Chapter 9: Turtle Sundae
When Remus saw Tonks again, she was calm, controlled, and scrupulously polite. In meetings, she spoke crisply, articulately, and with growing authority. Remus was struck all over again by her unvaunted intelligence, the elegant simplicity of her plans. After meetings, she fooled with Sirius, discussed pop music with Bill, and teased Arthur Weasley about his Muggle obsession, according Remus only the scantest attention. Remus knew he ought to be grateful for this. He had known all winter that there would have to be a reckoning, that there would have to be a break; he could scarcely have hoped it would be accomplished so decisively and yet so discreetly. To be sure, Sirius asked after Tonks repeatedly, chewing her out for not coming to dinner more often and chewing Remus out for not being "nice" to her. Remus received these allegations in patient silence and after a few weeks Sirius stopped asking. Molly, too, eyed Remus and Tonks quizzically, as they sat at opposite ends of the kitchen table, engaged in entirely separate conversations, but she said nothing. Bill was talking vaguely of engagements and weddings, and Molly had enough on her mind. Remus knew he ought to be grateful.
Instead, he felt restless. Though he no longer had Tonks to explore with, he continued to explore Muggle London on his own, walking the city's alleys and bridges, strolling through parks and museums. He went for solitary drinks at the Leaky Cauldron. He resumed hanging out in the back room at Flourish and Blotts. It didn't matter much which book he picked up, as he kept forgetting to read the page in front of him. As he strolled down Diagon Alley one warm April evening, after Flourish and Blotts had closed (it did not, like Waterstone's, remain open till midnight), a familiar voice intruded abruptly on his preoccupations.
"Remus!" Alfred Bones was sitting in front of Florean Fortescue's ice cream parlor, a mess of papers and an overflowing turtle sundae spread before him. Remus approached and saw, over Healer Bones's shoulder, that the papers were that morning's Daily Prophet and the March edition of the Quibbler.
"This is a haunt of yours," observed Remus lightly.
"It always has been," said Alfred Bones, patting his stomach ruefully. "What's strange is seeing you here. Are you meeting Nymphadora?"
"No. No, just out for a stroll," said Remus, staring at the papers.
Alfred Bones noticed that he was staring. "There are strange things afoot at Hogwarts. I have a niece there, you know. Susan. When she came home for Easter holidays, she—well, she didn't actually say anything—I got the impression—well, I would be glad to know there was a responsible adult looking out for them," he finished lamely, folding up the Quibbler.
Remus nodded.
"I'm not sure if Amelia noticed, but I'm sure you can trust her," said Alfred Bones.
Remus nodded again, stowing the information in the recesses of his mind. Dumbledore's Army had already been broken up; he had heard the story from Dumbledore himself, in the wake of Dolores Umbridge's coup. He wondered now how many other people, how many teachers, how many parents, how many benevolent uncles, had known and not told. He wondered how many pockets of resistance, how many shadow armies, were forming against the Ministry.
"Remus, if you're not in a hurry, sit down," said Alfred Bones.
Remus sat. "Coffee," he said absently to the waiter who arrived to take his order.
"And a second spoon," added Alfred Bones, gesturing at his sundae. "Remus, you look healthier than I've ever seen you, and utterly distracted. What's wrong? Is the potion working for you?"
"The potion is a godsend," said Remus. "It makes my transformations predictable and—well—nonviolent. It makes it possible for me to live among people again. I even taught at Hogwarts for a year. Since I left, I've been freelancing and sharing a house with an old friend. It's quite a luxury, living in society again."
"But you had gotten used to being a loner, hadn't you?" asked Alfred Bones perceptively.
Remus nodded. "I didn't like being alone, but it was simpler. I didn't like being an outcast, but at least I knew where I stood. It's hard to be among people who think a potion is a cure, who think lycanthropy is no more dangerous than a bad cold."
"It's an unhappy condition. Even with the potion, it will always affect your jobs, your relationships."
Remus laughed wryly. "I never really expected to have much in the way of jobs or relationships. My parents were just happy that I lived to grow up, that my condition was manageable enough to allow me to attend school, that I didn't get seduced by the Dark Arts and the werewolves who—" He paused, at a loss for words.
"I've heard about Fenrir Greyback," said Alfred Bones.
"When I left Hogwarts, I went straight into the Order of the Phoenix, where I was needed, and my condition didn't matter much. I got to be a bit of daredevil, working in that company—I didn't really expect to survive the war. Adjusting to peacetime was hard for me."
"There'll be another war any day now," pointed out Alfred Bones. He had never minced words.
"And half of me actually wants this new war so I don't have to figure out how to make a life for myself in peacetime. That, and I have some unfinished business from the first one. I want to bring Voldemort down, and the Death Eaters with him. I want—not revenge exactly—but justice, for my friends who were killed. Or worse."
"So do I and every member of my family," said Alfred Bones. "Including Susan," he muttered under his breath. "But wars don't last forever, and the next war won't solve your problem of adjusting to peace. Find a job, marry a wife, have a child, write a book, plant a tree."
"I might start with the last," mused Remus. Now that he had that scrap of land on the Isle of Skye, he could, he supposed, plant a tree if he wanted to. The idea rather appealed to him. It seemed like such a refreshingly normal, even Muggle, thing to do. "And I suppose I might write a book someday, if I live long enough. There are werewolf books—Hairy Snout, Human Heart was a very maudlin one I read as a teenager—"
"I wasn't necessarily thinking of a werewolf book. Write something decent, about something you care about. Defense against the Dark Arts, for example."
"That was what I taught at Hogwarts."
"I know. Best teacher Dumbledore has found in a long time, I shouldn't wonder. Of course, now that Dolores Umbridge is revolutionizing the curriculum—" Bones broke off and shook his head ruefully. "I suppose you can't teach anymore?" he asked.
"Not while the Werewolf Regulatory Act is in effect, no."
"Teaching is the right job for you."
"I like teaching," said Remus regretfully. "I like kids."
Alfred Bones set down his chocolate-and-caramel-laden spoon and folded his hands. "Remus," he said quietly, "if any man with your condition could make a success of marriage and fatherhood, I think it would be you. It's unusual, but it's not unprecedented."
Remus was touched. Healer Bones was, he knew, no Legilimens, but he had an uncanny knack for peering right into one's mind and reading one's thoughts. Remus had always found Bones's counsel helpful—though not an expert on lycanthropy, Bones seemed to have an instinctive understanding of how the condition resonated through all the other complexities of a werewolf's life.
However. "I know there are precedents, but that's precisely what gives me pause. The number of werewolves who have bitten their lovers, bitten their spouses, bitten—" He sighed. "I bit myself last month."
"That's part of the condition," said Alfred Bones slowly. "It's happened before."
"I wasn't transformed."
Bones cocked his head inquiringly.
"I was asleep. It was—mark this—a waning moon. I was having a dream—a werewolf dream—about chasing someone—and I bit myself."
"And then?"
"And then I woke up. And this whole new potion-informed life that I've been building for myself started to fall to pieces. I'm living in a friend's house—he's around all the time—and there are other people in and out at all hours. What might I do to them?"
"Remus, I'm not an expert on werewolves, but I would imagine, at the very least, that you're completely safe when you're awake."
"I think so. I hope so. But it does rather dish family life. I have to think about controlling myself every minute—not letting anyone be around me when I'm asleep, not letting myself lose control in any way—"
He broke off. Alfred Bones watched him sadly and said nothing. After a minute, he pushed the ice cream dish forward. "Finish the sundae, Remus. You were always a believer in the healing powers of chocolate."
Remus was licking the spoon when a squat witch in a floppy straw hat approached him. A masculine face peered out from beneath the beribboned brim. It was Mundungus Fletcher. "Headquarters," he hissed under his breath. "Now."