Author's note: Thanks once again to Rae Roberts, my most beloved reviewer. Alas, I couldn't find any place to slip in some completely gratuitous sex...kidding! (grin) I shan't do such a thing, never you worry. And I know you were looking forward to some better housing for Remus, but unfortunately it's not going to be in this chapter. Soon it'll crop up,though, I hope. I really do feel so horrible to keep giving Remus such bad joss. Oh well. Enjoy...

Chapter Eight: A Shack, a Muggle, and a Mistake

Six hours later, Remus' good spirits had given way to something akin to panic. It was raining steadily now, the faint darkening of the western sky hinting that twilight was near. He continued to look for shelter doggedly, wandering down street after street, completely soaked through by the rain. He was about to admit defeat and merely settle in a nearby alley, when at last he spotted a likely looking shelter.

It was a small one-story house that seemed as though it might collapse at any second. The roof was sagging and it was in dire need of at least two coats of new paint, not to mention a front door and several shutters, the latter of which now hung limply below the windows or were simply missing.

Remus approached and went in cautiously, his confidence mounting with each step. It was a wreck, but his nose told him that it was not going to cave in anytime in the near future. Then, in the midst of his explorations, he stopped abruptly. He was not alone. From a corner to his right, he perceived soft breathing and a steady pulse. As he listened, frozen, he heard the house's occupant shift, creeping around behind him within the concealment of the cottage's heavy shadows.

Remus whirled as a grizzled old man lunged at his back. He staggered under the force of his assailant's attack, then quickly straightened and pivoted away, kicking the man to the floor. His attacker tried to roll over and ward him off, but Remus swiftly knelt on his back, twisting the man's arms behind him.

"Okay, okay, you win," the old man grunted, panting. "Lemme up!"

"Not going to try and jump me again, are you?" Remus asked.

"No, 'course not, wouldn' dream o' it," the man breathlessly assured him.

"Good, because I'd have to hurt you if you did," Remus replied cheerily, carefully releasing the man and climbing to his feet.

"Eh," the old man mumbled noncommittally. "Reckon there's room 'nuff fer two folks 'ere." Remus grinned in return. "'Ere, you wouldn' happen to 'ave nothin' warm with you, would you?" the man queried, eyeing Remus hopefully. "S'bloody cold."

Remus saw with a start that his new acquaintance was shivering. He himself was perfectly fine, if not a little wet; but then again, after he had been bitten in his youth, he had found that he possessed a somewhat higher tolerance for cold weather than any normal human being.

"I've got a couple of suitcases, actually," he said. "I dropped them outside to make sure I wouldn't be caught unawares with my hands full. Hang on a minute, I'll get them." He walked outside, ears pricked to make sure that the old man was not spying on him, and slipped his suitcases from his pocket. He quickly restored them to full size and carried them back into the house. "What's your name?" he asked his acquaintance as he set his belongings on the floor.

"Ben," the man replied. He took the coat Remus offered mutely. "Whassur's?"

"Remus."

"Interestin' name. Not somethin' you come across everyday. Ain't you cold?" Ben was inspecting his soaked garments skeptically.

"Not really, but I suppose I should lay this out to dry." Remus pulled his coat off and spread it out on the dusty floor. Unearthing a sweater, he put it on before sitting down against a wall and taking stock of his surroundings.

He appeared to be in what had once been a living room, but as it was devoid of furniture and the walls were white and barren, he was not completely certain. It was strewn with dirt and, in some places where the roof had become particularly weakened, bits of ceiling. A door to the left seemed to lead into a kitchen, which was missing its appliances but housed a very worn, three-legged table. A second door in front of him was that of a bedroom, a boxspring with no mattress abandoned in the middle of it.

And then there was his new acquaintance, Ben, who was watching him warily. He was seated across the room on what was apparently the sagging, mildewed mattress that had been filched from the boxspring. He was old, at least fifty, with silvery-grey hair that straggled to his shoulders in a veritable rat's nest. He had a similarly messy beard and wizened blue eyes. He wore a pair of canvas pants, thick socks but no shoes, and Remus' coat. Remus would not have been surprised if he also had fleas.

"No one else lives here?" Remus inquired. Ben looked startled, as though he had been asked a particularly difficult question.

"Jus' ol' Ben," he responded finally.

Remus nodded. "I'll leave tomorrow," he promised. Ben relaxed slightly; Remus could sense his relief.

"Alrigh'," he said. "I'm goin' to sleep some now, if you don' mind." Remus shrugged and the man lay down, closing his eyes and pretending to slumber. Obviously he did not trust his unexpected guest.

Remus shook his head and sighed. He opened the suitcase that contained his Wolfsbane potion and removed one bottle. There were three doses: one to be taken the night prior to full moon, the second the morning of, and the last taken within two hours of transformation. He glanced outside; night was nearly upon them.

He unscrewed the cap of the bottle he held, braced himself, and downed half of it in one gulp. It tasted disgusting, a combination of all the wrong, most incongruous flavors available to mankind, and left a bitter aftertaste slightly reminiscent of lemon peel and bleach. He grimaced as he swallowed the potion, which was strangely warm and slippery, and was about to drink the other half when Ben's voice rasped from across the room:

"Gonna share any o' that with ol' Ben?" The old man had obviously mistaken the potion for alcohol.

"What, this?" Remus asked, gesturing to it. "No, you don't want any, trust me. It's medicine and tastes like hell."

"Humph," Ben grunted, unconvinced. "Medicine for what? And how'd you afford it? You're mighty educated, mister Remus, so how comes you're stayin' in a forsaken shack like this?"

"I'm staying here because I have a penchant for attracting bad luck, and I was able to afford my medicine due to the fact that I'm a fairly accomplished pick-pocket," Remus countered, carefully avoiding the first question. "Besides, I used to teach, so I've money left over from that."

"But you don't teach no more?"

"It didn't work out."

"What'd you teach?"

Remus considered for a minute. "Self-defense," he replied finally. Ben grunted; it seemed to be his favored response. "How come you're living here?" Remus asked, shifting the focus of the conversation from himself to the other man.

"Me? I was always roofless. S'okay, I like it fine 'ere, an' if I ever start dislikin' it, I'll find me another place. Wanderin's me favorite thing in the world." He went quiet, apparently reminiscing on some adventure that he'd had when he was younger.

Remus let the silence be when Ben did not say anything else. He finished his potion and leaned back against the wall, and before he knew it, he was dozing off.

He did not know how long he had been asleep when a gurgling sound and a loud groan woke him. He glanced over and saw, to his utter horror, that his suitcase had been subject to a raid. Its contents were scattered across the floor, clothing in rumpled piles as though the garments had been tossed aside at random. He froze, however, when he realized that only one bottle of potion remained.

There was another low moan. Remus' head snapped up and his gaze settled on the body of Ben, who was rocking back and forth on his mattress in apparent agony. Remus scrambled to his feet, covering the distance between them in three strides.

"What did you do with it?" he demanded of Ben. "What the hell did you do!" He seized the man's shoulders, meaning to shake him, and was surprised when Ben rolled over to face him without a struggle. As he glared down at him, however, his surprise turned to horror.

Ben's last breath left him with a faintly sinister hiss and Remus was left alone with a corpse that had died because of the hole that had been eaten through his stomach. He cursed, knowing that the Muggle must have taken at least a gulp of the potion. A dripping noise filled his hearing. He glanced over to see the stolen bottle of Wolfsbane, lying innocuously on its side upon the mattress. It was two-thirds of the way empty, most of it having been consumed by the homeless man and the rest spilled when Ben had put it down next to him. The potion had eroded a hole through the mattress and was now busy working on the floorboard beneath. Remus picked up the tipped bottle and inspected it. A mouthful and a little more was all that remained.

He could not help it; he loosed a howl of rage. A dog nearby answered, warning him to keep away from its territory. He fell silent, wondering what he could do, what would happen now that two-thirds of this particular dose was gone. Slowly, he made up his mind. He had to go to Grimmauld Place, no matter how unpleasant the experience for him. He packed his suitcases and shrunk them to pocket size once more before setting off across the city. With each step, a simple thought repeated in his mind. A Muggle had died because of his carelessness, and he was determined that it should never happen again.