A/N: I'm flattered, truly I am. And you've given me quite a few laughs. But has anyone ever told you fine folks of Hosanna's Campaign that you are very scary indeed? (And that there is, in fact, other fanfiction about?) But thank you. Yes, it probably wouldn't have taken even longer without the constant badgering.
Here are as many responses to questions/concerns as I can fit onto this file while leaving enough for the actual chapter. (Feel free to leave email addresses as well.)
First off, Hosanna and Truth-seeker's list was delicious. (Although you're being awfully optimistic with the friend thing, aren't you?)
Alias - Very nice questions, after you calmed down. :-) The wandless magic questions will be answered later in the story. For the table - he sneaks under before anyone's in the dining hall (which is separate from the guest room and the kitchen). As for the book, Remus likes to stick with his stories. He told James he was a Squib, which would make reading a book on magical theory seem a little suspicious. (At least, I think that was my reason.) You're right, I should probably work these answers in and will take the opportunity if I get a block.
Hosanna - I'm also surprised that I'm still in school. The temptation to do outrageous things and thus get expelled (not the reason to do such things but certainly a nice bonus) is often very nearly irresistible. But I can't entirely accept that compliment, because the prose of this story is quite a bit better than most of my attempts. There's some sort of magic in here, and likely it has more to do with luck than ability. In short, flukish. Although I hope to eventually be good enough to do this on a regular basis.
Career Advice was written beforehand, so I updated it every two days. (I'm rewriting the Lily chapter, which I dislike.) Some stories I do finish before posting - there's a hundred on my hard drive in progress - but unfortunately this isn't one of them. It's also one of the most difficult.
Stepping won't be slash. I usually let readers know right off if it is (I hated being surprised a few years ago when I wasn't ready to read slash). I can't promise the same for the sequel, though, for which I have a few hazy ideas. This one, however - you won't have to worry about the rating (although seeing what I see in my neighborhood, I don't see how slash would up a rating anyway if it's no graphic than het relationships). There'll be a hectic sort of fighting scene, but it won't be any more violent than the books and probably less. There's some mild language.
Moody didn't have a magical eye during the first war. See the trial scenes from Dumbledore's Pensieve in GoF. But trust me, he's sharp enough without it...
Nate the Great - *grin* You know, half the reason my writing goes so slow is because I can't use the computer often, with my baby brother around. Guess what? He adores Dr. Seuss. I mean, excessively so. I can recite that book, as well as several others. Anyway, thank you. It broke the monotony of reading it again nicely.
Rykatu*L - Very sharp, what you've noticed on the magic technicalities. I promise there will be answers later.
Truth-seeker: Not only are you funny, you're very smart. And you've shown me what a policy debate case looks like. Thank you.
wolverina - Don't worry; the Marauders flatly refuse to be kept in the background too long, but at the moment there's some other things being cooked up at the dictation of the plot, which involves a lot of Moody and foreshadowing for the actual storyline. Sorry for the wait.
That's rather brief in comparison to the reviews, but after a few months of begging/nagging/threatening/asking/etc, I get the vague impression that you might prefer me to be brief in the author's notes and update that much more quickly. Thanks to everyone. Especially Saerelle, who made me laugh, Cygna-hime, who gave Moony much-needed hugs (he probably could have done without the glomping, though), auroraziazan, who is always helpful even when I forget to respond, and Gold Silk, whose observation permitted me to think I wasn't crazy.
And next time, try to email questions. Long author's notes look egoistical. *grin*
P.S. DcSolstice - As I told Hosanna, no slash in this one. Her gain is your loss, I'm afraid. But romance of any sort was never my forte, and I'm having enough problems with this story as is. At some point I'll try to email you with more in-depth responses to your thoughts. It all depends on how evil my teachers are feeling, and how much of the geometry I actually comprehend...
Chapter Three:
Hustle, bustle, toil, and trouble.
The above (or something like it, sans the poetics) was on the mutterings lips of every Lupin the morning of Moody's reservation. Breakfast burned, and when Calder pointed out, close to optimism as he ever got, that at least Moody wasn't yet there for that misstep, it revived his and Cauley's old argument, carried on in low voices so as not to disturb the inn's lady fair, for both brothers adored Catty.
Meanwhile Catty was occupied whipping up a few side dishes for those guests who didn't somehow enjoy mouthfuls of cinders so early in the morning, in between glances at the mirror above the coatrack. Catty was no-nonsense, and knew she was beyond her years of young, dimpled prettiness, at that, but she was a woman. The menfolk were sufferings similar small indulgences of the sort, if it came to that, but it would hurt their pride if we revealed that - heaven forbid! A mishap with the owls brought Cauley to his senses, and he allowed them to quench his vanities with a good-natured laugh and was all the better for it, but all the spills and accidents and sundry nuisances of Being-in-a-Hurry could not dampen Calder's determination to come out on top in the hopeless war of working hectically and looking as though he hadn't.
Even Remus, markedly cynical about the whole affaire, had grown at least a little excited - if nothing else, it was a pure pleasure to have beaten out the respectable Green Dragon on such a grand scale. But in spite of having been generously entrusted with the greatest duty of all - the preparation of the Auror's room - he was the most lackadaisical of them all (not that anyone else tried to compete with him) and, when he did feel self-forbidden pangs of expectation, he reviewed his Cycle of Grand Events, a fascinating theorem of Remus's, which we shall peek at later.
Currently he was engaged: it was risky, but it was also lunch hour, and a catastrophical one at that.
Calder had made a royal mess of things with Cauley's task of serving the meal, as practice for that evening. Flustered and nervous, he had taken on more than he could chew (or carry) in an attempt to look more competent than Cauley - or than he felt. So while a regular asked in concern - and ill-disguised disappointment - if Cauley was all right, Calder had let more than one tray over-balance whilst trying to reply neutrally. Provokingly enough, they had Muggle customers present, so no magic, and in the confusion of clean-up amidst Calder's hurried apologies, Peter Pettigrew had elbowed a tumbler clear off the table.
Catty had planned to do errands during that lunch for the evening, but with Cauley hastily trying to scrub the dining room with a discretely unmarked bottle of Mrs Skower's, Catty had to stand guard on the off-chance that the Muggle guests might meander in to find Cauley swearing and waving a stick that was shooting sparks.
Business concerns aside, the Ministry would not be pleased: already they were none too popular there.
Remus was the reason, or, all his self-reproach notwithstanding, the good citizens of Roasedaly were. Strangely enough, lycanthropy had an unwritten yet strict etiquette. First rule: werewolves - and any family that might oddly choose to stay with him or her - emigrated promptly from populated areas, hometown or no, period.
The Lupins had not chosen this route; quite simply, there was the Crossed Tailfeathers Inn. It was the oldest institution of its sort, in the family for generations; they had reason to be proud of it and were, and they loathed the thought of leaving - although initially, staying had seemed impossible. Business had come to a standstill, although vandals had been frequents; even friends who did not shun them on the road kept a healthy distance; and, when it became apparent that they weren't departing anytime soon, officials from the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures started showing up to investigate complaints against the village werewolf. Remus had done this and that and yet another thing that had no basis in truth - except that Remus had sneezed as someone passed by, but, that aside, it didn't quite seem to justify Mrs Newett's claim that baring his teeth in her presence constituted a threat.
As the summer dragged by and the tempers inched up and up, things crescendoed to a fever pitch. Ridicule turned into outright attacks when Remus stepped out of the sanctuary of the inn. Roasedaly residents confirmed what had previously been vague rumours, and their brisk summer business was a trickle. During one ambush, Remus had panicked and his (Muggle) assailant's clothes got a scorching example of what terrified, uncontrolled magic could do.
There seemed only one solution: keep Remus indoors, all of the time. He avoided the eyesight or earshot of guests. The local school had become only a memory for him already, but now he almost never left the back rooms of the Crossed Tailfeathers.
And - miraculously, incredibly - Remus slowly disappeared from everyone's minds during the long winter and longer years afterward. Gossip eventually found subjects that weren't much more impactful, but more interesting, more recent. It was generally believed that he had been sent away, or had died, and although Roasedaly was religious about not going out on the full moon, no one told children or visitors about resident werewolf. And even though a majority didn't accept these theories, they saw years pass with no trouble - not even a sign of his existence. They kept quiet. The Lupins held their counsel. Eventually, they were left in peace, even very timorously accepted into the sidelines of the community. It even worked in their favour - the young crowd, the James Potters, liked the mystery, the aura, the 'whatever-the-hell-they-call-it', as Calder said.
From his seventh to ninth birthday, Remus had never even put a toe out-of-doors. That was all right for a miserable, frightened, obedient child who only had dim memories of anything else, but it didn't work so well with a rebellious, clever, bitter teenager who sometimes wondered what, exactly, he was missing out on.
Knowing how much they needed to get ingredients from Briarthorn's Apothecary and Herbs for their big evening, Remus threw on an oversized cloak of his father's, kept the hood up, snatched the money needed, and slipped away unnoticed easily as any thief.
It was risky and he bloody well knew it, but what of it, he'd done plenty of risky things lately, staying out past midnight and getting caught by Potter and Co, and at least this was risky and constructive.
He tried not to appear lost. Although he was familiar with the forest and the terrain near the inn under the cover of darkness, Roasedaly in broad daylight was foreign to him, and his memory did not helpfully supply directions from his toddlerhood. But he kept to Roasedaly's wide, light, golden-brown dirt roads and asked a few people to point him along. They thought nothing of it, as he had told himself they wouldn't. When he had retired from life, he had been five. This was ten years later, and he looked like the Rookwood side of the family, so he was unrecognisable - and nothing wrong with that, either: Roasedaly was full of strangers, especially in the summer. They had four inns, after all, and had them for a reason. It was a fairly nice place. One more unfamiliar face bothered them not. As for asking directions - well, it was a small town, but it wasn't laid out grid-fashion. Roasedaly had never learned that the quickest way from point A to point B is a straight line; therein laid some of its great charm.
By the time he had gotten to Briarthorn's, Remus's eyes had completely adjusted to the sunlight and his stride was more relaxed, having gone this far with no mishap. It was a low, long place that didn't seem big enough to hold a floor above shop for the family.
Remus girded himself. A woman here had thrown him out quite literally years before, and his faith in his disguise was not so great as his faith in shadows.
He startled as he went in, recognising the man at the counter, undoubtedly: his eyes were back in the dimness of their natural habitat, and there could be no mistake. The face was clear in his mind, strikingly familiar. As was the voice that asked,
'And what'll you be needing?'
Uncle Casper. He had been buried in Remus's memory for a while now. Remus couldn't quite place him… didn't think he was any real relation, but he had always been around, years ago…
But he couldn't show any of this. Remus replied calmly, but he hadn't even gotten to the first item on his mother's list when Briarthorn startled, his elbow knocking a scale off-kilter. Arrested, he stared intently at Remus, jaw hanging, and horror flashing in his expression.
'Remus.'
Remus held stockstill. Running would make a commotion; commotion was the last thing he wanted. Oh, he'd been stupid… (What had given him away?)
'Ah…' Briarthorn swore in italics. 'Say it ain't so…'
'Have we been introduced, sir?' Remus asked coldly. 'I feel at rather a loss here.'
It did not convince him. Rather, Briarthorn groaned. 'Yep, that settles it, no' - this curse became an adjective - 'doubt about it, you're Calder Lupin's son or I ain't standing right here as we speak.' His voice was a whisper. 'You get the bloody hell away from here pronto, I mean dead straight away, you understand me?'
'Why?' Remus was furious. He could see straight, all right, but everything in his line of vision seemed surreal, and it was beginning to blur a little.
'Why? 'Cause there'll be the world's biggest stink, anyone sees you here, don't you know what you are?'
'I'm labouring under no delusions, thanks,' snapped Remus. He whipped out the list. 'Look, my mam really needs this. Now. I'm here anyway, you might as well get it together quick, it's not much.'
'Never took Cat for a fool,' Briarthorn muttered distractedly, swiping up the list and flicking a wand in his sleeve. 'Get it, take it, bag it, quick!' he hissed, doing so himself. Remus counted out the price and gave him the appropriate coin. 'And take the hood off, it's the middle of summer, stands out like anything, if you don't say nothing you'll get home all right. Listen, you want to risk your limbs jaunting around, that's fine, although I didn't think your parents were that thick, but don't come near my place, you understand me? I mean, you have to promise to' - another colourful modification - 'heaven to me, don't come around here.'
Remus snatched the bag from him, rudely. 'I won't,' he said shortly. 'Trust me, it'll be a real pleasure not to!'
'Keep your voice down - '
But Remus was gone.
*
It wasn't exactly Calder's height, but something about him looked distinctly wrong when he slumped over a table and looked beaten, head in hand. Cauley always laughed at this rare show, caught by the visual awkwardness of it, but faithful wife Catty did not find it amusing: she saw it and hurried to him in concern, although she was sore in the wrists and knees from finishing off the scrubbing.
'Honestly, Calder…' Squatting, she hugged him around the shoulders (which didn't exactly work) with an affectionate smile that was more maternal than matrimonial. 'You're getting worked up again.'
It was a fond, running joke that Calder was a chronic worrier; it was also a joke rooted firmly in fact.
'You must think I'm so stupid,' came the muffled reply. Muffled, because he was muttering. Also muffled because half of Calder's mouth was pressed against Catty's hair.
Catty pulled away: love did not entirely erase the discomfort of the situation, and Calder was not accommodating her. She considered pulling up another chair but didn't, because they still had so much to do and if she sat now she didn't know how she'd ever get up again. 'Calder,' she said gently, 'why on earth would I think you were stupid?'
'Luncheon,' supplied a laconic Calder.
'Oh, come on!… I have five spills a day and Cauley twice as much as that. Don't be so hard on yourself.'
Calder looked slightly better at his wife's vote of confidence. 'Mm, well,' he said with an inhale as he straightened, 'not exactly how a head of the house should be act, eh?'
'There's no how a head of the house should act about it,' snorted Catty. For one, you don't run the place. I do. 'Now lighten up. You worry constantly. Do you remember your proposal?'
Both had to smile. Calder's plans for his proposal had been elaborate and had failed spectacularly. He had finished off the day with a few tears of despair that he never forgave himself for and had confided everything to Catty when he showed up. Instead of saying 'yes', Catty had comforted him and countered his long litany of fears.
But then Calder frowned. 'Hope it won't go like that tonight,' he said, prosaically.
Catty rolled her eyes. 'You know, I just realised, you set a bad example; no wonder Remus overthinks. Just like you. What a family!'
She laughed; Calder didn't join in. Catty could work their son into each and every conversation - except that it wasn't prudent, not around strangers, but she regularly did so with Calder and Cauley. Calder never initiated the subject.
'Speaking of which, where is he?'
Catty was surprised. Calder never asked of Remus's whereabouts. The last time he had voluntarily mentioned anything about him - indirectly - was one night nine years ago. It had been winter; Calder had been shivering. 'Come here,' Catty had offered: she had felt alienated lately. Calder wasn't tactile but there had been nothing for the past year, just when everything was so terrible and Catty most needed it. But Calder had given her the explanation. Things were bad enough with Remus. What if one thing led to another? They couldn't possibly bring another child into this mess. Catty had acquiesced very quietly.
'Oh, I don't really know,' replied Catty now, very lightly so as not to reveal how unexpected she found the question.
Calder sat up even straighter. The effect was strong: although getting along in years, he was tall and dark and always made a deep impression. 'You don't know?'
'No - ' Catty broke off laughing. 'See that, Calder? Just as I was saying to you! There's nothing you can't worry about!'
'Catty,' Calder said in his stern, impressive tone. 'You don't know where Remus is?'
'Oh, he disappears regularly.'
'Where to?' Calder's voice had grown louder in impending panic.
'Calder, calm down, he's fifteen, that's what boys that age do - '
'Is he outdoors?'
'No,' and Catty's tone made it clear that she thought Calder was being ridiculous. Even by Calder-standards of ridiculousness. 'He always tells me before going outdoors.'
'Not that that's such a grand idea,' Calder muttered distractedly.
'Calder, what can we do, we can't deny him the right to be out, honestly! I feel bad enough I can only allow him at night.' She sighed. 'I need to go off, Briarthorn's, should have gotten ingredients for that roast ages ago now, only hope I can finish it in time - get to work, Calder, for once we're being lazier than Cauley and that's saying something…' (Which was an injustice to Cauley, who was easygoing but hardworking.)
She disappeared deeper into the kitchen, sticking a pin into her hair to keep a few locks in place despite the wind. But she had no more gotten to the foyer, frowning and wondering why she was suddenly short pocket money, when she ran into Remus.
Wearing a cloak, bearing sacks.
'Remus!'
'Shh!' he hissed hurriedly, pulling her by the arm to nip into one of the behind-rooms where he didn't run the risk of being seen. There was a shortcut to the kitchen from the coatcloset, and that's what they used. To Catty's enormous relief, Calder had taken her order to heart and had 'gone to work'; the kitchen was empty.
'Where - what on earth - '
'Everything on your list, Mam. We were running behind schedule.' Remus tried to speak matter-of-factly, but his eyes were anxious and gave him away. He stood uncertainly as he waited for the expected blow to fall.
And usually it would have come, but her conversation with Calder was heavy on her mind, and Catty no more liked to be proved wrong than any mortal person.
'You weren't - ?'
'No, I'm in one piece, right?'
'You don't - do this - often - ?'
'No, Mam. Just today, it was a hurry and all… Last time I was out was years ago, Mam, no one would recognise me…'
Catty bit her lip and made her decision. She leaned in conspiratorially - which was unnecessary, really, as Remus was taller than her - and whispered, 'This is going to be between us, understand? Your father doesn't really need to know…'
Remus looked dazzled but incredibly pleased with this, nodding very quickly, fervently. Calder was always one to overreact…
'And - Remus?'
'Yes, Mam?' In fearful tones of sudden filial devotion.
'Always tell me when you go outside after this, all right?…'
*
How come things that looked so logical at the time seemed so idiotic later? wondered a shaken Remus, who was, nonetheless, amazed at his stroke of good fortune. Let's not tell your father, indeed! Yes ma'am. And then Catty had ordered him to go off, far away from all incriminating evidence; Remus had translated that and had obligingly scatted.
He kept to the side of the wall, and only in windowless hallways, but he walked rather more freely than his usual, all the same. The inn was very quiet. Remus knew that, upstairs, Edmund Quirke was in the midst of an afternoon nap, but he was reasonably certain that otherwise the place was emptied as everyone pursued whatever normal people freely did in the middle of a nice summer day.
Still, you did have the Chaos Crew - what Remus had termed the occupants of the Red Room - around, and could never be sure of their seemingly random comings and goings, so Remus, with a sigh, retreated to another of his secret hideyholes. His parents' room was adjacent to what was supposedly part of the chimney. It was, but a little magic from what Remus judged to be three hundred years back got around that minor obstacle. If you squinted, you could just make out the door, but luckily few bothered to do so. Right above this room was Remus's own, but Remus wanted to avoid his room so as to ignore his conscience, or whatever it was that was telling him that he ought to be studying, that maybe everyone else had lost their heads because some Auror was coming tonight but that he needn't.
This voice kept being countered by another voice that wanted time to savour what he'd seen in his field trip outdoors. It was more than he'd seen in such a long time, and made it difficult to start diligently pegging away at books again…
But our unfortunate Remus hadn't a respite from the excitement of the day in store for him: rather, he opened the door to find his hideout - the one even his parents and Cauley didn't know about - occupied.
There was a small explosion going on, but what caught Remus's attention most went by the names of Potter, Black, and Pettigrew.
Respectively.
There was a long silence, only broken partially by Sirius Black waving a deck of cards to put out a small fire in his hair. Distantly, Remus noted that his hand of cards seemed to have caused the explosion. That must be Exploding Snap; he'd read about it once or twice but had never witnessed the spectacle.
Perhaps they expected Remus to be his usual, bitterly apologetic at interrupting them, but Remus was in no mood for hospitable courtesy. They had taken over his spot. They knew about it. No one knew about that place! Except him. And now for as long as they were there - and James Potter had made it clear that he wanted to stay most of the summer - that place was no longer safe for him.
For about a decade now he had avoided everyone. Then these three came along. The bloody hell was this? No, Remus was angry. Irrationally so. Usually he knew why he was angry; right now he couldn't be quite sure why. But tears were prickling hotly in his eyes more heavily than they had in Briarthorn's.
'How did you find this?' His voice was too even to be heavy, but, out of habit, it wasn't accusative. Yet.
'Oh, we've a real talent for finding this sort of thing,' Peter said proudly. He seemed to be winning the chess game and was in good enough a mood to disregard the dislike of Remus that they had cemented during their last encounter.
'You have your own room, of course,' said Remus slowly, fury cooling a little, but settling dangerously into his bones. 'Much more comfortable, I'd say…'
'But this is more fun!' declared James, waving a hand happily. 'Private. Secret. Ours.'
'Actually,' Remus said archly, 'mine.'
Black had been the only one who had glowered at him, and now his expression grew even darker. 'Yours? Yours?'
Remus swallowed, which seemed to finish off the anger that had saved him from despair. He now felt only defeated. What did it matter? They knew. They were trained wizards and were probably faster than him, and it wasn't as though he had experience with memory modification anyway. He could conceivably order them out, but it would be a hollow and bitter victory. 'Well, no,' he conceded, looking miserable. 'Last I checked, I never exactly copyrighted it with the Ministry…'
They needed to leave really soon, only Remus couldn't afford to chase them away. James Potter was too good a customer, more profitable in the short term than Moody even.
'… how'd you find it, though?' Remus finished, curiosity winning over antagonism and even depression. 'Not even Cauley knows about this, and he knows just about everything in here.'
'Peter already said, we're good at finding out things we shouldn't,' replied Potter, with maddening superiority. He was smiling at Remus again and suddenly grew all hospitable. 'Look, I had no idea you used this or anything - '
'I told you the place looked too nice to be in disuse,' Black said gloomily, looking as displeased to see Remus as Remus was displeased to see him.
'Yeah, see?' James seemed to think this settled something. 'I should have known. Come on in, the more the merrier.'
Remus instinctively started to decline.
'No, I really do mean it, Peter's walloping everyone at chess today, I'd really like to take a break from chronic humiliation here, c'mon, take a seat…' Potter was cajoling and so sickeningly eager about it than Remus couldn't really find a way to refuse. And he did need to shut the door before anyone came through. Besides, Black was glaring daggers at him and Remus couldn't pass up the challenge.
'I… all right,' Remus said helplessly. These three were driving him insane, and Potter was the worst of the lot. Remus always found his defences crumbling around James Potter, and it seemed to grow worse every time they met. He closed the door, checking to see that it fitted properly, and then turned to face the music. He took James's former seat awkwardly.
'There, let Pete trounce you for a little there, then you'll be all initiated, and Peter'll be happy, and then you can both join us in the card castle,' said Potter in his bossy, charming way, sitting on the floor with Black, who was keeping one eye on repairing the singed damage to his creation and one eye on Remus.
Now as it happened Remus was a very good chess player, if a bit out of practice, because his parents and Cauley had gotten tired of being beaten within a dozen moves about a year ago. Pettigrew was clever and initially took the upper hand, as Remus wasn't as cautious as a less confident player would have been, but eventually Remus broke through Peter's front line and pulled off a checkmate with two nicely patterned bishops, one active knight, and a very well-placed pawn. Had his social graces been more developed, Remus wouldn't have won quite so spectacularly, but, being ignorant of such things, he relished his victory rather too visibly, and for a moment Peter was rather sore.
'Bah,' he said articulately, but his next question settled the balance of respect. 'Exploding Snap?'
'No,' confessed Remus freely, 'I've never played.'
'Want me to teach you?' queried Pettigrew. Partly he wanted to pay him back for the battering in the chess match, but it was also a offer made at least partly in kindness: Peter had caught the wistful and somewhat abashed tone of the admission, and was satisfied with that. But then again, Peter was also thoroughly enjoying Sirius's glares, and didn't mind being on a level playing field of sorts with someone, for once; he rarely got to feel that way when both James and Sirius were around.
'Please,' replied Remus formally.
'Fine. Hey, James, throw us a deck.'
They were working on a drawbridge.
'We need it,' said Sirius.
'Like hell you do,' scowled Peter, 'you must have fifty-six decks between the two of you…'
'Sure, I'll give it to you,' said James amiably, 'but there's something I need to know.'
'What's that?' Peter demanded.
Potter gave that broad grin, as if he found it all some hugely amusing joke. 'We don't know your name yet, and let me tell you, it makes things awkward.'
It took a good moment for this to sink in and for both the prospective Snap players to realise he was addressing Remus, not Peter.
And Remus, for one, sincerely doubted that revealing his name would make things any less awkward; au contraire, the query only served to remind him of the enormity of what he was doing, what he was into. And that certainly didn't make him feel any less nervous.
Oh, no. Not by a long shot.
Black's aggravating glare sped up Remus's hesitation as he considered a response. 'Remus,' he replied simply.
Potter seemed satisfied.
Black didn't. 'Just Remus, eh? That's all?'
'What else d'you want, my grandma's maiden name?'
The belligerence Remus injected into his reply was rather uncalled for; Black's challenge had, at least, seemed neutral.
Sensing that public opinion had fallen into his hands, Black pressed his advantage; even James wasn't standing up for his protégée now. 'Well, your name might be nice, your full name… I mean, times like these, you can't be too careful.'
Remus's aid - badly needed at this point - came from an unexpected corner, not Potter but Pettigrew, who really just could not stand it. For five years how he had been lecturing Sirius Black fearfully and persistently on being wary and watchful, don't be too trusting, don't be naïve, and for Merlin's sake don't be so bloody cocky, you're a good duelist but not the best, and you never had to face real bad news caught off-guard before… and did Black ever listen to him, ever take a word seriously?
Like bloody hell he was going to pull this righteous watching-my-step act now!
'Shut up, Black, I d-didn't s-s-see you all w-woried back the night we w-were c-coming here!' He glared, looking so ridiculous that Black, contrarily, laughed, and conceded out of a mixture of pity and inability to stick with the argument, especially when amusement drove the petty anger out of him.
As did Potter laugh, in a peacemaking sort of way.
'Remus, is it then? Nice to meet you, and now that we've been properly introduced…' He tossed a pack of rather ordinary-looking cards. (Living in an inn, Remus had seen many, many decks of playing cards in his years.) Pettigrew caught them deftly, huffing.
*
For an hour Remus nearly forgot himself, and then, coming to rather sharply, he made a hasty excuse about needing to prepare for Moody's arrival. Potter showed signs of wanting to chat excitedly about Moody for a while, but Remus darted out rudely. He almost made up his mind to avoid them completely after this. It was all really quite frightening. In the little world he had constructed he had been master of nearly every corner of it, capable of meeting all the challenges he set himself. Now someone else had thrown a curveball at him, and he had absolutely no idea how to respond to it. The sudden feeling of - of - incompetence was unnerving.
He firmly pushed them out of his mind. Sure, the hour had been very interesting, and he really almost liked Peter, but he had taken enough risks in the past day to last for another decade. That was that. The chimney room was now off-limits. Remus ventured into the kitchen, where his little field trip seemed to have been forgotten, and to the passage where he could eavesdrop on the guests in the common, which was on the other side of the hollow wall by the front entrance, behind the coat holders. Severe cases of starstruckitis seemed to have sunk its teeth into a few guests and it was rather contagious amongst a good half of them. The most notable case was a witch lecturing her companion about not falling to pieces, they were Vances after all, no need to act silly.
She was talking the most loudly of all and had she known Remus's scorn for her, they would have lost a customer.
Remus felt silly when he looked at it now, but a couple of years ago he had captured his feelings and a surprisingly accurate account of what happened when events that garnered this much excitement came around in a list entitled Cycle of Grand Events, written in three languages (English, French, and Latin):
Phase:
1) Announcement
2) Initial Disbelief
3) Gradual Excitement
4) Anticipation Tempered by Speculation*
5) Confusion
6) Letdown
* Optional: occurs if and only if there is a sizable amount of time between 3 and 5
Specifics:
1) News reaches those it concerns
2) 'This can't be happening!', etc.
3) As reality of event sets in
4) Proposals, formal or informal, that voice the expectations of the event
5) Mishaps and panic stem from last-minute concerns which are overlooked during the first four phases
6) Event falls short of expectations or winds up not occurring at all
As applied to CTI: (this isn't official)
1) Generally applies to the reservation sent in by someone who is well-known, the promised visit of a relative (rare), or something in politics
2) Mother's voice gets quite high, Cauley's gets louder than usual, and Father is of the opinion that it is too good to be true
3) This step usually does not apply to Father
4) Father does join on this and his dire predictions usually prove to have a grain of truth to them. During this phase he and Cauley fight more than usual. Mother is prone to acting uncharateristically. The guests are usually able to tell that something is out of the ordinary but of course if it has to do with a famous guest they're acting ridiculous as well, most notably those of the opposite sex of the aforementioned guest.
5) Usually one of us suffers a mild to moderate malady in Panic. Once Mother worried herself ill, another time my hand was burned. Usually some breakable kitchen item is accidentally destroyed.
6) Father often says "I thought it might be so" and Cauley tells him to shut up. Lately Mother has taken up the habit of sighing a lot but you think she might have seen this pattern by now.
Those who were veterans of traveling for whatever reason were much less excitable. They had been around inns. There had been other famous guests but they'd met people whose names entered the newspapers for obituaries only who were much more memorable - unsung altruists, true cases of tragedy, elusive beauties, stalwart companies, those amazingly skilled in profanity, ironic circumstances, an unknown with calloused hands who worked the pub's piano better than anyone they'd heard on the radio, and, those who lived longest in their tales, the true comics. Alastor Moody was all very well but watching Cauley Lupin pull his ribbing act on some unsuspecting person of the same status was worth a million of the former. There was a pool going around the Crossed Tailfeathers' regulars to hire Cauley to do his routine on Moody - undoubtedly he'd be very happy to do it money or no, but it was always good to say he was paid if the victim grew too angry, and it would be a good excuse to feed his brother.
Remus found Cauley highly thrilled back in the kitchen.
'Don't tell your da,' beamed Cauley in a low whisper. 'He's going to make himself sick over this one, but I can hardly wait. And anyway it'll draw in even more customers so he can't complain too much. He knows it. Speakin' of which, we're getting some people from the village - measly excuses, they have, just want to breathe the same air as Moody, I'm surprised Dawson's wife let him - but I had to give up my room, so I'll be invading yours tonight. Flip you a Knut for the bed?'
TBC (with - finally - Moody's arrival, a hitch in Remus's usual routine, some reluctant initiative on Sirius's part, and Cauley showing precisely why his guests love him so much)
Here are as many responses to questions/concerns as I can fit onto this file while leaving enough for the actual chapter. (Feel free to leave email addresses as well.)
First off, Hosanna and Truth-seeker's list was delicious. (Although you're being awfully optimistic with the friend thing, aren't you?)
Alias - Very nice questions, after you calmed down. :-) The wandless magic questions will be answered later in the story. For the table - he sneaks under before anyone's in the dining hall (which is separate from the guest room and the kitchen). As for the book, Remus likes to stick with his stories. He told James he was a Squib, which would make reading a book on magical theory seem a little suspicious. (At least, I think that was my reason.) You're right, I should probably work these answers in and will take the opportunity if I get a block.
Hosanna - I'm also surprised that I'm still in school. The temptation to do outrageous things and thus get expelled (not the reason to do such things but certainly a nice bonus) is often very nearly irresistible. But I can't entirely accept that compliment, because the prose of this story is quite a bit better than most of my attempts. There's some sort of magic in here, and likely it has more to do with luck than ability. In short, flukish. Although I hope to eventually be good enough to do this on a regular basis.
Career Advice was written beforehand, so I updated it every two days. (I'm rewriting the Lily chapter, which I dislike.) Some stories I do finish before posting - there's a hundred on my hard drive in progress - but unfortunately this isn't one of them. It's also one of the most difficult.
Stepping won't be slash. I usually let readers know right off if it is (I hated being surprised a few years ago when I wasn't ready to read slash). I can't promise the same for the sequel, though, for which I have a few hazy ideas. This one, however - you won't have to worry about the rating (although seeing what I see in my neighborhood, I don't see how slash would up a rating anyway if it's no graphic than het relationships). There'll be a hectic sort of fighting scene, but it won't be any more violent than the books and probably less. There's some mild language.
Moody didn't have a magical eye during the first war. See the trial scenes from Dumbledore's Pensieve in GoF. But trust me, he's sharp enough without it...
Nate the Great - *grin* You know, half the reason my writing goes so slow is because I can't use the computer often, with my baby brother around. Guess what? He adores Dr. Seuss. I mean, excessively so. I can recite that book, as well as several others. Anyway, thank you. It broke the monotony of reading it again nicely.
Rykatu*L - Very sharp, what you've noticed on the magic technicalities. I promise there will be answers later.
Truth-seeker: Not only are you funny, you're very smart. And you've shown me what a policy debate case looks like. Thank you.
wolverina - Don't worry; the Marauders flatly refuse to be kept in the background too long, but at the moment there's some other things being cooked up at the dictation of the plot, which involves a lot of Moody and foreshadowing for the actual storyline. Sorry for the wait.
That's rather brief in comparison to the reviews, but after a few months of begging/nagging/threatening/asking/etc, I get the vague impression that you might prefer me to be brief in the author's notes and update that much more quickly. Thanks to everyone. Especially Saerelle, who made me laugh, Cygna-hime, who gave Moony much-needed hugs (he probably could have done without the glomping, though), auroraziazan, who is always helpful even when I forget to respond, and Gold Silk, whose observation permitted me to think I wasn't crazy.
And next time, try to email questions. Long author's notes look egoistical. *grin*
P.S. DcSolstice - As I told Hosanna, no slash in this one. Her gain is your loss, I'm afraid. But romance of any sort was never my forte, and I'm having enough problems with this story as is. At some point I'll try to email you with more in-depth responses to your thoughts. It all depends on how evil my teachers are feeling, and how much of the geometry I actually comprehend...
Chapter Three:
Hustle, bustle, toil, and trouble.
The above (or something like it, sans the poetics) was on the mutterings lips of every Lupin the morning of Moody's reservation. Breakfast burned, and when Calder pointed out, close to optimism as he ever got, that at least Moody wasn't yet there for that misstep, it revived his and Cauley's old argument, carried on in low voices so as not to disturb the inn's lady fair, for both brothers adored Catty.
Meanwhile Catty was occupied whipping up a few side dishes for those guests who didn't somehow enjoy mouthfuls of cinders so early in the morning, in between glances at the mirror above the coatrack. Catty was no-nonsense, and knew she was beyond her years of young, dimpled prettiness, at that, but she was a woman. The menfolk were sufferings similar small indulgences of the sort, if it came to that, but it would hurt their pride if we revealed that - heaven forbid! A mishap with the owls brought Cauley to his senses, and he allowed them to quench his vanities with a good-natured laugh and was all the better for it, but all the spills and accidents and sundry nuisances of Being-in-a-Hurry could not dampen Calder's determination to come out on top in the hopeless war of working hectically and looking as though he hadn't.
Even Remus, markedly cynical about the whole affaire, had grown at least a little excited - if nothing else, it was a pure pleasure to have beaten out the respectable Green Dragon on such a grand scale. But in spite of having been generously entrusted with the greatest duty of all - the preparation of the Auror's room - he was the most lackadaisical of them all (not that anyone else tried to compete with him) and, when he did feel self-forbidden pangs of expectation, he reviewed his Cycle of Grand Events, a fascinating theorem of Remus's, which we shall peek at later.
Currently he was engaged: it was risky, but it was also lunch hour, and a catastrophical one at that.
Calder had made a royal mess of things with Cauley's task of serving the meal, as practice for that evening. Flustered and nervous, he had taken on more than he could chew (or carry) in an attempt to look more competent than Cauley - or than he felt. So while a regular asked in concern - and ill-disguised disappointment - if Cauley was all right, Calder had let more than one tray over-balance whilst trying to reply neutrally. Provokingly enough, they had Muggle customers present, so no magic, and in the confusion of clean-up amidst Calder's hurried apologies, Peter Pettigrew had elbowed a tumbler clear off the table.
Catty had planned to do errands during that lunch for the evening, but with Cauley hastily trying to scrub the dining room with a discretely unmarked bottle of Mrs Skower's, Catty had to stand guard on the off-chance that the Muggle guests might meander in to find Cauley swearing and waving a stick that was shooting sparks.
Business concerns aside, the Ministry would not be pleased: already they were none too popular there.
Remus was the reason, or, all his self-reproach notwithstanding, the good citizens of Roasedaly were. Strangely enough, lycanthropy had an unwritten yet strict etiquette. First rule: werewolves - and any family that might oddly choose to stay with him or her - emigrated promptly from populated areas, hometown or no, period.
The Lupins had not chosen this route; quite simply, there was the Crossed Tailfeathers Inn. It was the oldest institution of its sort, in the family for generations; they had reason to be proud of it and were, and they loathed the thought of leaving - although initially, staying had seemed impossible. Business had come to a standstill, although vandals had been frequents; even friends who did not shun them on the road kept a healthy distance; and, when it became apparent that they weren't departing anytime soon, officials from the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures started showing up to investigate complaints against the village werewolf. Remus had done this and that and yet another thing that had no basis in truth - except that Remus had sneezed as someone passed by, but, that aside, it didn't quite seem to justify Mrs Newett's claim that baring his teeth in her presence constituted a threat.
As the summer dragged by and the tempers inched up and up, things crescendoed to a fever pitch. Ridicule turned into outright attacks when Remus stepped out of the sanctuary of the inn. Roasedaly residents confirmed what had previously been vague rumours, and their brisk summer business was a trickle. During one ambush, Remus had panicked and his (Muggle) assailant's clothes got a scorching example of what terrified, uncontrolled magic could do.
There seemed only one solution: keep Remus indoors, all of the time. He avoided the eyesight or earshot of guests. The local school had become only a memory for him already, but now he almost never left the back rooms of the Crossed Tailfeathers.
And - miraculously, incredibly - Remus slowly disappeared from everyone's minds during the long winter and longer years afterward. Gossip eventually found subjects that weren't much more impactful, but more interesting, more recent. It was generally believed that he had been sent away, or had died, and although Roasedaly was religious about not going out on the full moon, no one told children or visitors about resident werewolf. And even though a majority didn't accept these theories, they saw years pass with no trouble - not even a sign of his existence. They kept quiet. The Lupins held their counsel. Eventually, they were left in peace, even very timorously accepted into the sidelines of the community. It even worked in their favour - the young crowd, the James Potters, liked the mystery, the aura, the 'whatever-the-hell-they-call-it', as Calder said.
From his seventh to ninth birthday, Remus had never even put a toe out-of-doors. That was all right for a miserable, frightened, obedient child who only had dim memories of anything else, but it didn't work so well with a rebellious, clever, bitter teenager who sometimes wondered what, exactly, he was missing out on.
Knowing how much they needed to get ingredients from Briarthorn's Apothecary and Herbs for their big evening, Remus threw on an oversized cloak of his father's, kept the hood up, snatched the money needed, and slipped away unnoticed easily as any thief.
It was risky and he bloody well knew it, but what of it, he'd done plenty of risky things lately, staying out past midnight and getting caught by Potter and Co, and at least this was risky and constructive.
He tried not to appear lost. Although he was familiar with the forest and the terrain near the inn under the cover of darkness, Roasedaly in broad daylight was foreign to him, and his memory did not helpfully supply directions from his toddlerhood. But he kept to Roasedaly's wide, light, golden-brown dirt roads and asked a few people to point him along. They thought nothing of it, as he had told himself they wouldn't. When he had retired from life, he had been five. This was ten years later, and he looked like the Rookwood side of the family, so he was unrecognisable - and nothing wrong with that, either: Roasedaly was full of strangers, especially in the summer. They had four inns, after all, and had them for a reason. It was a fairly nice place. One more unfamiliar face bothered them not. As for asking directions - well, it was a small town, but it wasn't laid out grid-fashion. Roasedaly had never learned that the quickest way from point A to point B is a straight line; therein laid some of its great charm.
By the time he had gotten to Briarthorn's, Remus's eyes had completely adjusted to the sunlight and his stride was more relaxed, having gone this far with no mishap. It was a low, long place that didn't seem big enough to hold a floor above shop for the family.
Remus girded himself. A woman here had thrown him out quite literally years before, and his faith in his disguise was not so great as his faith in shadows.
He startled as he went in, recognising the man at the counter, undoubtedly: his eyes were back in the dimness of their natural habitat, and there could be no mistake. The face was clear in his mind, strikingly familiar. As was the voice that asked,
'And what'll you be needing?'
Uncle Casper. He had been buried in Remus's memory for a while now. Remus couldn't quite place him… didn't think he was any real relation, but he had always been around, years ago…
But he couldn't show any of this. Remus replied calmly, but he hadn't even gotten to the first item on his mother's list when Briarthorn startled, his elbow knocking a scale off-kilter. Arrested, he stared intently at Remus, jaw hanging, and horror flashing in his expression.
'Remus.'
Remus held stockstill. Running would make a commotion; commotion was the last thing he wanted. Oh, he'd been stupid… (What had given him away?)
'Ah…' Briarthorn swore in italics. 'Say it ain't so…'
'Have we been introduced, sir?' Remus asked coldly. 'I feel at rather a loss here.'
It did not convince him. Rather, Briarthorn groaned. 'Yep, that settles it, no' - this curse became an adjective - 'doubt about it, you're Calder Lupin's son or I ain't standing right here as we speak.' His voice was a whisper. 'You get the bloody hell away from here pronto, I mean dead straight away, you understand me?'
'Why?' Remus was furious. He could see straight, all right, but everything in his line of vision seemed surreal, and it was beginning to blur a little.
'Why? 'Cause there'll be the world's biggest stink, anyone sees you here, don't you know what you are?'
'I'm labouring under no delusions, thanks,' snapped Remus. He whipped out the list. 'Look, my mam really needs this. Now. I'm here anyway, you might as well get it together quick, it's not much.'
'Never took Cat for a fool,' Briarthorn muttered distractedly, swiping up the list and flicking a wand in his sleeve. 'Get it, take it, bag it, quick!' he hissed, doing so himself. Remus counted out the price and gave him the appropriate coin. 'And take the hood off, it's the middle of summer, stands out like anything, if you don't say nothing you'll get home all right. Listen, you want to risk your limbs jaunting around, that's fine, although I didn't think your parents were that thick, but don't come near my place, you understand me? I mean, you have to promise to' - another colourful modification - 'heaven to me, don't come around here.'
Remus snatched the bag from him, rudely. 'I won't,' he said shortly. 'Trust me, it'll be a real pleasure not to!'
'Keep your voice down - '
But Remus was gone.
*
It wasn't exactly Calder's height, but something about him looked distinctly wrong when he slumped over a table and looked beaten, head in hand. Cauley always laughed at this rare show, caught by the visual awkwardness of it, but faithful wife Catty did not find it amusing: she saw it and hurried to him in concern, although she was sore in the wrists and knees from finishing off the scrubbing.
'Honestly, Calder…' Squatting, she hugged him around the shoulders (which didn't exactly work) with an affectionate smile that was more maternal than matrimonial. 'You're getting worked up again.'
It was a fond, running joke that Calder was a chronic worrier; it was also a joke rooted firmly in fact.
'You must think I'm so stupid,' came the muffled reply. Muffled, because he was muttering. Also muffled because half of Calder's mouth was pressed against Catty's hair.
Catty pulled away: love did not entirely erase the discomfort of the situation, and Calder was not accommodating her. She considered pulling up another chair but didn't, because they still had so much to do and if she sat now she didn't know how she'd ever get up again. 'Calder,' she said gently, 'why on earth would I think you were stupid?'
'Luncheon,' supplied a laconic Calder.
'Oh, come on!… I have five spills a day and Cauley twice as much as that. Don't be so hard on yourself.'
Calder looked slightly better at his wife's vote of confidence. 'Mm, well,' he said with an inhale as he straightened, 'not exactly how a head of the house should be act, eh?'
'There's no how a head of the house should act about it,' snorted Catty. For one, you don't run the place. I do. 'Now lighten up. You worry constantly. Do you remember your proposal?'
Both had to smile. Calder's plans for his proposal had been elaborate and had failed spectacularly. He had finished off the day with a few tears of despair that he never forgave himself for and had confided everything to Catty when he showed up. Instead of saying 'yes', Catty had comforted him and countered his long litany of fears.
But then Calder frowned. 'Hope it won't go like that tonight,' he said, prosaically.
Catty rolled her eyes. 'You know, I just realised, you set a bad example; no wonder Remus overthinks. Just like you. What a family!'
She laughed; Calder didn't join in. Catty could work their son into each and every conversation - except that it wasn't prudent, not around strangers, but she regularly did so with Calder and Cauley. Calder never initiated the subject.
'Speaking of which, where is he?'
Catty was surprised. Calder never asked of Remus's whereabouts. The last time he had voluntarily mentioned anything about him - indirectly - was one night nine years ago. It had been winter; Calder had been shivering. 'Come here,' Catty had offered: she had felt alienated lately. Calder wasn't tactile but there had been nothing for the past year, just when everything was so terrible and Catty most needed it. But Calder had given her the explanation. Things were bad enough with Remus. What if one thing led to another? They couldn't possibly bring another child into this mess. Catty had acquiesced very quietly.
'Oh, I don't really know,' replied Catty now, very lightly so as not to reveal how unexpected she found the question.
Calder sat up even straighter. The effect was strong: although getting along in years, he was tall and dark and always made a deep impression. 'You don't know?'
'No - ' Catty broke off laughing. 'See that, Calder? Just as I was saying to you! There's nothing you can't worry about!'
'Catty,' Calder said in his stern, impressive tone. 'You don't know where Remus is?'
'Oh, he disappears regularly.'
'Where to?' Calder's voice had grown louder in impending panic.
'Calder, calm down, he's fifteen, that's what boys that age do - '
'Is he outdoors?'
'No,' and Catty's tone made it clear that she thought Calder was being ridiculous. Even by Calder-standards of ridiculousness. 'He always tells me before going outdoors.'
'Not that that's such a grand idea,' Calder muttered distractedly.
'Calder, what can we do, we can't deny him the right to be out, honestly! I feel bad enough I can only allow him at night.' She sighed. 'I need to go off, Briarthorn's, should have gotten ingredients for that roast ages ago now, only hope I can finish it in time - get to work, Calder, for once we're being lazier than Cauley and that's saying something…' (Which was an injustice to Cauley, who was easygoing but hardworking.)
She disappeared deeper into the kitchen, sticking a pin into her hair to keep a few locks in place despite the wind. But she had no more gotten to the foyer, frowning and wondering why she was suddenly short pocket money, when she ran into Remus.
Wearing a cloak, bearing sacks.
'Remus!'
'Shh!' he hissed hurriedly, pulling her by the arm to nip into one of the behind-rooms where he didn't run the risk of being seen. There was a shortcut to the kitchen from the coatcloset, and that's what they used. To Catty's enormous relief, Calder had taken her order to heart and had 'gone to work'; the kitchen was empty.
'Where - what on earth - '
'Everything on your list, Mam. We were running behind schedule.' Remus tried to speak matter-of-factly, but his eyes were anxious and gave him away. He stood uncertainly as he waited for the expected blow to fall.
And usually it would have come, but her conversation with Calder was heavy on her mind, and Catty no more liked to be proved wrong than any mortal person.
'You weren't - ?'
'No, I'm in one piece, right?'
'You don't - do this - often - ?'
'No, Mam. Just today, it was a hurry and all… Last time I was out was years ago, Mam, no one would recognise me…'
Catty bit her lip and made her decision. She leaned in conspiratorially - which was unnecessary, really, as Remus was taller than her - and whispered, 'This is going to be between us, understand? Your father doesn't really need to know…'
Remus looked dazzled but incredibly pleased with this, nodding very quickly, fervently. Calder was always one to overreact…
'And - Remus?'
'Yes, Mam?' In fearful tones of sudden filial devotion.
'Always tell me when you go outside after this, all right?…'
*
How come things that looked so logical at the time seemed so idiotic later? wondered a shaken Remus, who was, nonetheless, amazed at his stroke of good fortune. Let's not tell your father, indeed! Yes ma'am. And then Catty had ordered him to go off, far away from all incriminating evidence; Remus had translated that and had obligingly scatted.
He kept to the side of the wall, and only in windowless hallways, but he walked rather more freely than his usual, all the same. The inn was very quiet. Remus knew that, upstairs, Edmund Quirke was in the midst of an afternoon nap, but he was reasonably certain that otherwise the place was emptied as everyone pursued whatever normal people freely did in the middle of a nice summer day.
Still, you did have the Chaos Crew - what Remus had termed the occupants of the Red Room - around, and could never be sure of their seemingly random comings and goings, so Remus, with a sigh, retreated to another of his secret hideyholes. His parents' room was adjacent to what was supposedly part of the chimney. It was, but a little magic from what Remus judged to be three hundred years back got around that minor obstacle. If you squinted, you could just make out the door, but luckily few bothered to do so. Right above this room was Remus's own, but Remus wanted to avoid his room so as to ignore his conscience, or whatever it was that was telling him that he ought to be studying, that maybe everyone else had lost their heads because some Auror was coming tonight but that he needn't.
This voice kept being countered by another voice that wanted time to savour what he'd seen in his field trip outdoors. It was more than he'd seen in such a long time, and made it difficult to start diligently pegging away at books again…
But our unfortunate Remus hadn't a respite from the excitement of the day in store for him: rather, he opened the door to find his hideout - the one even his parents and Cauley didn't know about - occupied.
There was a small explosion going on, but what caught Remus's attention most went by the names of Potter, Black, and Pettigrew.
Respectively.
There was a long silence, only broken partially by Sirius Black waving a deck of cards to put out a small fire in his hair. Distantly, Remus noted that his hand of cards seemed to have caused the explosion. That must be Exploding Snap; he'd read about it once or twice but had never witnessed the spectacle.
Perhaps they expected Remus to be his usual, bitterly apologetic at interrupting them, but Remus was in no mood for hospitable courtesy. They had taken over his spot. They knew about it. No one knew about that place! Except him. And now for as long as they were there - and James Potter had made it clear that he wanted to stay most of the summer - that place was no longer safe for him.
For about a decade now he had avoided everyone. Then these three came along. The bloody hell was this? No, Remus was angry. Irrationally so. Usually he knew why he was angry; right now he couldn't be quite sure why. But tears were prickling hotly in his eyes more heavily than they had in Briarthorn's.
'How did you find this?' His voice was too even to be heavy, but, out of habit, it wasn't accusative. Yet.
'Oh, we've a real talent for finding this sort of thing,' Peter said proudly. He seemed to be winning the chess game and was in good enough a mood to disregard the dislike of Remus that they had cemented during their last encounter.
'You have your own room, of course,' said Remus slowly, fury cooling a little, but settling dangerously into his bones. 'Much more comfortable, I'd say…'
'But this is more fun!' declared James, waving a hand happily. 'Private. Secret. Ours.'
'Actually,' Remus said archly, 'mine.'
Black had been the only one who had glowered at him, and now his expression grew even darker. 'Yours? Yours?'
Remus swallowed, which seemed to finish off the anger that had saved him from despair. He now felt only defeated. What did it matter? They knew. They were trained wizards and were probably faster than him, and it wasn't as though he had experience with memory modification anyway. He could conceivably order them out, but it would be a hollow and bitter victory. 'Well, no,' he conceded, looking miserable. 'Last I checked, I never exactly copyrighted it with the Ministry…'
They needed to leave really soon, only Remus couldn't afford to chase them away. James Potter was too good a customer, more profitable in the short term than Moody even.
'… how'd you find it, though?' Remus finished, curiosity winning over antagonism and even depression. 'Not even Cauley knows about this, and he knows just about everything in here.'
'Peter already said, we're good at finding out things we shouldn't,' replied Potter, with maddening superiority. He was smiling at Remus again and suddenly grew all hospitable. 'Look, I had no idea you used this or anything - '
'I told you the place looked too nice to be in disuse,' Black said gloomily, looking as displeased to see Remus as Remus was displeased to see him.
'Yeah, see?' James seemed to think this settled something. 'I should have known. Come on in, the more the merrier.'
Remus instinctively started to decline.
'No, I really do mean it, Peter's walloping everyone at chess today, I'd really like to take a break from chronic humiliation here, c'mon, take a seat…' Potter was cajoling and so sickeningly eager about it than Remus couldn't really find a way to refuse. And he did need to shut the door before anyone came through. Besides, Black was glaring daggers at him and Remus couldn't pass up the challenge.
'I… all right,' Remus said helplessly. These three were driving him insane, and Potter was the worst of the lot. Remus always found his defences crumbling around James Potter, and it seemed to grow worse every time they met. He closed the door, checking to see that it fitted properly, and then turned to face the music. He took James's former seat awkwardly.
'There, let Pete trounce you for a little there, then you'll be all initiated, and Peter'll be happy, and then you can both join us in the card castle,' said Potter in his bossy, charming way, sitting on the floor with Black, who was keeping one eye on repairing the singed damage to his creation and one eye on Remus.
Now as it happened Remus was a very good chess player, if a bit out of practice, because his parents and Cauley had gotten tired of being beaten within a dozen moves about a year ago. Pettigrew was clever and initially took the upper hand, as Remus wasn't as cautious as a less confident player would have been, but eventually Remus broke through Peter's front line and pulled off a checkmate with two nicely patterned bishops, one active knight, and a very well-placed pawn. Had his social graces been more developed, Remus wouldn't have won quite so spectacularly, but, being ignorant of such things, he relished his victory rather too visibly, and for a moment Peter was rather sore.
'Bah,' he said articulately, but his next question settled the balance of respect. 'Exploding Snap?'
'No,' confessed Remus freely, 'I've never played.'
'Want me to teach you?' queried Pettigrew. Partly he wanted to pay him back for the battering in the chess match, but it was also a offer made at least partly in kindness: Peter had caught the wistful and somewhat abashed tone of the admission, and was satisfied with that. But then again, Peter was also thoroughly enjoying Sirius's glares, and didn't mind being on a level playing field of sorts with someone, for once; he rarely got to feel that way when both James and Sirius were around.
'Please,' replied Remus formally.
'Fine. Hey, James, throw us a deck.'
They were working on a drawbridge.
'We need it,' said Sirius.
'Like hell you do,' scowled Peter, 'you must have fifty-six decks between the two of you…'
'Sure, I'll give it to you,' said James amiably, 'but there's something I need to know.'
'What's that?' Peter demanded.
Potter gave that broad grin, as if he found it all some hugely amusing joke. 'We don't know your name yet, and let me tell you, it makes things awkward.'
It took a good moment for this to sink in and for both the prospective Snap players to realise he was addressing Remus, not Peter.
And Remus, for one, sincerely doubted that revealing his name would make things any less awkward; au contraire, the query only served to remind him of the enormity of what he was doing, what he was into. And that certainly didn't make him feel any less nervous.
Oh, no. Not by a long shot.
Black's aggravating glare sped up Remus's hesitation as he considered a response. 'Remus,' he replied simply.
Potter seemed satisfied.
Black didn't. 'Just Remus, eh? That's all?'
'What else d'you want, my grandma's maiden name?'
The belligerence Remus injected into his reply was rather uncalled for; Black's challenge had, at least, seemed neutral.
Sensing that public opinion had fallen into his hands, Black pressed his advantage; even James wasn't standing up for his protégée now. 'Well, your name might be nice, your full name… I mean, times like these, you can't be too careful.'
Remus's aid - badly needed at this point - came from an unexpected corner, not Potter but Pettigrew, who really just could not stand it. For five years how he had been lecturing Sirius Black fearfully and persistently on being wary and watchful, don't be too trusting, don't be naïve, and for Merlin's sake don't be so bloody cocky, you're a good duelist but not the best, and you never had to face real bad news caught off-guard before… and did Black ever listen to him, ever take a word seriously?
Like bloody hell he was going to pull this righteous watching-my-step act now!
'Shut up, Black, I d-didn't s-s-see you all w-woried back the night we w-were c-coming here!' He glared, looking so ridiculous that Black, contrarily, laughed, and conceded out of a mixture of pity and inability to stick with the argument, especially when amusement drove the petty anger out of him.
As did Potter laugh, in a peacemaking sort of way.
'Remus, is it then? Nice to meet you, and now that we've been properly introduced…' He tossed a pack of rather ordinary-looking cards. (Living in an inn, Remus had seen many, many decks of playing cards in his years.) Pettigrew caught them deftly, huffing.
*
For an hour Remus nearly forgot himself, and then, coming to rather sharply, he made a hasty excuse about needing to prepare for Moody's arrival. Potter showed signs of wanting to chat excitedly about Moody for a while, but Remus darted out rudely. He almost made up his mind to avoid them completely after this. It was all really quite frightening. In the little world he had constructed he had been master of nearly every corner of it, capable of meeting all the challenges he set himself. Now someone else had thrown a curveball at him, and he had absolutely no idea how to respond to it. The sudden feeling of - of - incompetence was unnerving.
He firmly pushed them out of his mind. Sure, the hour had been very interesting, and he really almost liked Peter, but he had taken enough risks in the past day to last for another decade. That was that. The chimney room was now off-limits. Remus ventured into the kitchen, where his little field trip seemed to have been forgotten, and to the passage where he could eavesdrop on the guests in the common, which was on the other side of the hollow wall by the front entrance, behind the coat holders. Severe cases of starstruckitis seemed to have sunk its teeth into a few guests and it was rather contagious amongst a good half of them. The most notable case was a witch lecturing her companion about not falling to pieces, they were Vances after all, no need to act silly.
She was talking the most loudly of all and had she known Remus's scorn for her, they would have lost a customer.
Remus felt silly when he looked at it now, but a couple of years ago he had captured his feelings and a surprisingly accurate account of what happened when events that garnered this much excitement came around in a list entitled Cycle of Grand Events, written in three languages (English, French, and Latin):
Phase:
1) Announcement
2) Initial Disbelief
3) Gradual Excitement
4) Anticipation Tempered by Speculation*
5) Confusion
6) Letdown
* Optional: occurs if and only if there is a sizable amount of time between 3 and 5
Specifics:
1) News reaches those it concerns
2) 'This can't be happening!', etc.
3) As reality of event sets in
4) Proposals, formal or informal, that voice the expectations of the event
5) Mishaps and panic stem from last-minute concerns which are overlooked during the first four phases
6) Event falls short of expectations or winds up not occurring at all
As applied to CTI: (this isn't official)
1) Generally applies to the reservation sent in by someone who is well-known, the promised visit of a relative (rare), or something in politics
2) Mother's voice gets quite high, Cauley's gets louder than usual, and Father is of the opinion that it is too good to be true
3) This step usually does not apply to Father
4) Father does join on this and his dire predictions usually prove to have a grain of truth to them. During this phase he and Cauley fight more than usual. Mother is prone to acting uncharateristically. The guests are usually able to tell that something is out of the ordinary but of course if it has to do with a famous guest they're acting ridiculous as well, most notably those of the opposite sex of the aforementioned guest.
5) Usually one of us suffers a mild to moderate malady in Panic. Once Mother worried herself ill, another time my hand was burned. Usually some breakable kitchen item is accidentally destroyed.
6) Father often says "I thought it might be so" and Cauley tells him to shut up. Lately Mother has taken up the habit of sighing a lot but you think she might have seen this pattern by now.
Those who were veterans of traveling for whatever reason were much less excitable. They had been around inns. There had been other famous guests but they'd met people whose names entered the newspapers for obituaries only who were much more memorable - unsung altruists, true cases of tragedy, elusive beauties, stalwart companies, those amazingly skilled in profanity, ironic circumstances, an unknown with calloused hands who worked the pub's piano better than anyone they'd heard on the radio, and, those who lived longest in their tales, the true comics. Alastor Moody was all very well but watching Cauley Lupin pull his ribbing act on some unsuspecting person of the same status was worth a million of the former. There was a pool going around the Crossed Tailfeathers' regulars to hire Cauley to do his routine on Moody - undoubtedly he'd be very happy to do it money or no, but it was always good to say he was paid if the victim grew too angry, and it would be a good excuse to feed his brother.
Remus found Cauley highly thrilled back in the kitchen.
'Don't tell your da,' beamed Cauley in a low whisper. 'He's going to make himself sick over this one, but I can hardly wait. And anyway it'll draw in even more customers so he can't complain too much. He knows it. Speakin' of which, we're getting some people from the village - measly excuses, they have, just want to breathe the same air as Moody, I'm surprised Dawson's wife let him - but I had to give up my room, so I'll be invading yours tonight. Flip you a Knut for the bed?'
TBC (with - finally - Moody's arrival, a hitch in Remus's usual routine, some reluctant initiative on Sirius's part, and Cauley showing precisely why his guests love him so much)