Thesr are two alternate endings to this story.

I was torn between angst and happy endings. So I opted to write both.

If you don't like pain and angst and werewolf attacks, I suggest that you do not read "The Pain" (This Chapter)

If you do not like happy endings where things turn out okay, then do not read "The Return"

And if you so choose, read both and pick your favorite.


Chapter 3a - The Pain

I catch scent of the figure before I can make out the form. Above all is the acrid stench of the vile potion. Underneath is a familiar scent. It is sweet and medicinal. Like sugar, lemons, and menthol lozenges. A scent that I know well, but that is not you. The sadness and loneliness coalesce into anger and fear as the man enters the room.

"Albus, where is Severus?" I can smell the anxiety coming off of him. He has not had this scent since he delivered the news about Lily and James.

"Remus, my boy. Why are you sitting alone in the dark?" With a whispered Lumos and a flick of his wrist there is a fire in the grate. The room is bathed in an orange glow, but it is insufficient to dispel the shadows.

"I believe I asked you a question Albus. Where is Severus?" I'm afraid that I already know the answer but I am praying, to any deity who will listen, that I am wrong. The aged wizard sits across from me at the battered table. He is thinner and paler than he has been in years. The bruise-like circles under his eyes vivid against the pallid complexion. He sets the goblet down between us.

"Why don't you take your wolfsbane, and then we will discuss other matters." His tone is calm, but I can hear the hastened beat of his heart underneath the words. He is nervous. The moon will be high in less than an hour.

"No. We will discuss it now. I will only ask you once more. Where is Severus?" Under normal circumstances I would not be so bold with the headmaster. But these were not normal circumstances. This is the fourth moon since your disappearance. My patience is gone and my emotions too raw. I can not always hold my tongue this close to my transformation. He sighs deeply, and casts his eyes to the table.

"Severus was on a mission for the Order." He stops.

"I didn't ask you what he was doing. I asked you where he was. Why hasn't he returned?" My chest is growing tighter with each breath. There is no way he is going to tell me…

"He has not returned." He stops again. You have not returned. Well that didn't necessarily mean…

"Who is looking for him? When was he last seen? Why have you not brought him back?" My fists were balled on the table top. The ragged dirty fingernails digging bloody crescents into my flesh.

"Remus, please calm down and take your wolfsbane." I slam my fists on the table. The goblet jumps, threatening to tip. This man is not listening to me and all my anxiety is quickly turning into pure rage. I can feel the moon pulling on the beast within me.

"I will not calm down, Albus! Tell me why he has not been found and brought back. Where is he?" I was standing now, the chair tipped over behind me.

"Because there is nothing left to bring back." His eyes are watery and distant. This is not happening.

"NO! You're wrong! Where is he? I will go find him myself if I have to. Albus, please. Tell me that you're wrong." The last words are quiet and strained. The pressure behind my eyes is growing with each second that passes.

"I'm sorry Remus. Severus was discovered as a spy. He was killed." There is pain. The transformation is starting, and my heart is tearing open. My howl rips through the cabin, through the bitter night. I am not yet a wolf, but there are some things that human words can not express. Before the change overtakes me I run for the door. In my haste I push against the table, and hear the goblet hit the floor behind me. The potion spreads through the dirt. It is no matter. It is too late to take it now. Tonight belongs to the beast.

I can hear Albus call out to me. But I am already in the woods. As the tears flow there is so much pain. Pain from running. Pain from transforming. The pain of your absence. An ache that overtakes me. I stumble, and fall to the ground. I can feel my bones shifting, my muscles stretch and reform. The sting of thousands upon thousands of course hairs piercing my skin. I stand again, reformed into the wolf. And I howl now as the beast.

Even as the monster I can feel it. There is no sense to it. Only pain. Emptiness, longing, sorrow. A primal urge to find that which is lost. And I howl now as a creature of the night. All traces of humanity gone from the ancient cry. It is a sound without logic, without reason. It is only what it is. Raw and pure and shattering.

And I run. It is all that there is to do. To run. To dull the aching. Dispel the emptiness. I run through the forest, the wind coursing through my silver coat. A rage building within the chest of the beast. Running. Running to find a cure for the pain. Running to find a victim. Something to focus the anger. To rip, to shred, to kill.

And I continue to run. For seconds, minutes, hours, miles? The wolf and the moon do not care. There is nothing but running, searching, aching. There is a scent of blood in the air. Old blood, dried. But I can still smell it. It is familiar. I smell humans. Living ones. The beast's instinct to hunt, to stalk, takes over. I stop to get a better hint of the scents. They are not far. Prowling through the woods I see a human structure. It is small. Why do those stupid humans have a structure hidden in the trees? This is not there place. They do not belong here.

The wolf advances. To the smell of blood and living flesh. I can hear them. They are speaking in low voices, they are not moving within their hiding place. There is another scent. Almost masked by the others. It is familiar. It causes the ache to return, to build. The beast howls to the moon. Trying to dispel the emptiness and the longing.

They are moving now. One of the vile humans exits his den. He is holding a stick out to the darkness. Stupid humans. This one smells of blood. Of the old blood. And of the scent that causes the pain. The urge to rip, to tear, to kill. This human destroyed what has left the emptiness. Bite, shred, slaughter. The beast knows nothing else. Attack. Muscles burn and the wolf leaps for the throat. There is the tearing, the screaming, the snapping of bones, and the blood. New blood. Fresh blood. Vengeance.

Then there is yelling. More loud, vile humans coming from the den. They have more sticks. There are flashes of light coming from the sticks. More pain. Sharp and new. And still the aching, the longing. Then nothing. Black as a moonless midnight.