~ 7 ~

Out of Sight

"All right, Lupin," Moody growled. "This is it."

Remus nodded, pulling his shabby rucksack on over one shoulder, then the other, and shrugging once to settle its weight in the centre of his back. He reached high up inside the hollow tree one last time to feel for the reassuring smoothness of his wand, hidden from view (if not from touch) by a handful of dry leaves and several Concealment Charms.

"Leave a coded message in the tree if you need to contact the Order. I'll check it every day or two. Or send me a Patronus, for emergencies."

Remus found himself fighting to suppress a snigger at Moody's ponderous reminders. He did know all the plans by heart, after all—most of them were his plans.

It was good to find, in these singularly unfunny circumstances, that his sense of humour had not deserted him entirely.

"I'll meet you right here Tuesday next at midday to hear your first report." Moody's magical eye was darting in all directions, spinning so fast it made Remus feel slightly ill. "If I can't make it, Tonks will come instead, as she is your backup contact. I'll bring her along sometime before then, to show her this Apparition point."

Remus nodded again, but the bubble of laughter in his chest froze and shattered, leaving him empty.

It was a good thing Moody hadn't said for sure which day he would bring Nymphadora here.

He wasn't sure he could trust himself to stay away.

The old Auror clapped a heavy hand on his shoulder and looked at him with both eyes for once. The natural eye was full of something that didn't quite seem to fit in Moody's craggy face—Remus wasn't sure if it was apology, or concern, or maybe even compassion, but it warmed him a little despite the dementor-induced chill blanketing the countryside.

"Thank you, Alastor. I'll see you Tuesday." Remus scraped up half a smile for the man who was now his only link to the Order, and turned to go.

"Lupin."

He turned round again.

"Constant vigilance!"

Remus bit back a fresh surge of slightly manic laughter and nodded gravely.

His sense of humour had quite literally saved his sanity when he had found himself all alone in the world once before. He would hold on to it again this time.

For as long as he could.

~o~

Remus forced himself to take a step, and then another, away from Moody—and away from his wand. His feet made their way along a narrow, rutted track through the wood. Today, the path disappeared into the clammy fog not ten paces away. But after the weeks he'd spent under Moody's Invisibility Cloak, observing the camp from a distance, he knew it ran straight for a good half mile before curving to the right to follow a sluggish river. And there, in a clearing at the bend in the path by the river's edge, stood three derelict old houses.

Derelict, but far from abandoned. Those three houses were the heart of Fenrir Greyback's domain.

Remus turned around and looked back the way he had come. He could no longer see the small clearing around the hollow tree, but fog would be no problem for Moody's magical eye. He didn't dare wave, so he inclined his head, once, before resuming his trek along the path.

A faint pop echoed unevenly through the fog. Moody had Disapparated.

Remus was alone.

He clenched his fists, refusing to acknowledge the shiver of fear that crawled along his spine. This was simply another Order mission. There was nothing to be gained by dwelling on the fact that he would be gone for months this time, not days. Or the fact that, to be accepted as part of the pack, he might be forced to give up the veneer of civilisation—of humanity—that he had so arduously cultivated, all his life.

Or, for that matter, the fact that he would soon come face to face with the very monster who had cursed him more than thirty years ago.

"Furry little problem," he muttered, striding resolutely through the mist, trying to remember the way James had grinned at him every time he made that joke.

At least there was one good thing about this mission—it meant it would be months before he would come face to face with Nymphadora again.

Months.

His rebellious heart twisted, and he struck his thigh with one fist, angry at himself for that selfish reaction. Being apart from Nymphadora was a good thing—anyone could see that. If he stayed away long enough, surely this mad idea of hers that she was in love with him would fade. They would be able to have their old comfortable friendship again.

If he stayed away long enough, surely the dreams would stop. Especially the one that replayed, in excruciating detail, that night, weeks ago, in Hogsmeade—the sudden unexpected warmth of her hands on his shoulders—the faint scent of lavender he breathed when she leaned close—the deeply buried hunger that utterly overwhelmed him when he finally, finally tasted the sweet slide of her lips against his.

The joy that exploded in his heart before he came to his senses and staggered back, away from her kiss. Away from her touch.

Yes—surely he could learn to stop these inappropriate thoughts. But only if he stayed away. Merlin, she had even hugged him just now when he said goodbye, pulling him close, burying her face in his shoulder—the scent of lavender again—the soft warmth of her cheek nestling against the frantic pulse in his throat—

It had nearly broken him.

And then she had tried to kiss him again.

Remus stopped for a moment on the mist-shrouded path and buried his face in his hands, fighting to calm his ragged breathing.

Nymphadora was his friend. The best friend he had found since his school days. He must never forget how lucky he was to have such a steady, loyal, cheeky, funny friend.

He must never, ever let himself think about how much he loved her.

~o~

Voices began to penetrate the mist. The fog thinned, and Remus saw that he had reached the bend in the track and the houses by the river.

In front of the first house, a rather squat man, burly for a werewolf, was feeding kindling to a tiny fire, swearing at it under his breath as the logs refused to catch. Several shabby people sat or squatted round the fireplace, which was made from half a metal drum split lengthwise. These were all people Remus had watched from under the Invisibility Cloak, although it had been too risky for him to come close enough to hear them talking or learn their names.

He had planned this moment, very carefully—the time and the place. It was the day after the full moon, and everyone looked weary and worn. They would not, he hoped, have enough energy to be feeling especially aggressive toward a newcomer.

It was also not a coincidence that Remus had approached the houses from this side, from the middle of the wood. Greyback and his inner circle used the last of the three houses, the one furthest along the road that led to the small, grimy town squatting a little way down the river. From what Remus had observed, the people in this first house were the least directly under Greyback's influence. And this was important, because his mission was to exploit the internal politics of the camp in order to dissuade as many werewolves as he could from following Greyback into the arms of the Death Eaters.

Besides, the longer he could go without personally attracting Greyback's attention, the better.

A tall, thin man jerked his head up and stared when Remus emerged from the mist. "Who're you?"

"The name is Lupin," Remus said evenly. "I'd like to join your camp." He swung the rucksack off his shoulders and dropped it onto the ground at his feet.

Everyone around the fire was watching him now, except the man who was still poking and grumbling at the kindling. There was a middle-aged woman with coarse grey hair hacked short and uneven, and another, very young woman knitting something with a pair of smoothed and sharpened sticks. A lanky black-haired man, maybe a little older than Bill Weasley, was in the middle of cleaning and spitting three rabbits. He regarded Remus with his head slightly tilted, and there was something effortlessly aristocratic about his bearing that said old pureblood family. The eyes under the black hair weren't grey, though—or hazel, either, just a clear dark blue—and Remus found himself feeling grateful for that. The man's face was young, unlined. He must not have been a werewolf for very long.

"You want to stay here, eh?" The tall man who'd spoken before stood and walked closer, sizing Remus up. "The rules are, anything you find or nick outside the camp is yours. But take something from one of us, and we beat you to a quivering pulp."

"Understood." Remus made a show of looking the man over as well. The streaks of grey through the straw-coloured hair were disturbingly familiar.

"And you don't eat if you don't pitch in," the man went on. "So tonight, you don't eat."

Remus nodded. "Fair enough." For once, that would be no hardship. Molly had plied him with roast beef and Yorkshire pudding and cake at Harry's birthday tea that afternoon, fussing and hovering and filling his plate until he thought he would burst.

The older of the two women squinted shortsightedly at him. "Where are you from?"

"Nowhere, really. I've been sleeping rough for a while," he lied. "My family are all dead, and I haven't had a job for years." That part, of course, was true, and the sigh he let himself heave for effect was a real one. "I'm tired of moving around."

The woman nodded and gestured at one of the logs that formed a rough circle around the fire. "I'm Bess. Take a seat."

Remus sat, studying faces and listening to conversation, which was mostly about plans for hunting, scavenging, and—apparently—stealing the next day.

His people. His world, now.

He found his eyes drawn to the swift, repetitive movements of the makeshift knitting needles. The young woman wielding them was quite tall, with a thin, closed face and light brown hair that hung down her back in a long plait. She seemed to sense Remus watching her, because she looked up and stared back. He tried a friendly smile, but she scowled and returned to her knitting.

Remus sighed and looked away. His gaze landed on the dark-haired man, now turning the spitted rabbits over the fire, but what he saw was another knitter—one with better needles and clean new yarn, but much less skill.

~o~

Nymphadora had surprised them all, that night last winter at Grimmauld Place, when she declined to join a game of Exploding Poker, pulling a pair of knitting needles and a fat skein of wool out of her battered Auror satchel instead. A few lumpy, uneven rows of stitches were all she had so far, and she tugged at them uncertainly before catching her bottom lip between her teeth and launching herself into the fray. She knitted without magic, the needles awkward in her unpractised hands.

"Looks like you've been around my mum a bit too much lately," Bill teased, casting an elegant Shuffle Charm on a battered old deck of cards.

Nymphadora didn't look up, but she grinned. "Naw, I learned from my gran, years ago. That's why I use Muggle needles."

The poker game was as cutthroat as always, but Remus's attention kept straying to the valiant struggle playing out beside him. With disconcerting frequency, Nymphadora counted stitches, swore robustly under her breath, and ripped out a row or two. He thought she was managing to knit more than she was unravelling, but he wasn't entirely sure.

"What's the project?" he asked once, while he was waiting for Sirius to decide whether Kingsley was bluffing.

"Muffler," she replied, her eyes never leaving her fingers.

Remus picked up the skein of variegated wool. The dark gold might have been for Hufflepuff, but instead of black, there was a rich red, a warm toffee brown, and a deep blue. He wondered if the muffler was a present for Ted. "I like these colours."

"Glad to hear it." She flashed him a mischievous grin before groaning and ripping out yet another row of stitches.

For three days Nymphadora and her brightly coloured muffler-to-be were inseparable. Kingsley even teased her about spending her lunch breaks at work on her knitting project. But Remus found himself hoping this new obsession wouldn't last too long—he missed her joining in their card games, and she was only halfway listening to the conversation, reserving the bulk of her attention for counting stitches and swearing.

The third evening was the night before the full moon. Nymphadora and Moody had stopped in, and they all sat and chatted (no sense playing poker with a magical eye in the room) until the clock in the hall upstairs chimed ten. Then Remus pushed back his chair and stood.

"I'd better make it an early night tonight," he began, but Nymphadora was looking up at him in a near panic.

"Oh, wait just a minute, won't you? I've nearly finished!"

"Well, in that case, I'd hate to miss the grand debut." Remus sat back down, smiling fondly as her look of fierce concentration intensified. She was adding fringe to the edges, pulling lengths of yarn through the last row of stitches with some kind of hook and knotting them off. For all the unravelling she had done, the muffler was plenty long now, although it was still just as lumpy and uneven as it had been from the start.

"Ha." With a look of triumph, she shook the muffler out and held it up. "A work of art!"

Remus and Sirius applauded; Moody merely harrumphed, but the corners of his mouth twitched.

And then she was pressing it into Remus's hands, with a smile that was almost shy. "Here."

He blinked at her, caught off guard. "It's for me?"

Nymphadora nodded. "I start a whole week of night shifts tomorrow. I won't be able to stop by, the evening after the moon."

"Oh." Remus felt unreasonably disappointed—he'd really begun to count on her visits to lift his spirits after he'd spent the day sleeping off the transformation. But that was stupid. She had her job, and her own life—it certainly wasn't her responsibility to keep him entertained, for Merlin's sake.

She caught his hand and squeezed it, though, and the easy friendly gesture made him smile again.

"That's why I wanted you to have the muffler—something cosy and colourful. I thought it might cheer you up a bit."

And she'd spent every spare minute knitting it since she'd seen the Auror duty roster, so that it would be finished before the moon. Remus felt warm all over. "It's exactly what I need. I'll be sure to wear it all the time when I'm recovering."

Nymphadora grinned at him, the wide bright grin like a sunbeam that he so loved to see.

~o~

"All right, you lot," someone called out.

Remus looked up, heart racing. Stupid. He couldn't afford to lose himself in daydreams like that, not on a mission.

The black-haired man was arranging the roasted rabbits on a large platter that seemed to have begun life as the upturned lid of a trash bin. "Supper's ready."

Remus sat quietly as the others hovered around the fire, each taking a plate from a haphazard pile stacked under a tree. They were all eyeing the rabbits, but no one approached the platter until the tall, thin man pushed his way through, picked up a long knife, and carved himself a chunk of the slightly charred meat. Then the burly man started to follow, but the woman called Bess fixed him with a steely glare and he backed away, letting her go first. He crossed his arms and swept the clearing with a dangerous scowl. Remus dropped his eyes, pretending he hadn't seen the silent altercation.

Instead, he made a mental note for future reference.

The young woman with the knitting and the black-haired man were the last to have a go at the rabbits. They had to work a bit, picking meat off the bones, but they each had a decent-sized pile of food on their plates in the end.

Remus scanned the circle of silent, munching werewolves, watching for any sign at all that some of them might be approachable. Keeping his attention focused on his mission.

He would not let himself start comparing this chilly meal with the cheerful chaos of the almost-family he had just left behind at the Burrow.

Or (Merlin help him) with the many evenings he had spent at Grimmauld Place this last year with Sirius—and Nymphadora.

~o~

The muffler was in Remus's rucksack.

He hadn't planned to bring it along—only a couple of blankets, a change of clothes or two, Muggle biros and notebooks for his Order reports, maybe one book. But at the last minute, sorting through the pile of his things he would be storing at the Burrow, he'd snatched up the muffler and stuffed it deep inside the rucksack. He'd leave it in there, where it would be safe; he didn't want to get it dirty, or lose it. Just knowing that a soft, lumpy, colourful talisman of friendship was close at hand made him feel a little less like a soul set adrift.

But a disturbing thought pricked at him. Are you so sure it was a talisman of friendship? What had the light in her eyes meant, that pre-moon night, brimming over with concern and eagerness and just a hint of shyness?

Remus shook his head. It had to have been friendship. She couldn't possibly have thought she loved him as long ago as that. Surely he could keep the muffler with him—take comfort from it—with a clear conscience.

~o~

People had begun to set their plates down, leaning back to watch the fire or wandering away again. The young woman got to her feet, tossed her plait over her shoulder, and began gathering up the empty dishes. "All right, Matt?"

The black-haired man nodded and stood, brushing his hands on his trousers.

"Wait," said Bess. "Cathy, have a rest. Lupin, you help Matt with the washing up."

Shrugging, the young woman dumped her armful of plates on the ground and picked up her knitting again. Remus glanced carefully around the group, but no one seemed to think this development was unusual, so he filled his arms with chipped and mismatched crockery and followed the other man through the fog to the river's edge.

The flicker of the campfire and the sporadic sound of voices faded away behind them as the mist closed in, and Remus felt his neck prickle. He was alone in the last light of evening with a destitute stranger.

The man squatted down and set his load of dishes on the riverbank, but he made no move to start cleaning them. Remus squatted next to him and waited, muscles coiled in readiness to dodge a blow. Or land one, if need be.

But the man merely turned to look Remus over, thoroughly. "This may sound like an odd question, but..." A sardonic smile settled on his craggy face. "Do you believe in werewolves?"

Caught completely by surprise, Remus laughed once, sharply. "I'm afraid I haven't much choice, as I find myself faced with incontrovertible evidence every twenty-nine days."

The dark head nodded. "Well, I'm sorry to hear it, but at least that means you're safe."

"Safe?" Remus raised an eyebrow.

"Safe enough." The sardonic smile returned. "Ordinary vagrants come here too, sometimes, trying to stay with us."

"What happens to them?"

"What do you think?" The man scooped up a plateful of water and let it splash back into the river. "Come full moon, there's one human and two dozen werewolves. My money isn't on the human."

Remus swallowed.

The smile stretched tight, humourless. "Exactly. Greyback—he's the leader here—he thinks it's funny when a human joins the pack, but Bess and I don't like it much. We try to warn them away if we can."

Remus studied the other man, trying to see what he could read in the somewhat haughty face. And—Bess again. She had sent them off to wash dishes together. What kind of influence did she have in the pack? Could he widen her rift with Greyback?

The man held out his hand. "Matthias Malkin."

Remus took the hand and shook it. "Remus Lupin."

But at that, Malkin dropped his hand and stared. "Lupin? Merlin's balls—the Gryffindor prefect?"

Remus blinked. "Were we at Hogwarts together? I'm sorry—I don't remember you—"

Malkin laughed; it sounded genuine. "I was a first-year Slytherin. There's no reason you would have remembered me. But I remember you." The dark blue eyes were sharp. "You never did anything to stop those wild friends of yours, but you never went out of your way to harass Slytherins, either. We thought you were all right."

The two of them studied each other, wary but curious.

"This is no place for a prefect," said Malkin abruptly. "If you want to eat, and stay warm, you have to do what it takes." He shrugged. "But you're a werewolf now, so I suppose you've worked out the facts of life on your own."

Remus drew a careful breath. This was his first opening. "Actually, when I was a prefect, I was a werewolf. I was bitten years before I went to Hogwarts."

Dark eyebrows climbed. "You certainly kept that quiet."

"Well, I didn't win any awards for attendance at lessons," said Remus dryly.

"But that means—" Malkin shuddered. "That's what, twenty years of transformations?"

"Thirty-two," said Remus, quietly. "But the point is, we have more choices than this. We don't all have to follow Fenrir Greyback."

Malkin scowled. "What brings you here, then? You don't look like you've got a lot of options just now."

"It's a long story." Remus managed a smile. "But I don't suppose our days are full from dawn to dusk, here." Not the most brilliant joke he'd ever made, but at least it was a joke. "Maybe I'll have a chance to tell you sometime."

"All right." Malkin still looked dubious, but the scowl was gone, and the glint of curiosity was back. "Maybe you will."

~o~

That night was chilly and very dark. Remus lay, wrapped in his two shabby blankets, on the musty stained carpet of what had once been a living room. The moon was completely obscured by the fog, but he knew, of course, that it was just past full.

All around him were mutters and snores—the sounds of his packmates. His fellow werewolves. Some of whom might even be potential allies.

Even so, and even with exhaustion from the transformation heavy in his bones, a cold knot of loneliness cramped his stomach and sent sleep hovering just out of reach.

He sighed and rolled over. He'd gone soft. For Merlin's sake, he had been essentially alone for the better part of twelve years; it shouldn't be this difficult to strike out on his own again. He ought to have known it would be dangerous to let himself begin to rely on Sirius's blazing loyalty, or Molly's motherly fussing, or Nymphadora...

Her image filled his mind again, before he could stop it—hair fine and brown, eyes dark with anger, fists clenched in frustration. "I don't care how long you'll be gone. I'll be waiting, Remus. I love you."

"Don't—please don't. You mustn't." But as his lips formed the silent plea, his hand crept into his rucksack and groped for a handful of soft, lumpy wool.

He wound the muffler around his neck and settled one loose end under his cheek.

Warmer now, Remus slid gently into sleep.

~o~


Author's notes: An earlier version of this chapter was posted at the metamorfic_moon community on LiveJournal in June 2008; thanks to the mods and commenters there! Also, the lumpy muffler is the knitting project Andromeda put Tonks onto during a Sunday lunch at the end of "Words Unspoken" in Part I of Kaleidoscope.