Chapter Two - Pride and Prejudice

December had hit London bitterly cold. Buildings creaked under the strain of holding their heat within against the bitter onslaught of the cold without. The wind whipped viciously, stinging with ice. There was no snow on the ground to pretty this picture. Black was the ice which gritting Lorries tried desperately to thwart.

It was only just eleven, and yet already the windscreens and bonnets of the cars parked against the curbs were thick with hardened frost. And it was against this bitter chill that Remus Lupin pulled his threadbare jacket close around his thin frame as he stepped out of the back door of the small Tesco Metro and strode purposely around the building and away from his place of work.

Work. It was work. It was a job and it paid minimum wage and it was enough. The small supermarket attached to the petrol station had given him employment for over two years now. A whole two years employed and Tricia the duty manager on his shift had even been making hints about promoting him. Getting him till trained.

He'd finished Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry with thirteen OWL's and Five Newts, all of them Outstanding. Any other wizard would have been flying high through a profession of their choice by now. Hell, on those few occasions these days when he bothered to pick up a copy of the Daily Prophet he nearly always found a story somewhere about one of his peers. Professor this, or Under-secretary that. Aurors, Ministers, Businessmen. Success accompanied Hogwarts graduates like flies followed cattle. But not him. No the best he could hope for was to actually hold a job for more than a couple of months. The idea of promotion? Of better pay than the barest minimum? That had seemed beyond his reach for so long he'd practically forgotten what it meant.

It wasn't that he was lazy, or a thief, or had a tendency to sexually harass his co-workers; the usual things that would hinder a person in pursuing a career. He was about as far from being any of those things as it was possible to be. He didn't have a criminal record to hold him back; in fact he'd only ever knowingly or deliberately committed one crime - granted he'd committed it repeatedly, but his options were limited - and he'd never been caught.

What he was, was a Werewolf. Not by birth, but as a result of a vicious attack when he was but a small child. And despite his parents' best efforts to give him a normal life and every advantage they could, life was rarely fair, kind or normal for his like. On graduating he'd tried to find work in the Wizarding world. But even when an employer would overlook what he was, the jobs never lasted. People, colleagues or customers found out about him and complained. Or his employers would become frustrated with his need to take off the two days surrounding the full moon. Sometimes his employer or manager would change after he'd been hired, and he'd simply find his belongings on the curb and entry into his place of work blocked.

At first he'd been so angry about it. So angry that he was so well qualified and yet more often than not he would find himself out of work, penniless and forced to rely on the generosity of his friends. Forced to live off his lover. A leach. A freeloader. His pride had raged. His self esteem so painstakingly built up over the years he'd spent at Hogwarts had faltered and begun to fail.

Time had passed since then. So much time. It had been fifteen years since he'd first left school. He was thirty three years old now. He somehow felt an awful lot older.

So much had happened since those wonderful years at school. His small family which had been built on ties of friendship rather than blood was all gone now. Lost to the war that had raged throughout his time at school and beyond; the war against likely one of the Darkest Wizards ever to walk the earth and his devoted, blood thirsty followers.

Voldermort and his death-eaters took everyone he held dear within just a few years of his finishing school. Murdered or turned to the darkness. Rotting, each and every one of them; in the ground or in a prison cell.

And he'd just kept going. Full moon to full moon. Day after day. Trying to keep his head above water. Trying to understand the enormity of the losses he'd suffered. Eleven years now since the end of the war. And yet, the last eleven years had been far harder than the ones that came before. If he'd thought he'd known prejudice before the end of the war, it was nothing compared to after. So many of his kind had sided with Voldermort, it wasn't surprising that once the immediate crisis had past, the murderous and the treacherous imprisoned and the rebuilding had begun that new laws began to appear.

The Control of Dangerous Creatures Act was perhaps the most inhibiting of all. At least for him. He'd been forced to register himself with the Ministry. On a register which any employer could check. Hell that any member of the public was allowed to check. If that indignity wasn't enough, the law also stated that the penalty for not disclosing what he was to a future employer when applying for a job, or to a Ministry official when applying for any kind of license, permit or official documentation, was imprisonment in Azkaban; the length of the sentence left to the discretion of the presiding warlock.

It was like doors just slammed shut wherever he turned. He couldn't even get an interview let alone a job. He'd never had much in the way of money and his pitiful savings had been swallowed within weeks. The Muggle world had been his last hope, but the law was very clear on that too. Wizards wishing to work in the Muggle world, even if they were Muggle-born, had to apply through the Ministry. They would then make the appropriate applications on the Witch or Wizard's behalf, set up interviews and provide carefully monitored placements. The third time Remus visited the Ministry to find out what was happening with his application, only to be told it appeared to have been misplaced, he'd realised it was a lost cause.

So he'd taken one of the biggest risks of his life. He'd deliberately, consciously and knowingly broken the law. He'd headed out into Muggle London one bright June afternoon, and gone looking for a job.

Two weeks later, he'd had enough money to buy a single foot passenger ticket on a cross channel ferry and had spent the next few years odd jobbing as his hiked, hitched and only occasionally apparated his way around Europe, careful to avoid any and all authorities, Muggle and Wizarding alike.

It hadn't been easy, and some of it had been deeply unpleasant. He'd slept rough, exposed to the elements, more often than he would like to recall and the full moons had been especially trying at times. But he'd managed. He'd found ways, sometimes less than preferable ways, to cope and keep other people safe from the beast inside him which raged against his humanity.

That had been his life pretty much ever since. He'd had to come back to Wizarding Britain now and then of course. To update his registration with the Ministry (and pay the mandatory fee for the privilege of course), to collect his accumulated mail being kept at the owl office, to visit one of his favourite places of all, the Great Library and to generally get caught up on the happenings in the Wizarding world. The fine he'd incurred for missing his registration date after being stuck in Norway due to bad weather one time (and the two weeks he'd been held unofficially in a Ministry holding cell while they processed the fine) had been enough to curb his travelling, but he'd continued to live and work in the Muggle world.

It was that or venture down paths he'd sworn to himself he'd never seriously consider. The kind of paths Remus knew most of his kind eventually found themselves walking. The kind of paths that took a man down Knockturn Ally at 2am. He might be breaking the law with what he was doing, but quite frankly he'd been left little choice. And at least he could honestly say he wasn't hurting anyone.

Perhaps it was for that reason, or perhaps it was because the officers of the Department of Magical Law enforcement had far better things to do than chase down one lone wizard stacking shelves in a Muggle supermarket, but thankfully, for whatever reason, even after coming back to Britain he'd been left to get on undisturbed.

Not that things had been that much easier in the Muggle world, truth be told. Initially the jobs had been as difficult to keep as they had been in the Wizarding world. Temperamental cash in hand jobs to start with, the legality of which were sometimes slightly questionable. His employers, already twitchy, would get nervous when he would ask for a couple of days off and then return looking the worse for wear. One of his employers had accused him of being on drugs before showing him the door, another he'd overheard telling his wife he thought Remus was involved with violent crime. He'd worked in one place where the owner's daughter had thought he was part of a satanic cult, and been so frightened of him she'd refused to work in the shop herself unless Remus was fired.

And that was when he even managed to get a job. The scars on his face proved a huge hindrance. There weren't many people who wanted someone who looked like he did greeting their customers. Then there was his lack of qualifications. Sure he had thirteen OWL's and five NEWT's, but they meant precisely nothing in the Muggle world. They wanted things called GCSE's and A Levels, which Remus did not have, and did not have the spare cash to enrol in classes to get. So he'd been left with stacking shelves, washing dishes, unloading vans, delivering newspapers, labouring on building sites, shearing sheep (that job hadn't lasted long; sheep were not as stupid as people thought, and were not about to let themselves get sheared by a wolf) and picking vegetables. Often mind numbing, incurably tedious, backbreaking and poorly paid.

But it was work. And it had paid. It had paid him enough that he'd been able to get his tiny basement bedsit, with running water, gas and electricity. Those three utilities, or more importantly the fact he had his name on the bills for those three utilities had enabled him to get a bank account, which had opened him up to being able to get a better job. Being suspected of being a Satanist had been galling (once he'd understood what it meant) but it had sown the seeds of an idea.

A little research, a little checking and Remus had turned up for his interview at the supermarket armed with a plan. Thankfully the store manager and his shift supervisor were fairly open minded people, and were accommodating of his request that he be allowed the day before and after the full moon each month for religious observance. Telling them he followed a pagan faith had raised a few eyebrows, but then Trish had joked that she'd had weirder requests made of her for religious reasons, ones far less easy to work around. He hadn't asked what those were, but he knew one of the employees on the morning shift who refused point blank to touch any product containing pork or shellfish and tended to get into a mood when asked to do anything to the displays for Christmas or Easter.

So it was safe to say the last couple of years had been the most settled he'd had since leaving school. Fairly regular hours, regular pay, regular meals. All of which meant he'd been able to something he hadn't been able to do for some time. Save.

Save for the thing that could make his life so much better. He'd only tried it one time and the effect had been incredible. He'd used all the money he'd had at the time to do it; had had to give up the room he'd been renting and had slept on the floor of a little used storeroom at the factory he'd been working in for weeks as a result. But it had been worth it then and a few missed meals this time were worth it now. Especially as he'd saved enough not just for one month's supply, but six.

Six months of peace. Six months of being able to face the full moon without fear of tearing himself or anyone else to pieces in the throes of the wolf's monstrous wild rage.

So yes it was cold, yes it probably would be more comfortable to be sitting in his flat wrapped up in blankets, a charmed 'flame in a jar' keeping him warm as he curled up with a book, and no he wasn't entirely happy going where he knew he would have to go to get what he needed.

But he was doing it anyway.

Reaching a secluded side street, Remus reached inside of his jacket, pulled out his wand and held it straight out into the road, whilst looking in the direction any traffic would be coming from. Slipping his wand away again, he checked again the bulging envelope in his inside jacket pocket, just to make sure it was there, before leaning against a nearby lamppost to wait; arms folded tightly over his chest and hands tucked under his armpits in an attempt to ward off the chill.

The constant rushing sound of the city traffic filled the background of the frigid night. Time became elastic. His anticipation made him impatient, his fatigue made him drowsy. Waiting made seconds seem like days. Somewhere in the distance a dog barked. A siren wailed.

The wind seemed to drop ever so slightly. The streetlight flickered. Remus pushed away from where he leant and adjusted the bag over his shoulder.

And from around the corner a dark blue triple-decker route-master bus skidded into the street, wobbled precariously as it came out of the turn and slid to an abrupt halt in front of him.

"Welcome to the Knightbus. Emergency Transport for the stranded witch or wizard. My name is Terry Falkirk and I will be your conductor for this evening."

Remus ignored the bored tone of the elderly conductor and offered him a weak smile as he boarded the bus.

"Where to?"

"The leaky cauldron please." Remus replied politely, offering a quiet thank-you once the conductor handed him his ticket with a grunt. Heading for the stairs he made his way straight to the top deck, found a seat, bought his bag in front of him and wrapping his arms tightly around it, promptly fell asleep.

He didn't wake up again until the conductor poked him in the shoulder and gruffly demanded he get off the bus.

~HpɸqH~

Goblins did not believe in opening hours. Gold was just as valuable to them at night as it was by day, and they didn't much care who gave it to them either. It was for this reason that Gringotts Bank had two public entrances. The main entrance, with its grand foyer and regal colonnaded facade on Diagon Ally, and a side entrance, which was a simple wooden door coming off a lesser known side street not 50 yards around the corner. The Night Bank entrance.

It was through this door that Remus tiredly stepped, welcoming the warmth of the indoors after trekking the length of Diagon Ally from the Leaky Cauldron. In deference perhaps to the fact that this part of the bank tended to serve the more nocturnal of its clientele, the lamps were always kept low in the Night Bank. In deference to the fact that Wizards were not fond of being reminded that such nocturnal denizens existed and that Goblins were willing to serve them, there was no public access from the Night Bank to the main bank. There was no deference in mind when it came to the position and heights of the counters. Goblins spent the majority of the lives being looked down upon; here to see the ones with power over power itself, very few didn't have to look up. Remus was clear of six feet in height, but he still had to take three steps back and crane his neck to see the Goblin at the one open cashier's desk.

It was, to Remus' mind, an inspired bit of bloody minded 'so there' psychology on the Goblins' part.

"Yes?" The Goblin bit out impatiently.

Fishing the precious envelope from inside his jacket pocket, Remus plastered a polite smile on his face. "I'd like to exchange some Muggle money."

The Goblin narrowed its eyes. "For deposit or cash?"

"Cash... please." Remus answered, as charmingly as he could. Goblins could be difficult, and if this one felt any reason to be officious, it could insist he deposit it. Which wasn't so much of a problem in that he had an account (not a vault but a deposit box on the first level - he'd never had enough money to require a vault) but he'd rather not have a record of his transactions. Questions could be raised as to where he got the money in the first place.

"How much?" The Goblin snapped, breaking Remus from his thoughts.

"Two thousand, one hundred and fifty pounds." Remus replied, clarifying quickly when the Goblin began to look annoyed. "Sterling."

That was all of it. Everything he'd managed to save in two years. Apart from the cost of his rent that he'd left in his Muggle bank account and the seventeen pounds and an assortment of copper he had in his wallet to last him until next pay day. He didn't count on eating well this month.

The Goblin made a considering noise and looked up to study a board on the wall before beginning to make calculations on the parchment in front of him. Remus found his eyes drawn the board as the Goblin worked; the brass plates which held the numbers sat in neat rows, but occasionally one would rattle round to a new figure. Exchange rates. Wizard money was wizard money wherever you went in the Wizarding world; Remus guessed this was because the Goblins dealt with it all, and there was only one Wizarding Bank. Muggles on the other hand had thousands of banks, in hundreds of countries each with its own currency, the value of which seemed to change by the minute. That the Goblins knew about this and worked with this system came as no surprise to anyone; many suspected they ran half the Muggle banks anyway. The board rattled again. Thankfully, the line for Pounds Stirling didn't move.

"Four hundred and fourteen Galleons, nine Sickles and one Knut." The Goblin announced, in its nasal, bored and slightly contemptuous monotone. "Commission at five point five percent."

Although he'd known it would come in at something around that figure, Remus still felt disappointed it hadn't been more. Handing over the envelope, he sighed, stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets.

"Wait please."

A rather pointless thing for the Goblin to say in his opinion; he'd just handed over his life savings, he wasn't about to walk out. As the Goblin counted the notes from the bundle in the envelope, Remus looked away, letting his eyes roam around the room, settle on the twitching numbers on the exchange board for a while before drifting away again.

He barely noticed when the Goblin began to count out the Wizarding money, although there was something distinctly comforting in the sound of the coins chinking together. Muggle money, no matter how hard he worked for it, never seemed entirely real. Just like the Muggle world never seemed quite real. Stifling, restricted and prejudiced though the Wizarding world might be, it was still home. If he could, he'd come back here. If he could get a job, earn a living, have any kind of life here, he would. But he couldn't, so he would make do as best he could.

Starting tonight, that should be easier.

Taking the bag the Goblin held out to him (he really should have remembered to watch the Goblin counting out his money. Well he'd find out soon enough if he'd been diddled) the tall, sandy haired werewolf left the bank, and began the long walk back up Diagon Ally towards his next destination. He had no worries about it being closed. Shops in respectable areas might close up in the early evening, but where he was headed was not a respectable area.

Oh no, not by any stretch of the imagination could Knockturn Ally be considered respectable. It was however the one place he could get what he needed. Respectable establishments in respectable areas would not after all, lower themselves to making something designed specifically for a dark creature. Should any proprietor feel so inclined to do so and word got out, their regular clientele would simply evaporate. So that left only those kinds of places where they didn't ask questions, where they didn't care who they served or for what purpose their wears were to be put. As long as the customer had the money to pay for it, they were happy to sell to anyone.

Knockturn Ally was lined with places like that. Due to its very nature it was not somewhere to be entered lightly. In truth there were only two ways to do it. Be seen, and be seen as too dangerous to mess with, or not to be seen at all. He was too tall, too obvious to hide, so taking on an air he really didn't feel, he strode purposefully into the gloom. He might have appeared to be swaggering confidently towards his destination, but his eyes never truly left the shadows. It was never wise to ignore the shadows in Knockturn Ally.

It was not shadows however that caught his attention before he reached his destination. Shouts could be heard ahead through the fog. Angry shouts, the sounds of breaking glass. Foot falls. The sound of a splintering door.

More shouts and through the fog, between himself and his destination, Remus could make out figures in smart suits, lots of them. He watched two of them apparate with a struggling man held between them. It was a raid. What department and for what reason he couldn't tell, but he wasn't going to hang around to find out. After all, he was where he was, and even though it was not quite 2am, it was close enough to discount the difference. He doubted anyone would bother giving him the chance to explain.

Turning on his heel, he didn't bother about swagger, just speed. Around him he felt the shadows move. He got the distinct impression that those lurking within them were doing rapid fire calculations between the benefits of mugging a target that turned out to be less intimidating than they'd initially believed, or doing a runner from whatever it was that had scared said target into turning tail. He smirked when he realised the shadows were all suddenly empty. 'Good call.'

By the time he reached safer territory, disappointment had begun to set in. Fear of being caught somewhere he really shouldn't be, and the consequences of that had turned into a familiar gut plummeting sensation of anticipation unfulfilled, hope dimmed. Like a child who'd been allowed to see their Christmas gift and then been informed they had to wait until Christmas day to actually have it, he felt an almost overwhelming sense of anti-climax and impatient frustrated longing. For weeks he'd been gearing up for this. For weeks he had waited for this last pay cheque to arrive knowing it would give him just enough achieve his goal. He'd been able to think of nothing else for days. And although he knew academically that he would only need to wait a few hours until the start of a new day, those hours felt like agonising eons.

That was of course if the shop was even there in the morning. He hadn't been able to tell from his vantage point exactly which building those Ministry officials had been raiding.

His fingers were going numb. Looking up he caught sight of a bright crescent moon letting him know that this night would only get colder. Werewolf he might be, but he was not immune to the cold. He was torn. He wanted to go home. The Knightbus would be cheaper than Muggle public transport, but he could ill afford unnecessary journeys using either currency. And whichever he chose he would end up paying twice more again as he would have to come back in the morning anyway, and then get home again. Better to stay put, but the thought of sleeping outside made him shiver harder.

His wandering feet had apparently had more sense than his head however, as they had brought him back to the Leaky Cauldron. The dim glow of lamps visible through the frosty windows drawing him closer like a moth to flame.

The warmth, the smell of the place seemed to hit him like running into a wall as he slipped in through the back door. The Leaky Cauldron never really closed, although it didn't exactly look open right now. Chairs and stools on tables, a mop running itself around the floors. The fire was still going, but had been left to reduce to mostly embers and a few determined little flames in the large grate. It was an Inn though, so someone needed to be around through the night for the guests staying in the rooms upstairs, and that someone was sat on a high stool behind the bar, one elbow resting on the counter as he perused a copy of the Quibbler.

"Well now. I'd say I'm surprised but I'm not. Half expected to see you sooner or later."

Remus spun round at the unexpected voice behind him and found himself facing an older man with no hair and a friendly smile marred by the fact that the few teeth the man had were cracked and broken. He must be tired; he hadn't even noticed there was anyone there. Confusion washed over Remus in a heartbeat, the man's words ringing worryingly in his head. He'd never been what you might call a regular in the Leaky Cauldron, although he'd walked through many times. For the old Landlord to remember him was slightly disturbing. He must see thousands of faces every day. "Tom."

"Never been one to forget a face me." The man commented idly, gesturing with sweeping hand for Remus to take a seat in a booth not far from the fire. "And yours Remus Lupin is slightly more recognisable than most. Not that that's why I remember you mind." As Remus sat, Tom did too, turning to the man behind the bar and yelling out as he did. "Mickey! Pull your nose out of that bloody rag of yours and bring this man a sommit warm to drink!" Turning back to Remus, Tom rolled his eyes. "My sister's husband's brother's boy. Bloody useless. Head in the clouds that one. But beggars can't be choosers. No-one wants to be working nights these days. Not since... well you know."

Actually he didn't know, but Remus let it pass. He was more curious now why he'd been remembered. He wasn't used to being remembered. "I'm surprised you remember me. I can't remember us ever having spoken before."

"What?" Tom frowned, and then shook his head. "Oh right. Well, no, we haven't. But wasn't likely to forget you four now was I? Regular as bleedin' clockwork you lot were. Week before that school of yours went back and here the four of you would be. Tryin' all kinds of spells and tricks get what you wanted."

Remus raised his eyebrows. Tom wasn't wrong, but he was still a little offended.

"That James Potter." Tom chuckled wistfully, "Gotta hand it to him, he had balls of pure brass that one. Tried it on every-time. Cheeky little git, tryin' to buy firewhiskey when he weren't even tall enough to see over the bar. And you and the little one would be yankin' on his robes, tryin' to stop 'im. Grew up well though din'e? Tragic loss that. Truly tragic."

Remus reached up and took the mug being handed to him by the night barman who'd just appeared at his side, nodding his thanks, genuinely grateful for the distraction. Eleven years was a long time to mourn, but still whenever anyone mentioned James it hurt. James Potter had been his first real friend, and although Remus was an only child, he felt as if he'd lost a brother.

"You seen 'is boy lately?" Tom suddenly spoke up, his tone thick with forced lightness. When Remus shook his head, Tom grinned. "Nice lad. Dead ringer for 'is old man. Shy little thing though, but I guess losing 'is parents the way 'e did would do that wouldn't it? When he come in 'ere not the summer gone but summer 'fore, I thought the poor lad looked 'bout ready to crawl into Hagrid's beard to get away from everyone. Spent the entire time practically clingin' the great oaf's coat. But as I say, nice lad. Reckon his ol' man would be proud of 'im."

For a moment while Tom talked Remus found himself confused, remembering that Harry was supposed to be living with his Muggle relatives. But then his sleepy mind caught up with the maths. Of course Harry would have started Hogwarts already. Hell, he'd be in his second year. It was hard to picture in his head. When Remus allowed himself to think of James and Lily's son, the child Remus had adored, he thought of him as he remembered him. As a delightful smiling toddler. Not a boy almost in his teens.

"How comes you ain't seen 'im anyway?" Tom asked guilelessly.

"I've been away for a while." Remus replied cautiously, "Besides, my connection with Harry and his family became somewhat tenuous after James and Lily's death."

Tom just scoffed. "Nothin' ten-u-ous 'bout it. I seen you four. Like bruvvers. Even after you left school. I reckoned 'fore now that he grew up callin' you uncle or sommit. That's why I weren't surprised t'see you, see? You four always came together and what with havin' met lil' Harry now, and the dumpy one, Peter weren't it? bein' found alive and now Black escapin'..."

It was like the world suddenly turned into silly string. Remus blinked hoping everything would come back into focus. That his brain would point out that he had not just heard what he'd thought he'd heard and it was all just some fatigue induced hallucination. All the colour and warmth in his body that had returned since coming in from the cold seemed to drain away in an instant. Feelings, emotions kept tightly locked down in a secure little box at the back of his mind struggled against their confines, but were too busy fighting each other to overwhelm the prevailing shock and break free.

Tom, looking up to see Remus' face suddenly blanched. "Oh Blimey, you 'ave been away a while in't you?"