A/N: Say it with me: Thanks to Zarathustra and SortingHat47... But even more than that, thanks to you lovely, wonderful people who have reviewed. You have no idea how happy you made me!

Disclaimer: Remus isn't mine. Gosh, I wish he were. But he belongs (technically) to JKRowling. However unpleasant the thought is, Bill Parsons is mine. But so is Libertas! So it all balances out, I suppose...

Chapter 10: Blue Moon

Wednesday, 31 July, 1985—9:30 p.m.

Remus had been in many embarrassing and frustrating positions in his life, but this one was without a doubt one of worst he could think of.

He was on his hands and knees, chained by his ankles and wrists to large metal eyehooks in the floor. The dog collar around his neck, while not very tight, had another chain hooked to it, running through an eyehook suspended from the ceiling, and then fastened onto another hook on the wall behind him.

It wasn't comfortable. Wasn't even close to comfortable. His knees ached and he shivered from the cool, damp atmosphere of the stone room. Blood from his struggles to free himself trickled down his wrists and streamed across his hands.

"Damn them. I'll kill them. Damn them," he muttered in a litany of hate and anger.

His blood surged painfully with the pull of the moon, and he found himself crouching until his naked chest scraped the floor. The shock of it made him suck in his breath and arch his back until he was again on his hands and knees.

"Fuck you, Parsons!" he yelled. "Fuck you, you bloody son of a bitch!"

He knew the man heard. He knew Bill Parsons was there — just on the other side of the bars, just outside the stone walls. He knew Parsons was there — and had plans. He just didn't know what the plans were.

He told them he couldn't transform with these things around his ankles and wrists. They didn't seem to care. He told them he'd chew his fucking paws off and then start after them, but they just smiled, tightened the chains, and went on.

The moon called him.

He growled and tried to sit up, but the chains around his wrists wouldn't give up their hold.

He could feel the wolf taking over. He could feel the wolf's anger eclipsing his own. The wolf's anger was hotter, more brutal… What the hell. The wolf could have them. He hoped the wolf dealt with them like they deserved….

11:57 p.m.

All three men stepped back and away from the werewolf with deep sighs of relief.

"What's in each one of those jars is worth twenty Galleons, boys," Bill said, with a self-satisfied smirk. "We've done a good night's work."

"What do your sort — wizards, I mean — do with werewolf blood anyhow?" Jack asked, peering closely at the dark red liquid in one of the aforementioned jars.

"It can be used in potions and spells. They're usually pretty nasty," Parson replied, nudging the unconscious creature with his boot. "Dark magic requires Dark ingredients."

"Is it the same thing for the fur, too? They use it for potions and things?"

Parsons nodded. "Yeah." He placed the straight razor in a box along with the four jars of blood, and motioned to the bag of coarse grey hair he had shaved from the unconscious werewolf. "Wally, grab that, would you?"

Jack picked up the axe handle that Bill had used to subdue the werewolf when it became obvious that the werewolf could fight off spells too quickly for them to get what they needed from it. "How much is the fur worth, then, if the blood is twenty Galleons per jar?"

"A small bag might be worth three or four Galleons. A large bag might get us six or seven," the American answered, taking one last look at the creature.

"What'll we do with him, now?" Wally asked, with a quick gesture at the werewolf.

Bill let his eyes travel over the bloody slashes across the shorn coat left by the razor. None of them were bleeding enough to cause any serious problem. The broken ribs and the bloody, swollen gash near the thing's right ear were a little more serious. However, Carmichael had been right when he said that the werewolf would fight off magical restraints and Stunners quickly, so he'd have to deal physically aggressively with the creature. Since he had been right about that, Bill had to trust that the man was also right when he had said that a few broken bones and a bit of physical force wouldn't kill it either. "Leave him. We'll put him back in his cage after he turns back in the morning."

The three men finished gathering their things and left the werewolf, still chained, lying in the middle of the floor.

Thursday, 1 August—7:52 a.m.

…ithurtsithurtsithurtsit hurts it hurts. It hurts. It HURTS. IT HURTS… IT HURTS!!

Pain exploded through his senses. His body had known it was there; his unconsciousness had kept it at bay. Now, as his awareness returned, so did the pain. There was precious little he could do, with no wand and no potions. He couldn't even think straight enough to try something wandlessly.

Years of waking up after terrible monthly transformations, however, did help him to come to grips with his situation. He began with the easy stuff first. Yes, he knew who he was and he knew what he was. He even knew where he was and how he had gotten here. And — damn it to the furthest gates of hell and back — he even knew why he was here, though that was something he couldn't stand to think about right now. So, it came to the next part: What exactly was causing the pain?

Start at the top, work your way down, was the barely coherent thought. His head hurt, and not just with the typical internal ache of no sleep, no food, and morning-after-transformation-hangover. But, as he raised his hand to touch his scalp, the fire across his shoulders and down his back demanded his attention. Forcing his eyes open, he turned his head slightly to the side. He could see six cuts blazing red against his pale, scarred skin. Another turn of his head and several rapid blinks brought four stripes into focus on his other arm and shoulder. Not even two of them were parallel, so they weren't self-inflicted. Ten so far, then, and who knew how many more there were.

"Wolf." The voice was deep, the word spoken ever so quietly.

He ignored it.

His hand continued its journey to his head and met blood-stiffened hair just above his right ear. Tentative fingers felt a gash, but not very deep, and only about an inch long. Probably concussed, though he should be thankful his skull wasn't cracked all the way open.

"Wolf. Man." The voice was insistent, though still soft.

He turned his head to the right, peering through iron bars, into the cage on the other side of the aisle. Again, he blinked quickly, trying to clearly see what he knew to be a centaur.

He would've licked his dry lips, but there was no moisture in his mouth to do that, so he rasped, "Horse." After all, the centaur was insulting, and he himself wasn't in the mood, at his moment, to be overly polite.

The centaur flicked his tail in annoyance.

The pain inventory continued. His right leg ached. As if he'd had a cramp in it all night long….

"I am to tell them when you awake," the centaur informed him.

Not now! Not yet! His mind screamed the words, making the pounding in his head nearly unbearable for a moment. Control. Pull it together…. He lifted his hand in a halting gesture, and attempted to whisper, "Just give me a minute." He knew that not all the words were actually heard, but the meaning was obviously understood, because the centaur was silent.

He didn't want to meet them while he was still lying here, helpless. Could he sit up? He started to roll onto his side. Bone grated against bone, and he flopped back onto his back, gasping with pain, and gritting his teeth. He had dealt with broken ribs before, so it was familiar — unwelcome, but familiar.

The centaur's whisper cut through the pain. "You must escape."

He couldn't help the sharp bark of laughter that scraped from his throat. Escape? Now? He was reasonably certain he couldn't even walk. His right leg hurt, damn it! Definitely some kind of pulled muscle. And his ribs….

"They mean to kill you," the centaur said quietly.

Upon thinking about it later, he'd come to realize that he had already known that fact. Right at this moment, however, the centaur had revealed something to him that he hadn't wanted to realize. And there was not a thing he could do about it in the condition he was in.

And so, Remus Lupin muttered: "Fuck."

Monday, 5 August—3:25 p.m.

Remus took a deep breath and again whispered the incantation in his head, while flicking his finger in the same arc he would have made with his wand.

The feather didn't move.

He huffed impatiently. If he couldn't do a simple Levitation Charm with a feather, for Merlin's sake — a bloody first-years' Charm — then what did that say about his ability?

He was able to do a scant handful of spells without a wand now, he reminded himself: the Silencio was the most important one he had mastered, and he supposed he should be grateful for that. At least the sound of the werewolf howling on the tape — which still ran throughout the day — didn't disturb him or Libertas any more. The people coming through the tent didn't seem to realize there should have been sound, and Remus had gotten quite adept at relinquishing the spell the moment he heard any of the carnival workers.

He was going to make that stupid feather move if it killed him. James would have encouraged him, told him to keep trying. Peter would have given up ages ago. Sirius would have become just as increasingly frustrated as Remus was now, and would have snapped, "Damn it, Moony, just do it!"

"Don't think about Sirius!" Remus muttered angrily at himself. He aimed his forefinger at the feather, extending his pinky as well, framing the feather between his two fingers, then said the words clearly in his head: "Wingardium Leviosa!"

The feather shot off the floor. Shocked, Remus' concentration broke, and the feather began to slowly drift earthwards. Control! He wrapped his mind around the feather, cushioned it, then sent it tumbling end over end toward the bars of his cage.

"Impressive, wolf," Libertas said, trying to sound sarcastic, but Remus could hear the grudging respect in the centaur's voice. "Now could you explain to me how being able to levitate a feather will help you escape?"

"If I levitate enough feathers, maybe I can disguise myself as a bird and fly out of here," Remus said, with a grin. He lazily traced a pattern in the air, and the feather followed it somewhat clumsily. Control and accuracy would come, Remus knew.

He thought about the couple of other spells he knew now: Scourgify, Silencio; he had even gotten Accioto work once or twice. He had used one of his favourites — Waddawasi — against a boy who had spit his gum at Remus one evening. Bill had come in and questioned him rather sharply about it, but his ability to stare right into someone's eyes and lie through his teeth served him well.

If only he could figure out what kind of wards Bill had over the tent, and even more importantly, how to break the Anti-Apparition wards….

He settled back on his straw-filled mattress and spent the next hour trying to remember everything he'd been taught or learned about Anti-Apparition wards, while making the feather do gymnastics in the air.

Thursday, 8 August—10:09 a.m.

"Lupin!"

Remus immediately left the jarvey's cage and went to see why Parsons was yelling for him.

"What do you know about winged horses?" Bill demanded.

The werewolf shrugged. "They're horses and they fly."

"That cage that the mermaid was in? Get it ready." The carnival owner looked exceptionally pleased with himself. "We got ourselves a Granian flying horse." Well, no wonder he was smirking. Flying horses were not that common — especially the sleek and fast Granians. "It's arriving any minute, so get your ass moving."

"All right." What else was Remus supposed to say?

He finished taking care of the jarvey, who muttered curses and imprecations at him. He grinned at it as he closed the cage door behind him. "Someday you'll admit you like me," he teased the creature.

Bill poked his head into the tent. "Lupin! You got that cage ready yet?"

Remus sighed. "No!"

"What in the hell are you waiting for?"

Wally was sent in to help him, and together, they laid down a thick layer of sawdust. Remus went to get some grain and a bucket of water, already making a checklist in his head of things Bill would have to do to make the space better for a horse with wings.

And suddenly Bill was right in front of him, leading a tiny dapple-grey foal with light grey wings folded tightly against its body. He held the lead rope out to Remus.

Remus stared at the colt. "Isn't it a bit — small?"

"He's six weeks old. His mama died, and now, Lupin, as far as he's concerned, you're his mama." He held out a piece of paper which Remus took. "Here's what they say to feed him. He'll need to be fed more often than the other animals, so you'll have to let Wally and Jack know when you need your cage unlocked to feed him. Now, take him and get him settled in. And, so help me, if anything happens to this foal, I'll kill you."

"Promises, promises," Remus muttered as he led the colt away.

"What was that?" Bill asked sharply.

Remus stopped and glanced back at the carnival owner. "I said, I promise I'll do my best."

Bill gave him a sceptical glare, but said nothing else.

Saturday, 10 August—1:25 p.m.

Remus could hear the foal squealing, but he couldn't see if it was upset because its lunch was late, or if someone was bothering it.

Across the aisle, Libertas stirred from his drug-induced nap, and blinked blearily at Remus. "What is the problem with the little one?" he asked.

"I don't know," Remus said, tension making his voice sound slightly more hoarse than usual. "I can't tell. Can't you understand what he's saying?"

Libertas gave him a withering stare. "That was beneath you, wolf."

Remus paced back and forth a few times, cringing every time the foal whinnied. "I told them to be here at one," he whispered. "Where are they?"

Finally, he heard footsteps, and he moved to stand near the doorway.

"Wolf!" hissed Libertas. "The tape!"

"Damn it!" Remus hurriedly flipped his fingers in the direction of the television and muttered, "Finite Incantatem!" The werewolf on the screen began snarling again.

Jack reached Remus' cage a moment later, and peered over at the television. "Is the telly working alright?" he asked.

"Fine, why?" Remus asked calmly.

"I couldn't hear it."

"Can't hear much with the foal yelling for his lunch," Remus commented. He allowed his tone to become a little more accusatory. "You were supposed to be here at one."

Jack shrugged. "Had something I had to do."

"More important than that colt?" Remus asked. "Oh, that's right. It's my skin if something goes wrong."

"As a matter of fact, Bill had me painting that —" Jack stopped in mid-sentence and glared at Remus. "Hey! I don't have to answer to you! And I'm here now, and that's all that matters."

Parsons was waiting by the storage room for them. "I thought I told you to take care of that horse," he began without preamble.

Remus bristled. "I told them to let me out at one. I can't help it if they're late!"

Bill turned to Jack. "I know you were working on that cart, but that horse does have to be the priority here. He cost me an arm and a leg."

The carnival worker scoffed. "I know that, but —" he nodded towards Remus, "— he's got us coming in all the time to —"

"He's got to eat every four hours," Remus protested. "That's what the instructions said."

"It's such a pain in the arse, to be there to —" Jack complained

"Why don't you let me take him to my cage?" Remus suddenly asked Bill. "Or, leave my cage unlocked? If your wards are that good, I can't escape. But I could at least get to the colt whenever I need to, without bothering anyone else."

Bill gave him a long, suspicious look. "No, we won't do that. Can't have you loose among the visitors. Take the colt to your cage, along with whatever you need to feed him. You can put him back at night. We'll try that for a week or two, until he's big enough to go longer in between feedings."

And so, Remus gained a cellmate in the daytime.

Wednesday, 14 August—8:37 p.m.

Alastor Moody opened his hand, revealing the bright gold of a Galleon to the man sitting across from him, then closed it again quickly.

The other man's eyes lit up for a moment, but narrowed as he remembered that there was something that needed to be done to get the gold. "What do you want?" he asked.

"Information," Moody said simply.

"I don't know anything."

"You might surprise yourself with what you know," the Auror told him.

The man took a sip of his butterbeer and regarded Moody thoughtfully.

The Auror tapped the table with the Galleon and sat back, watching the man's eyes, and knowing how the conversation was going inside the man's head: Should I? What is it to me if someone else gets caught? I can lie. It's a Galleon. Might get two…

It was always the same with these gits. They'd turn on each other in a heartbeat, given enough gold.

"The information you're wanting might be worth more than a Galleon," the man said.

"It might be," Moody agreed.

The man licked his lips and took another pull from the bottle. "What kind of information are you looking for?"

Alastor leaned forward. "What do you know about a man by the name of Bernard Carmichael and the morning of June fourth?"

The man paled and swallowed hard.

Moody smiled. Here, indeed, was information. It might just be worth two Galleons…

Saturday, 17 August—9:05 p.m.

The Granian foal watched the feather float across the cell. It took a step toward it, its eyes wide with wonder.

Remus made the feather reverse its course, sending it skimming along the colt's nose. It sneezed, and the werewolf chuckled.

Across the aisle, the centaur stood with arms folded, observing. "You should not get attached to the young one," Libertas said.

The werewolf reached out and ruffled the foal's mane. "Don't let him bother you. He's jaded." The colt shoved his nose into Remus' face, and then lipped at the werewolf's nose. Remus laughed again, though it wasn't as bright as it had been just a moment ago.

"If they see you are attached to him, they will find some way to take him away from you," Libertas predicted.

Remus let his fingers curl into the soft baby fur on the colt's shoulders. "I know, Libertas."

He leaned his forehead against the Granian's neck. "Let me enjoy this for now, please?"

A few minutes later, Remus heard footsteps that he guessed were Wally's. No one walked quite as heavily as he did, and he always dragged his fingers along the cage bars….

Remus quickly ended the Silencing spell on the television. The foal's ears pricked forward at the cries that issued from the taped werewolf.

"Hey, wolf," Wally said, unlocking the door, "I've got to take the colt back. You've got something you've got to do."

"Tonight?" Remus asked, his eyebrows rising.

"Yeah." Wally came into the cage and, with surprising gentleness, took the colt's lead rope in his beefy hand. "Bill wants you to clean up Bertie."

Remus glanced over at the centaur, who was gripping the bars of his cage tightly. "Libertas doesn't need help cleaning himself."

"Bill wants him shining like a new Galleon for tomorrow," Bill said, leading the colt out of the cage. "Says he wants his tail completely untangled and his hooves oiled and all."

"Does he want ribbons in his mane and tail too?" Remus asked. Wally didn't understand sarcasm, so the werewolf felt safe in asking that question. Bill or Jack would have probably told him 'yes' just because he asked.

"That's just barmy," Wally said. "Now come on and get whatever you're going to need."

Remus gave Libertas a look of apology as he followed Wally toward the front of the room. Wally turned the colt into his cage, and then led Remus on to the storage area, waiting as Remus collected some clean rags, some brushes and a comb.

"Why does Bill want Libertas 'shining like a new Galleon'?" Remus asked as casually as he could.

Wally shook his head. "You're not getting that from me. He'll find out tomorrow."

"It's not anything —" Remus paused, "— bad, is it?"

The chubby man shrugged. "All depends on what you think 'bad' is. Don't think Bertie's going to like it none, but it isn't going to hurt him or nothing."

Remus and Libertas discussed it as they worked that night, but they were completely clueless about what Bill could want of Libertas. Neither one of them slept well that night.

Sunday, 18 August—10:03 a.m.

Bill met Remus in the storage room. "I want you to give Bertie another half-dose of the Draught," the carnival owner said.

Remus stared at him, then slowly shook his head. "No. I won't do it."

"Gods, you're a pain in the ass," Bill exhaled heavily. "When are you going to get it? You do what I tell you. Now, add another half dose to his water or I add a double dose to his – and to yours. Understood?"

He'd do it too, Remus knew. Boggarts. That was a quickly-lost fight. "What are you doing to him?"

"That's none of your business," Bill said, with a greasy smile. "But just remember that everything here has to do its part to make this carnival work." He jabbed a finger in Remus' direction. "Don't forget: another half portion."

11:14 a.m.

"Albus, I need your help with something," Moody said, immediately upon entering the Headmaster's office, and dropping into the chair in front of Dumbledore's desk.

"You have but to ask," Dumbledore said, picking up the little silver dish on his desk and offering a sweet to Moody.

The Auror refused it with an impatient wave of his hand. "I have a lead on Lupin. I talked to a man who was part of it all."

Dumbledore seemed to sit up straighter and taller. "What did this man say?"

"He said that Lupin was sold to a carnival of magical creatures."

Albus sucked thoughtfully on the lemon drop. "Was Bernard Carmichael involved?"

"Yes. He was the one who arranged it all. The man I talked to last night, name of Gordy Fletcher, said he and two others were hired by Carmichael to 'capture' a werewolf and bring it to the carnival."

"Are you certain it was Remus?"

"How many werewolves can there be who have been kidnapped or 'captured' by hired thugs in the past couple of months?" Moody demanded. "He told me enough details about Alatza's shed, and about Lupin himself, that I know it has to be him."

Dumbledore's eyebrows lowered. "Do you have enough evidence to get him out of this — situation?"

Moody shrugged. "Yes and no. Problem is, there are six or seven of these kinds of carnivals in the United Kingdom alone, and a lot more of them on the continent. Fletcher told me he doesn't know the name of the carnival they took Lupin to. Several of them even travel from town to town, so they're more difficult to keep track of."

He sighed. "The Ministry has been plotting a rather complicated operation against a ring of smugglers who are bringing Dark items into the country. I have to leave the country and go to Germany for two weeks. I asked to have some time to investigate the carnivals, but, well, Lupin's a werewolf. The Ministry doesn't hold his disappearance as a priority." His tone was bitter and angry. "So, I was hoping that maybe you could send Hagrid or Kettleburn to the carnivals to see if they can find him."

"And if they do find Remus, what are they to do?" asked Dumbledore. "Especially if you're in Germany?"

"If there is some way you can talk to Remus, to make sure he's alright, that would be the priority. If he's being held against his will, well, you can go to the Aurors. Hopefully someone will listen. If no one listens or if there's a problem…." Moody hesitated. "I don't want you to have to wait until I get back. That's where you may need to — exert some pressure."

"Don't you think that might create more problems?"

"Who's going to complain? The carnival owners? They'd be looking at a kidnapping charge. Or, at the very least, they'd been trafficking in Dark creatures. That carries a rather large fine." Again, Moody's tone became bitter.

"'Trafficking in Dark creatures'?" repeated Dumbledore.

"It carries the same charges as smuggling," Moody said.

"What about Carmichael?"

Alastor swore. "He's still in Poland, or somewhere. He's virtually untouchable."

"He will have to come back at some point."

"If he does, I'll be waiting," Moody promised. "But, for now, will you send Hagrid and Kettleburn to check the carnivals?"

The Headmaster nodded. "I hope to have good news for you when you return."

"I hope so, Albus, I hope so."

5:26 p.m.

Remus was feeding the Granian foal when Jack brought Libertas back. The centaur looked tired and, even more than that, depressed.

The werewolf pretended to be focused on the colt, but he was surreptitiously watching Libertas and Jack.

The man was taking a cloth and wiping the centaur's back and sides clean of sweat and dirt. Libertas stood quietly with his shoulders slumped and his head hanging low.

"That'll do you until tomorrow," Jack said, running an appraising eye over the centaur's body. "Now, see, that wasn't so bad, was it?" And chuckling, he left.

Remus waited for several minutes, but Libertas didn't move.

"Libertas?"

The centaur's muscles rippled at the sound of Remus' voice, and he stepped deeper into the cage.

"What did they do?" Remus inquired as gently as he could.

"What do they always do?" the centaur asked softly in reply. "They crush the stars in their fists. They destroy the brightness of the sun because they cannot see." He turned finally, but the shadows hid him from Remus' curious gaze. "They degrade us and make us nothing more than animals because it suits their purposes."

The foal butted Remus in the leg, and he looked down. Maybe it was because he knew Remus wasn't looking at him, but Libertas added, "They made me pull a cart today. I provided rides for children."

Remus' heart clenched in sympathy for the centaur. No centaur could ever think that was anything other than the lowest of insults. "I'm sorry, Libertas," he whispered.

"Even the brightest stars fall," the centaur said, turning around again and burying himself in the darkness.

Monday, 19 August—9:26 a.m.

He got careless. That's all he could say. He had been so pleased with himself, at the progress he was making on doing wandless magic, that he forgot to be cautious.

Bill stared at the broken glass on the floor that had once been a pitcher of water.

"How were you doing that?" he demanded, slowly raising his eyes to meet Remus'.

Play dumb, insisted a voice that sounded suspiciously like Sirius Black's. "I don't know," Remus replied.

"Don't give me that," Bill said, his voice quiet, but full of growing and menacing anger. "You were doing magic."

"I don't have a wand," Remus protested.

"I saw it. You were levitating it."

Shit! "No, I —"

"You were over there. The pitcher was here. You had your hand out, and you were levitating it to you," Bill told him, taking a step towards him.

Remus took a step back. "No, I…."

Bill stalked across the space that separated them, his hands already formed into fists. Remus couldn't go back any further; all he could do was watch the man advance. Bill stopped right in front of him.

"How did you do that?" Bill repeated.

When you're caught, act innocent of the charges…. "I — I don't know."

Bill's fist came up quickly, catching Remus on the side of his head. Remus didn't even try to dodge it. "Don't lie to me, wolf!"

Remus tentatively raised his hand to rub his now-sore ear. "I don't know how I did it!" he insisted. "It was just something that — happened. I just — did it."

Bill's other fist swung out, connecting with Remus' cheekbone, forcing him back against the table and rocking it. "How long have you been able to do that?"

"I've never done it before!" Remus said, clutching the edge of the table with both hands.

"Lying, stinking dog!" yelled Bill, lighting into Remus with both fists.

10:41 a.m.

"What did you do?" Libertas asked quietly.

"I was stupid," Remus admitted, gingerly wiping his bloody nose on his sleeve.

"You won't escape by being stupid," the centaur pointed out.

"You're a lot of help," Remus told him. The Granian foal thrust its nose towards Remus' face. "You're no help either," the werewolf informed the baby.

Friday, 23 August—10:49 a.m.

Libertas refused to eat. He told Remus he'd eat later, when the day was over. Remus chose not to push the issue.

Libertas drank the entire pitcher of water with the Bill-prescribed extra half-portion of Torpeus Draught. He handed the empty vessel to Remus, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and said, "Maybe you should double the amount of the drug they use, wolf."

Remus turned and walked out, not knowing what to say.

Wednesday, 28 August—6:15 p.m.

"You have to eat something," Remus pressed.

"Do not concern yourself, wolf."

"You're hardly eating enough to keep yourself alive."

The centaur gave him a pointed look. "Who says I want to keep myself alive?"