Chapter Six: Words about Wands
Remus's first day among the Down Street werewolves was, after the first terrifying minutes, strangely boring. There was nothing to do; forbidden to leave the inhabited tunnel without escort or permission, without wand or book, Remus could only sit, and brood.
Conversation was nearly impossible. Martha, though more than happy to inform Remus of the location of the latrines and show him how to heat tinned beans over a flaming dust bin, was not at all interested in discussing such irrelevant matters as what was going to happen next, what the pack did on full moons, where Barbicon had gone, who Odette was, or, for that matter, who she was. All he'd gotten out of her was her surname, Abbot, and Remus didn't feel brave enough to ask whether she was related to the Abbotts.
Petar Radulescu, while obviously pleased at the tinned beans Remus doled out, did not appear to know much English beyond 'Thank You', and in any case, seemed to prefer sleeping huddled under a dubiously-clean army blanket.
The angry wizard Barbicon had called Fletcher but the others all seemed to call Jitters swore obscenely at Remus's friendly overtures ("Would you like some beans, too?") and lit up another cigarette, which seemed to soothe his constantly trembling hands somewhat. Both he and Martha appeared to be chain smokers; while Remus had indulged once or twice with Sirius in his youth, he had long since kicked the habit, and found it nearly impossible to breathe in the stuffy tunnel, with its combined odors of sweat, unwashed clothing, refuse, and cigarette smoke.
Inward reflection, all of it gloomy, consumed him for several hours.
Then, at last, something happened: namely, the mysterious Odette appeared.
Remus looked up at the sound of footfalls, expecting to see Barbicon or Jitters (he had since replaced the equally unfriendly Orestes on guard duty). Instead, it was a slender witch of no more than twenty-five, her hands full with several large and battered plastic bags. She dumped them unceremoniously before Martha, stretching out her fingers.
"The shopkeeper is getting suspicious, we cannot go to Mayfair's anymore," she said in lightly-accented English.
"Perhaps he wouldn't be so suspicious if you weren't always stealing trash like this!" Martha said, pulling out a loaf of apparently fresh bread. "He might be a muggle, but of course he's going to notice if you keep taking things right out from under his eye. And it would be so much more sensible of you to go to a Tesco."
"There is no Tesco for streets and streets!" Odette snapped. "And I simply cannot eat nothing but canned beans and tomato soup, it is ridiculous. You are all so unhealthy because you eat nothing but trash yourselves."
It looked like a pitched battle, but suddenly Odette noticed Remus, who had stood upon her entry.
"Who is this?" she asked, a bite in her voice, but not quite so hostile.
"I'm Remus Lupin," Remus said.
"Barbicon's taken him in," Martha said, "at my encouragement. Orestes found him wandering around here looking for Dementors, of all things. He's on probation, so don't get too attached if you can help it; like as not he won't be here with us, one way or another, past the thirtieth."
"And I thought I had the world's most ironic name for a werewolf," Odette said admiringly. "Remus? Lupin?" Her accent became even more apparent on the last word, her inflection of Lupin making it was clear that she was of French origin.
"My mother thought it was funny," Remus said. "Lupin being a sort of French werewolf, after all. And she was a Diana. It wasn't funny after I was bitten, though."
"No, no, it is not a Lupin, it is a lubin," Odette said with a laugh. "And lubins are not really werewolves; that would be a loup-garou. Lubins are gentle things, like canine unicorns. All dead now, though, because idiot French wizards kept mistaking them for the real thing."
She was utterly charming, and her lack of hostility, even nervousness, was disarming after the chilly welcome from the others. She was young and pretty, and the way she was eying Remus, after only a minute's acquaintance, gave him pause.
And Martha, too. "I told you not to get attached, Odette."
"I am not attached, I am being friendly," she said, obviously annoyed. "Come, Mister Lupin, and tell me how on earth you come to be in this hellhole."
She sat crosslegged next to a pile of blankets, a stack of garbage bags filled with what appeared to be clothing, and what looked like a French muggle Bible.
Orestes, who had been napping fitfully, was by now awake, and glowering with even more hostility even than before; Remus hesitated before sitting, but decided it would be ridiculous to refuse.
"I – it's not very interesting. I lost my flat a few days ago, but I've been down and out since '94. After I lost my job at Hogwarts, everyone knew who I was even without Umbridge's new werewolf disclosure laws."
"You were at Hogwarts! But so was I, for the Triwizard Tournament. How is it that I did not see you there?"
"I left Hogwarts the year before – I resigned, you see. I was unsafe, the last full moon of semester, and I could not stay on after that. I could not let myself endanger children. But, of course, it hit the papers that I was a werewolf, so no man would hire me after that, or almost none." Remus could not quite keep a note of bitterness out of his voice as he told all this to Odette. He was not accustomed to telling anyone this – his remaining friends in the Order already knew, and British wizards slammed the door in his face at the first mention of lycanthropy.
"That leaves two years, Mister Lupin?"
With a sigh, Remus said, "I struggled. For a year I managed on odd jobs, until my employers realized they'd read my name in the paper and conveniently made me redundant. Then Umbridge passed her laws, you see, and I tried to find work with muggles, but I could not keep one when there was younger and more dependable labor, which didn't need three days off a month for sick leave. Without a job, wizarding or muggle, I ran out of money even for wolfsbane. There was nowhere to go, you see – or nowhere I wanted to go. I could have institutionalized myself at St. Mungo's, in the closed wards where they keep werewolves without the money to house themselves and keep themselves in potion; but that is lifelong imprisonment, no matter how gilded."
Remus saw Martha flinch at the mention of St. Mungo's, and looked at her quizzically, before continuing, "Or I could have taken sides in this war we're fighting. I am a werewolf, so naturally wizards assume I would fight for He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named; but you see, I taught Defense Against the Dark Arts. The Ministry would never hire me, though there are others on the side of the light, vigilantes, who would buy my service readily."
Remus could not make himself speak. The story was partly fabrication, but enough of it was true that the bitterness underlying his speech gave him pause.
Odette was watching him, her dark eyes perceptive and curious. Tucking a strand of her light brown hair behind an ear, she asked, "But why did you come here, of all places?"
"I used the muggle trains before I lost my last muggle job – passing what's left of the platform, I saw the ghost of a movement, figures in the station. I've told Barbicon that I came down here to hunt Dementors. You can kill a dementor, you know; not easily, but a strong enough Patronus, if the Dementor is pinned, can drain it until it's nothing but mist. I thought – I thought I'd come down here and take as many of them out with me as I could…."
"And instead you found us – Barbicon's little band, the Pack of Down Street Station."
"Pack," Remus said, musing on the word. "And you, Odette? How did you come to be here in this … pack?"
"I am not very interesting either, Mister Lupin," she said with a small smile. "Odette Beranjon, originally of Paris. My English is so good because I am muggle-born, you see, and my parents thought I should learn another language; my mother taught English in a University. I was bitten just one year ago, when I was in Rumania – I was a fool, you see; the man was trying to recruit me, of all things, because I spoke too lightly of Dumbledore and his speech, the one he gave to his school when Cedric Diggory died. I fled from Rumania, and from my friends, for I could not – endanger – them. And I fled from France, too. I could not return to my parents. They are muggles, what could they do? They think I am dead, I think.
"I had to leave France – their werewolf laws – well, they make Umbridge look like a saint, you know? Petar, too – when he left Azkaban he was to be deported back to Romania, but there is a death penalty just for being a lycanthrope there."
"Petar was in Azkaban?"
Martha, who had been sitting by the sleeping old man, interjected, "For fifty years. It's a wonder he's alive. He fell in with Grindelwald when he was a boy, like most of the other East European werewolves. It was British aurors who took him, though, or else he'd be dead."
It explained Petar's vacancy and fearfulness, at least; Remus could not decide whether he thought it would have been more merciful for Petar to have been killed all those years ago. Fifty years of dementors…. It was unthinkable.
"Still, England is a paradise compared to the continent," Odette said heavily. "Better to be alive and free than dead or jailed –" Her speech trailed off, the young woman obviously unwilling to say anything more.
But as Odette grew quiet, Orestes spoke up suddenly. "So tell us, Lupin, how is it that you were bitten as a kid but you have a wand, and everything? Where'd you learn your magic?" Orestes had been lying supine since he'd been replaced on guard duty, showing no sign of listening to Remus and Odette's conversation, but his tone was aggressive, angry, and Remus was nervous.
Very few people knew the exactitudes of Remus's years at Hogwarts, and his admission to the school; it would be impossible to explain fully about the Shrieking Shack, or even to mention his friends… but Dumbledore he could mention. Dumbledore he could use, building on the persona he'd begun to establish already, that angrier, more bitter Lupin who proved so easy to play.
"I went to Hogwarts. Dumbledore had mercy on me. There are few parents who'd want to send a werewolf child to a school like Hogwarts, given how young most die, and there's only one headmaster there who'd ever take a werewolf on."
"And the moon? How did you transform? Didn't the kiddies notice you had fangs and fur once a month?"
"The headmaster said that if I were locked up, put in a cage of sorts, there was – how did he say it – 'no reason I shouldn't come to school, as long as I took certain precautions.' Of course, Dumbledore never does anything solely from the goodness of his heart. He let me in to Hogwarts, and for the rest of my adult life, he figured on my gratitude, my debt. He tried to use me – tries. But I'm not – what did you call me, Orestes? Tame? I didn't want to be his tame werewolf. I didn't want to grovel."
Except, of course, that he was – Dumbledore's tame werewolf, through and through. The irony did not escape him – it had been Snape's epithet, and it stuck because it was more than passing true – he was being used as a weapon, just as Voldemort used Greyback and his … pack.
"I'd have been ready to do some groveling to get at a wand," Orestes hissed. There was something dangerous in his eyes, a hunger; Remus pitied the boy, but was also strongly reminded that he was, at the moment, wandless.
"I suppose the question is how much of your soul you're willing to sell," Remus replied quietly. "How much you're willing to pretend you don't mind the discrimination, until you're discriminated away into nice little cells at St. Francis's Centre."
"Yeah, well, I don't see you making any bloody valiant stands," Orestes sneered. "Do you know how much – how bloody lucky – everything you've had? You have a fucking wand, man! You're free, too, nobody from the bloody Werewolf Registry who wants to through you in Azkaban, nobody from bloody St. Mungo's who wants to lock you up in a nice little ward to keep you away from all the innocent people."
Martha flinched at the mention of St. Mungo's, something stirring in her face, and Remus looked at her quizzically for a moment before turning back to Orestes.
"Oh yes, I know exactly how lucky I am," Remus breathed. "I even had friends, once, and a home. But my friends are dead. And I don't have a job. And I can't pay the rent because Dumbledore still wants to use me and it's the only work I'd ever get, but you see, even though I've been short on galleons all of my life, I've never had to do without my dignity, for what it's worth, and I don't want to be a wizarding tool in this war, because whoever wins won't and doesn't give a damn what happens to the werewolves, and the giants, and the centaurs, and the merpeople, except as far as they can help him win. Dumbledore or – well, they're all the same in the end."
Remus had been so intent on his words he'd not seen the leader, Barbicon, return – hadn't seen the tall, cautious man pad softly into the tunnel's end, his arms crossed as he listened to Remus's speech. Orestes' changed focus, however, prompted Remus to turn, and meet the pack leader's implacable gaze.
"So you know Dumbledore."
Remus scrambled to his feet to face the man, unwilling to speak to this man, of an age with himself but somehow much older and more tired, while crouching on the filthy ground.
"I've known Dumbledore for many years. I went to Hogwarts and I'd guess you did, too, if you can use a wand." For there, in Barbicon's left hand, was Remus's wand, tip aglow with a lumos.
"For six years. We might have overlapped in years, but I don't remember you, Lupin; and it's irrelevant anyway. You don't just know Dumbledore from your schooldays, Lupin."
"I was his Defense Professor for a year; and when He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named returned last year Dumbledore tried to enlist me. Figured I'd be grateful, that as a werewolf I should be begging at his feet for the opportunity."
Remus spoke quietly, meeting Barbicon's gaze; the man did not trust him an inch. Remus knew his initial story, about the dementors, had been weak; knew that he was only alive because Martha, for whatever inscrutable reasons she had, had vouched for him.
"Alright, Lupin. That's not the most important issue right now, anyway. We need to make some decisions about the coming moon – Fletcher should be here for it."
"I"ll fetch him," Orestes said, and he got to his feet with an agile grace, loping around the corner and into the darkness, his receding footfalls echoing back.
"Sit down, all of you," Barbicon said, and he took a seat himself. "Martha, can you wake Petar? I know he will not understand much, but he should listen, too."
They formed a circle. Barbicon was nearest to the tunnel's mouth, flanked by Martha on his left and Orestes, when he returned, on his right; Petar sat next to Martha, and Odette sat next to Orestes. Then, toward the back of the tunnel, were Lupin and the jittery man, Fletcher. Fletcher sat nearest to Odette, and Lupin to Petar. It was, Lupin realized, a visible representation of some sort of hierarchy, with Barbicon the visible leader.
"Now that we're all here," Barbicon began. "You've all seen Lupin. I don't know how much of his story I believe, and I don't trust him out of my sight, but regardless of his honesty or trustworthiness, he provided us with a wand. I haven't had a wand for ten years, and that I stole; my own wand was snapped when I was seventeen. The rest of us have all lost our wands at varying times, from the British Ministry, or those abroad," he said, nodding at Petar.
"Because none of us have had a wand, we've fled down here, into Down Street – it's a place to hide from muggles and wizards alike. The Ministry doesn't bother us because they don't know we exist, and the same from the muggles. We lock ourselves up down here every moon, and we suffer in the dark and silence. It isn't as bad as it could be, since we're a pack, and we keep ourselves from going utterly mad, but it's a wonder we haven't broken through onto the platform more often than we have. We haven't had a wand to make wards, so we've had to rely on just the brute force of muggle iron.
"But now we have a wand. One wand, yes, but that's enough to make wards, so that there's no chance we'll burst through locked doors onto the platform and towards another station. We could cage ourselves even better than we are now." He paused, and looked around at all of the assembled wizards and witches.
Orestes, to his right, looked both angry and excited; he regarded Remus's battered wand with an ugly, hungry greed. Martha looked troubled, but it was hard to read the woman, for she had schooled her rough features into remaining unexpressive. Odette looked eager, and hopeful; she was the only one to do so. Petar looked confused and anxious, clearly not understanding anything, as Barbicon had anticipated. Jitters Fletcher looked restless, and was not happy at Barbicon's mention of wards; Remus could tell he was biting back words with all his force. Barbicon himself was as masked as Martha, but he was not finished speaking.
"We could ward ourselves in. Or we could travel. The reason we're all in this rat hole is because we've got nowhere else to go – this is the best place any of us know for werewolves to hide. But with a wand, we could go somewhere free, and empty, and quiet – we could go somewhere in the open to transform, this moon, and all the ones after it. We could even leave Down Street forever. But I'm not saying we should," he said, and the rapturous expression that had been on his face for only a moment fled. "We'll attract more attention like that, from both sides, and I know none of us want that. No, not even you, Orestes, if you'd bloody think about it! So. I want to hear what all of you say about what we should do about the wand before I make my decision."
He turned to Orestes first, who took a moment before saying anything. "I say we take the wand and go. I've spent all of my life transforming in pits or in this bloody abandoned station, tearing myself to pieces for lack of anywhere to run, anything to pursue. I'm not saying we should go anywhere near humans or anything, I'm not like them, but it would be marvelous to go somewhere – anywhere. I've never been out of London since before I was even four, you know? I say we take this as a gift. If he hadn't come down here," and Orestes' head jerked towards Lupin, "we'd still be stuck here, miserable as ever, but I say we go."
He nodded at Martha, who took this as her cue to begin. "Orestes, I know why you want to get out of here – we all hate transforming – but it's not safe. It's never been safe, but now we have a wand we can make wards, we can seal ourselves off completely. I'll do as Barbicon says, but I think we ought to stay. It's too much risk otherwise – and I don't mean for ourselves, I mean for humans. If we bite a muggle, they'll die, they can't survive dark bites, and if we bite a wizard they'll figure out where we are, who we are. And I'm not going to endanger anyone if I can help it."
Then it was Odette, who looked the most animated and happy. "I say we treat it as a gift, too! I am with Orestes, why should we shun this? I came to England for freedom, and warding ourselves in a cage is not free. Why should we have to suffer like animals, if we could go somewhere where we can breathe and run? It is not fair that we should constantly deprive ourselves of everything because of what we are at no fault of our own!" She was impassioned, her brown eyes flashing and high color in her cheekbones; she turned towards Orestes, who was smiling at her, his dark eyes alight also. They were of an age with each other, Remus reflected, and small wonder that Orestes was –
But there was no time for that thought, for now the man Fletcher was speaking. "I don't see why everyone's so fussed about some bloody humans, anyway," he said, his hands twitching as he spoke. "I'm sick of staying down in this fucking hole anyway, we've got rights too as far as I'm concerned. If we've got a wand, let's go somewhere that isn't here! I wish we could burn this shite-hole down and leave it, I would if I could." He jerked his head to show he was finished speaking, and Barbicon turned to look at the Romanian, Petar Radulescu.
Martha was bent over beside him, whispering to him, and his fearful, vacant eyes, peering out from under the greyed mat of hair obscuring most of his face, darted from Barbicon to Lupin to Orestes to Fletcher to Martha again before he said, in a hoarse, whispery voice, "I – I – safe. Barbicon? Stay safe." He clutched his ragged blanket to himself, and said no more, his gaze darting fearfully to Lupin and Orestes every so often.
Barbicon sighed, and nodded gently. "We'll keep you safe, Petar." Then his eyes grew cold, and he looked directly at Remus. "Do you wish to speak?"
He had not been expecting the chance, and it shocked him. He did not know what to say – he could feel the desire for freedom in Orestes and Odette, and sympathized; but they were young and foolish, and when he had been young and foolish he had nearly killed because he valued freedom over safety.
But this was not about his personal choice now. Orestes, it was clear, was second only to Barbicon, and Odette was dynamic; but Martha, too, seemed to have influence, and she was cautious. Remus was unsure how to speak, but finally he said, "I have not transformed without wolfsbane for two years, six if you do not count a single incident two summers ago. I – I know I do not matter, but I would say we should find the safest place possible." He paused, seeing the ugly look on Orestes' face, but went on. "But I don't think it's here. I mean, I found it, didn't I? I don't think this place is as safe as it could be. Somewhere desolate, somewhere far away, that's where we should go."
He jerked his head firmly, once. "Barbicon – sir – whatever you'd have me call you – I know I have no right to speak. I am an intruder, an outsider, and I know you cannot trust me, I know why. But if I've found you here, others will, too, perhaps not soon, perhaps not for years, but they will. If you do not wish to be found, you must find a better place to hide."
There was quiet for almost a minute, Barbicon's dark face revealing little. Remus did not flinch away from his gaze. Finally, he spoke. "Martha, I think you're right that we should do everything possible to prevent anyone finding us, or us finding them. But I think Lupin, for what it's worth, is right, too. How many people have we found, or have found us? Orestes, and you, and Petar, and Fletcher I found elsewhere, but Odette found us, like Lupin, only she was transformed – she smelled us out. So who's to say that one of Greyback's lot couldn't do the same? No, I've made up my mind. I'm going to find somewhere for us, somewhere safe, by the thirtieth. We'll ward it off, Martha, we'll make sure nobody will find us, and we'll transform in the open, outside of here, and we'll use Lupin's wand."
With that, he stood, and it was clear all discussion was over. "Odette, you've got guard duty, and Martha, you're after her. I'm going to have a smoke." And just before he walked out, he turned to Remus, and said, "Lupin. I thank you, not for anything you've done, but for having a wand."