Chapter Sixteen: The First of the List
Remus walked along the street as quickly as his beaten body would allow. He leaned heavily on the strength of the wolf; though greatly diminished now that the full moon had come and gone, it was enough to keep him up and moving forward. It was risky, he knew. His guard was down, the wolf was unpredictable, and any second now it could easily take control. But it seemed content for the moment, quiet, sated by last night's feast.
Remus shuddered, partly from his fragmented memories, partly due to the cold night air. His uncanny sense of time that had been instilled in him after he had been bitten told him that it was 9:43 PM.
As he strode along, he debated with himself. He appeared to passerby an energetic man with a definite destination in mind, but truthfully he was dead tired, with no idea where he was going, nor where he would spend the night. He only knew that he needed a place soon—somewhere with warmth and an opportunity for a long, uninterrupted sleep. Digging his hands into his pockets to ward away the cold, he felt paper crumple and bend beneath his fingers. Puzzled, he drew it out and unfolded it.
Remus grimaced. It was the list of potential new recruits that Voldemort had given him. Have to start soon, he realized. He could sense that the Dark Lord had felt threatened by his lack of emotion at the ceremony that afternoon. Unconsciously, he rubbed the crook of his left elbow. Might as well begin my search now. Restore Voldemort's confidence in me.
He peered at the first name on the paper. Ulryk Weber. 5 Thorne Road. Remus raised an eyebrow. He had heard of this Weber. He was a fairly well known scientist researching lycanthropy, and apparently making leaps and bounds. Remus had not known that the man was himself a lycanthrope, however. Dirty little secret, I suppose. Can't make progress if you're known as taboo, he mused, glancing at a street sign to get his bearings. Then he turned and set off down a side-street toward Weber's home.
The house in question was tiny and off-white. It was unadorned, with a short driveway, a squat white picket fence, and a green door. Remus hesitated at the gate, hackles rising uneasily. Ulryk's scent was everywhere, and he couldn't help but feel like a trespasser on the other werewolf's territory. He would have preferred to meet Weber on neutral ground. Since that was impossible, however, he would have to appear small and unimposing, not as a threat or challenger.
He paced up to the front door, paused, and then knocked. He heard Weber jump, stand up, and make his way to the entrance. The footsteps halted on the other side of the threshold, and Remus knew that the other man had caught his scent. The door opened a crack.
"What do you want?" Weber's voice rasped. He looked at his unexpected visitor suspiciously, his head raised high, his eyes narrowed, subconsciously taking on a dominant posture.
"May I come in, please?" Remus spoke softly. He tilted his chin downward slightly, so that his head was angled at a compliant slant. He made eye contact briefly and carefully, and then cast his sight at the ground. He could sense that Weber had relaxed a bit. The door opened a bit wider, and Weber stood to one side.
"Come on, then," he said.
Remus stepped inside unassumingly and replied, "Thank you." He surreptitiously snuck a glance at the other man as he shut the door. Ulryk Weber was a large man, over six feet and well muscled. His features were prominent, particularly his nose, and his blonde hair was splashed with white. His eyes were a striking shade of brown so pale that Remus could only accurately describe them as beige. Remus dropped his gaze as Weber turned to face him.
There was a moment of silence, and then: "You can look at me. I can tell you're not after trouble."
Remus gave a small smile and said, "I was hoping you'd realize that."
"So who exactly are you? Why are you here at ten o'clock at night?"
"My name is Remus Lupin. I'm…a courier." Remus' smile gained a certain ironic edge.
"Courier? Who sent you?"
Remus hesitated. His answer was volatile. "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."
Weber moved so quickly that Remus almost did not see him. As it was, he barely ducked the punch thrown at his head. The other werewolf howled with rage and bodily tackled him. Remus braced himself for the impact but made no effort to dodge, although he easily could have. It took only a moment of furious pummeling on Weber's part before Weber realized that his victim was not fighting back, simply blocking the worst of the blows. He stopped hitting Remus, sitting up and lightly placing a knee on his prostrate quarry to keep him from moving.
Remus gazed at the other werewolf calmly. "I take it, then, that you are not interested in joining Voldemort."
Weber winced at the name. "Never," he spat vehemently.
Remus smiled wanly. "Good. Then you might be well-advised to go into hiding."
"Hiding?" Weber's demeanor was defiant. "I won't hide from him, like a scared pup!"
"Well, actually, I should say that you would be well-advised to go into hiding after I kill you," Remus stated. Weber's eyes narrowed. Remus could smell his confusion. "You're on Voldemort's list of potential recruits," he explained before the other man could resume his punching. "You said no, therefore I am supposed to kill you. And dead men can't walk around in their usual routines."
Weber's pale gaze gained clarity as he grasped what Remus was getting at. "I see," he rasped.
"But before we go into all this killing and hiding business," Remus said, amazed by his own daring, "may I ask you whether I might be able to borrow a room, or a couch, or something for the night? I've hardly slept since full moon ended."
Beige eyes softened noticeably; Weber knew how he must feel. He stood and helped Remus to his feet. "I have an extra room upstairs that you can use." Remus realized that Weber was still slightly distrustful, and he felt even more gratitude toward the man.
"Thank you," he said emphatically. Weber nodded and led him up the stairs.
Author's note:Starting to get up there in chapters. Craziness! Heh...keep reading, me hearties, please. Reviews are the joy of...um...well, they're just really nice.