Remus stood pensively in front of his wardrobe, filled to maybe a third of its non-magically-expanded capacity, trying to figure out which of his clothes he could stand to part with. Eventually, he settled on his warmest brown cloak and baggiest grey trousers, along with the shirt he usually slept in. He spent several more minutes staring at his small stack of threadbare pants, wondering what the general etiquette was for gifting one's own used undergarments to outlaw ex-lovers. Finally, he grabbed the top pair and shoved it into his robes pocket along with the rest of the clothes and fled his quarters before he could second guess himself.
Tippy was delighted to be asked for yet another basket, although Remus begged her to leave out the candles and roses.
"Okay, Master Remus, no candles and no roses," she said, although her smile said he was asking for trouble.
Sure enough, Remus stopped in the hallway outside the kitchens to check the contents and found a large bouquet of singing dahlias, which started serenading him with That's Amore as soon as he opened the lid on the basket. Remus sighed heavily, took the vase out, and left the basket in the hall as he stormed back into the kitchens.
"Tippy!"
Tippy skipped across the kitchen towards him with a brilliant grin on her face. "Yes, Master Remus?"
"I think you put this in my basket by mistake," said Remus, handing her the vase full of singing dahlias.
"Flowers? For Tippy? Master Remus, you shouldn't have!" cooed Tippy, batting her absurdly long elf eyelashes at him.
"You shouldn't have," replied Remus, struggling to maintain his glower.
Tippy grinned wider at him and skipped away to set the vase down on the underground replica of the Hufflepuff table. Three nearby elves burst into high-pitched and off-tune song to accompany the dahlias. Remus quickly turned away before Tippy could see him laughing and ran back out of the kitchens.
Well, figures that the Hogwarts house elves under Dumbledore would be masters of malicious compliance, Remus mused as he left the castle. He wondered if Tippy, at least, with her fearless disregard for obsequience, might be more receptive to wages or unions than most. He made several rounds of the Hogwarts grounds, straying at random intervals into the forest, but eventually gave up on rat hunting and ducked into the tunnel under the Willow.
Inside the shack, Remus was delighted to find Paddy's dog bed covered in black fur and all of last night's food eaten. He set down the new basket and looked around for an obvious spot to leave clothes; however, his more immediate concern was the lack of dust-free surfaces on which to place them. Remus set about cleaning the room with gusto, although he was veritably panting twenty minutes later with the effort of casting what felt like a thousand cleaning spells. Still, he was able to leave a pile of clean clothes on a spotless patch of floor between the dog bed and the basket, and was back in the castle in time to catch the end of dinner.
...
Remus woke early on Saturday to bring food to the shack; he had a busy day planned and didn't want to be running all over the castle and grounds all evening. He had hoped that Tippy might cool down the romance for a breakfast basket; instead, he was presented with heart-shaped waffles, heart-shaped strawberries, and lattes topped with "love" spelled out in foam. The part of Remus that was still a teen prankster at heart couldn't help but admire that there were no inedible items he could throw out in good conscience; the rest of him grimaced to think how Sirius would take these culinary overtures.
He found himself reminiscing about slightly more purposeful overtures of some sixteen years past as he walked through the Willow passage. He was still lost in memory when he made it to the shack, so when he entered Padfoot's bedroom, he didn't notice the smell right away. Remus swapped out the baskets and was halfway out the door when he realized he could hear someone else breathing in the room.
Remus froze. He turned slowly and sniffed the air. The room smelled notably worse than usual, like warm autumn mud and halitosis and seaweed and a decade of stale body odor. And, underneath it all, the scent of a familiar dog that barrelled into Remus' consciousness like a stake through the chest.
"Padfoot?" he whispered.
A small, soft whine emanated from under the four-poster. Remus' breath caught in his lungs.
"Padfoot, it's me." Remus took a hesitant step towards the bed, then another one. He stopped at the sound of frantic scrabbling to listen harder; if he focused, he could even hear Padfoot's doggy heartbeat racing.
"Pads, you don't have to be afraid of me. I only came to leave you more food."
The scrabbling stopped but no sign of Padfoot emerged from his hiding place. Remus sighed.
"Okay, I'm just going to go now."
Another quiet whine escaped from under the bed. Remus got the impression it was a somewhat involuntary reaction.
"I'll be back tomorrow night."
Padfoot made no response. Remus let out a small sigh and left the room. He padded quietly down the stairs and back to the tunnel, but heard no more sounds from the direction of Padfoot's bedroom.
He had planned to apparate to London straight from the shack, but decided that the sound could make Sirius unduly apprehensive. Tunnel it would have to be, then. This was fine by Remus, as he needed to stop by the greenhouses at some point for an abyssian shrivelfig leaf anyway.
The long walk back gave Remus time to mull over his close encounter. More importantly, he realized he had a bit more shopping to do than he'd originally planned. Remus went all the way back to his rooms to pick up the rest of his savings; he'd managed to put quite a bit of money aside this year, thanks to his Hogwarts wages and free board, but he rather suspected he would need it all for his errands.
Remus hustled back out of the castle, pockets heavy with one empty glass vial and more Galleons than he'd ever carried on his person before in his life. Once he was outside the gates he apparated to the Leaky Cauldron, passing swiftly through the back wall and Diagon Alley until he reached the entrance to Knockturn. He walked more slowly down Knockturn Alley, finally stopping in front of a small, shabby door labelled Imelda's in peeling silver paint.
The cloying scent of incense and, beneath that, the metallic tang of blood, hit Remus with tangible force, like a towel to the face, when he opened the door. He murmured a subtle air-clearing charm as he walked down the aisles of ritual magic supplies, stopping every once in a while to compare items and prices. He picked up three large thestral-blood candles, a shockingly affordable small dragon-skull bowl, and a small stick of Arabian nettle incense. The rest of the items he needed could all be found at the apothecary, except the ritual knife.
After seven more minutes of searching, Remus circled back to a small silver knife he'd passed on his way in. It was eye-wateringly expensive, but it was the only goblin-wrought silver knife in the whole store, and Imelda's was well known for being the cheapest reliable source of ritual supplies- he wouldn't find a more affordable knife anywhere else. Remus stared at the 12-galleon price tag for several more minutes, rehashing his budget in his head. He wouldn't be able to afford a new wand, nor really any other purchases for the rest of the year, but it would have to do. Remus wrapped the sleeves of his robes carefully around the knife and trudged grumpily to the counter to pay.
Imelda's uncanny purple eyes lingered on Remus' fabric-wrapped hand as he set down the knife, but Remus kept his chin up; he knew he wasn't the only werewolf to frequent Knockturn Alley shops. Imelda said nothing except to utter a localized imperturbable charm on the handle before depositing it in a small box for safekeeping.
"Thank you," said Remus. Imelda nodded her head in response. "Any chance you're willing to rent the knife out, just for a day?"
Imelda gave him a wicked smile. "You can always sell it back to me, love. I'll give you a good deal for it- five galleons."
"But you obviously value it at twelve galleons, used!"
Imelda's smile widened, revealing a shiny gold incisor. "Six galleons."
Remus scowled at her. Imelda added the knife to a paper bag with the rest of his purchases and slid it towards him.
"That'll be seventeen galleons for this lot."
Remus sighed and forked over the money. Imelda grinned even wider.
His next stop was the apothecary. It was a pity, really, that Severus of all people was the potions master, his childhood nemesis, and the only Hogwarts professor who knew first-hand how absolutely abysmal Remus was at potions. With anyone else, Remus might have been able to borrow from the school's supply of potions ingredients without arousing suspicion, but, well, his mere presence at Hogwarts aroused suspicion in Severus, and he would know instantly that something was amiss if Remus claimed he was trying to brew something himself. Bother.
Pockets several more galleons lighter but bulging now with lionfish spine and bat spleens, Remus made his way to Zoroff's: Traders of Used Wands since 1807. A bell above the door tinkled when Remus walked in and he was struck by how similar Zoroff's atmosphere was to Ollivander's. But magic was magic, Remus supposed; wands will emit their own sort of ambient magic when stored together in large quantities, regardless of where the shop was located or whether the wands had already chosen someone in the past.
A large, sturdy man with short black hair and an expression that looked like it was meant to be friendly but still came off rather menacing walked out of a back room.
"You need wand?" he- Zoroff?- asked.
"Yes," said Remus.
"For yourself or somebody else?"
"I can buy a wand for somebody else?"
Zoroff sniffed. "Wand chooses the wizard, everybody know that. But think hard enough about the wizard and maybe we find him wand only with your help."
"And that won't, er, confuse the wand? Or hinder its allegiance?"
"I talk to every wand that come in," Zoroff explained. "I tell them, your old wizard is gone, we find new one."
"And the wand, er, goes along with it?"
Zoroff smiled mysteriously. "Wands are smarter than we think," he said.
Remus waited for more explanation, or maybe questions about Sirius, but none came. Sometimes it really did pay to do your dodgy shopping in Knockturn Alley. "Yes, then, I need a wand for a friend."
"You know how was first wand?"
"Er," Remus fought down a surge of panic. He used to know Sirius' wand, he knew he did. "Blackthorn, I think? And-" there were really only three common wand cores, surely he should just go with his gut? "Unicorn tail." Yes, that's right, it was unicorn tail hair; his mother had thrown a fit when it chose Sirius because wands with unicorn-anything cores were notoriously incompatible with the dark arts. The poor kid was doomed to disgrace well before he even met the Sorting Hat.
"Length?"
Remus grinned; if there was one fact he had never been allowed to forget, it was the length of Sirius' wand. "Twelve and three-quarters inches."
Zoroff grunted and disappeared into shelves of second-hand wands. He reappeared mere moments later with a single box in his hand. "Well well," he said. "We have such wand. Blackthorn, unicorn tail hair, twelve and three-quarter inches. Brittle."
Remus reached out for the box, stunned. "How do I know if it will work?"
"Hold wand in your wand hand."
Remus grasped the blackthorn wand. It felt different from his own wand, but not completely alien; sympathetic, somehow.
"Now think about friend and about friend using magic. If wand like your friend, it will tell you."
Remus closed his eyes and visualized Sirius. Sirius, age eleven, levitating a feather; Sirius, age fourteen, transfiguring Snivellus' robes into a bat costume; Sirius, age seventeen, casting his first Patronus; Sirius, age twenty, battling Death Eaters three-to-one and winning.
A shower of red and gold sparks erupted from the wand in his hand.
Zoroff's face broke into what must have been a genuine, if still quite toothy and uneven, smile. "That wand like the wizard very much," he commented.
Remus blushed despite himself. "Er, thank you for your help. How much for this wand, then?"
Zoroff took the wand back from Remus to wrap the box in brown paper. "Four galleons."
Remus handed over the last of his galleons. Zoroff finished wrapping the box and tied it off with a simple brown string. "You tell your friend he be careful with this wand. It belonged to Sirius Black."
Remus bit down a surge of hysterical laughter. "What? That's impossible. They snapped his wand when he was sent to Azkaban."
Zoroff shook his head adamantly. "Ministry lie about snapping wands. Want to discourage criminals. But all wandmakers- and wandsellers- know, it is cruel to snap wands. Wands think and feel. So ministry say they snap wands, but only hold them in storage. After five years, they send wands back to sellers. It is… humane."
A nervous giggle slipped past Remus' lips. "This is really Sirius'- Sirius Black's wand?"
"You do not worry," insisted Zoroff. "Wand chooses wizard, but wizard choose what he do with wand. Only tell your friend to be careful."
Remus nodded, clenching his jaw until his teeth ground together to keep from laughing. He grabbed the wand box and fled the shop.
Outside, he slipped into a side alley, cast a silencio on himself, and let out his slightly off-kilter mirth. He doubled over in silent hysterics, clinging to the damp stone wall with one hand to stay upright. Only when the last of his snorts died away did he flick his wand at his chest in a silent finite, wipe his hands on his robes, stare down a hag that had been inching hungrily towards him, and stride back out onto the main street.
As Remus finished up his shopping- several hygiene items and as many second-hand clothes as he could afford with his last handful of sickles and knuts- his mind sobered up and panic started to settle in. Did Zoroff know, somehow, that his friend was Sirius Black himself? He can't have, or else he wouldn't have warned Remus, right? But what if the Aurors tried to track down Sirius' wand? Would Zoroff remember who had bought it? Would the Aurors suspect Remus had really bought it for Sirius? Should he return the wand and ask for a different one?
No, that would only raise more suspicion. Remus would just have to get a move on with his plans and find Peter before anyone caught onto him. He hurried out of Knockturn Alley, walked down Diagon as surreptitiously as possible, and disapparated as soon as he reached the Leaky Cauldron.
He landed in the outskirts of Epworth, facing a small cottage he hadn't seen since 1978. It was slightly more dilapidated than Remus remembered it, the off-white paint peeling from the windowsills and ivy threatening to take over one side of the house. Otherwise, though, it looked just like it had when Remus had last visited; Remus hoped that meant its owners hadn't changed.
There was nothing to it but to try; Remus took a deep, steadying breath and knocked. After a minute of nervous suspense, the door creaked open to reveal a small woman with dirty-blonde hair and a pointed nose. She was only a few years older than Remus, but she still looked older than she ought to be. Then again, Remus reckoned she would be in her rights to think the same about him.
"Penny." Remus gave her his friendliest smile.
Penelope Pettigrew squinted at him. "Do I know ye? If ye've already been botherin' me for a quotation, I can tell ye righ' now I'm still not int'rested."
"Er, no, I'm not with the press."
Penny peered more closely at him. "Ye do look familiar, like."
"Yes, we've met; twice, I think. I'm Remus Lupin."
Penny peered at him for a moment more before snapping her fingers. "Pe'ey's friend! You and Po'er and-" Penny's face fell.
Remus nodded grimly. "That's me."
"Well, come in then." Penny stepped back from the door and Remus followed her into the cottage. Some of the furniture had been replaced, and new photos hung on the walls, but Remus remembered the way to the kitchen, where Penny was filling a kettle.
"Tea, love?"
"Thank you." Remus sat in nervous silence until Penny joined him at the small kitchen table with a tea tray. "I'm sorry to bother you, Penny," he began, "especially if you're being hounded by journalists trying to stir up trouble-"
"Oh, I'm sure ye've got it just as bad as I, since the breakout" said Penny, stirring sugar into her cup.
"Well, it seems I'm slightly harder to get a hold of," Remus said mildly.
"What are ye up to these days anyway?"
"I'm teaching at Hogwarts. Defense Against the Dark Arts."
Penny took a sip of her tea; Remus hurried to do the same. "Innat position still cursed?"
"Seems to be. But Dumbledore asked me for a favor. Harry Potter's at the school now, and-"
"'E don't think Black is comin' for the boy now?"
"He certainly fears so." Remus shifted in his seat. "That's actually why I've come to see you. Black's broken into the castle twice now but we're no closer to catching him. I've been looking into tracking spells-"
"Don' ye think the Aurors woulda caught 'im by now if 'e could be found with a trackin' spell?"
Remus grimaced. "There are a couple spells that… well, that Aurors wouldn't be much inclined to attempt, is the thing; but you know I'm rather personally invested in the matter and I'd like to give them a try anyway."
Penny set her cup firmly onto its saucer and squinted at Remus. "Blood magic?"
"Yes," Remus sighed.
"And you think my blood will help?"
"There's one ritual that calls for the blood of the last victim; I'm hoping your blood is close enough to Peter's."
"Ye don' sound very confident," Penny said.
"I'm not," Remus admitted. "But I've got to try."
Penny considered him for several long moments, then nodded. "D'ye have what ye need me to use?"
Remus pulled the glass vial out of the inside of his robes and dug around in his larger pockets until he located the box with the silver knife. Penny looked strangely at the knife when she grasped the handle, but thankfully made no comment about the imperturbable charm.
"Any incantations?" Penny asked.
"Not at this stage. I only need the blood."
Penelope braced herself and cut through her palm with a hiss, folding her fingers in and squeezing a small rivulet of blood into the vial.
"That should be enough," Remus said.
Penny nodded and handed the vial back to Remus. He replaced the stopper, wrapped a preservation charm around it, and stowed it back in his robes as Penny healed the cut on her hand.
"Well, thank you. For the blood and the tea. I really should be-"
"Oh, won' ye stay and chat for a bit?" Penny placed a soft hand on Remus' arm. "It's been so lon' since I 'ad someone to talk about Pe'ey with, le' alone someone who loved 'im like a brother too."
Remus grimaced. He felt he really did owe her for her help, but staying to reminisce would not only make it difficult for Remus to keep Peter's betrayal a secret but also probably hurt Penny more when (if) Remus caught Peter and turned him in.
"I'm sorry, Penny. I'm sure it's been hard on you too. But I've had too many painful memories stirred up recently; I'd rather not dredge up any more if I can help it."
Penny gave him a sad smile and pulled her hand back. "Aye, I reckon you 'ave."
Remus stood. "I really am grateful for your help. I hope you know there's nothing you could have done, either way."
Penny's brow furrowed, but she closed her lips at the pained look on Remus' face. "Alright." She led him to the door and gave him a quick hug before he left. "Tarra love."
Remus stepped out onto the small cracked porch.
"I 'ope you catch 'im," Penny called as she shut the door behind him.
Remus frowned. He knew too well the sting of betrayal by someone you'd thought was a friend; he remembered too clearly the anguish of realizing that someone you cared about had killed a dozen strangers and several of his own friends. He wondered if Penny would blame him, later, for using her, or even for turning Peter in at all. Merlin knew she'd mourned her brother deeply the first time, and it's difficult enough to do once for a martyr, let alone again for a killer. Remus remembered this, also, all too well.
"I'm sorry," he whispered at the closed door. Then he turned on his heel and vanished.