Chapter 140: November 1999

"But, if we kiss, it would end the world. And I've ended the world before. No one survived."

-Iain Thomas


They're ignoring your Order in hopes of finding more metamorphmagi. They've captured three since we last spoke. I don't know what they're doing with them, but they aren't coming back..not alive, anyway.

I expect there to be some sort of ambush soon, but it's been quiet. I think they're becoming suspicious of us all. I need to move soon.

Nikolai

Remus held the letter in his hand, squinting as he muttered the muddled print to himself. He was thankful for the quick response to his single line of any news? Scribbled and sent two days ago. But, now he had more questions and more things to think about than he had room in his brain for.

Things had been quiet. Too quiet. And, in his experience, nothing good ever came of war when it remained at peace for very long. Not when things had been heated so quickly, so furiously, over the past year.

By his count, The Order had lost nearly a third of their new members since they'd re-banded a year ago. He spent weeks tearing through his memory, going as far as removing things from his own head to free up space to dissect locked-away moments he'd yet to explore. Conversations with Hermione that had long since been forgotten or muddled amongst years of hazy memories.

He watched the map obsessively.

He sat with a mug of tea and Nikolai's letter clutched in his hand as he stared at it now, trying to determine what magical signatures were nefarious and which were harmless or allies. What he'd thought to be his best bit of magic was quickly becoming a complete mess of a pain in his side and he wished he had more time. More magic. More people to put their minds together and figure this out.

Instead, he was stuck with only his own fractured brain and that of a young, twenty-something muggle-turned-werewolf who was learning about magic on the fly. And while Mika was fantastically curious about all things magic, the fact that she didn't have any of her own was becoming increasingly problematic.

And it didn't help that everything seemed to be compiling. All the things he could remember from the first war and his months spent with Hermione in her own time seemed too much. Remus felt like he could barely discern the past from the present any longer, making his head feel like it was going to split in half.

"You're doin' it again," Mika said, throwing herself over the back of the couch to bounce slightly on the cushions next to him.

He looked up, shaken from the spiral of his mind. "Doing what?"

"Starin' at the map like a nutter."

Remus frowned, "I'm trying to differentiate between hotspots."

"Uh-huh. And how's that workin' out for you?"

He sighed into his lukewarm tea and grimaced as he sipped at it, muttering a wandless heating charm to get it up to an acceptable temperature. That was new lately, too—the wandless magic. He'd always had a bit of a talent for it, but not to this extent. He could so easily perform spells that used to be very taxing to perform wandlessly. It was a bit concerning, if not wonderfully convenient.

"It's not," he admitted.

"Didn't look like it was."

"I don't think I ever realised quite how much magic there truly is," Remus stood, pointing to a spot on the map. "Notice how there are no dots here? There's no magical being in sight, yet it glows like it's ripe with magic. And, from what I can gather, it's nothing more than a patch of land outside of Shropshire on a muggle farm."

"Oughta check how their crops are doin'," Mika suggested. "Maybe they're gettin' more than the average around them or somethin'."

"Possibly," Remus hummed. "But then, does it really matter if they are?"

"No. But, it would answer the question that I know you've been sittin' here thinking about for way too long."

Remus let out a small laugh at that. It was embarrassing how well Mika could spot him.

"You're probably right about that," he stepped away from the map and handed her the letter from Nikolai. "He said he needs to move soon."

"Yeah, he's been with that pack for longer than he's been with pretty much anyone. 'Sides me, of course. He's probably getting restless."

"Or scared."

She looked up at Remus, her brows pulled together in confusion. "Why d'you think he's scared?"

"Do you know what a metamorphmagus is?"

"Sounds like a fuckin' mouthful."

Remus chuckled and sat down, crossing his legs at the knee. "It is a bit. They're a type of magical people—incredibly rare. No one really knows how the phenomena happens."

"It's not like us then?"

He shook his head, "No. Not like us. They're born with the ability to morph and change their bodies at will. To…well, to whatever they like. I used to know one, well, I suppose I still do. She would often change her face to look like a duck for a laugh."

"Just her face?"

He could tell Mika was intrigued by this. Her curiosity was always given away by the stream of questions and gentle awe on her face.

"Just her face. Could turn her hand into a fin if she liked, change her hair colour, her eye colour, her height."

"God, how did anyone know what she looked like?"

"I like to think I did," Remus admitted. "At one time, anyway. She wasn't one to completely change everything. Although, that could just be the arrogance of half her bloodline coming through."

"Oh, so you knew her?" Mika smirked, waggling her eyebrows. "In the biblical sense, I mean."

"Yes, I know exactly what you meant, thank you."

"Doesn't answer the question."

He let out an exasperated huff and shook his head. "Yes. In the biblical sense."

Mika let out a great gasp, clutching her chest as she fell forward. "Remus! You dirty old man! Here I thought you only ever had eyes for your Hermione when really, you were slaggin' about town with another woman?"

Remus rolled his eyes at her dramatics. "I didn't know about Hermione for many years, and even if I had, it would have been disgustingly inappropriate."

"Right. Because you robbed the cradle."

"I didn't—she came to me first. And, anyway, I was an adult with needs—"

"—oh, I know all about your needs, if you recall you aren't exactly quiet—"

"—it was hardly slagging about to have a few people who I—"

"A few?!" Mika nearly shouted, falling over once again and pretending to die on the floor from the shock of it. "I can't believe what I'm hearing. Swotty, hundred-year-old Professor Remus Lupin had many lovers that he—"

"Merlin, will you shut up? You're missing the point."

"I've forgotten what the point is. You've distracted me with your harpy ways."

"Metamorphmagi!" Remus waved a hand at the discarded letter on the coffee table. "We were talking about metamorphmagi."

"Oh, right. Yeah. We're talkin' about important stuff here, Remus. Why are you prattlin' on about your former sex life?"

Remus sighed, finishing off the last of his tea. "You're actually insufferable some days."

"Ah, it's a good job you like to suffer a bit then, innit?"

"The metamorphmagi can change at will, Mika. And Death Eaters are kidnapping them. Do you not see an issue with this?"

"I see issues with most things those lot do, so yeah, o'course. But, what specifically are you on about?"

"I've seen this before," Remus said, rushing to get the words out in hopes that it would prevent another tangent from Mika. "More than once, actually. In 1980 and in 2002."

Mika's demeanour changed a bit as she picked herself up from the floor, settling into the corner of the sofa with her legs tucked under her bottom. She tilted her head in thought, frowning.

"They were takin' metamorphosis back then, too?"

"Metamorphmagi, and yes. We didn't know it at the time, but yes. I didn't find out what they were doing with them until I followed Hermione back to her own time. They were using their blood."

Mika stared at Remus for several beats, and he could practically hear her mind whirring. He suppressed a small smile as she worked it out, thinking that in another life, one where she'd been born magical instead of having Dark Magic forced onto her, she would have made an excellent Ravenclaw. Perhaps that was why she and Luna got on so well.

"They can change at will, and the Death Eaters are using their blood. They're trying to force transformations, aren't they?" Mika sounded a mix of horrified and intrigued. "That's why Niko wants to leave, he's scared."

Remus sank his teeth into his bottom lip and nodded sagely. "They made some sort of potion that would turn us without the moon. I think it was an attempt to create an army of us that they could control at their whim. When I took it—"

"You took it?"

"Not willingly," he clarified. "It was incredibly painful—more so than any other transformation. And, I could remember everything. It wasn't like it is with Wolfsbane Potion. I didn't have my more human mind, exactly. It was still the wolf, but it was clear. Sharp."

"They can't keep us human," Mika said. "If they kept us human we'd be able to make the choice. But, if they turn us, leaving our mind intact but still…you know, our wolf…"

"They'd be able to train us like dogs."

"Bastards," Mika swore, sitting back with an angry huff. "What fuckin' low life, bottom feeders want a pack of werewolves to control like that?"

"Dolohov. Greyback. Voldemort, too, I suppose."

At the sound of Greyback's name, Mika flinched, shaking her head at the jolt it sent through her.

"Nikolai has to get out of there," she said. "We can't let him become some science experiment for them."

"We'll find him refuge," Remus agreed. "You should meet with Luna, and see if any of her or her father's connections can get him out of the country. Get any of them out that want to go. I have some old contacts in Germany I can reach out to—a few in Prague as well. Packs that are neutral…or, were, at least."


The cold chill of late November turned quickly to the bitter frost of December as Remus spent weeks sending letter upon letter to every contact out of the country he could think of. He'd cursed himself over and over for being put back out into the packs a few years ago at the time, but now, he was grateful it had happened. While it'd been a couple of years, it was still fresh enough that he had at least a little bit of pull amongst a few packs. A few members that he remembered connecting with that would hear him out and extend a helping hand to a few young werewolves who were scared and in over their heads in the heat of Death Eater riddled Britain.

Luna had secured a way out—though Remus wasn't totally clear on the details of it. However, it would take a few months to line everything up.

The lack of instantaneous results was making his stomach twist up in knots. Which was only exacerbated by Mika's insistence that she should stay here with him, despite his fear of her capture. Werewolves had started disappearing left and right from their dens on the morning after the moon. It made sense, Remus knew, because logically, that was when they would be at their weakest. They'd be willing to do just about anything if there was the promise of some sort of small reprieve from the ache in their bones and the emptiness of their stomachs.

And, despite his vehement objection to going out to the countryside to run, Mika was stubborn and refused to remain cooped up in the house with him on the full. He couldn't blame her, not really. Not when all he wanted was to run freely and chase rabbits and feel his fur rippling in the wind. But, for once, he was unwilling to risk himself. They had too much work to get done. He had too much to do. He couldn't risk being bound and gagged in some dank corner of a basement while Dolohov force-fed him transformation potions…again.

"March," Mika announced loudly, slamming the front door closed behind her with a flourish as she kicked her boots off and hung her coat on the hook.

"March?" Remus repeated. "That's more than three months away!"

"Funny enough, I do know how to count," Mika quipped, moving toward the kitchen to put the kettle on. "And believe me, I told Luna the very same."

"If Dolohov moves before then—"

"We'll be fucked," Mika agreed. "I know. We'll be fucked and so will anyone that's been taken."

Remus took a slow breath, pushing back from the table to let his head hang back. He'd been hunched over a dozen different books for hours now, a copy of Tales of the Beedle and the Bard open next to a notebook he was jotting down random thoughts into.

He'd heard back from the other packs that were willing to help. They needed only a date and expected time frame for when they would need to expand their pack a bit. He'd opted to let Mika do the set-up with Luna, negotiating with different contacts of the Lovegoods' and trying to secure safety while he continued to research different types of magical hotspots and what they could mean for his search for the fountain.

In the back of his mind, Draco's words niggled and scratched, The Forest of Dean staying put as an impossibly simple answer. It seemed almost too easy for the fountain to be so near, so tangible. He'd spent nearly two years now digging through every scrap of information to locate anything close and had come up dry. One forty-minute conversation with Draco Malfoy had turned his entire method of research on its head.

"What if we can find the fountain before then?" Remus pondered aloud, his eyes tracing over the map once again.

"And do what?" Mika countered, "We have to wait until young, hot you isn't around anymore and we can't go stormin' the grounds before your mate makes her move to find you, right?"

Remus sighed, running a hand over his face. Every time they took a step forward, it seemed they were thrust ten steps back and the whiplash was becoming a bit much. His skin crawled with the need for action, his mind constantly turning the same information over and over until he felt sick with it.

But, Mika was right. And loathe as he was to admit it, Remus believed she often was these days. He wondered when she'd seemingly become his voice of reason. When had that voice turned from the melodic lyric of Hermione's to the brash, northern one that was going on about her meeting with Luna that it was now.

"...oh, and she mentioned something about some caves in Wilfred or wherever the hell Malfoy lives. Apparently, they're planning to go there soon. I told her to hold off a bit because it's gonna get nasty and they need to rest up while they can but—"

"Hang on," Remus interrupted, bringing himself back to what Mika was talking about. "They're going soon? They can't go before the werewolves get out. Do they not understand how dangerous that would be?"

Mika snorted, throwing herself across the sofa and stretching with a groan. "I don't think they really care much to be honest, Remus. Your lot seems to have a death wish, at any rate. I reckon they think if they go now, they can catch the Death Eaters off guard while they're lying low."

Remus wanted to scream. He wanted to put his fist through the fucking wall and knock over a shelf. They were trying to save people by working in the background and trying like hell to get willing werewolves to safety and The Order was planning to storm the fucking grounds.

But, of course, they were. Of course, they would believe it was the best course of action. Remus would have thought that himself back during the first war. Strike while they're quiet—when they least expect it. It was infiltration and fighting 101. But, he was wiser now. He was methodical in his movements and knew that try as they might, The Order was not infallible. Not even with Harry calling the shots instead of Dumbledore.

Harry wouldn't want to willingly risk the lives of innocent creatures. Remus knew that for sure. None of The Order would want that.

"We have to figure out how to convince them not to—"

"Did you not listen to a bloody word I've been sayin'?"

"What do you mean?"

Mika let her head fall back with an aggravated sigh, "You know, for an ancient professor, you are really fuckin' thick sometimes."

"So you've said. What are you talking about?"

"I said that they want to move soon. But, I talked to Luna. She knows the entire situation, obviously, I mean she got us a ticket to get the other werewolves out, didn't she?"

"Yes…"

"So, clearly she's going to talk to your girl and Harry and make sure they don't make their move before that point, you bloody idiot."

Remus sucked his teeth, barely suppressing the urge to remind her that he had to teach her how to read so he was hardly the idiot in this situation. But, he knew that would do nothing to prove his point except to rile Mika up or upset her. And really, he didn't need to make an enemy of the only person truly on his side at the moment.

He took a slow breath, calming his fiery nerves. It was a process now that he'd fully accepted Moony, another thing that was new and far more annoying than he would have ever anticipated. He was quick to anger these days, and slow to cool down. Before, he could usually talk himself off the razor-sharp edge of fury relatively quickly, but whether it was Moony or the result of being cooped up and unable to really fight for the last year and a half, he found small things were pricklier than they'd been before.

And Mika had a general fondness for needling him.

"Thank you," he ground out, taking a measured, even breath through his nose. "I'm going to go lie down for a bit. Do you need anything?"

She snuggled further into the sofa, putting her hands behind her head as she crossed her ankles. "Nope. All set."

Remus could tell Mika was extremely pleased with herself and he barely held back from rolling his eyes.

Instead, he traipsed back to his bedroom—their bedroom—and closed the door softly behind him. He'd found this to be the best way to bring his heart rate back down when the anger surged through him and sent his blood boiling.

Being surrounded by Hermione.

Her clothes, her scent that lingered delicately amongst the linens, the pictures she'd lined their wardrobe with, the bottle of lotion she'd use every night. He sat on the edge of the bed and sighed, scrubbing his face with his hands.

Get yourself together, he thought. It isn't that much longer, now. You've waited years, a few more won't kill you.

But, that was the thing.

Ever since he'd accepted Moony, the need to be closer to Hermione nearly choked him. Every passing moment he'd spent with her at the ambushes or small battles they'd shown up at, sent a shockwave through him that he couldn't ignore. It was becoming difficult to function when she was nearby and knowing her location now didn't help.

It'd be easy, he often thought, to tiptoe his way through Hogsmeade and The Forbidden Forest. He could easily recall the path back to The Shrieking Shack, the way the trees curved around the magic of the place, the way any other creature in the vicinity avoided it like the plague. He could so easily sneak a peek through a window. Just once. Just to hold him over a bit longer.

The idea took hold and his magic seemed to thrum in his veins of its own accord and before he knew it, he was apparating to the edge of the forest, his mind racing with panic and terror and overwhelming excitement.

He stuck his hand in his pocket to retrieve his wand a gasp tumbled from his throat.

He'd left it at home. It was sitting on the coffee table next to the stack of magical journals and magazines he'd checked out from the library last. Lying there lamely next to a cold cup of tea he'd reheated at least half a dozen times.

"Fuck," he breathed, his feet seemed to move without his permission, taking him further into the forest.

It was reckless. He knew it was reckless. Yes, he had an extremely adept handle on wandless magic now, but to apparate to Hogwarts without his fucking wand? Merlin, he really was a bloody idiot.

Still, he was already here, some ridiculous part of his brain reasoned. And it wouldn't be worth it to apparate back just to grab his wand. This had to be a one-off thing. He couldn't risk doing it again and getting caught.

He cursed himself up one side and down the other the entire time he trekked through the forest. He grumbled as he leapt over dead logs and hopped past circles of mushrooms that seemed far more inviting than anything should be. He shook his head in frustration as he climbed soggy hills and slid in mud that soaked through his busted, old trainers.

He was freezing. His teeth chattered as his breath frosted in the air with each huff. He could feel goosebumps pimpling on his arms, the cold making his skin ache and burn beneath the jumper he had on.

But, he could see the smoke billowing in the air from the lopsided chimney. He smiled fondly, remembering how Hermione had told him that they'd use magic to expand the place, to add rooms and create some semblance of a place that would fit them all if it needed to. The crooked roof and wonkily stretched rooms were so reminiscent of The Burrow that Remus realised that the Weasleys must have had a hand in the magical reconstruction of the place.

Remus passed through the wards with an ease that concerned him. He hoped it had more to do with the shack still recognising his magic rather than The Order's inability to place more secure wards around it. Still, he decided he would mention it to Mika in hopes that she would tell Luna upon her next visit and ensure they were strong enough to keep even him out.

Beyond the warped walls, he could see shadows moving in the low, orange light coming from the windows. He crept closer, praying that he didn't trip any alert wards—if they had any, that is—and pushed himself flush against the chipped siding. He had enough sense to at least attempt a disillusionment charm and Remus sighed with relief as the strange feeling of having an egg cracked on his head overcame him, the charm slinking down his back and over his chest, encasing him in the darks of the forest around him and the muddied grey of the shack.

For the first time in a very long time, he thanked the Gods for his height advantage and peered into the window.

His heart stuttered in his chest as his eyes searched, begging anything and everything above that Hermione would appear if only for a moment, to give him something to hold onto. He needed it. He needed to see her. He needed to be near her. He needed it like air.

He could get through this, he knew, if he just got a glimpse. He could get his shit together and focus on all the work he still had left to do if he could just see her—just feel her magic intertwine with his for only a moment, outside of the throes of battle.

And then, there she was. Standing directly in front of him, slightly taller due to being in the shack, of course, but he could clearly see her eyes as she searched the perimeter.

She looked over her shoulder and shouted something, and though he could hear it if he strained to listen, it didn't matter. Because a heartbeat later she was staring back out, her brows knit together, her mouth pulled in a tight line.

Hermione was thinking, Remus realised. She was trying to figure something out. She rubbed her hand across the back of her neck and bit her lip as if it pained her.

And Remus felt it, too.

He could feel the magic coursing through him, the tight pull in his chest to her, the heat that warmed him from the inside and tingled all the way from his head to his toes. Her eyes went wide as she took a deep breath, her teeth still working at her lip.

"You okay?" A deep voice came from inside, a hand placed on her shoulder.

She looked over and smiled, though Remus could tell it was forced.

"Yeah. I'm fine. I just…I just had an odd feeling."

"A lot of that lately."

She chuckled, a smile blooming across her lips and it almost took Remus to his knees.

"Yeah, I suppose you're right."

He watched as Hermione dragged her eyes away from whomever she was talking with and looked directly at him, something in her chocolate eyes telling him she could feel it too. She could feel the way their magic was tugging and twisting, itching to break free of whatever terrible confines it was restrained within. She wasn't marked yet in this time, but his magic still knew her as his. It still sizzled in his veins and begged to be threaded with hers as it had all those years ago—or like it will, soon? He still wasn't sure how to refer to any of this in his head or aloud. All he knew was that he was absolutely mad for coming here, but he couldn't bring himself to regret it one bit.

Hermione's gaze lingered another moment, her face crinkled in thought, and it was the loveliest thing Remus had seen in years.

"Hermione, are you coming?" The deeper voice broke her from whatever trance she was in, staring out the window and straight into Remus' soul.

"Yeah. Yes," she called back, taking a slow breath and straightening her spine—a determined move if Remus had ever seen one.

And then, she turned and he watched as she walked away. Watched as her hips swayed gently from side to side, as her hair moved slightly with each step, as she disappeared out of view and Remus felt the tightness in his chest loosen, just a bit. Just for a moment.

She was here, at the shack, where she was supposed to be. And she was alive and well, smiling and talking to friends and still so full of magic before anything could begin to drain it.