"How did you know there was something wrong?" Carachas asked evenly, his raising his eyebrows. Remus shrugged. "I haven seen you in the light except in profile since I met you."

Carachas turned to face him. Remus gasped, taking a hasty step back. The other side of his face was a mess – scar tissue criss-crossed his cheek, narrowly missing his eye. "Sorry. Thought you'd have the stomach for it."

"I've seen worse. I've worked at the Death Eater attack sites."

"Ah. So you do have the stomach for it. And for worse … But you didn't come here to talk. You came here for a drink. John always invites people for a drink if he likes them enough. And he seems to like you, Remus."

"Please – I'd really better go," Remus tried to insist. 'Sirius will die if he finds out I've been here!'

"Look, one drink, my friend. I can't hurt. Whiskey? Rum? Beer? Brandy? Wine? Red or white? Cocktail?"

"Uh – a screwdriver, maybe?" (A/N: It's a drink. I got it off Fawlty Towers (Waldorf Salad episode – that is soooo funny!) and it's made from vodca and orange juice I think.)

Carachas nodded at the woman behind the bar and she brought Remus his drink, bringing a small brandy for her boss. "So what's the trouble?"

"Nothing. Well, my … my boyfriend and I had an argument. I don't think we've argued that bad since he told Snape that … It's nothing you can help me with anyway."

"Sure?"

"Unless you can make me insanely happy – no, wait a second. Don't answer that. Apparently you can, judging by them," Remus gestured to the people on the easy chairs. Carachas chuckled softly. "It's a way to earn money, friend. Don't hate me because of my job."

"How can you bear to see their lives ruined?"

"I don't ruin them. They ruin their own. John and I just fund the operations of others. We don't personally sell it – we just stock it, give them a place to go – better to be high in a safe place than in the street – and make sure it's sold to the right people. No children or Muggles, you know?"

Remus nodded. "Can I ask you something?"

"Shoot," Carachas said, downing his drink. Remus asked him again how he knew his name. Carachas laughed out loud that time. "Easy – Pete wrote it on a piece of paper, real clear, and held it up behind your head."

"Intelligent trick. I bet it freaks most people out."

"That it does. Look, I you ever need anything …"

They sat in silence, finishing their drinks and listening to the laughter from behind them. Eventually Remus asked, "Does it work?"

"Does what work?" Carachas asked, confused. Remus swallowed hard. His conscience was screaming at him, but he ignored it. Sirius wanted him dead anyway … "Whatever they've had."

"Not a good idea, Remus," Carachas said warningly. "You know what it can do to you."

"Yes, I do. I just want to know does it work? Does it make you forget? Make you happy?"

"Ye-es – for a while. You'll remember when you come down off the ceiling. You know, it's partly responsible for my face. You don't want to –"

"I want some. As much as a … beginner to this can have and not be seriously harmed. And I want to get home before midnight."

Carachas took a deep breath. "You really don't want any, friend."

Remus growled. Carachas sighed. "OK, fine. I wouldn't advise it, but … it's you're decision."

He tapped on the bar. "Mandy? Give Remus something special, would you? And explain."

"How much?" Remus asked, digging in his pocket. Carachas pulled his hand out of his pocket for him. "I like you, Remus. I like you a lot. Free of charge, to you. Think of yourself as an honorary partner in this little … venture."

"How long for?"

"Look, if you come back here, I will try again to dissuade you. It's not a good thing to do with your life, Remus."

"How long for?" the werewolf asked again, his voice tinged with annoyance. Carachas sighed heavily. "How does 'as long as you like' sound to you? Or rather – 'until you come to your senses'?"

Remus shrugged. "Fine."
Remus staggered into the house at three o'clock that morning. He was still feeling the after-effects of the drugs – sickness and a feeling of depression. But it had felt so good – like he'd never be unhappy again. Like the weight of his heart had been lifted from his for a while. He could forget that he'd argued with Sirius. Forget how upset and angry he had been. He had even forgotten – for a blissful half-hour when the drugs really began to kick in – he had forgotten he was a werewolf.

But now his feet were firmly back on the ground. He crumpled the receipt the woman behind the bar had given him for the drugs in his hand and stumbled upstairs into bed. He put the receipt into the bottom drawer of his bedside cabinet and, after taking off his shoes, he pulled the covers over himself and fell into a deep sleep punctuated by some of the strangest – and some of the most disturbing – dreams he had ever had.
(A/N: Wow, not such a massive-great-big-humungous cliffie, this time! But still a cliffie! Gah! Still, I'm amazed at myself. PLEASE REVIEW NOW!!! I need cheering up …)