Summary
All Remus wants is a quiet, peaceful life. Unfortunately, his father brings him too much trouble— and too many debts to pay— for that to ever be possible. When the Realm's local crime lord, commonly known as the High Reeve: Fenir Greyback, drags Remus out of bed and tells him he has three days to pay his father's latest debt, Remus doesn't know what to do. If his low born status wasn't an obvious tell of the impossibility of clearing his fathers debt in so little time then surely his less than honorable long list of occupations would be evidence enough. But then a friend poses an idea just ridiculous enough to work: enter the Tournament of Courts, where peasants compete for the chance to marry into the noble and royal families in the Realm, amongst them being the infamous House of Black and the admirable House of Potter. All competitors are given a stipend to live on for the duration of the tournament— funds enough to cover his father's debt. All he has to do is win the first few rounds, collect his stipend, and then it's back to trying to live a quiet life… or so he thought.
1 ONE
Over the course of twenty-eight years Remus had been woken up in a number of unpleasant ways.
Being dragged out out bed by angry people out for his blood was his least favorite. That included the time someone had thrown boiling water on him and left him with burns that had taken ages to heal. Though, perhaps being tossed out of bed wasn't nearly as bad as the time he woke up in the middle of the forrest, stark naked, with the realization that his father had, quite literally, thrown him to the wolves; but that was nearly fifteen years ago and Remus preferred dwelling on that particular memory in solitude, while his self-pity and depression could keep him cold and shaking at night—
Which he currently happened to be doing at that very moment, ironically enough.
He grunted as his head was slammed against the floor again, kicking out wildly, somewhat mollified by the pained cry of the goon he managed to hit. Getting to his feet, Remus started swinging, and his arms were long and firm enough that the overeager assailants finally backed off.
Then someone bigger, someone with sharper claws and a viselike grip, slapped a large hairy palm on his shoulder, causing Remus to drop to his knees, disoriented, pissed off, and entirely too hungover to do much about it.
"Well, good morning to you too little Pup."
It wasn't too difficult for Remus to riddle out who the intruder was, but why he was here still remained unclear, though it was hardly difficult to guess. Remus dragged his eyes up, keeping roiling dread churning in his stomach under control from long years of practice, and glared through bleary eyes at the massive half beast-half of a man looming over him.
Remus was suddenly aware enough of his surroundings to place the stench radiating off of the absurdly huge figure. It was the same stench that sent his mind reeling into his subconscious where the horrid memory of his younger self lay bare in the forrest surrounded by inhuman night creatures, their lethal, hairy forms, half human, half wolf coated in sparse skin and fur and blood. It smelled of metallic, of sweat, of blood-lust and death, and loss of innocence, loss of humanity—
At least, that's what it smelt like to Remus' senses, but he imagined the dreadful stench was equally as horrid to those who didn't have his acute animalistic sense of smell.
Remus swallowed the lump in his throat, managing to keep his composure despite his all consuming hatred for the beast before him.
"Good morning Fenrir."
Fenrir Greyback grinned wickedly down at him, giving the hair at the nape of Remus' neck a firm tug so his chin was all but pointing to the ceiling above. Remus was aware that calling him by his given name was practically an insult. One didn't get the title of High Reeve, notorious crime lord and Collector for the Courts, without dedicated effort; and by effort, one can assume copious amounts of bounty-hunting, blackmailing and murdering for the Higher City sort— and though Remus could understand the importance of such a title, he would never making any hint towards the fact. What Fenrir Greyback represented was despicable or Remus, and the man knew it. Stubborn, his mother would call him. Undeservingly proud, his father would amend. Either way, Remus refused to give the beast any satisfaction. A quiet voice inside his head, one that sounded far more like an animal growl than a human murmur, reminded him that the ghastly High Reeve silently enjoyed Remus' attitude and snarky backtalk as those who were intent on remaining alive did not upset the High Reeve. Remus hastily ignored that voice.
"Not such a good morning for you and yours." Fenrir said through yellowish teeth.
"If you've bothered my mother about this—"
"I do not bother ladies unless absolutely necessary," Fenrir cut in, scoffing as though he'd never committed an act of violence in his life, let alone against a woman.
Remus rolled his eyes, "I'd sooner believe that the last time you bathed occurred within the last fortnight than that drivel. Just tell me what he's done this time and we can both end this unnecessary suffering of being in one another's company a moment longer."
Fenrir released the back of Remus head with a firm shove and crossed his arms proudly, lifting his chin as a sneer floated over his much too barbaric features.
"Fifteen marks." He growled and when he saw Remus begin to open his mouth in protest he hastily added, "You have three days."
That was enough to knock the lack of sleep and alcohol right out of Remus' system.
"Why and the buggering fuck does my shit father owe you fifteen slick?" Even if Remus earned a steady income every working day of the year, which he didn't, he wouldn't make more than just over two slick. What had his father done? Remus was going to murder that man for real this time.
"Oh, I don't want to spoil the surprise pretty Pup." Fenrir reached out to pat Remus on the cheek. Remus was still so stunned and fuming with anger at his father that he hadn't even thought to pull away, instead allowing the large hand to pat his heated cheek twice. "You should have agreed to join me and the pack when you worth something, Pup. You know where to find me when you have the money. You have today, plus three, because I'm feeling just the slightest bit sorry for you. Didn't hurt seeing you so deliciously flustered either. I truly love seeing you like this. Made my morning."
Fenrir dark gaze filtered over Remus' body where he was still kneeling before him. Remus shifted his legs so that his knees were touching, turning his body away, suddenly aware that he had been naked during their entire altercation. It wasn't that Remus was modest by any means, he had to get over that long ago in his younger years. No, it was the possessiveness that radiated from the larger, Alpha wolf, whenever he stared at Remus, as if he owned him. Remus clenched his jaw in frustration as the quiet growl in the back of his mind whined for attention, for control over his human brain, to be heard, to overpower the threatening Alpha that was trying to stake dominance.
Fenrir tilted his head slightly, a very canine tick that made Remus' hackle rise. Then, he was turning to leave the small enclosed space with one final farewell, "It does you no good to suppress it, little Pup. The sooner you learn that the better."
Remus was thinking of a quick retort when he felt his body being jarred to the side, knocking his shoulder into the wooden bed post with a 'thunk'. He glared at the other figure who had been at Fenrir's side and the one to yank him from sleep bed only moments prior.
"Always a pleasure, Antonin."
Antonin give him a smile full of malice and silver teeth, then was gone with the slamming of the door.
As morning wake-ups from Greyback went, that could have gone worse.
"What in Merlin's name was that all about?"
Oh, right. Between the rude wake-up and being told his days were numbered again if he didn't come up with an alarming sum of money again…
"Nothing," Remus replied and gingerly picked himself up off the floor, holding fast to the shaky bedpost, swaying slightly, but managing not to fall.
He looked at the handsome man still in his bed, all golden skin, long, dark tussled hair falling from it's braid, and eyes silver enough to make stars mad with jealousy. Remus had considered upon first laying eyes on the man that he may be part Faye, as the creatures normally sported an odd variety of eye colors, but after last night Remus was certain this man was, well, indeed, a man. A very attentive, very beautiful man.
"Who was that?"
Remus wished he could remember the man's name, but right then, he was lucky to remember his own. Oh, what he wouldn't give for a soak in the hot springs with a warm mug of ale or six. But he was about to be a little too busy for that. He grimaced at the thought before remembering that the gorgeous man— the man he should definitely have remembered the name of— had asked him a question.
"If you don't know, then consider yourself lucky and keep foolish questions to yourself. I'm sorry to run off, beautiful, but there's much to be done and less than enough time to do it."
Not surprisingly, the man waved a dismissive hand before rolling from his side onto his stomach, allowing Remus a rather enticing view of the man's sculpted back muscles that curved down the length of him and curved ever so slightly where the thin layering of blanket just barely covered his perky arse.
"I hope you're able to come up with the money." Remus heard the man say with a sigh as he scrambled about the room searching for his clothes. "It'd be a shame for the Realm to lose a man of your talents."
Remus allowed himself a proud smirk as he shoved both feet into his boots and moved towards the door with two long strides.
"Ta, darling." Remus replied, mimicking the man's High City accent. Lacing up the rest of his vest and jacket, Remus checked that the coins hidden in his inside left breast pocket were still there. "I hope you find your way back to High City without trouble. Hide your purse."
The man laughed and gave a lazy wave over his shoulder, clearly more interested in going back to sleep. Remus allowed himself a lingering moment to take in the man's features as he slept, well half of them, as the other half was hidden snuggly in the plump pillow beneath him. Remus hadn't remembered the last time he approached someone who was certainly from High City and entirely out of bounds on regular occasion. He preferred to keep work and pleasure separate, though after stumbling upon the man the night before he hardly had a choice in the matter. He remembered watching the man sit alone the night before, and no matter how many times Remus forced his eyes away, forced his mind to remain focused on what his friends were going on about, he found he couldn't help himself.
The man's lightly pink tinted lips parted just so, allowing a soft breath to escape through his lips and Remus felt the similar stirring in his lower stomach that he had not been able to ignore the night before. The same stirring that caused the man to end up renting a room for them to get tangled up in sheets, soft sighs and warm skin.
Fun while it lasted. Pity it wouldn't last most of the morning. Ah, well. Best to put away distracting thoughts.
On the rare occasions Remus did indulge in seeking out nightly companions, he was adamant on keeping them in their slotted category within his mind— the category of whimsical rendezvous with lovers' past. It was a fairly full file, brimming with several lovely women and men alike, but it remained restrained in the back of Remus' mind and tightly concealed, never to be repeatedly visited if he could help it.
It was easy for someone like Remus. Someone who was scarcely prohibited the luxury of obtaining the grandeurs of life, least of all allowed to cherish it at any length. No, Remus was used to the freedom of having nothing to cling to. It was far easier to cling to nothing, except, of course, when his father forced him to make up for his past debts and having nothing meant he had nothing to atone said debts with.
Remus pulled his jacket tighter around him as he stepped into the hall, feeling a slight breeze near his elbow, shoving his fingers through a newly acquired hole. It was going to need mending soon; he could feel the fabric about to give out.
Out on the bustling street, the smell of cheap food from various carts lining the street and in front of the bridges awakened his empty stomach. His feet began guiding him North, bound for the common bridge, one of the three that spanned the wide channel that cut it roughly in two. The top third, North of the bridges, was reserved for the likes of the beautiful man still lingering in his bed, the hoitiest-of-toitiest, that part of the Realm was called High City. The other two-thirds, South of the bridges, was for everyone else, called Low City. It was best to be overtly aware of one's surroundings in most areas of Low City, as stretches of smaller villages homed an array of rejected peasants and sketchy creatures alike.
Remus particularly disliked the Fairies that submerged themselves on the outer banks of the Lower City on the edge of the Realm, not that he visited that part of the Realm often, but on the chances he had— usually due to an odd job or two from a secret, high profile employer— the Fairies had not taken a liking to him. Remus summed it up to Fenrir's less than charming status as the High Reeve, gaining the entire Werewolf population a rather sour review in most creature cultures.
By the time Remus had hauled through the city to the common bridge, his stomach was twisting his knots, ravenous for some sort of substance, though his headache from the previous nights endeavors had subsided. Thankfully, the food vendors by the bridge always had food they were willing to sell cheap to the locals; it cost him only a farthing for a bit of cheese and bread with honey. Foreigners would be conned out of at least a while penny, and some of the really good vendors could get as much as two.
"Oi— Oi, Remus!"
He looked up at hearing the cheerful voice calling to him, wafting over the large mass of gathered villagers wading through the commotion of the bridge tents.
"Remus!"
His eyes settled on the bobbing head rising and falling behind the masses and then the tall frame of a flustered, but ever cheeky, looking Frank Longbottom came into full view. His shirt unlaced, narrow but firm pectorals unbound, hair dusting his shoulders.
"Did you get thrown out of some lady's room, to be running around half-dressed?" Remus asked and offered half of the honey-slathered bread he'd bought.
"Maybe," Frank muttered with a faint blush before devouring the food, seemingly as starved as Remus felt, though for people of their status it wasn't uncommon to feel hunger at every interval of the day. Remus smirked as he appraised the state of upheaval his friend was in, cheeks pink and lips swollen, belt hanging loose from its position around his hips. Frank was nowhere near as discrete as Remus was, though the thought caused Remus to frown knowing his expertise only came from years of practice. Long, soul-draining, unrelenting years—
"Worth it, though." Frank added with a grin behind bashfully fluttering lashes, reminding Remus of a child who was being punished for a particularly scandalous, though ever enjoyable act. "You should have seen her."
"Proper folk are nothing but trouble."
"Nobody this side of the channel is proper, mate," Frank replied with a leer.
"Frank!" A voice bellowed. "You flithy scum! Get your arse back in here now!"
"Whoops, I should probably not hang around to find out what that's about." Frank's face went bright and wide-eyed as he laughed, looking anything but sorry as he apologized to Remus. "See you later at the Rail?"
"Depends," Remus replied smartly as he tossed his slowly retreating friend a hunk of his cheese. "Not going to have to save your arse from a disgruntled heap of Specklent Pixies hellbent on returning you to their deity like last time, am I?"
Frank caught the hunk of cheese and bit a large piece, gargling his words as he called back, "Course not, Rem— honestly, what do you take me for?"
Remus rolled his eyes fondly, gesturing his hand in a motion away from where the bellowing voice carried nearer, shouting at Frank. "Get going. The constable's wife, honestly, Frank."
Frank shot him a wink, leaning forward quickly to press a chaste kiss to Remus' forehead and then turned on his heel, darting through the crowd and out of sight. Just as Remus began to take a step forward on his journey a cluster of Realm guards caught his eye. The group was led by a red-faced man with an enormous black mustache, which Remus presumably observed was the betrothed of whichever unfortunate lady had the direct misfortune of having Frank Longbottom for a secret lover. Handsome, though he was, his friend lacked any common understanding in standards of society and decorum— or rather, he ignored them completely.
Just as the man bellowed Frank's name once more, he came within one step of Remus, who hastily reached behind him for the thin broom leaned against the canvased tent, and promptly stuck it into the man's galloping rampage; and before the man could seek out the cause of his sudden hard plumet downward on to the cobblestones beneath him Remus was already five paces away, suppressing his ever present urge to go directly the the Rail to drown himself in ale like he had wanted to since opening his eyes only hours ago. If only to prevent this day from carrying on in disarray, as it seemed to be constantly outdoing itself with every passing moment.
It was crowded, far more than was typical for the middle of the week, but the preliminary round of the Tournament of Courts was beginning soon. Hopefully Greyback and the rest of the city's slush would be so busy terrorizing tourists that they'd leave the locals alone for a few months.
Remus shoved his way through a flock of rather plump noble woman who were bejeweled to the teeth: one quite literally; Remus did not understand noble fashion. He deftly relieved two of them of coin purses they were stupid enough to leave accessible. He pushed them into the inner lacing pocket of his jacket where he wouldn't lose them himself— and where a sharp-eyed Realm guards wouldn't notice he had too many purses.
Across the bridge, he fell into the throng of an even greater crowd, mostly comprised of young, overeager fools who thought the Tournament of Courts offered a real chance at something better than their half-penny lives. Even walking as quickly as he could through the mess, Remus caught snatches of eagerly-spouted hopes and dreams:
When I marry the prince, I'll buy my parents a proper home.
Once I win the tournament, I'll see the whole village gets what it needs! I'll never have to worry about food and out-running from that sorry Specklent Pixie lot again!
I just want to know what Prince James looks like. I bet he's properly fit. I heard he was granted knightly ship at age twelve, and is the best royal to ever wield a sword. Even better than the King!
Sure, Prince James sounds like a prize, but I heard that the two Princes from the Black royal family are devastating on the eyes. Particularly the eldest. One of the royal servants told me she had never seen such striking features on a man before.
Remus decided not to inform the delusional mess of plebeians that Prince James was indeed, a Prince, so what good does mastering the sword do for someone whose sole existence is one of over indulgence and abundance of riches and pleasures alike, never to suffer a moment of worrying over where his next meal will come from.
And as for the Black brothers, well, Remus was fairly certain the man who may or may not be still in the bed he left earlier was by far the most striking man he had ever laid eyes upon, so surely the Princes were of a similar liking—
Remus stopped short in his tracks, feeling his heart tighten as he realized that the firmly sealed file within his subconscious, the one that was to remain closed at all times to never be revisited, had just been reopened. That never happened. Ever. Once removed from thought, Remus could forget even his own name if he so chose, so why had the thought of the bloke from last night been able to slip so effortlessly through his defenses? What in Merlin's name is wrong with me? Remus berated himself inwardly, shoving more intently through the heaps of people gathered in the village centre.
He must have been entirely caught up in his frustration and moment of weakness because the next thing he knew he was tumbling sideways and onto the cobblestone, his hip taking the blunt of the fall.
"Sorry!" One of the women who accidentally knocked into him offered from amongst the particularly rowdy group.
Remus grunted in acknowledgement, but didn't take the pale hand out stretched to him, instead shoving to his feet and carrying on his way. Not surprised in the least that his day was steadily dwindling into misery of the worst sorts. Just another Thursday.
The young girl hardly seemed bothered by his lack of politeness, the large smile and giggling never faltered on her excited expression as she returned to the village hosted festivities gearing up for the Tournament.
Remus could still remember being a young boy filled with the same amount of excitement at the thought of participating in the Tournament.
Remus, though no one would ever describe him as such, was a romantic, or rather, he used to be— once was. Whatever.
The history behind the Tournament of Courts, the enchanting story of the Regent Charlet, who had saved the Realm several centuries ago in the first years War; the entire gleam of undiscovered magic and unparalleled possibility had entranced young Remus and at one point, been all he cherished and deemed savory to a similar extent that one would devote to religion.
The Tournament of Courts, or earlier known as the Tournament of Charlet — (named after the Regent herself, but often fussed over by the two opposing royal families, House of Black and Potter, due to the entire House of Black refusing to adhere to the likes of Charlet Potter, so often that everyone eventually settled on Tournament of Courts) — came about during a time that the Realm had been at it's most vulnerable. Between spread of an untraceable curse and a threat of Civil War between the two Houses, the Realm was very near falling apart. It had taken a stray peasant to rise up and set all to rights. A woman with whom the queen had fallen madly in love. Tradition had been established that every seventy-five years, at least one immediate member of the royal families must marry a peasant to bring in fresh variety of blood and new perspective that would keep them from falling into the same patterns and arrogance that had once nearly destroyed the Realm.
The nobles in favor of the House of Black had protested that simply letting anyone marry into their families would do more harm than good, and that certain traits and skills were necessary to properly fulfill the duties expected of them. The solution had come from Charlet's daughter, Evadite Potter, who proposed to host a tournament where candidates could prove their suitability. This solution certainly didn't appease everyone, but it had been cemented into tradition ever sense.
Over time, the Tournament had devolved into a mess of ignorant fools competing in challenges for no damned reason, since the nobles had rapidly mastered the art of manipulation, bribing, and otherwise cheating. It was well known that the vast majority of the winners were always 'peasants' only in the barest, most laughable sense, and a mixed breed (read: creature or being breed from a creature) had never once been victorious. From the stories Remus did remember, the winners were often extremely young teens of merchants or shopkeepers, or more accurate, orphans given to said merchants and shopkeepers, and trained up to the exact specifications of the nobles in question. No real commoner had won the past eleven Tournaments, and there had only been twelve total so far. This would be the thirteenth, and some said the last, that the more powerful nobles amongst the favor of the House of Black were pushing harder and harder to do way with the idiotic matter for the 'good of everyone'.
So, to Remus, his cynicism towards the entire performance was valid to say the least. Thank Merlin he'd left all that nonsense behind and had grown accustomed to avoiding the whole bloody thing all together. Remus might have not been granted much in this life, but sense, well, he had enough of that to know the entire charade was a complete waste of time. Manipulation and deceit had never sat well with Remus. He despised being controlled by anyone, least of off people who thought themselves better for simply being born to favored circumstance.
Finally making it through the congestion at the heart of High City, he threaded through a bunch of small side streets with an effortless ease that one only became accustomed to after years of out running and outsmarting the Realm guards and the High Reeves pathetic lot. He knew the Realm better than most, which he could have tossed up to his skill of being able to sort through information at a rather uncommonly advanced level, or he could chalk it up to being poor and having to work any odd job from here to the Lower Bridge with the sodding Fairies. In short, Remus got around.
He slowed as he approached a small building at the southeast side. It was a modest townhouse, respectable enough for High City, but only sufficiently so to live at its edges, three steps from tumbling back down to Low City. It was three stories, only leaned slightly against the house to the right of it, and always smelled fragrantly of the teashop on the first floor. So much nicer than living at the arse end of Butcher Street and all the lovely smells that came with.
To the right of the teashop was a coffeehouse, and to the left of it was a small spiceshop, giving the whole area the most wonderful aroma. It was the only part of visiting his mother that he ever enjoyed, other than, of course, visiting his mother. He ducked into the narrow alleyway between the tea and coffee shops, pitch black because the way the houses leaned against each other meant practically no light slipped through.
He knocked on the high gate, and a few moments later it swung open. A wrinkled, harried-looking face peered at him through rheumy blue eyes. "You already?"
"Me already," Remus replied. "She about?"
"Make it quick. We're both too busy for your nonsense." The man slammed the door in his face.
Remus leaned against the stone wall that wrapped around the small courtyard behind the house and lit a cigarette. Sadly, he was down to his last two, and in light of recent circumstances, would not be buying more anytime soon. Unless the purses he'd snitched proved promising.
Pick-pocketing wasn't something he favored. It was often not worth the trouble, and these days, the punishment was a hundred times worse than the crime. He also just plain didn't care for stealing, though it was too often necessary for people just trying to survive another day.
He pulled the purses out and tipped the contents into his hands. One held a shilling and two pennies. The second held two shillings and five pennies. That was enough money to keep him well for some time. But it was fourteen slick and twenty-two shillings short of what Fenrir was demanding.
The gate creaked open, and he shoved it all away, mustering a smile he didn't feel at his mother, Alia Lupin, stepped out into the alleyway, clutching a faded shawl about her shoulders, some of her pale brown hair streaked with rays of gold and grey, peeking out from the cap she wore.
Remus got all his looks from his mother— her gold-toned skin; loose, wavy tawny hair; pale brown and amber colored eyes; and her height and bulk. When he'd been a boy, they'd lived closer to and worked near the docks, moving cargo with all the other day workers for a total of two pennies a day. He'd been so proud he'd been able to contribute half a penny extra to the family.
That his father was always quick to steal or bleed away on one foolish thing after another, until his mother finally threw him out the day after his father had given him over to Fenrir Greyback as a form of payment. Understandably, using your son to levy your debts was, simply put, unforgivable. His mother could hardly bare the sight of the man after that. Soon after she was rid of him they moved to Butcher Street to live with his aunt and her husband. Then his aunt had died in a tavern brawl and his uncle had thrown them out. After that, they'd never lived anywhere very long, and often on the streets, until his mother found work in the teashop and Remus was old enough to work in the brothels.
Where he still worked from time to time when money was especially needed, though he preferred working at the docks, even if that had its own trials.
He finished his cigarette and dropped the stub to the ground, stamping it out as he asked, "Have you seen our least favorite piece of shit lately?"
Alia sighed. "He hasn't come by here for nearly a month, which I was enjoying. Do I want to know how bad it is?"
"Fifteen slick to Fenrir."
She swore as only ten years working the docks could teach a person. "I can't 'borrow' that kind of money from the shop, and even if I could, we'd never replace it before it was missed."
"I didn't come to get the funds from you mother, just to figure out where the goat-faced spawn of a leech is hiding."
"Fortunately or unfortunately, I haven't the slightest," she replied. "If I had to guess, I'd say the Old Gates. Nobody goes there unless getting their throat slit is the best option they've got."
Remus made a face, but mostly of resignation, because she was probably right. If Remus hated the Fairies, then he despised the creatures lingering about the Old Gates. The Goblins. They were rather intrusive and impossibly stubborn.
"Well, that will be fun." He leaned in to kiss her cheek, dug out two of the shillings from the purses he'd stolen. "Here, you may as well have these. It's not enough to make a difference to me, and Merlin knows what will happen to it if I keep it. Stay well."
"Be careful," she said, patting his cheek and fussing with a stray hair near his ear. "Give him a sound clocking from me."
"The first hit is always yours." He kissed her palm, then lit a new cigarette and left as quickly as he'd come. Getting back across the city and the bridge was even more difficult than it had been the first time.
By the time he finally reached Low City again, Remus was hungry, cranky, and just waiting for an excuse to punch somebody. Except getting into a fight would make him too beat up and ugly to get any clients, and if he was going to come up with any slick at all, it was going to be pulling a few nights for Andromeda.
But even that, if he was damned lucky, would only bring in about three marks. That was a long way from fifteen, but his best hope was that if he could scrape together at least a third, then Greyback would give him time to earn the rest.
Of course, that hope rested entirely on the reason Fenrir was demanding fifteen slick right now, and Remus had yet to hear that reason.
He bought bread and pickles from another vendor, then started working his way back through Low City. His legs were heavy from the excessive walking. He was certain they would give out all together by end of day.
Remus walked steadily though the mazelike warrens of the shop district until he reached Honey Street, where all the brothels were located.
Colorful, often garnish signs hung from most of the buildings on the road, the colors indicating the flavors of the establishment.
He stopped in front of one that was painted with seven vertical bands of different colors crossed along the bottom by white, black, and gray bands. It signaled the house was willing to do just about anything and everything. There were other, informal indicators that it wouldn't so anything illegal— underage or unwilling people, to name two. Houses that catered to such despicable clientele usually didn't last long, and the ones determined to stick around were extremely discreet and usually operated elsewhere in the city. But usually didn't mean always, so brothels were constantly forced to make it clear some lines would not be crossed.
His knock to the door was quickly answered, and by the Lady of the house herself. By night, Mistress Andromeda was beautiful enough to rival Aphrodite herself, but by day, she preferred to keep to plain and simple, more interested in the bookkeeping and the cleaning than in looking decadent enough to make people loose with their coin.
She wore plain brown breeches and a blue tunic over a linen shirt, her long, long dark as midnight hair loosely piled atop her head, and spectacles perched on her nose. Her golden colored skin was flawless of any markings or blemishes, almost as flawless as the royal and noble families themselves. Remus always wondered if she had once lived amongst them in her younger years, but discretion was by far Andromeda's favorite attribute from him, so he let his imagination remain. Curiosity often only got him into trouble and he had more than enough of that for several life times. Between her pearly white teeth and full lips she clenched a cigarillo.
"Good morning there, love. Didn't expect you to be coming around today. Thought you'd be picking up extra work down at the docks to stay clear of all the Tournament chaos." She leaned against the doorframe and crossed her arms over her flat chest. "What are you doing all the way over here?"
"Careful, Andy, you almost sound regretful to see me."
"Never love."
Remus offered her a tight smile, gearing up his exhaustion to push through his explanations for showing up here. "Yes, well, it would seem my plans for today were changed."
She quirked one delicate, brown brow. "By who?"
Remus didn't answer, instead only making a face, which she readily seemed to interpret.
"You should dump your father's body in the harbor, or sell it to those cadaver lovers on Slytherin Row. You'd make enough money to cover his debts with plenty to spare to spoil yourself. It's not like anyone would miss him."
"One of these days I might just, but right now it's still not worth the risk of being taken by the guard and Greyback's lot. I hate to bother you—"
She cut him off with a flap of her hand. "Nonsense. There's always work for a man of your skills, Remus. Especially with all these out-of-towners. Can you start early?"
"That shouldn't be a problem. I'm off to track down my father and beat some answers from him then my day is open. Anything special I should prepare for?"
"You up for group work?"
Remus shrugged. "Why not? Though, don't they usually prefer the younger sort? I'm a bit long in the tooth to be the toy of half-drunk group of horny nobles."
"Normally, yes, but this groups a bit more refined, and they want someone who knows what they're doing. I had Dearborne in mind, but I haven't seen him in three days. Probably floating in cloud powder and bad gin by now, the sodding fool. Come around about four. We'll get you warmed up and then off to the noble lot around eight. Even taking the house percentage, that should square you away."
"Let's hope," Remus muttered, then leaned in to kiss her cheek. "Thanks, Andy. I'd be lost without you."
"Get along, then," she said, but smiled before sticking the cigarillo back in her mouth and closing the door.
Remus was already exhausted thinking about the night in front of him. At least three hours of letting a group of horny nobles have their way with him. He hadn't done that in at least four years. The last adventurous night he'd had was a pair of twins who'd paid him well both for his talents and his ability to keep his mouth shut. Red heads and both equally mischievous, not to mention particularly bendy.
It took another hour and a half of walking and asking questions, but he did finally locate the worthless pisspot, holed up in a moldy, rank-smelling tavern at the arse end of the docks known as the Old Gates, since it was once where all people entering from ships passed into the city. Since it has been abandoned and the port relocated closer to the Realm's centre, and what remained was an infestation of greedy Goblins and rejects in hiding. Remus was thankful he hadn't need to travel to far inland of the Old Gates to have to cross any of them.
He stepped into the tavern, grimacing at the smell, and skimmed the dingy, smoky place for a familiar face. He and his father saw each other at just the same time. His father stood, tried to bolt, and Remus stormed across the room and lunged at him.
"You scum-licking bastard!" Remus snarled, grabbing him by the back of his tunic. For once, grateful for the added, inhumane strength pulsing in his veins. He yanked his father close and then slammed the fuckers face into the bar. Leaving a penny to cover the tab, not bothering to give a damn about adding scratches and dents to a pub that was already covered in them, Remus hauled his father outside and threw him to the ground.
Planting a boot on his chest and pressing firmly, then remembering what his mother had requested of him, shoved his fist across the mans jaw in one sharp swipe, and then resumed his hovering over the man, boot pressing nearly into the crook of his the neck.
"Tell me why the fuck I owe Fenrir fifteen slick, or I swear to Merlin, I will earn the money by selling your corpse."
"Get your boot—"
"Talk and I won't break your ribs."
Face turning red, his father snarled, "I'm your father. This isn't how you treat—"
"Do you really want to have this discussion, you putrid pile of troll shit?" Remus asked. "Because I bet my list about how people should treat their spouses and children is a lot longer than yours on how a child should treat their parents. The least of them being the obvious of not handing your own flesh and blood to the wolves for your own selfish gain!" Remus inhaled a deep breathe, then refocused his attention to the matter at hand. It would do no good explaining to his father all the hatred and blame he held over him. It wasn't as if the man would do anything or even care. "Now tell me, or I will shove my boot into your groin and leave you wailing in the street like a drunk heretic." For good measure, Remus pressed his boot down harder.
When his father started flapping his arms to signal a need to breath, Remus finally eased some of the pressure. "Talk."
"I—" his father grunted, and then glanced away looking mildly embarrassed. Remus had to hold back the desire to roll his eyes. " I may have accidentally killed his best Phoenix."
"Fuck's sake—" Remus drew his boot back before he gave in to an urge to break the damned fool's ribs after all. "How in Merlin's dusty-ball-sack do you 'accidentally' kill a Pheonix?"
"It looked like it could use a drink after all the fighting," his father mumbled. "I gave it some gin."
"Spirits are poison to a Pheonix, you sodding imbecile!" Remus wanted to scream. The dirty pit fights were where Greyback and similar sort made a larger amount of their earnings, mostly from the brat nobles who liked nothing better than to slink into Low City and act like they were living dangerously by betting on which creature would kill the other first while gorging themselves on liquor and foods that everyone in Low City only dreamed about.
And his idiot father had killed one of Greyback's most lucrative assets, and no matter how much time passed, everybody still expected Remus to clean up his father's messes. Without another glance at his pathetic excuse of a father, he spun away, making his way quickly back towards the shop district and through the busy streets all the way to Butcher Street, where he rented a little attic room from Bertram and Lucinda Aubrey, a married couple who made and sold sausages. He waved at Lucinda as he passed by the yard and sauntered up the backstairs that spiraled towards the large round attic window. He climbed through and hopped down into his rented hovel of a room.
It wasn't much, but he'd gotten it after twenty years of living in other people's spaces and occasionally on the street. No leaking roof, no other people he had to share with. All he had to deal with was the noise and the smell, and who cared about that?
Not him, not really.
He closed up the window, pulled off his boots and set them by the door, and hid his money in a secret cubby in the wall behind his dresser. Then, stripping off his clothes and hanging them up on one of the four hooks in the far corner, he slunk into his bed to get some rest before he face the long night ahead.
