This is a story set during the first wizarding war, based on the story The 39 Steps by John Buchan / the Alfred Hitchcock film of the same name starring Robert Donat – Donat just gave me Remus vibes when I was watching it and that's mostly what inspired this fic. Elements from both the film and the book will be used, especially in the first chapter, but the plot will also take its own route. (And you don't need to know the 39 steps to understand what's going on.)
It might also be useful for me to mention, just to avoid any wondering/confusion, that Sirius never became an Animagus in this au.
Remus was, to the depths of his own supposedly dark soul, thoroughly disgusted with life.
Pulling his wool coat about him to protect against the harsh winter chill in the air, he crept down the dark streets of Knockturn Alley. It was late, coming up to eleven o'clock. He had managed to find some cash-in-hand work down a side street and was heading to a pub to get himself something to eat and, if his funds stretched far enough, a bed for the night.
He felt done in, as he so often did these days. When the teachers at Hogwarts had warned him what the real world would be like for someone like him, he had thought he understood, but he could have never anticipated the full extent of the slow deterioration of his general mood and zest for life that would accompany the consistent knockdowns to his person as he went about his adult life, be they physical or psychological.
He had only been beaten up once. A few months ago a group of drunk wizards had cornered him and kicked him into the dirt. Fortunately, they had either temporarily forgotten they had the ability to wield a wand or were so infernally bad at it that they had decided it was easier to resort to a solid round of fisticuffs.
The beating had been unpleasant, but the instances that truly got to Remus were when people pointedly kept their distance, when they gripped their child by the hand with fear in their eyes, or simply apparated away from him on the spot. Some women had spat at him in the street just two days ago, and the humiliation of the act had brought him close to shouting at them in miserable frustration, but as usual, he kept his head down and slunk away.
It was the ones that stuck out from society that bore the brunt of the simmering dread that had gripped the nation. Remus could understand that people were scared. You-Know-Who was now a deeply rooted presence in the psyche of every witch and wizard in the country. There were whispers that the Ministry had been infiltrated, and not just by the pureblood career types who snacked on death a bit at the weekends, but by the true believers, the ones who wanted to rewrite society and push as many kinds of people as they could into the mud.
The dangerous thing was it was not in the news. It was not spoken about, only whispered in shadowed corners. Every day someone seemed to die mysteriously or disappear without a trace, but there was no call to arms, no joining of hands against the dark. Instead, people were turning inwards, thinking of only themselves, hoping that if they kept their own heads above water, eventually the tide would turn.
More and more shops and residences were putting up wards against dark creatures, something Remus had discovered the hard way when he had attempted to enter Flourish and Blots, been barred from entering, and subsequently stared at in horror through the window by the shop assistant. The alarm had made several people in the street turn their heads, and Remus had been forced to make a quick exit down a back alley.
Unfortunately, many people did not seem to need an alarm to spot him as other. Several thin, white scars marred his face these days. One ran from the top of his right ear to the start of his jaw, another down the side of his neck, and several were criss-crossed over his face, from his brow to his nose to his cheek. People saw the scars and the worn-out robes and made their assumptions about him, and it just so happened that they were right.
Not to mention the fact that Remus knew he just looked rough these days. He was pale and thin. His hair was grown out, and when the drunk bastards had caught him unaware, they had managed to knock one of his back teeth out, so when he smiled there was a neat square of black on the upper righthand side of his mouth.
As Remus headed down the shadowed streets, he passed by two witches muttering on a corner, both dressed in fine clothes but carrying between them a paper bag that was smoking and letting out a pungent odour. Remus took a shortcut down a small alley that ran between two shops, pausing and taking a step to the side to let a harassed looking man hurry past.
Turning onto Knockturn's main street, Remus noticed two aurors standing at the corner of a building. They looked to be on high alert, their wands drawn, both wrapped in muted scarlet robes.
The aurors tended to avoid entering Knockturn Alley as much as they could, and so far, they had not given Remus much trouble. He tended to keep the hood of his cloak up and his eyes to the ground if he could get away with it. A few weeks ago a tall, black-skinned auror with a piercing gaze had cornered him and accused him of loitering, but he had not been unkind. On the worse side of things, the notorious Madeye Moody had twice pulled Remus to the side as he was walking along and asked what his business was, and Remus had been very relieved to get away. Moody was the kind of man who would do what he thought was right and damn the law, and there were several rumours of the auror making arrangements for people disappear who the Ministry had seen fit to clear of all charges.
As he neared them, Remus realised the two aurors were standing across the road of the very pub he wished to enter. He tensed as he made his way past, but they made no move to accost him. Pushing the door open he ducked his head through the aged doorway of the pub.
Remus had stayed there several times before, the last being only a few days prior. The barman was a portly, red-faced man, who looked far too ordinary for the pub he owned. Remus knew him to be a gruff but fair landlord, who had a "no questions asked" policy. He gave Remus a nod as he approached the bar to ask for a room.
'You're very welcome,' he huffed, flicking through a ledger, 'but someone's opened a brewing business next door, and there's a very pungent smell of stewing mandrakes about.' Other than that, he promised a comfortable, private room where Remus would not be bothered by anyone, and Remus found himself pleased to be skulking about in the underbelly of the wizarding world, if only for the anonymity it provided.
Remus ordered the cheapest supper on the menu and a pint of ale before settling down in a shadowed corner with his drink. With the pub being situated in good old Knockturn, it had managed to squeeze in far more shadowed corners than the average alehouse. Remus could just about make out a hooded figure across the room nursing a pint, and a thin and nervous looking old man in another corner who kept peering out the windows into the dark street beyond. A woman with long blonde hair flowing over her shoulder was sitting at the bar, steadily stirring her drink, her eyes flicking through the pages of a book that Remus was certain he had already seen move of its own accord.
Remus also kept the hood of his robes up. The scars on his hands, which he had spent most of his life attempting to cover up, were something he flaunted in places such as this. Anything that made him more unapproachable was a good thing.
He had found a peculiar kind of comfort in places like Knockturn Alley. There were fewer judgemental looks, and the fear in people's eyes when they saw him for what he was became a protection rather than a threat. It did not suit him, not really, but it worked, and it was necessary.
Remus had been "between addresses" for coming up to three months now, a phrase he often employed when asked by a stranger in a pub, or by a potential employer as they looked down their noses at him. Retreating into the muggle world had worked at first, when things had become too much for him to bear, but money was always an issue. You could not write "incapacitated from the full moon" on a benefits form, or ring in sick to tell your boss the transformation had been a particularly nasty one that month. Of course, he could not do that in the wizarding world either, but at least he had a set of skills at his disposal.
Lily, James, and Peter had been his housemates when they had all left school, but very quickly Lily and James moved into their own house, and now they had gone into strict, permanent hiding, so it was almost impossible for Remus to visit them. Peter had retreated back to his mother's house and subsequently fallen off Remus' radar half a year ago. Remus had a strong suspicion he had fled the country.
Mary had let him have her spare room for a while, but then she had found out about him and did not take it very well. Life had soon morphed into a continuous business of sleeping on people's sofas and scrabbling for enough money to rent a room here or there. The Longbottoms had been good to him, always giving up their spare room when he asked, in full knowledge of what he was, but now they had a new-born baby, they needed the space.
Remus had well and truly reached the end of the list of people who had the ability and willingness to help him, or at least, the end of the list he dared to ask.
He lifted a hand and trailed his finger around the rim of his pint glass.
It was difficult to not grow numb to his own life. Constantly scrabbling for money and a place to rest made living feel far more trouble than it was worth. Not to mention, he had never considered how lonely life would be. He had not counted on his school friends starting their own lives without him as he was more and more pushed to the fringes of society.
The Order had been a reprieve for a few years, but gradually people had found out what he was, and even with James' staunch support Remus had been at best untrustworthy in many people's eyes, and at worst a dangerous, unpredictable element. He had made some tenuous friendships, but most of them had disintegrated with the Order itself. When Dumbledore had failed to recruit even a single auror, people had started to lose hope, and then members had begun dropping like flies, and the Order had fallen apart.
Remus was lucky to be alive. He had to keep reminding himself of that, even if he did not really feel it.
The barman brought his food over. Remus cast a subtle poison-detection charm, then ate it swiftly. Once finished, he leant back in his seat and sat there for a while, sipping at his pint of ale, and trying to throw off the thoughts of the day.
A flicker of need came over him. He had not had anything like a romantic relationship in his life, not even at school, but he had occasionally visited the queer muggle bars and clubs when he had felt the urge. It had been fun when he had first left school, and sitting in the pub with a full belly and alcohol on his tongue he felt a desire to feel carefree again, even if it was just for a few hours, to temporarily throw off the fear and the hatred and the grey, damp walls of Knockturn Alley, to find hot want and excitement in the arms of another man.
But he had already paid for the room. He had been on his feet for most of the day, and the full moon was four days away. He needed to take rest wherever he could get it, and there was of course always that niggling fear that if he went to the effort of a hook up, it would just make him feel all the more empty and alone, in the end.
Thoughts of dancing and sex morphed into the numbness once again. Life was leaving him feeling parched of all emotion, in a horrible, twisted way, like he wanted to claw at the walls of his own consciousness.
Looking around the room, Remus spied a discarded paper on one of the chairs near him. He reached for it, turning it over to find the morning's edition of the Daily Prophet. The headlines were full of placating tales of the Ministry attempting to fix the holes in the system and a crackdown on dangerous enemies of the state. It was hard to know these days if the Ministry was indeed still scrabbling to maintain power, or if the Death Eaters really had infiltrated and You-Know-Who was the one pulling all the strings.
Remus sighed and put down the paper.
Not for the first time, the idea of fleeing the country came to mind, but it was a hard enough endeavour for an ordinary magic-user, and harder still for someone like him. All the floo networks were being watched, and there were anti-apparition and anti-flying wards placed on many sections of the sea, for Merlin's sake, so it was almost impossible to go beyond the physical borders of the island. All the boats to and from continental Europe were charmed and warded, and should a witch or wizard do something so horribly muggle as to get on a flight, there were wards placed on them too. The Ministry, it seemed, was terrified of the entire wizarding population of Britain upping and leaving to distant lands, and Remus honestly could not blame them.
There were ways of doing it, if you acquired approved travel papers for example, but Remus had no money, and he was of course, a bloody werewolf. Every detection charm in a mile's radius would go off if he attempted to travel abroad, and even if he did manage to escape, he doubted there was another country that would have him.
Remus finished his drink, rolled the paper up and put it in a pocket inside his robes to read more thoroughly later.
Standing up and walking to the bar, he nodded at the barman, who handed him a large brass key. Remus followed the familiar stairs up to a corridor that did indeed have a pungent smell of boiled mandrake leaves.
He had been given room four, and he was just fitting his key into the lock when he felt a shift in the air beside him. There was, he realised quickly, a man standing at his elbow, and the sudden appearance of someone so close to him made Remus jump away, searching his pocket for his wand. Remus had not seen him approach, or heard him follow, and he was about to send a stunning spell through the pocket of his robes when the man pulled back his hood.
'Can I speak to you?' he asked in a hushed tone. 'In private.' He cast a quick glance over his shoulder, then nodded at the door of Remus' room.
Remus was completely taken aback, but quickly recognised the man's cloak. It was the same man who had been sitting across the room from him down in the pub. He was a slim, young man, perhaps Remus' age or a little younger, with cropped dark hair, a dusting of stubble over his chin, and clear, bright blue eyes.
'Please?' whispered the man, his eyes imploring. 'May I come in for a minute?' He was steadying his voice with an effort, and his hand was pawing at Remus' arm.
'I'm sure you can understand that…' Remus began, but then his raking eyes took in a fresh scar that ran across the bridge of the man's nose, and another down the side of his neck.
It was perhaps not the most intelligent or safe decision to make, but Remus found himself unlocking the door of his room and motioning the hooded figure inside. No sooner was the man over the threshold than he ran across the room, pulling the curtains shut. With a flick of his wand he lit the collection of candles that dotted the room, on the bedside table and in the lamps on the walls. He went on to peer into the corners of the room, even going so far as to look under the bed. With a glance at Remus he pulled out his wand and performed a quick Homenum Revelio, as well as several other detection spells.
Remus watched him do all of this, and then jumped as the man came striding back towards him.
'Is the door locked?' he asked feverishly. Remus could only stand back against the wall with his wand in hand as the young man took the key from him, locked the door, then cast a quick locking charm for good measure.
'I have the funniest feeling that I'm about to be murdered,' Remus said dryly. He would have believed it too, had it not been for the way the man was carrying himself, the wild look in his eye, as well as the fact that he was potentially a…
'Are you… like me?' Remus ventured to ask.
'Muffliato,' said the man briskly, then he, to Remus' relief, stuffed his wand into his robe pocket and turned to Remus, breathing heavily. 'You mean, am I a werewolf?' He huffed a laugh, finally letting his shoulders slump. 'Well spotted.'
The room consisted of a brass bedstead in the centre, with an old, patched armchair at the foot of the bed, and it was into this that the man collapsed, leaning his elbows on his knees and rubbing his face.
'I really am very sorry,' he said. The room was as cold as the night outside, and his breath sent clouds of water vapour into the air as he spoke. He looked back up at Remus with an open, almost pleading expression. 'I saw you here the other night and I meant to ask you then, but I got scared, and then you didn't come back again the next night.' He let out a shaking breath. 'I thought you would understand.'
The man's non-threatening demeanour allowed Remus to let himself relax ever so slightly, but he was not ready to loosen his grip on his wand just yet. 'Why me?' he asked slowly. 'Who are you?'
The young man blinked at Remus, somewhat incredulously, and then shook his head. 'Don't you recognise me?' He seemed quite disappointed. 'Regulus Black? I was in the year below you at Hogwarts.'
Remus felt his eyes widen as he took an involuntary step backwards. He immediately wanted to run, wanted to kick himself for being so stupid. He had let a known Death Eater into his room.
Regulus looked different to how he had done at school, swaggering around in his Slytherin robes, tripping first years, and laughing when James had fallen off his broom in quidditch. The scars were, of course, a new addition, but there was also a feral look about his entire person that was so at odds with the aristocratic pureblood Remus had seen at school. His eyes looked sunken, like he had not slept in days, and his robes, although clearly of fine quality, were crumpled and stained with watermarks.
Remus did not know whether to continue to back away, or storm forwards. He could feel his heartbeat thumping in his ears. He raised his wand, ready to curse the man, and kept his voice low. 'Don't think I don't know what you are.'
Black did not look remotely fazed by Remus' threatening stance. 'Well,' he tsked, 'I didn't think I'd get any of the werewolf hate from one of our own.'
Remus narrowed his eyes. 'You're a Death Eater.' He could hear the disgust in his own voice.
'Yes, yes,' Black agreed with a wave of his hand. 'None of that matters now.'
'None of it matters?' Remus asked incredulously. He wanted to punch him. 'Your people have murdered so many of my friends I've lost count. You cornered the Prewetts. You got Dorcas...' He was spluttering, and he was not entirely sure why he had not sent off a curse yet. 'You're the bastardthat almost killed Lily that time in Hogsmead.'
'I remember you quite well, from school,' Black mused, blatantly ignoring all the accusations thrown at him. 'When did you get bitten?'
Remus shook his head at the man, consumed with loathing. 'You have five seconds to get out of here or…'
'You've clearly been a werewolf for several years,' Regulus cut in, tilting his head as he looked Remus over, 'what with all those scars on your face.'
Remus looked at him scornfully, and with a sneer he asked, 'Did you never notice the scars I had when I was at school?'
Black watched Remus for a minute, his eyes rapidly scanning his face, but then he laughed and shook his head. 'No way.'
'The whole time,' Remus said, nodding. He had still not lowered his wand.
The Death Eater's laughing expression slid off his face so beautifully that Remus almost laughed himself. 'You're lying.'
'Why, because I fancy pulling your leg?' Remus had had enough of this. He wanted the man out of his room. He never wanted to see him again.
'That Dumbly bastard,' Black said, shaking his head. 'You were a werewolf at school? Someone could have been killed… or bitten.'
'Well, they never were, and despite what most people think, none of the other students caught it through mere proximity.' Remus stepped forwards, towering over the Death Eater and pointing at the door. 'Now, if you don't mind…'
'You can lower your wand, Lupin,' Black said, glancing at it disinterestedly. 'I'm not going to hurt you, and trust me, you want to hear what I have to say.'
Remus had been close to transfiguring the man into a pot plant and chucking him out of the window to later be brewed into some kind of illicit potion along with the mandrakes, but the sheer arrogance of Black's tone, the way he presumed Remus would, in an enraptured state, drop everything to listen to him, was so insufferable it was distracting.
'So you know who I am,' Remus asked slowly.
Black shot Remus a bemused look. 'Erm, yeah. I just said so. You're Remus Lupin.' He paused for a moment, looking Remus up and down. 'Lupin, the long-serving werewolf, apparently.' He must have noticed Remus' guarded expression, because with an offhand laugh he divulged, 'Oh, and yes, I know you were in the Order.' He leant forwards. 'That's why I've come to you now. Or, it's one of the reasons. I know which side you're on.'
Remus hated Black, hated everything he had done and everything he stood for. He did not want to help him.
He opened his mouth to speak, but Black cut him off, his eyes wide. 'You know, I don't have time for this dubiety right now. I haven't got a single person left who I can trust. Even Kreacher is of no use to me now, not that I'd want to make him any more stressed than he already is. My brother still won't speak to me, my parents…'
'As interesting as all that is, Black,' Remus put in, 'I'm not your therapist.' Then Black's words registered. 'What brother? I didn't know you had a brother?'
Black flicked his hand dismissively. 'My dearest older brother went to Beauxbatons. He disowned me when I joined the Death Eaters. You'd probably love him.'
A crashing sound came from down in the courtyard below, followed by the shouts of several irritated voices. Black jolted out of his seat and rushed to the window to peak through the curtains, and Remus was struck by how young he looked. Yes, Remus was not far off the man's age, but Regulus looked like he should have still been in school.
Seeming to decide there was no imminent threat, Black stood up straight and turned back to Remus. The harassed look was back in his eyes.
Remus sighed. He still felt wary of the man, but he did not feel so threatened anymore. Taking his wand, he conjured a glass and performed a quick Aguamenti. 'Drink this,' he offered. 'You look like you need it.'
Black took it with a nod of thanks and drained it in one go, then settled himself back into the armchair. Remus felt like he could do with going back down to the pub and ordering several shots of firewhisky. Instead, he looked around the room and, spotting an old wooden stool sat in the corner, pulled it forwards, transfigured it into another armchair and sat down himself.
'Sorry.' Black leant back in his seat, rubbing his palms over the fabric of his dark trousers. 'You see,' he paused, then laughed with incredulity, covering his mouth with his sleeve, 'I happen at this moment to be dead.'
Remus leant back in his chair, considering.
'Did you hear me?' Black asked, tilting his head. 'I'm dead.'
'What does it feel like?' Remus asked monotonously.
A bemused look flickered over Black's drawn face. 'I know I sound mad.'
'Not mad,' Remus considered. 'You seem…' He paused, searching for the right word.
'What?' Black asked, his smile gone.
'Well, scared.'
Black nodded at once. 'Of course I'm scared. Anyone would be. I was bitten three months ago, and since then everything's gone to shit.' He spat out he word as if he could truly taste it. 'The one friend I dared to tell turned his back on me, in disgust, no less. Actual disgust. My parents tried locking me up in the cellar for full moons, and then decided it would be better to just leave me there week in week out whilst they tried to figure out what to do with me.'
Regulus let his hand drop to the armrest and began tapping a finger agitatedly against the worn fabric.
'My mum couldn't even look at me, you know that?' he continued. 'And I heard them talking when they thought I was asleep, wondering about whether I was still me in here.' He pointed a stabbing finger at his own temple, his eyes wide. 'They were worried that the werewolf had sucked my soul out.'
Remus huffed a laugh. 'You're preaching to the choir, Black. More people than I can count have accused me of being soulless.'
'But I'll bet most werewolves don't get locked up by their insane parents.'
'You'd be surprised,' Remus said darkly, 'but for most werewolves, a simple state of chronic displacement and destitution is fair to be assumed, and that's if you're lucky. Most of the time we're completely feared and ostracised.'
Regulus watched Remus for a moment. 'It's horrible.'
Remus smiled wryly. 'Don't be silly, Black. At least you don't have to worry about eventually ending up dead. You're there already.'
Black leant forwards, his eyes a little too wide to look ordinary, then he laughed, a few seconds too late.
'You're sure you're not mad?' Remus asked.
Black still looked amused. 'You were never this sarcastic at school.'
Remus could not remember a single time he had conversed with Regulus Black at school, but that was not important. 'As much as I enjoy collectively wallowing in how awful our lives have become, I have a feeling that's not the reason you're here.'
Black let out a shaking breath. 'You're right, Lupin. I'm sorry, but I didn't know who else to come to. You see, I always thought of you as a good, honest person.'
In spite of himself, Remus felt a glow in his chest at the compliment. It was the first time anyone had called him "good" or "person" in months.
'You were in the Order, so you must hate You-Know-Who as much as me...'
Remus blinked. 'Wait, what?'
'…and you were a Gryffindor, weren't you? So, you won't be afraid, or run away.'
This struck a chord of guilt in Remus when not only an hour ago he had been contemplating fleeing the country.
Regulus eyed him for a moment. 'You seem the same as you were back at school, so I can only hope that being a werewolf hasn't corrupted you too much.'
'I was always a werewolf, Black,' Remus cut in with a sigh.
Black was looking at him with his complete attention. There was an intensity in his light eyes.
A thought suddenly struck Remus. 'Wait, Black, you don't actually believe you're now evil because you're a werewolf, do you?'
Black leant back slowly in his seat, considering. 'That's what everyone says, what all the books say…'
'Merlin's beard, Black,' Remus said, and he could not help rolling his eyes. 'The books are all wrong. We're not evil. Becoming a werewolf doesn't affect your brain or your personality, at least not on a biological level.'
'But that's why I've tried so hard to do the right thing,' Black implored. 'I've been fighting it, Lupin, the evil tendencies.'
'There are no evil tendencies.'
'I know you won't believe it, but this werewolf stuff, it's made me finally take a step back, actually look at what I was doing… what the Dark Lord has been doing.'
Then to Remus' surprise, Regulus surged forwards in his seat and grasped Remus by the hand.
'You were in the Order. You must know what I've been through.'
Remus pushed himself back in his own seat and pulled his hand away. 'What is your point?' he asked irately.
'You never seemed bad, is what I mean, so I thought, even if you're a werewolf now, you must have at least a bit of goodness left in you. Honestly, if it's true you were a werewolf all along then that's even better.'
Black was being completely sincere. Remus blinked at him, then let out an incredulous laugh.
'I think I can trust you,' Black declared, grabbing at Remus' arm this time.
'Well, I can't trust you,' Remus countered, trying to pull the fabric of his coat out of Regulus' grip.
But Black held on fast. 'You have to!' He looked positively desperate, and Remus was momentarily stunned.
'Erm, ok,' he said, flicking his gaze between Black's intense eyes. 'Why don't you just… take a breath and try to tell me what else has happened.' He honestly did not know what to say to Regulus' assertions, but he knew he definitely wanted Regulus to calm down and give him his arm back.
Regulus did eventually lean back and release Remus. He nodded to himself several times. When he finally opened his mouth to speak again, he spoke so quietly that Remus automatically leant in closer to listen.
'I was a Death Eater. You know that.'
Remus, trying to stay measured, took that in for a moment. 'Not anymore?'
Black shook his head.
'I got close to the Dark Lord,' Black said quietly, as if He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was invisible and standing over his shoulder. 'I was about as close to him as it's possible to get, but my parents were worried. They asked the Dark Lord to give me a background role because I was so young, and he obliged them. I spent most of my time sorting through documents, organising meetings, events, that sort of thing. And I was good at it. I was thorough. I wanted to please the Dark Lord, and he was pleased. He placed more and more trust in me until I was acting as a sort of personal assistant.'
'Personal assistant to the most dangerous dark wizard of all time,' Remus summarised.
'I started to notice certain things,' Black continued, his gaze continuously flicking back to Remus to check he was still listening. 'Certain patterns and topics that kept showing up. Dark, and I mean dark books made their way on to shelves where I was working, and when I wasn't swamped in the usual "taking over the world" administration,' he laughed under his breath, 'I read the books.'
Remus nodded at him to continue, becoming lost in the story despite himself.
'It was disgusting magic, the kind of stuff that is so vile even my parents would turn their noses up at it. I started to realise what the Dark Lord was up to when no one was looking.'
Black shuddered and fixed his gaze on the floor. 'Then I was bitten. I had been running an errand, dropping something off somewhere, and I was worrying about all this stuff I had been reading, so I thought I would go for a walk to clear my head.' He laughed bitterly. 'I was so stupid.'
'It's not your fault,' Remus blurted out automatically, like it was his job to comfort the Death Eater. It was the same thing he had told himself a thousand times throughout his life.
Black did not react. Remus was slowly gathering the impression that Regulus Black was sharp-minded, but easily absorbed. He seemed reluctant to stop his explanation now he had begun.
'I don't blame her. I think her wards failed.' He sighed. 'I was pretty badly hurt from fighting her off, but I had enough energy to cast a ward around myself before I passed out. I came to and heard her calling for me through the woods. She had changed back and come looking for me, and we ended up trying to patch each other up.' His tone flickered with something close to regret. 'I tried to keep in touch with her. I had no idea how to cope, but she killed herself a week later.'
Remus could only nod solemnly. He could understand perfectly why the woman had done what she did.
Black sighed. 'I was now a werewolf, but no one knew. I fixed myself up and went back to work like everything was normal. I was probably in denial, but I also knew it wouldn't last forever. I thought I could perhaps last two months, blagging the first full moon as an illness of some sort.'
'That was dangerous, Black,' Remus asserted. 'If they had found out you were a werewolf and you were skulking around in the Death Eater's inner circle, they would have thought you were up to no good.'
'Well,' he paused, and then he grinned, 'I was, wasn't I? I took down every bit of information I could about what the Dark Lord is up to.' Rummaging in his pocket he pulled out a small book, bound in black dragonhide and sealed with a brass clasp. He waved it in front of Remus then returned it to his pocket.
Regulus then went off on a tangent, telling a tale involving You-Know-Who, a locket, and the Black family's house elf. He did not explain the significance of it, and when Remus asked questions, Regulus waved them off with a flick of his hand.
'It will all make sense once you know everything. You need to know about what other things I found out.' He paused. 'You must know that the Death Eaters have infiltrated the Ministry?'
Remus nodded.
'The Ministry is drafting new legislation against werewolves. They've got their hands on some nasty documents from the 19thcentury that they're using to justify it, twisted studies that…' Regulus shuddered involuntarily. 'The details don't matter, but I read them all, and the stuff they did to those werewolves was absolutely vile.'
'I don't doubt it,' was all Remus could say.
The Victorian era had been particularly hard on werewolves. Remus had read of several instances of vivisection and experimentation where the werewolves involved had not lived to tell the tale.
'They apparently have proof that werewolves can't tell the difference between right and wrong, that sort of thing. The laws will be changing any day now.'
Fear began to settle in his bones as Remus thought of the implications of what Regulus was saying. The younger man seemed to see it him, because he nodded, his jaw set.
'Are you registered?'
Remus nodded slowly.
Black's eyes looked too wide again. 'You think it's bad for us now. You just wait a few more days and see what the government wants to do with us then. They're going to round us all up and put us in cages at the Ministry.'
Remus leant back in his chair slowly, trying to keep his breathing steady. 'They wouldn't.'
'They're going to make it illegal to be a "werewolf at large", so to speak.'
Remus shook his head. 'They've tried it before. In 1781, they tried to kill all the werewolves in Britain, and it backfired massively. In 1920 they tried to put them all in an enclosed community on a remote Scottish island, and that didn't work. They can't…' He shook his head, growing more and more annoyed with Black's condescending expression. 'They can't hunt us down, like… like…'
'Dogs?' Regulus put in, before throwing his head back andlaughing.
'Are you actually unhinged?' Remus seethed.
Black shook his head with amusement, but then a thoughtful look crossed his face. 'If I wasn't a werewolf myself, I would probably think it's a good idea.'
Remus gritted his teeth. 'Well, of course. That's the curse of being human, isn't it? No one cares about anything until it affects them personally.'
Regulus frowned at Remus, as if that point of view had never been proposed to him before. 'But, I mean, we are quite dangerous.'
Remus did not have the energy for this. He felt the desire for sleep start to creep up on him, but he forced it back down. 'We're just the same as anybody else,' he muttered.
'Well, that's not true, is it.'
'It is in any way that matters.'
Black scoffed. 'I am so different now that I'm a werewolf. My sense of smell is much better, for starters, and my hearing. That's how I knew it was you in the pub.'
Remus sighed and ran a hand through his hair.
'Although, I must say,' Black mused, 'it's not nearly as exaggerated as the textbooks would have us belief. When I was at school, I thought that a werewolf would be able to sniff out a human in the whole of the forbidden forest and chase them down.'
'That's just superficial stuff,' Remus insisted.
Black opened his mouth to reply, but then hesitated.
'What?'
'Other than that, people can't tell, can they?' Black asked, worry lacing his tone. 'Just by looking at us, I mean. Sometimes I think that everyone who passes me in the street must know.'
Remus laughed humourlessly. 'You're just paranoid. Werewolves look just the same as anyone else for twenty-seven days out of twenty-eight.'
He considered again for a moment, thinking over the small quirks of werewolf life that he took for granted.
'You must have noticed we can't touch silver, if you didn't already know from school. That includes sickles, unfortunately.'
'Yeah, I've already learnt that one,' Black mused, sounding less frustrated than Remus expected.
'I recommend wearing a thick pair of gloves, which is easy enough at this time of year.'
Black looked down at his own hands, as if he was remembering the sensation of the silver burning into his skin.
'The scars, I would say,' Remus continued, 'are the only thing that might send people's thoughts racing, as they are clearly magical scars. I have quite a few, as you might have noticed, and I find that concealment charms seem to blur my facial features, but you only have a couple, so a simple Obfuscate might do the trick.'
Black nodded slowly.
'We shouldn't have to hide,' Remus muttered bitterly, thinking out loud. 'They want us to hate ourselves, want us to do ourselves in so they don't have to do it for us.'
Regulus stayed silent, simply watching him.
Remus considered for a moment. 'You have to learn how to tune it all out, Black,' he said, not sure why he was giving advice to a Death Eater but carrying on just the same. 'A lot of people can be ignorant, judgemental bastards.' He paused. 'I suppose you know that already, considering the company you've kept up until now.'
'Har, har,' Regulus responded dryly.
'But we are valid people, just like them. Don't let it run you down, alright? We're certainly not evil. Yes, we're dangerous for one day a month, and yes, the most important thing, when living as a werewolf, is to protect others no matter what, even if they hate you, but you also mustn't forget to protec… what?'
Black's eyes had slid to look at him in a peculiar way, and Remus felt an uncomfortable feeling settle over him, like Black was waiting for him to slip up.
'What is it?'
'Nothing!' Black sat back in his seat and tilted his head back, but kept his eyes fixed on Remus. 'You're just so nice.'
Remus hated that. 'Don't be so patronising. Is it so strange to not want to cause other people harm?'
'No, but, I mean,' Black muttered, 'you're a werewolf.'
Remus blinked at the man. He could not believe what he was hearing. 'You're a bloody werewolf,' he emphasised, throwing up a hand.
Merlin, he was tired. He did not have the mental fortitude to deal with this, especially as late as it was. Remus let out a groan and put his head in his hand before rubbing at one of his eyes. He spotted his wand lying between his leg and the chair and wondered at what point he had put it down.
They were both quiet for several moments before Remus raised his head again. 'The Death Eaters eventually found out about you then?'
'Well,' Black said, considering, 'I'm not sure. I told one person, but I've no idea if he spread it around or kept it quiet.'
'What happened then?'
Black shook his head. 'My first full moon was bad. Worse than I could have ever imagined. I locked myself in a cage I had conjured in my house, and I tore myself to pieces. My friend was a lost cause, and I was too wary to ask another Death Eater for help, or go to St Mungo's, so I ended up owling my parents.' His eyes flashed. 'That was a mistake. My mother is good at healing spells, so they managed to fix me up well enough, but then they took me back to our family home and locked me up.'
The recollection seemed to upset him, and pulling out his wand he filled his glass with more water and gulped it down. Once he had finished it, he said in a low tone. 'They wouldn't listen to a word I said. I knew I had to get out, and then the Death Eaters came knocking, wondering where I was. From what I heard, I've guessed that You-Know-Who found out that I know about his private little schemes.'
Remus felt a shiver up his spine. He saw a fleeting image in his mind's eye of Death Eaters floating outside the windows, listening in, or hiding themselves in the walls, ready to spring out. It was not easy to rid yourself of the attention of You-Know-Who's inner circle.
'But it's alright,' Black promised, 'because he thinks I'm dead.'
'Why does he think that?' Remus asked hesitantly.
'I severed the connection,' Black said with triumph. 'He told us himself that only death would do that.'
'How?' Remus asked quietly.
'Well,' Black explained, 'my first step was convincing my parents to lock me in my childhood bedroom rather than the cellar. It took me weeks just to do that, and two more full moons went past in the meantime.
'Eventually they consented. I had hidden an enchanted knife behind one of the skirting boards in my room when I was younger, just in case, and it was still there.' He paused, and the light from the nearest candle flickered in his pale eyes. 'I used it to cut my Dark Mark off.'
Remus felt himself blink in shock. 'You… cut your dark mark… off,' he repeated.
Regulus nodded, his eyes flashing with satisfaction.
'You cut it off?' Remus did not know what to make of the statement, because looking down at Regulus he could see that the man still had two hands. 'You mean cut it out?'
Regulus put down his empty glass and rolled his sleeve up. There, running from his elbow to his wrist, was a jagged and gouged out scar. It was horrible, like a strange monster had scooped out his flesh with its teeth.
'I damn near bled to death doing it,' Regulus said, smiling strangely. 'I nicked an artery. There was blood everywhere.'
'Bloody hell,' Remus muttered. Without thinking he reached out and took Regulus' arm in his hands, turning it this way and that so he could see it in the low light.
In that moment, Remus believed him. He could not deny that it was a wild narrative, but the evidence was there, as plain as day. Regulus had forsaken You-Know-Who.
Regulus had triumph in his eyes. 'You believe me.'
Remus rolled his eyes but nodded. 'What happened after that?'
'I'm rubbish at healing spells, so I had to call for my mother again.' Black rolled his eyes. 'You should have heard her screaming. "But you're a half-breed. Disgusting wretch with your dirty blood. My grandfather bought my grandmother that rug in Persia in 1909 just after the Triumph of Tehran…"'
'Alright, Black,' Remus cut in, trying to put the man back on track. 'So she healed you, and…?'
'They went all quiet when they had seen what I'd done, and then they locked me back up again. But then, a few days later,the Death Eaters came to the door and told them that their son was missing and presumed dead.'
He pulled his sleeve back down, looking at Remus expectantly. 'To cut a long story short…'
Thank Merlin, was all Remus could think.
'…I convinced my parents to let me go, so long as I promised to stay dead.'
Remus paused, considering. 'And that worked?'
Black shrugged. 'Well, I threatened them a bit too. The werewolf thing is actually quite useful when you need to lean into your nefarious tendencies.'
Remus sighed and leant his head over his hand, pinching his brow. 'You shouldn't… that is such a…'
'Oh, don't get all Gryffindorabout it. I didn't have many cards up my sleeve.'
'I can't believe they agreed to that.'
Black shrugged.
'But, surely they didn't…'
'Care more about their damned reputation than their own son?' Black said, not bitterly, but in a breathy, far-away kind of voice. 'Yeah, you guessed it. They'll probably try to win my brother back around now. He isn't too far gone, and they still need an heir.' He shrugged again.
'So,' Remus said, trying to make his tired brain work properly, 'you've left the Death Eaters, and You-Know-Who can't track you anymore?'
'Correct,' Regulus stated plainly. He flopped back in his chair, seeming to have lost a bit of his lustre. More than that, he looked absolutely shattered. Even in the flickering orange light from the candles, his face was unhealthily pale. 'But I've had a few near misses over the last few weeks whilst I've been laying low. That's why I thought it best that I tell you this now. I need someone else to know what's happened.'
Remus could only think, over and over again, why, oh why, did it have to be him?
'Have you eaten?' he asked with a sigh.
Black nodded, but he still looked pale.
'Perhaps some tea then.' Remus summoned the necessary items from the bar. He did not think the barman would mind, and upon checking his watch Remus saw it was past three o'clock in the morning, so he was confident no one would notice.
He poured them both a hot cup of tea and handed one to Regulus, who nodded his thanks.
'So, what? Now you're on the run?'
Regulus nodded. He fixed his eyes on the curls of steam coming from his cup. 'Yes, I'm on the run, and I want to kill the Dark Lord.'
It was shocking to hear Regulus say such a thing, but after a moment's contemplation, Remus found that he believed that too. There was a determined look in the younger man's eye that he could not contest.
'And not only do I want to kill him, but I know exactly how to kill him. Or, at any rate,' he said, a smile curving around his mouth, 'I know exactly how to make sure he stays dead.'
Something about Regulus' words made Remus' skin crawl. He took a swift sip of tea and focused instead on the sharp burn of the hot liquid running down his throat.
'I'm the only one who knows. If I die without informing anyone else, then You-Know-Who will have won.' Regulus leant towards Remus, holding his cup of tea so precariously that a significant amount of it sloshed over the edge and onto the floor. 'I've done some bad things, I know I have, but this is me giving something back. If I give my life for this, then people can't say I was all evil, can they? I'll be doing something good.'
Remus looked down at his feet. He felt jittery at the statement, if only because of Regulus' apparent indifference to his own demise. 'Well, let's hope it doesn't come to that.'
An hour ago, if asked, Remus would have said that Regulus Black deserved death more than most people, as did all the Death Eaters, but if there was one person who deserved annihilation more than anyone, it was He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Remus did not believe in capital punishment, but had that not been the goal of the Order all along? It was not pretty, but they had wanted to bring You-Know-Who to his knees, and if that meant killing him, then perhaps that was what had to be done.
Remus had been staring at the ground, thinking, and when he looked up, he found Regulus' eyes upon him, watching him steadily. His cup of tea was sat on the floor by his seat, completely forgotten.
'Look,' Remus started, and Regulus sat up with an eager air, 'this has all been quite a lot to take in. I need to figure out if I can trust you.'
Black frowned. 'You just said that you believe me.'
'Yes,' Remus said slowly, 'but trust and belief are not the same thing.'
'I trust you,' Black pointed out, as if that was enough to settle all Remus' worries.
'And I'm flattered,' Remus replied, gripping his teacup more tightly than was normal, 'but…'
'Surely you can tell I'm serious about all this?' Black sounded almost bored, as if he thought he was the only one tired of the conversation, as if he could not conceive that perhaps Remus had enough problems of his own to contend with.
Yes, by the sound of it, Regulus Black had left the Death Eaters. Remus did not get the sense that the man was lying, but what Regulus believed and what was the truth had the potential to be very different things.
'One shouldn't really trust anyone right now,' Remus explained pointedly, 'and no offense, but I have a funny feeling that if I get involved with a rogue ex-Death Eater then I'll probably end up dead.'
Black blinked at Remus, then leant back and waved a dismissive hand. 'Oh, I don't care if I die.'
Remus had to grit his teeth to stop himself from screaming at this man's blinkered perspective on the world, as if everything had to always relate back to him.
He held it in and focused on carefully watching Regulus' expression. 'You don't care if you die? What was it you said about not being crazy?'
'I don't,' Black emphasised. 'I've been contaminated now, and there's no going back.'
Remus wanted to smash his own head against a brick wall. 'Werewolves are not evil, Black, for Merlin's sake, we're…'
'And this thing is bigger than us. Someone has to stop that vile excuse for a wizard.'
Remus paused. 'You-Know-Who?'
'Yeah. Someone has to stop him.'
'You are… were… a Death Eater, Black,' Remus pointed out. 'Do you have any idea how hypocritical you sound? You-Know-Who has been vile from the get-go, and you're only just realising it?'
'He's crossed a line,' Regulus stated firmly, not rising to Remus' insults. 'I'll stop him, even if I have to die trying.' Then Black turned to Lupin, a musing look in his eye. 'Speaking of hypocrites, did you know that the Dark Lord is a half-blood?'
Remus had not known that, and he was not sure he believed it either. He narrowed his eyes. 'I'm a half-blood.'
Black blinked at him. 'You're a werewolf, Lupin,' he said, as if Remus was stupid.
Remus went to take a long sip of his tea in an attempt to conceal his utter frustration, but it had already grown cold. He picked up his wand and vanished it with a quick flick.
'But the Dark Lord, a half-blood,' Black continued. 'I could hardly believe it when I found out.'
'Another werewolf tip,' Remus put in with a clipped tone, 'don't start touting blood supremist nonsense around other werewolves when you're trying to make them believe the crackpot story you're telling them. They don't like it.'
Black held his hands up. 'Alright, alright! I was just saying.' Then, in the same breath he said, 'Hey, can I stay here?'
Remus could not help but think it; the man had gone clinically insane. 'No,' he stated firmly, doing his best imitation of Professor McGonagall.
'But it's the middle of the night. I'm tired.'
'Can't you get your own room?' Remus pleaded. He felt anxious to be left alone, but he could not very well throw the man out on his arse when he was in such a state.
'I spent the last of my money on that drink downstairs. Come on, Lupin.' Regulus grinned. 'Us werewolves have got to stick together.'
Remus covered his mouth with both hands and closed his eyes as if he was in prayer. After a moment he said, 'You've only explained half the story here. You haven't told me about any of the stuff you found out, and I'm not even sure I believe any of it anyway.'
This made something flare in Regulus. He seemed to switch, going from a care-free youth to a desperate man in half a second. He pushed himself off the chair and onto the floor. Kneeling before Remus, he grasped his hand.
'You have to believe me.' Regulus sounded on the verge of tears. 'I have no one else, please.' He fumbled around with Remus' coat sleeve, pushing it up and grasping at his forearm. Remus tried to push him off, but he held firm.
'What about your friends?'
Black shook his head, his eyes wide. 'No chance there.'
'Your brother?'
'Definitely not.'
Remus could not help but shake his head. 'I still don't understand why you've told me of all people.'
'Because who else would listen to a werewolf?' Black declared, gesturing widely with his hands before gripping onto Remus once again. 'And we haven't got anything to lose, have we? I know I sound mad, but please, please, the information I have can't die with me, or He will win.'
Remus started to wonder if perhaps it was a better idea for them both to try to get some sleep and talk again in the morning. He suggested this to Regulus and the man immediately began to deflate where he was sat on the floor. It was hard not to notice how frail he looked.
'You take the bed,' Remus directed. 'I'll make do with the chair.'
Before he knew it Regulus-bloody-Black was asleep in his clothes atop the duvet.
Remus was left to transfigure the armchair into a camp bed, but he felt far too wired to sleep.
He went to the curtains and peered down into the courtyard below. It was well into the early hours of the morning, the light of the waxing moon in the clear sky casting a cool light over the outdoor space. Remus expected to see shifting shadows, hear whispers from figures as they watched and waited, but there was no movement.
Searching through the pockets of his robe he found his shrunken trunk full of possessions. He spelled it back to normal size and rifled through his folded clothes for his packet of cigarettes. Smoking had been a casual but long-held vice of his ever since James had nicked a packet from a muggle shop back in sixth year.
He used his wand to light one up and took a shaky puff of smoke, revelling in the feeling of the burn in his lungs before exhaling slowly.
Whether from crazed paranoia or genuine determination,Regulus appeared to have betrayed the Dark Lord. If it was true that he knew a way to kill You-Know-Who, then the information was, as Regulus had suggested, invaluable.
Remus had a fugitive from the Death Eaters in his room, but this was not even the worst thing as far as Remus was concerned. What Regulus had told him about the new legislation was absolutely terrifying. Remus was used to being ill-treated, spat on, ignored, even attacked for being what he was, but he had always had the right to his own freedom.
He finished his cigarette, then stumbled to the bathroom and brushed his teeth, hoping it would make him feel better. His skin felt clammy. He splashed his face with water and ran his cold hands under the hot tap until they hurt. On coming back into the bedroom he grabbed the newspaper from where he had tossed it carelessly on the floor hours ago and spent almost a good hour scouring every inch of the news. There was nothing on werewolves, or any new legislation, but Remus had not expected to find any. When the new policies came into action, it would be front-line news, another way for the Ministry to prove they were doing their job, filling the loopholes, and bringing a dark scourge of Britain to justice.
It was a symptom of the climate of fear that You-Know-Who had created. Maybe Regulus was right, and the only way forward for people like them was to bring You-Know-Who to his knees or die trying. Indeed, what did Remus really have to lose? And he could not let himself be locked up to rot in a damp cell for the rest of his life. Death was a more fitting end.
Except Remus did not want to die. He wanted a peaceful life and friends, the chance to have a boyfriend, and a job he loved, with easy weekends where he could listen to music and read and explore restaurants and pubs and people and life. Was that so much to ask? Why did he have to be the soldier that sacrificed himself for the masses, when the masses already wished him dead?
It was too much all at once. Eventually tiredness crept upon him, and he slumped onto the camp bed in a sluggish stupor, using his long wool coat as a blanket.
Remus woke up with a crick in his neck to the sound of the toilet flushing in the ensuite, and for a second he thought he was waking up from a one-night stand.
Then it came back to him, the desperate ex-Death Eater who had accosted him the night before. Remus would have given every last knut in his possession to have found Regulus gone when he woke, but as usual, fate required him to take the more arduous road.
Regulus came out of the bathroom still looking half asleep and nodded at Remus before slumping back down onto the bed.
Remus took his own turn to wash. He did a refresh charm on his clothes, then went to the sink to have a quick shave. Studying his reflection, he was certain he looked more haggard than ever before. His hair was getting too long and kept falling in front of his eyes, and his silky white scars looked more pronounced than ever against his dull complexion. He rinsed off his face and set about brushing his teeth.
Glancing at his watch Remus noted that it was quarter to seven in the morning. His sleep had been far too short, but it seemed to have been enough to clear up some of his rattled thoughts from the night before.
As much as he wanted to run a mile, in his heart he knew that he could not. Regulus had been wrong last night. It sometimes took Remus a while to pull himself together, but he had remembered that he did indeed have something to lose. He had people who were still alive that he cared about deeply, and if killing You-Know-Who would protect them then he had to do what he could.
It seemed, to him at least, that Regulus was a desperate man, but not a deluded man. They would both have to go into hiding if what Regulus said about the werewolf legislation came into effect soon. Perhaps it would make sense for them to work together.
He spat into the sink, ran the tap, and watched the white foam swirl around the plug hole.
Regulus was lying on the bed with his hands behind his head and his eyes closed, but they flickered open as Remus re-entered the bedroom.
'I'm going out for a while,' Remus said. 'Will you be alright staying here until I get back?' He was not entirely sure why he was showing so much concern, as if the man was his younger brother or something.
Black watched steadily as Remus pulled on his coat.
'I need to run an errand,' he muttered. He needed some air and some space, and he had a niggling feeling within him that he should make the most of his freedom whilst he still had it.
'Try and get a bit more sleep,' he told Regulus. 'I won't be long.' He headed for the door, but as he grabbed the handle he paused, turning back to Regulus, who was watching him. 'I'll help you, alright,' he said, hating himself for his own bloody gallantry. 'You can tell me the rest and we can figure out a plan.'
Black offered him a wan smile and a nod. 'Thanks, Lupin. I knew you were the right man for the job.'
Remus could only sigh and leave the younger man to it.
He made his way down the stairs without meeting anyone else. The sky was still black as he stepped out of the back door of the pub.
Remus walked slowly past the ancient buildings bent over the street, with the soot-stained stonework and the darkened windows of the shops. He passed by the antique shops, the betting shops, and one of the most chilling premises in Knockturn called The Coffin House, the home of all-things necromancy. He walked like it was his last day on Earth, drinking in every detail he could and trying to commit them all to memory. How enchanting the shrunken-head hanging ornaments and gnome-feet footstools would be when he was on the run in muggle England, or caught and locked away by the Ministry with nothing but four walls to look at.
Coming out into the well-lit, spacious swathes of Diagon Alley made Remus remember that he was alone and exposed, despite the early hour and the lack of shoppers.
He shifted his gaze quickly away from anyone who so much as glanced at him. He had no business there, but again, he wanted to chance it, just to see it one last time. In the back of his head he wondered when he had become so bloody sentimental.
Despite how different it was to Knockturn, Diagon Alley had changed significantly over the years, as the wizarding world had drawn in on itself and You-Know-Who's power had grown. Several shops were empty and boarded up, and shoppers would move briskly through the streets rather than dawdling along and perusing shop windows.
Remus walked and walked and walked until his feet hurt, exploring the entire shopping district that was Diagon Alley, and thankfully not encountering any trouble, or worse still any acquaintances from school or the Order.
He chanced entering a bakery which was, to his pleasant surprise, brightly lit, warm, and without any dark creature wards. He managed to stretch his funds to two teacakes, returning the smile of the witch behind the counter.
It was not fair, he thought, falling back into his thoughts of imminent incarceration as soon as he left the shop, as the bells from a far-away church in muggle London chimed out eight o'clock.
Tucking the food into his coat pocket, his fingers twitched around his packet of cigarettes. He longed to light one up, but the habit was a little bit too conspicuously muggle, so he refrained.
He had hoped to be able to snatch another Prophet from somewhere, perhaps finding one on a public bench, and he was just contemplating if he should spend his precious money on the day's issue when it started to rain. He hurried back to the dark safety of Knockturn Alley and back to the pub, mentally preparing himself for the long day of listening and talking that awaited him.
Coming up the stairs to the door of his room, he knocked quietly on the door, presuming it was locked. When no answer came, he knocked again a little louder, then, trying the door handle, he realised the door was not locked at all. Coming inside, he noted that the curtains were still drawn, and the candles were still lit, but there was nobody there.
It did not take long for Remus to spot a boot down on the floor at the edge of the room. Hurrying around the side of the bed, he found Regulus Black lying sprawled on his back, his eyes open and unseeing.
Remus stumbled backwards, his entire body like ice. He felt panic surge within him. It could not he leant over the body and reached over to press his fingers to Regulus' neck, searching for a pulse, even when Remus could already smell the harsh scent of death lingering about the body.
He knew that if he were to examine Regulus further, he would not find a mark on him. Remus had seen dead bodies cursed by Avada kedavra before, but he had never been the first one on the scene, never been forced to face it alone.
The body had a poisonous presence in the room, when not hours ago it had been a living, breathing person. In a strange contrast to Regulus' expression of desperation the night before, his face was tranquil in his eternal rest. He showed no signs that he had been set upon by murderous adversaries. And he was so young, far too young to die alone in a gloomy pub in Knockturn Alley.
But how had it happened? Had Regulus been wrong when he said he was no longer traceable by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?
A shiver went through Remus. He pulled out his wand and cast every spell he could think of. Detection spells, anti-trap spells, then locking, reinforcing, and protection.
Remus wondered in that moment how he himself was still alive, because would it not have been cleaner to kill them both?
Had it been Remus' fault? Had he broken the wards they had cast last night when he left the room? He should have reminded Regulus to renew them at once. Perhaps the perpetrator had been disillusioned just outside the door, waiting for the minute that Remus might leave so he could kill his target.
Regulus had been so indifferent towards death. Had he seen it coming? Had he stared his killer in the eye and been at peace with his fate, or had it been a blinding whirl of panic before a flash of green light and then… nothingness.
Remus sat down in the armchair at the foot of the bed and breathed deeply for several minutes. Remembering the two teacakes he had bought, he took one out of his pocket and devoured it without a thought, then reached for the other and devoured that too.
He had to get a grip on himself. He went over to Regulus' body and, trying not to disturb him too much, rifled through his pockets. He found only a few knuts in one pocket and a scrunched-up tissue in the other. Regulus' wand was nowhere to be found, and after Remus had checked the floor and the bed, he realised the killer must have taken it.
A thought popped into his head, and he threw himself back down to Regulus, approaching his pockets again with renewed vigour. Remus had not been told even a fraction of what he needed to know to do anything about Regulus' plight, but Regulus had written down all his findings in a little book wrapped in black dragon hide.
But, alas, his pockets were empty. The Death Eaters had taken the book too, and all hope was lost.
Remus felt a sudden dead weight of dread come over him like an oppressive blanket. How laughable that only yesterday he had thought life could not get any worse.
The truth was, Remus was now the one in the firing line. The Death Eaters would surely wonder why Regulus had been in Remus' room. They would soon find out that Remus was the one who had rented it. He would be the next one to go.
Even if the Death Eaters did not catch up with him, Remus was a werewolf, and he had a dead body lying on his floor. If caught, he would be blamed for the murder instantly, charged, and promptly executed.
Had that been the Death Eater's plan, Remus wondered, so as not to draw suspicion? They had not cast the Dark Mark. They had clearly wanted the operation to be furtive. It was much easier to pin the murder on Remus rather than have rumours start to circulate that they had killed one of their own. No one in the wider public new that Regulus had left the Death Eaters, after all.
Remus had to disappear. It had already been inevitable, what with the changes to the law regarding werewolves, but now there was no time to lose.
But what should he do? Where should he go?
With regards to Regulus' scheme, Remus still did not know what to believe. Who was to say You-Know-Who had ordered Regulus to be killed because of the secrets he had discovered? The Death Eaters were the kind of organisation that would have likely killed a deserter whether they had important information or not.
It was desperate that he no longer had the black book. If he was more educated on what Regulus had discovered, he would be able to make an informed decision about what he should do next.
But then, the notebook had definitely existed, and now it was gone. The fact that the Death Eaters had taken it must surely prove that they had something to hide.
Remus wanted to scream. He started pacing up and down the room, cupping his hands over his mouth. Regulus' staring eyes bothered him, so he took the blanket off the bed and covered him up.
He had to admit that he was shaken up from losing Regulus, because had he not, in a weird sort of way and for just a few hours, had someone to face the world with? Regulus had been a little bit odd, a little bit rung-out, and an enemy in many senses of the word, but he had clearly been an intelligent person, the kind of person you wanted around when…
Remus stopped. Regulus had been intelligent, and meticulous, and dare he say it, quite paranoid.
Remus pulled out his wand. 'Accio notebook.' Nothing came shooting towards him. He tried a Finite Incantatem as strong as he could manage, in case Black had transfigured the book into something innocuous.
It was all far too easy. He had already searched Black's body thoroughly. Black had no other belongings with him except a bag that he had left in the bathroom, but after a few spells and a thorough physical search of its contents, Remus was convinced it only held the bare necessities of light travel.
Remus then searched the entire room with his bare hands. The pure-blooded Death Eaters would never have resorted to such a thing, and Regulus might have been counting on that. He turned every piece of furniture upside down. He cut open pillows and searched through drawers, but there was nothing.
'Think, think,' he said, and he sat down in the chair, going over everything that he had known about Regulus. Thorough, driven, yes, yes… He had planned ahead for months at a time, cutting his mark out using a knife that he had hidden in his room years before just in case he needed it.
'The skirting board,' Remus whispered, his thoughts zipping and his belly clenching in anticipation.
Taking his wand, he detached every piece of skirting board around the edge of the room, and there, stuffed in a gap between the wall and the floorboards where the bedside table had once stood, was the little black book.
'Regulus Black,' Remus breathed, as he knelt on the floor, clutching his prize, 'I salute you.'
He went over to Regulus' body and lifted the blanket. Amazed again at the tranquillity on Regulus' face, Remus gave him a deep nod. 'I'll do my best, Black,' he muttered. 'Wish me well, wherever you are.'
Remus hated to leave Black there alone like that, but it had to be done. He changed into some of his muggle clothes, a pair of simple black trousers and a shirt under his usual brown wool coat, before shrinking his trunk and putting it safely into his pocket beside the little black book.
He had what he needed. There was no time to delay. Remus gave Regulus a final nod, and dissapparated.
If the story feels a bit heavy so far, please bear with, things will get quicker and more action-packed very soon.
I'm telling you though, it is really hard writing a running from the law type story when the characters can use magic and just apparate everywhere.
Anyway, hopefully people want to read about Remus and Sirius being on the run from the Death Eaters as much as I want to write about it.