Chapter 89: Canis Major*

May 1980

England

After leaving the MacTire clan, Remus tried to scratch out the map he'd seen by memory, tried to remember exactly where he'd seen the marker for the Hart-Horn Tree and the English pack. It was crude and mostly unhelpful, but it gave them a feeling of a semblance of a plan. It gave Remus some comfort in his decision to pull them from Castle MacTire. He needed to have something to justify running. Hermione had been happy to leave. She could tell that the longer they'd stayed in Scotland, the more tenuous her control over the situation became. So she'd let Remus secret them away in the night, heading back to England with promises they'd search for this other pack.

24 May 1980

Whinfell Forest, England

"You know what's been driving me mental?" They were cuddled in Remus' bed in the tent, Hermione's little blue bell flames floating around them as she traced over the map Remus had made like she was memorizing the words of a favorite book.

"What?"

"Three Brothers Tree," Hermione started. "Doesn't it remind you of something?"

"Does it remind you of something?"

"Beedle the Bard." Hermione closed her eyes, her mind flashing to the little book she'd left in the hands of Ronald Weasley with the hope he'd be able to figure out Dumbledore's mystery in her absence. "The children's story, right? It just seems like it has to be connected."

"Maybe." Remus pointed at a curving live he'd drawn across the top of the parchment. "There's a river close by, could be the one from the story."

"Hmm." Hermione tried to remember the river. "Will you tell it to me?"

Remus huffed, but smiled. "It's been years since I've even thought of it, but let me think. The way mum always told it—I think it's something like, there once was a trio of brothers—"

Hermione sank back into Remus, listening intently and committing each word to memory.

There once was a trio of brothers, as similar as they were different. They had different goals and dreams and desires, but at the end of the day they wanted the same thing – to survive.

One day as the brothers were travelling, they came across a river. Deeper than they could see, faster than they could swim, the other side was just out of reach. Attempting to cross it would only lead to certain death, but these three brothers weren't worried. They were, after all, wizards.

The first brother waved his wand, and the rapid waters slowed, almost stopping altogether. He swam across with ease, able to avoid the jagged rocks as he reached the other side.

The second brother waved his wand, and his body transformed into a great bird. He circled the river once, twice, three times before joining his brother on the other side.

When it was the third brother's turn, he waved his wand and built a bridge of stone and stick, moss and mud that stretched across the river, high above the current. He took a cautious step upon the bridge and, seeing that his magic would support him, walked to join his brothers waiting on the other side.

Having successfully crossed the bridge, the brothers took a moment to congratulate themselves. But then the sky darkened and a shadowed figure appeared before them. It was Death himself, and he was angry. The river had claimed all who'd tried to cross it, and yet, the three brothers had survived. Death regarded them for a moment, considering what they had been able to accomplish, and decided to bestow on each of them a gift.

The first brother asked for a wand, more powerful than any that would ever be. He wanted a wand strong enough to defeat Death itself. So Death pulled his hands from the shadows and took from himself a finger. He used the bones to craft a wand and gifted it to the first brother.

The first brother took it home. He tracked down his enemies and defeated them all with ease. But rumors of his power spread and one day the gift was stolen. When the first brother died, he died on the other end of Death's wand.

Headmaster's Office, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry

Albus Dumbledore paced in his study. The Minister was ignoring his owls. Riddle was growing more confident. His Order was suffering from loss, distraction and discouragement. He was just one man and he could only do so much.

His hand, hidden in the folds of his robes, clutched tightly around a wand. A wand of legends, of secrets and betrayal, hiswand. He stopped pacing and looked out the window at the night sky. Yes, he was just one man, but he had done this before. He knew this play, the actors and their movement. He could do it again.

The second brother asked for the ability to cheat Death, not only to be spared but to succeed. So Death reached a hand into the river the second brother had avoided completely and pulled out a stone.

The second brother took it home. He tucked it away for no one to find until one day when he was old and sick and could almost feel the cold presence of Death once more. Only then did he pull out the stone. He turned it once, twice, three times in hand before his body transformed into a ghostly visage. He could no longer feel, touch or taste. He lived a half-life in this form and nothing felt real. The second brother found himself once more at the river and begged for Death.

The Gaunt Shack, Little Hangleton

In the dark of the night, Tom Riddle approached the ruins of the home of the House of Gaunt. Despite the years that stood between him and the last time he had graced these grounds, he traced his steps just as he had before. The house was falling apart, but it would stand for as long as he needed it.

Tom Riddle waved his wand and the rotting floorboards parted, a golden box floating up to his hand. He opened it, letting out the most imperceptible sigh of relief at the sight of the ring inside. He waved his wand again and a darkness settled over the band and stone.

The golden box once more in place, the floorboards returned, Tom Riddle left the shack behind. Just like this building, he would never be reduced to dust and ashes. There was nothing that could defeat him.

When it was the third brother's turn, he asked Death for something that would keep him safe and protected for the rest of his days. Death regarded him for a moment, considering what he had been asked, and emerged from the shadows. He stood before the third brother as an equal and reached back into the dark. From the depths, he pulled a cloak that would hide the brother from all that would seek him.

The third brother took the cloak from Death and returned home, where he lived out the rest of his days.

Potter Manor

James Potter closed a box, pulling out his wand to shrink it down. He'd packed up the things of his youth, the quidditch jerseys, the textbooks that had somehow survived, the boyish knickknacks collected along the way. He packed them all away with a feeling of distant nostalgia. He had a baby on the way, a son. He was grown. Like his father before him, he was creating something to outlive him.

James Potter turned to the next box, the last box, specially labeled because it held that which was most important. He'd pull it back out when his son was ready to learn the lessons most important in this life. His letter to Lily's father and John's reply, for love. An album of photos from the last year at Hogwarts, for laughter. And a cloak the color of the cosmos, for mischief.

Whinfell Forest, England

"Wait," Hermione murmured, turning into Remus' chest. "What happened to the third brother?"

"Hmm?" Remus' eyes had closed, his breathing slowed.

"What happened to him, Remus?"

Remus scrunched his nose and shifted beneath her. When he spoke again, his voice was soft and quiet.

The third brother took the cloak from Death and returned home, where he lived out the rest of his days. He had friends, a wife, a child. He was loved. His life had not been without trouble, but when the worst of it came, he cloaked himself in Death's veil, hidden from those who would seek him. When the danger passed, he would emerge from the darkness back into the light of day.

And at the end, the third brother found himself standing on the bank of a river. Deeper than he could see, faster than he could swim, the other side just out of reach. When he came to the river, he had nothing. He'd left the cloak with his son, to keep him safe and protected for the rest of his days. He'd left his wand behind too, but he could still feel magic in his veins.

So when the third brother approached the bank, he simply waved his hand and built a bridge of stone and stick, moss and mud that stretched across the river, high above the current. This time, his steps were sure. He knew his magic would support him. It was only when he was near the end that he stumbled, his loss of balance threatening to send him into the waters below. But at his side appeared Death and he grasped the third brother like an old friend, helping him along. The third brother looked at Death as an equal and stepped off the bridge to join his brothers waiting on the other side.

29 May 1980

Whinfell Forest, England

After days of circling the forest, they found the Three Brothers Tree just before the full moon. The base of the tree was enormous, over 13 yards in diameter, the trunk hollowed to create a space to rest. The branches and leaves no longer remained, but the forest floor was scarred with the shadows of not one but three mighty oaks.

Hermione knelt to the ground tracing the phantom leaves. "Last one standing. Three brothers. Which one do you think it is?" She looked up at Remus, all at once feeling the weight of her words.

Remus held out a hand for her to take, pulling Hermione into his side when she stood. "Come on, Pup. Let's set up camp here for the night."

30 May 1980

Whinfell Forest, England

Morning came softly with the warm scattered rays of sunlight and distant trilling of birds. Hermione and Remus stretched, yawned and blinked awake curled around each other in the hollow of the Three Brothers Tree. The night had been tame, Pup and Moony taking solace in being on their own. Moony had made a game of herding Pup, nipping at her heels. The anxiety that had been building over their stay in Scotland sloughed off his shoulders, leaving a playful wolf to bask in the moonlight. When Remus woke, he felt rested, a rare gift from Moony for making the right choice.

But of course anytime Moony agreed with Remus' actions, Remus grew restless to make his own decisions, to distance himself from the wolf within. So he fought against the calm, gathered their things, and set them off again to find the Hart-Horn Tree and the fabled pack of Whinfell Forest. He led them north, heavy footfalls drowning out Moony's fading grumbles as Hermione shuffled along behind, still clinging to the freedom and airy lightness of Pup.

In retrospect it was obvious, but when they came across the tree that afternoon, the sight of a pair of stag antlers embedded in the trunk was a surprising sight.

"Oh," Hermione laughed at their search. "Literally a hart horn tree."

Remus wandered up, sticking out a hand to test the sharpness of the antlers as he read from the aged plaque nailed below. "Hercules killed Hart a-greese, and Hart a-greese killed Hercules. There's a paw print here, too. I think—I think Hercules was a dog, a hunting hound maybe."

"Hmm, a hart and a hound." Hermione traced the words. "Like Padfoot and Prongs."

Remus chuckled, setting down his pack and looking around the area.

"Remus." Hermione waited for him to turn around. "Can we please go home?"

He almost said yes. Despite his commitment to their mission from Dumbledore, Remus was tired. He missed his home. He missed his friends. He missed being able to pretend Moony didn't exist. He missed his life. But then he thought of what was waiting for them at home. He thought of James and Sirius and Peter running headfirst into the fight, wanting to make the world a better place. He thought of Lily, pregnant with the future of their found family and still working tirelessly to keep them all alive. He thought of all the things his friends did, what they were capable of, and what little he himself could offer.

This was a mission he was chosen for, something only he and Hermione could do. Dumbledore depended on them. The Order depended on them. He couldn't return home empty handed. He couldn't face them as a failure. He wouldn't do it. And now they'd found the tree Lachlann had marked. They should be close to the pack now. The decision was made.

"No."

"Remus."

"We haven't made any progress."

"What are you talking about? We've been all over this bloody island."

"And we have nothing to show for it!" He shook his head and turned from her to scan the treeline.

"Remus, stop!" She didn't have the power in her words, wouldn't have used it even if she did, but Remus still turned.

"What?"

"What is it you think we're doing out here?"

"We're on a mission from Dumbledore? We're recruiting people to join the fight—trying to."

"No." She shook her head and approached him. "No, we're not. No one is going to join us, Remus. No one is going to leave their lives, their efforts to find normalcy, and risk it all."

"That's what everyone in the Order is doing. We will find other people to do the same."

"These people aren't the same. They're werewolves." Remus shut his eyes and Hermione grabbed him, making him listen. "They're werewolves. We're werewolves. As much as you want to forget it or ignore it or pretend otherwise, there are things about us that make us different from other people."

"But—"

"Remus, everyone we've met since we left—everyone—has been trying to find their place in this world. Just like us. They're all just trying to find their own little piece of shelter."

"We have to try."

"We've been trying though. We've been trying since we left, but at some point we're going to have to allow ourselves to go home. It's almost June, Remus. I want to go home before H—before Lily gives birth. When is trying going to be enough? When are you going to let us go home?"

Remus stayed silent, breathing slowly as Hermione's words washed over him. His eyes shifted around the clearing they'd stopped in, landing once more on the sun-bleached antlers.

"Don't you want to go home?"

He blinked at her. "Of course, I do. Of course, I do. But I—" He couldn't say it, not even to her. "One more try, please. Let's find this pack and try again. Then we can go home." He shook his head, but wouldn't look away. "You can go now. I won't be mad and I'm not going to stop you. I-I get it. But I'm going to stay, and I want you to stay with me."

Hermione sighed. "Do you promise this is the last one?"

"I swear."

"Then I'll stay. Even though I know we're going to go home alone, I don't want to go without you."

Remus reached across the distance for her hand. Hermione didn't hesitate before taking it, letting him pull her into a hug and burying her face in his chest. Merlin, she was tired, but she came out here for Remus. She wasn't going to abandon him anytime soon. But the world had a way of testing them, and as if to prove a point, a voice broke through their sacred silence, its owner having approached unnoticed during their talk.

"Well, well, well, little wolf, isn't this sweet."

Hermione turned at the moniker, a smile on her lips at the recent memories it carried, but this time it was directed at Remus and the man that spoke it certainly didn't carry the jovial spirit or sense of comfort of Redmond Murphy. No, the sight of Fenrir Greyback standing before them didn't bring any comfort at all.

Chapter Title Translation: *Greater Dog