Summary:

Summary: Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks are severely wounded and thought dead during the last battle of Hogwarts. But there's a million to one chance (which happens 9 times out of 10, at least on the Disc) that a killing curse might not have been final. When Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks appear on the Disc, forces join to unmake the unforgivable curse.

A fix-it fic with POV both HP and Discworld characters. The M rating is for description of violence, not sexual content.

A/N This story was partially inspired by a story on AO3 by copperbadge, where Remus meets Angua. I wanted to read more interaction between the two, looked for other stories and couldn't find any. When I decided to include Tonks, the attraction became one-sided and brief. I am very grateful to my betas, Ana and Truckle, who hung in there with me for the long haul.

Chapter 1: A Million to One Chance

Summary:

During the battle of Hogwarts, Remus and Tonks are transmigrated to the only place that might save them: the Disc on a full moon night.

Notes:

Many thanks to my beta readers Ana and Truckle, who supported me all the way, helped me with characterization, (especially Truckle with the Discworld chapters), and tidied my grammar and spelling. All mistakes are my own.

This work was influenced ages ago by copperbadge's Fireworks, works/895179, which is a meeting between Remus and Angua. I thought this was a fascinating idea, and wanted to read more, but there weren't any. The idea germinated, and then grew far beyond to its own path.

Chapter Text

Angua's head snapped up. She'd heard a very small sound like the exhalation of a very small vole. Her werewolf senses were stronger on full moon night, but she couldn't be sure what she'd heard. If it was a breath, no inhalation followed. A rich odor followed the sound and her hackles jumped. Newcomer. Danger. Invader. Werewolf. Werewolf male, less than half a mile away. How by all the gods had she missed him? He couldn't have been here earlier, he was too close. Even chasing chickens with Gaspode didn't dull her attention to her surroundings. Was he alone? She flared her nostrils, didn't smell any more wolves, and began loping toward him.

"Miss, don't bovver him. He could be tricking us. He's prolly just holding his breath ready for the leap and the bite." A smell of dead things and a privy carpet followed her. The foul grayish-brown dog, a mix of terrier and who knew what, had reached a new low tonight, with a yellow-gray mess on his ears.

She ignored Gaspode as she always did except when they were chasing chickens together. In the same place. Only at certain times—okay, yes, she was letting Gaspode follow her around on full moon nights for no reason except that he was the only canine in the area who could talk to her.

"Miss," Gaspode whined. "Leave him alone. Werewolves are right barstards, saving your presence. He's trouble."

"Shut up Gaspode, and open your nose. I know you can smell it." It was a thick, fatal, oily line of black fire which blocked all others. Except there was the weakest trail of deep purple smoke. The purple trail began to break up, and she ran full out.

Remus Lupin was dead when his body appeared on the Disc. Dead except for three or four yellow sparks flickering through his medulla oblongata like cloud to cloud lightning. Killing curses will do that. He'd felt the green explosion when the curse hit his chest. Then he felt green-gold slashes slicing through his scalp, thousands of them, which bit down through his skin and bones to his feet. There were other strokes which spun through his organs in blades of purple-red, whirlwinds meeting and passing through each other. The agony went on for—a time he could no longer measure. It seemed unnecessary since he would die anyway. But Antonin Dolohov was one of the longest-serving, most devoted and sadistic of all Voldemort's Death Eaters. He must have decided to revel in other curses before the Unforgivable. Then even the pain disappeared.

Angua arrived at Remus' body and sniffed him frantically. There was blood everywhere. His head lolled to one side in the neck muscles' final collapse. He didn't move. He was damaged beyond what she'd ever seen a werewolf survive and yet—very faintly and slowly –Lub…...Dub…...Lub…..….Dub….…. a few cardiac cells struggled to form into an organ. If she could get any food to his body it would begin to heal. Her instincts took over and she began lapping at his muzzle, then nipping at it to make him open his jaws. He still didn't move. Gaspode scurried up next to her, a tiny mouse dangling between his teeth.

"Thwat's wight, Miss, get twhis down him and I'whill get anovver." He spat out the mouse, and raced away, his privy carpet smell worsened by fear. He had smelt the stink of wizards on the dead wolf.

Angua could feel by her tongue that the new wolf's jaw was broken in at least three places. How could she ever get him open it enough to eat the mouse? She licked at his muzzle faster.

It was a million to one shot, which happens nine times out of ten—Remus had arrived in the only time and place in the multi-verse which could keep him alive: the Disc on a full moon night. His body had shifted while he was dying, and he was completely wolf by the time Angua found him. The thrumming magical field which surrounded the Disc augmented his fading supernatural healing and kept the one last spark of life from going out. Angua crushed the mouse with her jaws and licked at Remus' muzzle, forcing drops of blood onto his teeth. Five minutes, and she was out of mouse, but then Gaspode was back with another one. Angua chomped on it without looking and went back to licking.

"Hey, miss, hav a care, I could lose a paw or sumfin." Her heard her growl softly deep in her throat. Then he yipped in surprise and backed up a few paces. It wasn't her growl.

Angua's ears went flat against her skull, and she growled. It was the instinctive response of one wolf hearing another not in its pack. "Wrong wolf wrong wolf, kill now kill now!" But her heart was singing. A growl, even a tiny one like this, meant life. If she had been on two legs instead of four (and had a scientific degree in canine anatomy beside the practical one) she might have thought, "Right, that means his throat muscles have healed and his larynx cartilage has stiffened sufficiently to respond to the stimulus his recovering nerves have received from the not-quite dead brain."

"Get me two more mice and then go get the chickens!"

Gaspode ran off in the night, thinking, "'s'not fair. Now she'll have another man if she turfs Carrot out, while I, the hero of this piece, will not get even a sniff" and he stopped that. Angua could not hear him think but she would smell him when he came back and scent "I'm a Big Boy, I Am," which meant he'd been thinking about her like he oughtnt'have.

By the time Gaspode had brought the three chickens, the other wolf's noises had changed to constant muffled whines. Muffled, Gaspode realized, because he now had his jaw open part-way and Angua was nosing chunks of mouse down his throat. Gaspode whined a bit himself, because he could feel the pain radiating from the other wolf.

Remus' jaw had been broken in three places. Every one of his 206 human bones had, even the tiny ones in the ears. He couldn't hear another wolf running toward him, but smell is the last thing to fade in the werewolf's brain.

Another wolf. Female. Please don't kill me, wolf. Then he smelled her worry and desire to help.

Remus' jaw was broken in only one place now, and he could swallow chunks, ignoring lasting winces. Against anything he'd ever heard of, he had somehow survived being hit with a killing curse, and the torture Dolohov had dealt him before the final Avada Kedavra. Barely survived—his screaming, sliced organs had been healing themselves slowly from the time he appeared on the Disc, before Angua reached him. They had needed less energy than his shattered bones. He was able to absorb the first drops Angua had pressed against him because they had gone directly into his newly-sealed blood vessels. A raw new esophagus was needed before he could swallow any whole food, and his new, knitted together stomach could only squeeze with miniscule muscles. But compared to the red-purple messes two hours before, they were fabulous.

His heart had recovered even quicker, because living cardiac muscles throb by themselves, without nerves. Whether they get faster, slower, or skip beats depends on nerves, but even weak human heart muscles beat.

Angua changed back to human as soon as the new wolf began to swallow, because she wanted to think. To defy the change all her cells demanded had been formidable. She persevered because she wanted to live a human life, and at last succeeded. The urge to revert to wolf form was almost unendurable, and she couldn't stay in the two-legged form for very long. But at least she could think about the problem with a different brain, as she knelt by him.

She would not be able to move him until more of his bones had healed. From what she could tell the bones big enough to have marrows had been broken several times. What about the little bones of the spine? How badly were they damaged? What could she do to help that?

"Needs bones to put on bones, missy," her grandmother had told her. "Your uncle was fool enough to get his leg bitten off, and if I don't give him any new bones, his old bones will have strength pulled from them while he heals." Angua had been a mere puppy, and in wolf form where recalling words was difficult, but she remembered these, mostly because her grandmother had given her a spoonful of the delicious bone soup she was cooking, then gently smacked her muzzle when she pawed after more. "Remember. Bones make new bones."

It had been full dark when they found him, but it was several more hours until dawn. If he lived until then, he'd shift automatically, and she wasn't sure he could survive the shift. He couldn't be moved at all until his back muscles and vertebrae had come back, and she needed bones. Only one choice, and she wondered why she'd been putting it off.

"Gaspode. Go get Captain Carrot and bring him here. Make him bring a huge vat of ribs from Harga's House of Ribs, and bring water for it." She picked up another chunk of mouse and pinched the wolf's muzzle again. If he died—if she couldn't save him—she was not going to think of that.

"Miss…" whined Gaspode. "I can maybe get the boy to bring ribs but water'll slosh out. Not sure he'll understand me even in a panto." He scratched his ear nervously, dislodging the refuse from the fish market. He'd acquired it to improve his smell for her, but she hadn't said anything.

"I don't care! Make him bring water in wineskins, wine is better, really. YOU grab some wineskins at Harga's and bring them back. Carrot can tell him we'll pay later. Also get a stretcher, no, a door, something hard enough so he won't sag. He can't even hold his head up." Angua was now twisting the unresponsive ear nearest to her. The wolf twitched but didn't pull away.

He sniffed. "I'll run as fast as I can in these paws, but I fink you'd be faster and more able to communicate with the boy." He crept closer and tried to nudge her.

"Get the most ribs you possibly can and I'll let you have some! With the meat and sauce! NOW GO!" The growl reverberated down his spine, and there were undertones of "I'm getting angry and you don't want to see me when I'm angry." She reached for one the chickens, and as he watched in horror, bit its head off with her human teeth. She didn't even seem to realize it, and tore the chicken to pieces.

He couldn't restrain a widdle as he shivered. She was so beautiful and so glorious to run with he sometimes forgot the strength of her jaws.

As soon as his stubby legs passed the Water Gate, he began the Howl. It was the only way they'd locate Captain Armor-polish-and-soap in time. The Howl was picked up first by Lucky, a small three-legged dog with one good eye and one good ear, and broadcast as loudly as a yipping voice could. Then another, and another, and in a few minutes the sound was audible outside Ludmilla Cake's window. Her ears pricked, and she shoved her nose into the hand of the man who lay on the bed next to her.

"I hear it too." Her lover was human tonight. Lupine had pointed ears he hid with long hair, and had to shave three times a day, when the full moon turned him into a man. Ludmilla had found him, her man-wolf, and they got along together much better than anyone would suppose.

Lupine sat up, already fully clothed, and pulled on his boots. Ludmilla would undress when he was a wolf, and pet him the whole night while wearing only her shift, but he'd never been comfortable being naked. He felt vulnerable, worried that he wouldn't be able to protect her if by some foul chance they were discovered. Now it meant that he could rise quickly, softly steal down the hallway, and open the door for them.

Gaspode heard the Howl reverse when Ludmilla carried it back to him. Running as fast as he could on his scabby paws, he met them at Peach Pie street.

"It's Angua," wheezed Gaspode. "Another werewolf—don't—know—how—got here, almost dead—get Carrot."

"I think he'll be in the Mended Drum." Lupine hesitated, then scooped up Gaspode. The little dog trembled and shook—he couldn't run any more. Lupine could, and raced with Ludmilla to the disreputable tavern on Filigree Street.

Carrot slumped as he sat in the Drum, looking at the celebration. He wished he were asleep in his small flat. He never felt easy on full moon nights, not since he'd pulled his sword on Angua that first time. She hasn't told him she was a werewolf before they were together. She'd changed in the night as the full moon arose, but they'd been asleep. He'd never forgotten the shock of finding a golden werewolf in the bed and charging after it. Logically she should be safe—she had her collar for daytime use, and had cubbyholes with extra clothes stored in several places around the city. He would never tell her he'd thought about asking her to bite him. If he could share her whole life, he wouldn't worry as much. It would give him another identity to balance, though—human and dwarf fought in his heart more than he showed, and even the King crept out occasionally. He would never take up the crown, wanting only to remain in the Watch, but sometimes his hidden lineage grumbled at him. Human, dwarf, king, and werewolf—it might be too much.

He sighed and returned his attention to the table. Everyone had decided to celebrate tonight. It was rare that anyone stared at the multi-vital Watch—they knew what was good for them—but Cheery had been promoted today to Sergeant, and the dwarf had celebrated with weaving multiple pink ribbons into her beard braids, pushing that 1st-female-dwarf-presentation up another notch. Commander Vimes planned to give her a lance-constable to boss as soon as the recruit had been pummeled into shape by Sergeant Detritus. The first troll in the Watch, Detritus had been a splatter in a bar like the Drum, chained to a wall.(Like a bouncer, only harder.) Carrot had knocked him out cold on their first meeting, which helped now with their Captain/Sergeant ranks. Now he ran the training facility, even if he couldn't count beyond four. Colon, Nobby, Detritus, and Reg—human, allegedly human, troll, zombie—squashed around one small table, and another had been shoved together for him, Cheery, Dorfl the golem, and the recruit, the Klatchian Lana, human—although not that long ago many Ankh-Morpork citizens expressed doubts about Klatchians on that score. Lana was now the first. Her family had immigrated from Klatch, and were still suspiciously foreign. She didn't drink, but she was sharp, knew the customs, and shouted for the first round.

A man and a dog erupted into the bar, and every head turned. People reached for weapons but the man tossed Gaspode to the floor, threw his hands up and rushed to the Watch table. Carrot's hand didn't even move because he recognized them.

Lupine gasped, "Captain Carrot, Angua needs you tonight. I've heard on the Howl that there's a badly injured w—alright, alright—a man who's nearly dead outside the Water Gate. She wants you to bring ribs from Harga's—yes, I know—bones with meat too, and water or wine—and did she say windows?" Lupine stopped for a second, and Carrot heard a small voice say, "Sheesh, humans, she wants a wood thingie, door, wassit, for a stretcher. Woof woof."

Carrot bent his head down to Gaspode and scratched his ravaged ears without a shudder. "Nice little doggie. Does she need anything else? Bandages?That's a good doggie, here's a treat for you."

"Woof woof, ta, thanks. It's not a man, it's a wolf. Woof woof."

Gaspode turned and tried to run but was stopped when Carrot grabbed him by the scruff.

"This dog is filthy, I'm taking him outside."

"Filthy? I don't fink so. I worked hard for this. Don't shake me you giant idiot."

Once outside the tavern, Carrot's voice was low and insistent. "Tell me about the wolf—a werewolf, right?"

"Yes, but I don't know nuffink! She and I was chasing chickens, then poof!" It was like a rain of fish, sudden like. Woof Woof Bark Bark. He's nearly a goner and he smells like wizards, put me down!"

The entire Watch had pounded out of the Drum and half of them were on their way to Harga's. Carrot's yell stopped them.

"Washpot, Reg, go back to the watch house and tear up sheets for bandages! Dorfl, go find me a door. Nobby, Colon, go to Harga's, get the ribs and meat! And—Detritus, get me a barrel of water. And a bucket, a washing size bucket, to pour it in."

He eyes flashed to Cheery and Lana. "You're with me."

"Gaspode, you lead us."

"I fink not. These paws are worn out—"

"Here, lance-constable, you carry him."

"What in the world do we want him for?" Lana sounded disgusted.

"He's, uh, he works for the Watch sometimes. He's a tracker. He'll bark and show us the way."

Lana looked at him, revolted. Carrot remembered that Klatchians did not keep dogs because they were thought dirty. That would go triple for Gaspode, but he wasn't going to back down. If she wanted the watch, she'd have to touch much fouler things than Gaspode.

"That's an order, lance-constable," he demanded as Lana's eyes went wild at the vile-smelling dog. Her medium-brown complexion paled as much as she could, and she stared in loathing, but grimly held her arms out.

They ran.