A Wolf's Tale

The night would have been peaceful had it not been for the incessant wailing of a child. He'd woken some time ago in a sparsely lit tent, and with a platter of meat and berries set off to his side. Paranoia screamed that the food could be poisoned, but sense told him that if whoever put them out wanted him dead, he would be.

His stomach made the decision for him in the end, cramping and groaning like a half-starved beast. Eating nothing but Petunia's cookies – as tasty as they were – and whatever slop Lena had fed him, wasn't enough to sustain him for however many days it had been since his last proper meal.

Blood gushed between his teeth, slipping over his gums and filling his mouth with its coppery taste. It was a step away from raw, but Harry wolfed it down regardless, finding it surprisingly to his liking; though its taste was the last thing on his mind, focused more on the strange place he found himself in.

A shrouded figure lay at the far end of the tent, underneath what appeared to be a bundle of furs. There was a gentle rise and fall coming from beneath the cloth, completely unbothered by the baby's shrieks that continued to ring out in the distance. I pity the parents of that banshee. Of all the creatures he'd had the fortune (and misfortune) of encountering, Harry had yet to meet a Banshee. Perhaps this would be his lucky day. Seamus certainly wouldn't think so. The boy always held an unnatural fear for them, to the point where it had been his boggart back in third year.

A smile slowly spread across his face, the warmth of a gentle hearth filling him pleasantly. The world was a much simpler place back then, and the memory of that defense class was one held dear by many of his classmates. It was rare to see such unity amongst students, but that day they all banded together to conquer their deepest fears. It was a powerful moment.

There was an abrupt exhale of breath and a low groaning sound, which caught Harry's attention. From beneath the pile of furs, a shock of fiery red hair peeked its way through, followed by a pale face and bushy beard that matched the mop on top.

Harry sat in silence, observing the man who had been sharing his tent. Thin white streaks ran across his face and disappeared into aged lines and beyond his rising hairline, like crisscrossing rivers chasing the others curves. They were pinched, and tight, and contrasted oddly with his pale complexion. Scars, Harry realized, old scars that will never fade. He was a big man, broad chested like a keeper, and handsome in a rugged way despite the marks on his face.

"So you're finally up eh?"

Harry quirked an eyebrow at the smirking man, who straightened himself amongst the furs.

"Not that I really care, even though everyone else did. Spent more time looking after you then me, and I'm supposed to be their friend. Bloody bastards," the man huffed mostly to himself.

Harry laughed. Despite the scratchy quality of his voice, it was filled with genuine warmth, and Harry found himself liking the man.

"Maybe you should find yourself better friends," Harry said.

"Oh, I've tried trust me. Make them easy enough, but I usually scare them away in the end. So I'm stuck with this lot." He gestured with his arms, despite it only being the two of them. "Not really happy with them right now, am I? Sticking me with you."

"And what's wrong with me?"

The affable redhead eyed him keenly, as if taking his question much more serious than it was intended. His eyes are sharp, Harry noted. He could feel his skin dance uncomfortably under his gaze.

"Not much, other than being too scrawny for my liking and having all those ugly scars."

Harry scoffed.

His companion shrugged. "Mine are prettier."

"Keep telling yourself that," Harry replied.

"You are good fun, kid… it's a shame I can't like you."

"Why's that?"

"It's principle. Just like you don't like the guy who starts to fancy your daughter… you don't like the guy who took off your leg."

Before Harry could ask what he was talking about, the man slipped out from the rest of his furs, and waved around a stump of a leg that ended at the knee.

"I can't really blame you for doing it—I was a raging beast trying to eat you at the time—but you are the reason I'll be hopping around for the rest of my life." He wore an easy going smile, but Harry could see the pain beneath it all. Moody stomped around well enough, and was fearsome despite his injuries, but he was certain the old Auror preferred it when he had all of his limbs.

Harry could scarce remember the night he'd battled the Vampires and Werewolves. In his mind, it was a nightmarish blur of fire and death and blood. As sad as it was to see the man sitting before him, he didn't regret anything.

"I don't know what to say…"

"Like I said, don't worry about it. Even as a beast I was always reckless, and should have known better than to charge a dangerous wizard." A companionable silence fell between them, just as a mischievous twinkle settled in his eyes. "But looking at you now, I can see why the wolf made the mistake. It probably thought you were my daughter."

Harry brushed the comment off with a laugh. "Appearances can be deceiving." He extended his hand, "Harry."

"Oh, we know all about you. The Potter boy." His grip was very firm. "Nicholas, but everyone calls me Nico."

Harry wanted to ask what he meant by that, but didn't get the chance as the Banshee struck again.

"That child is horrible. If my baby girl was like that, I would have taken her to the river, and she would have very quickly learnt to either sink or swim."

Harry cringed.

"A little too dark was it? I blame it on the wolf." He had a wide, white grin.

A gentle breeze brushed across the back of Harry's neck, and he turned to the entrance of the tent. The flaps were rustling in the wind, and between them was a small head of ginger hair and two wide staring eyes.

"Papa!"

A red bolt shot past him and up into Nico's laughing arms. "And how is my little sunshine? You've been listening to mommy today haven't you?"

"Yes…" Her forehead scrunched together cutely, and her gaze strayed from her father's.

"What is it?" Nico's voice was teasing, and he tickled his daughter lightly with his free hand.

"It's just that mommy doesn't know I'm here," she giggled. Her eyes darted towards Harry and back again. "Mommy doesn't think it's safe with him." She tried to whisper, but it didn't work very well.

"Mommy doesn't need to worry, Harry here is virtually harmless," Nico said to his daughter, shooting Harry a wink as he tapped his missing leg. "In fact, I think you could beat him up pretty easily."

"Really?" Her eyes lit up with an excitement and wonder that only a child could possess. "Even when I'm not a wolf?"

He bumped her nose with a finger. "Especially when you're not a wolf."

The young girl turned to Harry then, and eyed him shyly.

"If your dad could beat me up, then I have no chance against you," Harry said, watching her blush like a tomato. Just like Ron and the Weasleys, he thought wistfully, anda sharp in his gut stole away his breath.

"Go run back to mommy, and tell her I'll be back home soon," Nico instructed his daughter, who hugged him again before quickly leaving as told.

"You're good with kids, you know." Nico shifted on his cot, and pulled himself awkwardly to his one foot. He needed to lean against a wooden table for support.

"I try to be, I didn't exactly have the happiest of childhoods," Harry found himself admitting.

Nico nodded slowly, "You've got the right attitude about you. Pay it forward, and keeping moving on no matter the shit you've gone through. Maybe I can make an exception and like you, despite making me a cripple."

"I think I'd like that."

"Good. Now I need your helping getting me something I can use to walk." He tossed Harry his wand from where it lay on the table.

It didn't take much to transfigure the platter he had eaten from into a pair of crutches.

"Thanks," Nico said. His eyes lingered on the wand in Harry's for a moment, before he shook his head and made to leave.

Passing through the flaps, Nico nodded to tall man neither had noticed standing there until now.

He was tall and slim, wearing a ragged brown coat. His thinning hair was pulled back, and only a few flecks of brown remained within the grey. A thick beard, as grey as his hair, covered most of his face, but not enough to hide the deep scars long ago torn into his flesh.

There was a cautiousness to his stride, as he approached Harry. Each step was deliberately taken, and his mossy eyes stared deeply into his own.

"I didn't dare believe that I could, but of all the people I wished to see one last time, it was you." The man's voice was pleasant and familiar, like a half forgotten dream.

Harry shook where he stood. It can't be, he's dead. He's dead.

"Even in my worst days, those homeless and desperate, lonely and half-mad from my transformations, some of the happiest memories which have kept me going were of you. I've miss you, Harry."

"Remus…"

It couldn't be, he was supposed to be gone like all the rest. Yet there he stood. He could see it now, beyond the grey and unkempt hair, his former professor and father's best friend.

He wasn't sure who had reached out to who, but they were grasping on to each other with equal amounts of desperation and disbelief. He was real. Remus was real. He could feel him. This wasn't a dream. The emotions he was feeling, the scratching of Remus' thick beard on his neck, the smell of ink and oak and grass, it couldn't all be fake.

"I saw the fight… your body… I didn't believe it…" Remus could scarcely breathe, and Harry would have thought his voice to be the wind had it not been inches away from his ear.

"I thought you died," Harry choked.

"No… I did much worse." Remus' voice was filled with shame. He led the two of them to the cushioned bench Harry had been sleeping on before. "There were times I wished I had been. Dark, horrible times, but I lived." Remus clutched tighter to Harry, shaking, and with a grip stronger than any man should possess. "Damn me for my cowardice, but I ran." Loathing dripped from his every word, like grease from red meat, "I'd lost everything. I was weak. I couldn't bear it any longer."

"Stop." Harry knew he had spoken, but he wasn't sure why. Everything was thrown to chaos, up, down, side-to-side. The floor was the ceiling and the ceiling was the floor. Remus was alive.

"I'd disappeared before, vanished without sight, sound, or trace. I could do it again. Nobody would have to think of me again." The words poured out of Remus' mouth, in a mixture of gasps and growls. An animal was breaking through from inside, slipping through the fingers of his weakening control.

Harry fought to his feet, but still Remus held tighter than he could shake free.

"After James and Lily. Peter. My parents." They were moving backwards suddenly. Remus was pushing Harry quicker than his feet could find a grip on the earth, and his feet stumbled over themselves like that of an uncoordinated dancer. They fell into a heap, Harry trapped beneath Remus' lean, muscular body. "Sirius… I lost him twice. I couldn't handle it any longer. I'm a coward." His breath was meaty. A vicious sob tore through his throat, one that shifted into a long drawn out howl.

In that moment of raw anguish, Harry slipped the hold which had momentarily loosened. He rolled away and reached to his side.

"No! You can't leave me!" Remus had bounded back to his feet, amber glinting in his eyes, and moved after Harry.

It was too late. "Stop. Remus have to stop—you need to get in control." Harry had his wand pointed just below his throat.

The man across from him stopped. He was crazed. But whatever he saw was enough to halt him for now.

"You don't want to kill me?" He looked terribly ill. "After all I've done? Abandoning you. Leaving you as a child, and again when you needed me most."

There were things Harry wanted to know, questions he had long kept buried, and Remus had much to answer for, but he didn't want to kill him. Not Remus, never—not his last connection to a life he never had.

"I've failed you how many times, and still you stand there with his face and her eyes and with a pity that could only be yours. How can you stand to see me live over the rest of them?"

"Because…" Harry found his voice, "I ran too."

Remus' eyes flickered to the wand pointed at him and flinched.

"It was the hardest thing I've ever had to do." The emotion he had repressed for so long was surging through him like the waves of a violent storm breaking against a cove. "All my life I've ran head first into the impossible, but this time I couldn't. Knowing the danger they are in—to leave them, turn my back on them—it felt like I was tearing myself apart." He wasn't sure he would ever forgive himself for the orders he gave to Kreacher and Dobby.

Britain had fallen. Without a shadow of a doubt, he was certain of it. How could they stand without Dumbledore? They would have looked to him, The Boy Who Lived, The Chosen One, Harry Potter, but he was gone as well. A nation left on its own, subjected to the whims of a monster that was his to finfish.

I had him. I fought him. I failed.

"He's gone?" Remus had yet to look away from the wand in Harry's hand.

The question was clear. "He is," Harry answered.

Like a marionette cut from its strings, he collapsed to the floor a broken mess. It was strange, watching the emotions he felt, but didn't dare express. I can't afford to stop now. I need to finish what we started – Dumbledore trusted me.

In truth, it was all he had. Without his mission – without the last glimpse Dumbledore passed into his mind – he would be lost.

"Tell me… how? How did it happen?" Tears slipped from his shattered gaze. The soft beat of their impact on the ground below, the only sound held between them.

"He came." Harry said, turning away from Remus unable to look at him any longer. There was no need to explain who he was. "The school came under attack. Malfoy helped Bellatrix in." He could feel the memories bubble to the surface from the dark depths he'd sent them to. It was monster crawling back from the deep. Flashes came first – single images and scenes – but slowly, ever slowly, they joined to replay in his mind. "I found them on the map. I tried to stop them, but I was too late."

It was so painful, like a nail relentlessly being hammered into his heart. He wanted to stop. It would be easy to cease his retelling and to hide from what had come to pass. But he'd already started and couldn't stop.

"There was so much fighting. So much death." He could see Justin's twitching corpse, feel Susan's vacant gaze and her halo of red hair, smell the blood he'd taken from Alecto Carrow. "We could have won, until he came. I tried to fight him—"

"You fought Voldemort?" Remus choked, and looked Harry up and down with awe that he stood to tell the tale.

"I lost. It was Dumbledore who saved me. He didn't even have a wand." Harry's breathing was hard. There was a sudden urge to be sick at the memory. How Dumbledore stood down Voldemort unarmed – weak and frail and broken from their trip to the cave. He faced death without hesitation. Was there ever a man braver? "He sacrificed himself for me." Far off in the distance, perhaps it was a simple trick of the mind, he thought he could hear a Phoenix's lament.

"How is it you're here?" Remus said, picking himself back onto his feet.

"Fawkes took me away to Grimmauld Place. Dumbledore gave me a mission."

Remus' face came alight in that moment. His posture straightened to something much more attentive, and his eyes gleamed with purpose. "So it's not over."

"No. I was on my way someplace important when I ran into some sort protection."

"This area of the forest is highly enchanted," Remus explained.

"What are they protecting?" Harry asked. The thought had come to mind countless times since he'd escaped the red haze, but his speculations were purely guesswork.

"I have not been able to find out. The most I could gather is that it has something to do with the ICW. They enforce the area tightly, and un-lethally, thankfully."

Any thought of the ICW left a bitter taste in Harry's mouth.

"Remus…" Harry paused. Their eyes met, and he held the stare in a long bout of silence, hoping to convey the seriousness of the situation. "Why are you here?"

The man said nothing. There was a hesitance about him, as if he wished to speak but something held him back. Remus looked uncomfortable.

"Sirius' death… it took a long while for it to sink in." Remus finally spoke up, and stared out into the glowing light beyond the flaps of the tent where a buzz of noise could be heard gently growing in a tired crescendo. "There were days when I still expected to see him waiting for me in the library at headquarters. I had once again grown used to his company these past years – dependant even." Remus' gaze had long disappeared into the void of time long past. "Going to Hogwarts as a child was a dream. I knew I didn't belong, that my attendance was unprecedented, but still I promised myself that I would work hard for the miracle I was given.

"Then I met your father, and Sirius… and Peter. Each of us was flawed, but together we were formidable. We were the Marauders, and we thought ourselves invincible. It was the first time I ever felt as if I belonged, and for a time I would forget what I truly was. That was until the night I'd nearly killed Severus Snape, and James for protecting him. All of a sudden, the world wasn't so clear, it wasn't ripe for our taking. We were mortal. And perhaps that was the beginning of our downfall.

"What was once unconditional love and trust, soon turned sour, with suspicion festering in the fissures of our friendship. I'd gone to treat with the Werewolves – my kind – and I could see the question in everyone's eyes: Was I the traitor? Had I finally given in to my base nature? Turned into the monster I swore I would never be?"

"But you were their friend? They knew you – that you were just as much a wizard as they were. It's only just a furry—"

"—little problem… James used to say the same. He always did have an odd sense of humour." A sad smile pulled beneath the heavy beard on Remus' scarred face. "The days were dark, Harry, as I'm sure you've heard before. We knew there was a traitor, and it was so easy to put your trust in the wrong person. Just as we learned. And Werewolves are the least trustful of the lot."

"But—"

"Your defense of us is admirable, Harry, but not done with a complete understanding." Remus had cut off his protest. "If you would follow me," Remus said, leading them out of the tent.

The night was deep and dark, well into the first hours of the day, but you couldn't tell from the activity. Great fires lit the air, casting an orange glow as far as the eye could see. Tents of a variety of sizes were set across the ground, mixed amongst well-built cabins, and haphazard wooden structures. It was a motley collection of homes to say the least.

"How many Werewolves have you met in your life, Harry?" Remus asked.

"Only you." It was the honest answer.

"And how many do you see here?"

"More than I had expected there to be." It was incredible. Everywhere he looked there were men, women, and children; old and young, walking about. It was its own civilization living in secret, away from the rest of the world.

"To be a Werewolf, is to be cursed. There is a power within you that is cruel and hungry, and fights for domination. We are a dangerous species, and people are right to fear us."

"But what about Nico?" Harry questioned, as he was led past a crowd of men huddled near a fire.

"Nico is a good friend, and one of the few who has the strength to control the power. He had attended Hogwarts, only to be bitten in his third year and have his wand snapped since he wasn't of age. However, not all individuals are like ourselves. There are the weak, the spiteful, and the passionate, who embrace their bestial nature rather than fight for their human minds. These individuals are dangerous. There was a reason I placed Nico in your tent while you were recovering. Humans don't remain humans for long in the presence of Werewolves."

Remus took Harry and led him around the perimeter of the settlement. "I always walked a tight line at Hogwarts," he said, returning to the topic at hand. "Maintaining control over my affliction was very difficult, especially around the full-moon and with me being a teenager. The lives of countless students were of more importance than the education of one child. During the war, as I was parted from my friends and spending more time with other Werewolves, I started to lose my control. And others' suspicion of me only grew as I drifted further and further from who I once was."

They stopped suddenly, a fair distance from the populated center of camp. Remus stared deeply into the cloud covered sky, grey screen over the heavens. "When I was given the news of the death of your parents…" His voice cracked as he spoke. "When I heard of Sirius' betrayal and Peter's murder… I lost myself. There was nothing left of Remus Lupin, only the wolf inside. I'd lost my whole world. The Marauders were no more. Everything that kept me sane, gave me strength, and made me who I was, was gone. There is little I remember from those years, and what I do I long to forget."

Harry remained silent, not daring to interrupt the confession he knew had long been kept hidden.

"It was Dumbledore who found me, and saved me from my despair just as he did when I was a child. An offer to serve as a professor. Though the true motivation was left unsaid. I'd gained so much, only to lose it all again."

He wasn't sure what to think. Remus had lived a difficult life, one cursed almost from the start, and it would be easy to feel pity for the man. But what about my life? The thought kept bouncing around in his head. It didn't feel right to compare the trials and tribulations of other people's lives like some sort of sick competition, but still he found himself doing so.

Who had the right to complain to him? To look towards him for pity, as if he were a well of understanding and forgiveness over the hardships of life. His parents had been murdered before he could even remember them. He'd grown up in a house that hated his mere presence. He'd fought evil more times than he could count, and seen friends and family die along the way. He was the Chosen One – a child prophesized to be the only one capable of killing an immortal monster.

Not everyone is a hero. Not everyone is brave. Not everyone is given a choice in the fights they find themselves in. There is nothing clean about the way war is fought, just as there is nothing clean about the choices made in them. He sympathized with this, thought it was different for him. He did not have a choice, he was born for this.

"I knew I'd passed a point beyond return. Each passing day, I felt my resolve grow weaker," Remus started again, leading them back to the settlement, and towards a small cabin. "I left, back to where I belonged, and did the only thing I could. I convinced the Werewolves to sit out the war."

Harry's eyes shot open, and he turned back to Remus. He could hear the same baby wailing nearby, over the general chatter of the camp, and Remus smiled. "I was well liked by certain crowds, but they lacked a leader. One powerful and willing enough to stand up to Greyback – a vicious Werewolf of the worst kind, who takes pleasure turning young children… like me." Remus explained. There was a deep anger simmering in the depths of his eyes with the mention of the name. "They wanted my commitment, to be their leader, but it was something I could never give. Not while your parents and Sirius were alive."

"You stole them from Greyback?" Harry asked, still shocked. If this was true, then the greatest victory the Ministry had over Voldemort's forces was all because of one man. He remembered Tonks and Fardale discussing probable causes during one of their Hogsmeade visits, but no one had ever known. Maybe Dumbledore did, Harry wondered not for the first time. But he couldn't understand why he would have kept it from him.

"Very few care for Greyback's methods. When I offered an alternative, one that would take them away from Britain, away from an impending war, many came to join. I came to the Black Forest where I knew packs from around the continent resided, and would protect us from Voldemort and Greyback."

They'd reached the front door of the cabin. From inside, Harry could hear the soft rustling of movement, but it was mostly drowned out by familiar wild crying.

"Come in," he said, a nervous smile plastered across his face.

The cabin was quaint. There was an old-fashioned kitchen tucked away in the corner, and soft cushioned furniture settled sparsely around the room. He caught sight of a doorway that led into an expanded bedroom, but his attention was mainly focused on a table set just off to the center of the house. There stood a woman he'd never seen before, and red-faced baby.

Remus coughed awkwardly, as the three of them stood and looked at each other in a strange standoff. "My wife… Isla. Isla this is Harry Potter."

The apprehension that was on her face vanished immediately and was replaced by a radiant smile. One that immediately made him feel welcome.

"It's so nice to finally meet you, after hearing Remus tell all of his stories." She passed the child off to her husband, and embraced Harry with a strength that could rival Mrs. Weasley. "That right there is our baby boy, James Sirius Lupin."

Slowly, Harry turned to Remus with a raised eyebrow and couldn't help but laugh. The man gave him a sheepish shrug in response. "Who would have thought you had it in you Moony."

What ensued could only be described as a crash course on their brief, yet fruitful marriage. From what he could remember, they'd met during the last war but Remus' reluctance to join the Werewolves had kept them apart. They'd met again upon his return, and married once they discovered Isla was pregnant, and their son had only just been born weeks ago. His wife liked to talk, a lot, and much of it passed right over his head.

He liked Isla well enough though. She made Remus happy, and that really was enough for him. She was the one who had prepared him the food he had woken up to, and went off to make him some more.

Her departure had left Harry alone with Remus and the baby, who had quietened significantly with his father present.

"Had I known I would see you again, I would have asked you to be godfather. I hope you aren't offended." Something about the way he spoke suggested it wasn't really what he wanted to say.

"No, not at all. I'm sure your son would be better suited with a godfather who's around more often than not," Harry replied.

"I…" Remus stopped, before trying again, "I don't want to pry… but I was just wanting to know what exactly Dumbledore's plan was that he passed on." His head darted around the room as he asked.

It was only a matter of time. He'd seen the glimmer in Remus' eye, when he mentioned he had a mission from Dumbledore. It was so small he could have easily dismissed it, but it was there and he noticed. "I can't say. Dumbledore swore that it was to be kept between the two of us."

His answer did not seem to deter him in the slightest. The desire to be brought into the circle of trust was written plainly across his face, as was his deep want to atone for past mistakes.

"Certainly you could use some help," he led on.

"I only need to find my way to whatever the ICW is protecting," Harry said firmly, rubbing the burnt side of his jaw.

Isla was just finishing up across the room, and Remus lowered his voice. "Two wands are better than one. What would your father—"

Before Remus could finish, a soft whimper escaped the lips of his son in his arms. That moment seemed to stretch on for an eternity, with only the sound of the baby and clanking dishes in the background. Remus looked down to his baby James and back to his wife.

"I'll see about finding someone to help escort you," Remus finally said, sighing, his voice touched with shame.

Harry smiled. "I promise you, I'll be fine," he said in reassurance. Though for who, he wasn't entirely sure.

"And I promise you, that if you ever need help, I'll be there. I'm a Marauder yet, and if I know you, Harry, there is certainly mischief to be had."

Harry laughed darkly, the shadows in the room growing in and closing upon them. Truer words had never been spoken.