A lupinslittlesis and andreanna production :)
Title: Happiness Where I Can Find It Part I
Pairings: past-R/S, present R/T.
Rating: PG-13 for some violence
Summary: Remus Lupin is still healing from his loss when Dumbledore assigns him his newest mission, and he's not happy about it.
Word Count: ~9000
Disclaimer: Not ours, in any way, shape, or form, or I'd be suggesting we go to Hawaii and post this from our laptops on the beach as we drink maitais or something.
Author's Note: This is one of those fics intended to incorporate BOTH R/S and R/T with dignity. Read at your own pleasure/risk. The sex, however, is barely mentioned- the higher version of the rating is for language and violence. However, although it has shippy elements, Remus has taken over completely and the whole thing might well be called Remus-centric, as opposed to any sort of romance.
Happiness Where I Can Find It
The falling of night did not make the air any cooler or any easier to breathe. Remus sucked in a lungful of heat and humidity and it burned through his body, making him sting with pain. At least he could blame it on the air.
The roof of number 12 Grimmauld Place was not the most comfortable place to sit, but then, most roofs weren’t. Despite the heat Remus huddled in on himself, hugging his knees to his chest and bracing his feet against the chimney, and staring up at the night sky. If he closed his eyes, he could almost feel Sirius sitting beside him like they’d sat so many nights the past year, shoulder against shoulder, thigh to thigh.
“I miss you,” he whispered, his words directed at the bright star overhead and the memory beside him. “It’s been a month, and it only hurts more.”
Of course, neither the star nor the memory answered. But Remus never really expected a response.
Hours later, he made his way back down to his room. His room, he thought bitterly, the one he’d only slept in four or five times in before Sirius died, not the room he shared with Sirius. It was a monastic, empty cell that seemed nothing like home and he was contented for it to be that way. As the dawn broke, he finally drifted to sleep, his back pressed against the solidity of a wall instead of Sirius’s body.
***
Remus poured another glass of whiskey, watching Tonks’s eyes warily. Please, he prayed to a deity he didn’t actually believe in, whatever you do, don’t let her start crying again. There had been enough crying and tears and sadness laid on his shoulders in the past two months, and he didn’t know how to shake it off. Or rather, perhaps he didn’t want to.
Searching for Peter had brought him up empty-handed often enough that Dumbledore had ordered him to stop. Guarding the prophecy was no longer an issue. Sirius… he closed the door on the thought that Sirius had been considered as much a duty as a friend in the eyes of others. And despite the fact he was more than capable, no one had yet suggested that he be the one to teach Occlumency to Harry. Stupid Order. But at least he could do this, and as annoying as it was, no one would take it away.
“I could have done something more,” Tonks was insisting, as she had for the past two months. “Remus, what if I’d-“
“It’s pointless,” he said, his voice sounding hollow and dull in his own ears. “You can’t change it, Nymphadora. You can go over what you might have done a million times, but nothing changes.”
“But Sirius-“
Remus sighed heavily. “You forget that Sirius was an Auror as well. An Auror with the same exact amount of training and experience as you.”
He wished she’d shut up. It wasn’t a nice thought and he wanted to chase it away, but the alcohol clogged his brain and wouldn’t allow him any self-delusion. He was tired of telling her it wasn’t her fault, that there was nothing she could have done, consoling and comforting and-
“Remus?”
He snapped back to the present. “Yes?”
Her hand covered his, and he looked up to see her looking surprisingly together. “You don’t hate me, do you?”
“Why should I?” he asked, not really listening.
“I know… well, no one ever mentions it, but he was your best friend. And if it hadn’t been for me…”
Her words cut through the fog, because she was right about no one ever mentioning it. He leaned towards it, parched on some emotional level. “If it hadn’t been for Bellatrix,” he insisted automatically, but he didn’t quite hear it. Not this time.
The memories were crashing down around him, and he sat staring sightlessly at her face, her hand gripping his. He could have sat there for hours. But she spoke, simply saying, “Will you tell me about him?”, and he was whipped back to reality. And it was a reality that he hadn’t known he needed.
He pulled back and chuckled, composure restored, and picked up his glass. “Did either of us ever tell you about our first fight, in the first war?” Tonks shook her head. “I turned a Death Eater into a duck, and Sirius and James turned two more into newts. It was in this club that Dumbledore wanted us to go to…”
His voice washed over his own ears, recounting the tale of that first battle and then other skirmishes as well. Remembering Sirius’s humor, his temper, his honor, his loyalty. Tonks listened eagerly, her hand never wandering far from his as he became more and more animated. The liquor loosened his tongue and soothed the pain a little, and eventually the evening became a blur.
***
Morning light drifted over his back, waking him and reminding him that he had a dry mouth and a pounding, excruciating, painful headache. Odgen, Remus decided, should have been shot a long, long time ago. Or maybe even drawn and quartered, hangovers were that bad. He moved, and then stopped dead for a minute as his arm encountered warm skin and soft cotton, and the realization that a hangover might not be the worst of his problems.
He froze, lying still and feigning sleep as consciousness sauntered in, dragging him to the surface and awareness. Next to him, his companion stretched with a happy sigh, sounding something like a satisfied cat purring. Well, of course satisfied, his consciousness said smugly as it poked him and said it might be time to wake up and figure out what had happened. He mentally smacked it over the head and told it to bugger off, and kept his eyes closed as he insisted he was still sleeping.
The mattress shifted, and the woman- yes, definitely a woman- sat up. He cracked one eye open and saw her stretch, ruffling her hair into even more of a sweaty, tousled mess than it had been. Tonks. Oh, shit.
He wondered why, if he must seek sex as comfort, he hadn't had the good sense to sleep with Hestia Jones. Kingsley Shacklebolt. Severus Snape. Hell, even Minerva McGonagall. Why, why, WHY sleep with someone who was already such a mess? This fell into Complete and Utter Asshole territory. Just for the record. And he repeated that as she leaned over and kissed his head, stroking his hair for just a moment before she retreated to let him sleep. He heard her pad out, humming a soft tune under her breath, and the door shut, leaving him in peace.
Of course, his consciousness reminded him again, you ARE a Complete and Utter Asshole at times. And Tonks was the only one offering. Sleep with Severus Snape? You must be out of your mind. Besides, she IS kind of cute, and she's very sweet, and-
I told you to shut up and bugger off, he reminded it tartly. I want to go back to sleep. In sleep he could forget. In sleep he could imagine that Sirius was still here, wrapped around him and alive. In sleep, anything was possible.
Delusional, his conscious mind mocked him. You know Sirius is dead and he's never coming back, and all the sleep in the world doesn't change that.
Remus sat up abruptly, his limbs protesting and a joint squealing in remembered pain. THAT was a line of thought he didn't want to go down at all. Acknowledgement was one thing, yes. Using a nice, sweet, wonderful girl to get over it, to find comfort, to forget... that was completely unacceptable. He eased himself out of bed, finding his robe and pulling it around his body. This had to be stopped now, before it went any further and burned them both.
He opened the door and determinedly did not look back at the unmade bed.
***
Remus meant to find Tonks immediately, to let her down gently and explain that this was a one time thing. Hopefully they'd laugh about it, agree that it had been wonderful, and then perhaps have breakfast and go about their day. He hadn't counted on the white-haired wizard sitting at the kitchen table, watching him with solemn blue eyes. Remus reflexively jerked to something like attention, and pulled his robe tighter around himself. “Good morning, Headmaster.”
Dumbledore smiled at him, but there was no twinkle behind the glasses like Remus remembered. "Would you care for some tea, Remus?" he asked, gesturing to the pot and the empty cup. "I need your wits about you."
Remus sat down with a grateful thump and took the proffered cup. "Thank you."
Dumbledore nodded and stirred his own tea. "This house…" he began, looking around.
"It's empty," Remus said, voicing the unspoken ending. "I know." Dumbledore's gaze was sympathetic, but Remus didn't have the patience for it this morning. "There's something you want me to do."
"Yes."
Remus sighed heavily. "And it's not easy, or you wouldn't be asking me over tea and," he peered into the paper sack near Dumbledore's elbow, "glazed donuts."
Dumbledore smiled again, but it was a humorless smile. He pushed the sack towards Remus. "The full moon is in three days," he said, completely unnecessarily. Remus blinked at him, waiting for the continuation. "It probably insults your intelligence to tell you that. Just as it insults your intelligence to tell you that Voldemort is making every effort to recruit werewolves to his cause."
Remus nodded.
"Up until now it has been a matter of small consequence," Dumbledore said with a sigh. "However, several things have changed. The capture of several Death Eaters at the Department of Ministry has been a blow to Voldemort."
"It can't be all that significant," Remus argued. "There were only a handful of them."
Dumbledore didn't respond, but his silence was acknowledgement in itself. He drummed the fingers of his good hand on the tabletop- a gesture Remus couldn't remember seeing him make in years.
"As impossible as it may seem, the stakes are higher," Dumbledore continued. "Voldemort has become aware of his connection to Harry's mind, and the repercussions of that could be staggering. And there are other factors; factors that I can not tell you because I fear for the safety of those involved."
"Severus?"
"Yes." And when Dumbledore confirmed that speculation, Remus knew the truth of why the Headmaster was here on a summer morning. Dumbledore was sending him on what might well be a suicide mission. Nothing else would justify telling Remus any more than he needed to know, especially when it put the safety of others in question. "You want me to go to the werewolves," he said dully.
"Yes. The ones in the north."
The words filtered through his brain, and he set the cup down with a decisive clink. "No." Dumbledore said nothing. "No. I won't do it. That's asking too much."
"Remus-"
"No. No." Remus was trembling now and had to grip the edge of the table. "Please, Albus. Don't make me do this."
"I need you to do this," Dumbledore said, laying his withered hand over Remus's healthy ones. "We all need to make sacrifices."
"I've sacrificed," Remus said, bitterly. "I've sacrificed more than you know." And yet, even the mention of Sirius- even in this veiled (oh, don't even think that) form- pushed him to the edge of capitulation.
"We all face our demons," Dumbledore pressed. "Be they the houses of our fathers, the halls of Hogwarts, the dens of our enemy or rats in caves. Or a destiny set to us because a prophesy made it fate. I would not ask you to do this if it was not crucial, my boy."
Remus bowed his head in defeat.
***
He was still sitting at the table when Dumbledore left and the morning sun crept across the kitchen. The tea cooled and the donuts- a pitiful peace offering and consolation- sat uneaten, and he stared unblinkingly at the wood.
"Remus?"
He looked up to see Tonks standing in the doorway, fully dressed in a t-shirt and jeans. "Tonks," he said, a syllable more than a name.
She sat down across from him. "Dumbledore told me you're leaving," she said bluntly. "He told me why."
"Demons to face," he snorted.
"It won't be that bad, will it?" Tonks asked. "You've done it before."
"I've spoken to werewolves on Dumbledore's behalf before. This is different."
"Why? What's so different about it?"
He took a deep breath, and then another. And then he looked up at her with a perfectly calm face and said, "Fenrir Greyback."
Tonks blinked. "I don't understand. I know who he is, of course, but-"
"Never mind." Remus waved a hand, anxious to be off the subject. "Did Dumbledore speak to you as well?"
"Yes, although it's not much of a surprise." She grinned. "Well, maybe it is, after last year. For once, the Ministry and Dumbledore are in agreement, or near enough. He wants me guard Harry, and the Ministry wants me to guard Hogwarts."
Remus nodded, his insides unfurling a bit. At least Harry would be safe. He smiled, pleased to discover the muscles actually worked on their own and didn't need to be forced.
"When do you leave?" Tonks asked.
"Day after full moon. You?"
"Three days after that. Remus… last night…."
He tensed. "Yes?"
"I really enjoyed it." Her smile was wider now, sly with mischief and suggestion.
"I did too," he said. "But Tonks… I-" he broke off, confused.
"You what?" she asked.
He thought about it. When he'd come down the stairs this morning, he'd had every intention of gently telling her that this shouldn't happen- that they should just forget last night and go back to being friends. And then Dumbledore had given him worse than a suicide mission; he'd sent him to Greyback. He sighed, running a hand through his disheveled hair.
Tonks moved around the table and settled in his lap. He didn't push her away. She was soft and feminine, but more than that, she was alive. She was interesting. She was full of chat and vitality and… and life. His arm settled around her waist of its own accord.
"We have three days," Tonks said, her voice dropping low and husky.
Three days. Three days to feel a man before he was regulated to a beast. Three days to have something warm and happy, even if he wasn’t ready for it. Three days of comfort, of not being alone to dull the edge of the vast expanse of loneliness and terror that lay ahead of him.
"Three days," he agreed, wrapping his other arm around her waist. "But that's all. Are you all right with that?"
She nodded, and he breathed a sigh of relief. She understood. He bent his head and brushed his lips over hers, determined to enjoy it.
***
The night before the moon was full he crept up to the roof again, leaving Tonks sleeping in his room. The past two days had been a blur of bittersweet pleasure, but tonight the ache in his bones made it impossible to sink into any sort of oblivion. So he sat on the roof, feet jammed against the chimney, and closed his eyes to imagine Sirius sitting beside him.
"Like you'd even want to talk to me right now," he muttered. "You've only been dead two months and I'm…" he trailed off, too tired and bone-weary for that line of guilt. "The truth is it wouldn't bother you, isn't it? You know I still love you." He sighed and pulled his threadbare robe around him tighter, despite the muggy heat of the night. "I'll always love you, and you'll always know it. When you came back from Azkaban, you told me you were glad for any happiness I'd found while you were in that place. I imagine it would be the same now, wouldn't it?"
He looked up at the sky, his eyes training immediately on Sirius the star. The star glimmered back at him, laughing in the darkness of the night.
"I'm not happy now," he told the star. "I want to be, and some part of me is…" he chuckled dryly. "No, not that part. Well, yes, that part, but that wasn't what I was talking about. You've always been incorrigible, Sirius." He wrapped his arms tighter around his knees. "I don't want to go. I've been to the werewolves, back in the first war. Do you remember? When I'd leave for weeks at a time? I'd sneak home for a night, and god… those nights…" he laughed bitterly again. "You made me feel human again. You always did, even when things were getting bad between us.
"I don't want to go back there, Sirius. Especially since you're not with me. I know I can do it alone, but I'm tired of it. The last two years… the last two years I didn't have to be alone." He fell silent, fingers playing in the folds of the robe as he remembered. Remembered that day in the forest, by the pool, sliding off a thestral and into Sirius's arms. Remembered the heat of Morocco and the sheltered harbor where they'd kissed for the first time in thirteen years. Remembered letters in a sprawling hand, appearing at odd intervals and always answered. Remembered angry fights and bitter words and empty nights when the memories were too strong and made their presence known between them, and the exhausted tender reconciliation that would follow. Walking into his home to see Sirius sprawled on the couch, reading. Coming into Grimmauld Place to lay a burden on willing ears and soothing hands and comforting lips. Two years of not being alone, even when there were miles between them.
No wonder he could still feel Sirius now.
"I don't want to do it," he whispered, "but I will. How can I not, when you and Harry and Albus sacrifice so much of what you should never have to give? I'd give my life, Sirius. Why do I have to give my soul?"
Once again there were no answers, and as the silence pressed down around him Remus shook his head. Silly, melodramatic thoughts that had no place in this war or in his head. Yes, this would be hard- the hardest thing he'd ever done- but he would survive.
After all, he always had.
***
The day after the full moon was always rough, but Remus felt the aches and bruises more sharply than normal. He'd only healed the worst of the wounds, and left the rest as open badges of the night before and what he was. A wise precaution and necessary, but not comfortable.
He stared down at the small bundle he'd packed. A few items of Muggle clothing, an old cracked mug and plate, and a pair of gloves with holes in the fingers. Two paperback novels, ragged and worn, a sheaf of parchment, a bedraggled quill, and a bottle of ink. And a blanket filched from Sirius's bed that Harry would never know was missing, and a picture he couldn't bear to leave behind.
What bothered him was that none of these possessions had needed doctoring.
Granted, he'd left quite a bit here. Some of his better clothing, all of his robes, his battered briefcase, and a few odds and ends that he hadn't had to sell and that he could still cling to. He tucked them away into a box, and sealed the box with his wand.
"You're not going out dressed like that, are you?" Tonks was standing in the doorway, staring at him.
He looked down at his torn trousers, patched shirt, and broken shoes. "That's what I'd planned, yes." He smiled at the stricken look on her face. "I'm going into a society of extreme poverty, Tonks, and one that despises wizards. It seems best to play the part."
Tonks sat down on the bed. "I suppose. What are you doing with the box?"
"I can't take everything with me," he explained. "I really need to travel light. Could you hold on to it for me?" She nodded. "And if something happens… I guess give it to Harry. Not that there's much there," he said a little bitterly, thinking of what Sirius had been able to do for James's son and all that he himself could not provide. "When do you leave for Hogwarts again?"
"In a few days. Remus… will I see you again?"
"I would imagine so," he said, amused. "I don't plan on dying right away. Hopefully Greyback doesn't have other ideas."
"That's not what I mean," she said, and he immediately felt stupid.
"Oh."
"Look, these past few days have been absolutely wonderful, and I… I think…."
He caught her hands before she could go any further and say words he thought she'd regret. "Tonks, listen. You are a lovely young woman and any man would be glad to have you. But this… this thing between us," he gestured, "it's not… it can't go on."
"Why not?"
"I'm thirty-eight, and you're twenty-four. I'm old, Tonks."
She snorted. "Thirty-eight is not old."
Remus smiled. "It feels that way, some days. It's too old for twenty-four, at any rate. I have nothing to offer anyone. The best I can leave the son of my best friend is a packet of pictures and some old robes that have seen better days." He threw a contemptuous glance at the box on the bed. "And Tonks, I'm a werewolf."
"So?"
"So, I have no job. I won't have a job, even if the laws are changed in the Ministry. People's feelings run too deep. I'm a social outcast besides. You deserve much better than that."
"I don't care," she insisted stubbornly, tilting her face up to look at him defiantly.
"I do. I won't ruin your life like that. Can you imagine going home and telling your parents about me?" His voice rose to a pseudo-girlish pitch. "Mom! Dad! I met this bloke, and you're going to love him! He's fifteen years older than me, he doesn't have a job, and he's a werewolf to boot!" He shook his head. "If I was your father, I'd kill me."
"You don't know my parents," Tonks argued, her eyes flashing with anger.
Remus shrugged. "It's beside the point, Tonks. You are right. The past three days have been wonderful, and I thank you for them. But we agreed that would be all from the beginning, right?" She nodded, and he kissed her forehead. "I'd better go."
"Fine."
"Take care of yourself." He kissed her once more. "And say hello to Harry for me."
He picked up the bundle and they walked down the staircase and to the door, where she kissed him goodbye once more. He was so intent on his thoughts and the task ahead of him that he didn't notice the tears in her eyes.
***
It was worse than he remembered.
The community (he refused to think pack- pack was for animals, not humans) was far from any cities, in a deep, dark area that made him think of a child's evil forest. There were caves there- that much he had remembered- and the network of caves formed shelter for those who made their home here. It wasn't a place that people would inhabit by choice, but out of protection.
When he'd been here years ago, there had been some semblance of civilization. Of course, the pair he'd fallen in with had been wizards themselves, bitten late in life but unable to hide what they were. They were long gone, killed in that first war. Now, there was no one here he remembered from the old days.
He stood on the edge, watching a woman bent over a fire. Her hair was gray and matted, her hands marred with dirt and scars. She wore a shapeless garment that had no real color and slid off one shoulder, revealing the protruding bones beneath. But when she turned to face Remus, he was shocked to see that her face had no age lines, and in fact, she looked like she was younger than him.
"What do you want?" she snarled. Her voice was hoarse, like his, rough and abused by the shifts in anatomy. Her eyes traveled over his clothing, and suddenly he was aware that even the threadbare rags he wore showed far more than he intended.
"Refuge," he choked out. "I'm looking for a place to stay. I have nowhere else to go."
Her eyes narrowed as they traveled over him, noting the claw marks and the bruises, the graying hair and the exhaustion. "Greyback's gone," she said finally. "Had work to do. You'll have to talk to de Broglie."
He didn't recognize the name. "Where can I find him?"
"Over there." She pointed, and he followed her gesture to a firepit, where a grey-haired man crouched down, roasting a haunch of meat. The bloody, mangled corpse of a deer lay beside him.
“Thank you,” he said, choking down his disgust. She turned away from him as if he’d ceased to exist for her, and he made his way over to where de Broglie was, feeling like his greatest hopes and worst fears were confirmed simultaneously. The man had long grey hair, ratted into dreadlocks and wore only a pair of shredded pants. But there was a grace to his hands and an economy of motion in his cooking that belied an intelligence and experience with such tasks. He looked up as Remus approached, brow furrowed.
“I don’t know you,” he said before Remus could say a word, “and that’s surprising. I thought I knew every werewolf in Britain.”
Remus extended a hand. “Remus Lupin.”
De Broglie tipped back on his heels. “Oh. Oh. Well, that explains it then.”
“Explains it?” Remus asked.
“I know who you are, of course,” and Remus’s heart sank to hear the frostiness in the man’s voice. “But I’ve never seen you.” His eyes fastened on Remus, boring into him. They were gray, hard as granite and cold as a tundra. “You’re a wizard.” He spat the last word as a curse.
“Yes. I was.” He was standing on a cliff’s edge, about to fall, flailing for balance as he met de Broglie’s eyes. The silence stretched between them, heavy with threats and pleas and desperation. Finally, de Broglie shrugged.
“Stay then. At least until Fenrir returns. I can’t promise you anything that he doesn’t approve himself.” He smiled, a cold, bitter, angry smile. “After all, this is his place.”
***
The cave that Remus claimed as his own was small; more a cross between an outcropping of rocks and a burrow than any proper living accommodation. The door was small, the walls were crumbling, and the floor was far more dirt than rock. It had been vacated recently because its former occupant had been captured and killed by the Ministry. Remus wasn’t quite sure how he felt about that, except that he was certain that the former occupant had left the stench that assaulted his nose when he first walked in.
There was no bed here, and no pillow- just the blanket he’d brought with him that he could wrap around him as he slept. There were no bookcases and no desks, no chairs or sofas- just a firepit situated under a hole that had been scratched to release the smoke, and a little cubby formed by an inlet of rock where Remus could stash his few possessions and block them from view with a sheet. His bathtub was now a freezing river outside, and his bathroom the great outdoors. It all seemed a romantic or amusing enough notion when camping, but when living it as a life it seemed nothing more than what it was.
He stepped out of the cave and into the sunlight, looking around as he settled on a log. The community stretched before him; an odd mixture of despair and order. There were people- werewolves, he corrected himself with no small shade of sarcasm- moving through the clearing, there in front of him. Some, like the girl he’d seen as he’d entered this hideaway, were unwashed and carelessly sloppy. He saw the dark stains of blood and crusted remnants of meals blotching colorless rags. Feral grins and teeth and animalistic movements, matted hair and stench and no guarantee that certain portions of anatomy will be covered.
And yet, here and there he spotted signs of civilization; others who still struggled to be human. A line of tattered washing fluttered between two trees. A young man with clean hair sat heating a battered kettle over a fire. His clothing was mismatched and ragged, but there was a certain amount of pride in the way he dressed- some intangible difference that Remus couldn’t put a finger on. He wondered if the young man sitting by the fire might be an ally, or at least someone who would respond to his arguments rationally.
But today was not the time for making arguments. He couldn’t afford to make himself stand out- not yet.
A pair of eyes was watching him.
“Hello,” he said, tentatively. “You can come out.”
The boy that emerged from the brush had blonde hair and bright blue eyes, and a wary expression as he regarded the newcomer sitting on the log. “Who’re you?” he demanded.
“Remus. Remus Lupin. Who are you?”
“I’m Christian,” the boy said. He wore a long man’s shirt that hung to his knees, the sleeves rolled up to expose bony elbows. He also had an open wound on one ankle. “I’ve never seen you before.”
“I just came today. What happened to your ankle?”
“I cut it a few days ago.” Christian shrugged.
“Does it hurt?” The boy shook his head, but Remus could see the way he was favoring it and the festered infection. He patted the log beside him. “Why don’t you sit down?” he suggested. “I could look at it.”
Christian obeyed, and Remus slid off to take the foot into his own hands. It was slender and delicate, but badly proportioned. “How old are you, Christian?” he asked as he studied the wound.
“Ten, I think. Fenrir says I’ve been here two years, so I guess that would be right. I don’t remember for sure.”
“Do you have a last name?”
The boy scowled. “No,” he growled. “I don’t want one. They didn’t want me and I don’t want them.”
“All right then.” Remus pulled out his wand, and before the boy could protest, began muttering the necessary spells. They weren’t adequate- what he wouldn’t give for Madame Pomfrey’s collection of potions and disinfectants right now!- but he kept a tight grip on the boy’s foot and soon the skin began to smooth and the whimpers of pain faded into sighs of relief.
“Christian!”
Remus whirled to see the young man he’d noticed sitting by the fire running towards them. He started to stand, to greet him, but the man pushed him hard, knocking Remus off-balance and sending him sprawling against the ground. A quick fist followed, bringing an explosion of pain to his right eye, and followed by a knee to the kidney.
His wand was in his hand. He could hex the person, throw them off and back, make them regret this attack… but instinct told him this was a fight he had to win without magic. And so he punched back, a sharp uppercut in his attacker’s ribs. The blow didn’t phase the younger man, but rather galvanized him, and the fight became fiercer.
Remus was dimly aware of joints that didn’t want to move and the fact he’d lost one shoe, which had been loose anyway. He knew blood was streaking from his nose and a crowd had gathered around, watching the fight and shouting wild encouragement. His attacker was young and strong, and unhampered by wounds from the night before, while Remus felt the wounds on his ribs beginning to bleed again.
He finally wedged his foot against the man’s hip and pushed, hard enough to make the younger man tumble off of him, and Remus stumbled to his feet. A cut above his eye was bleeding freely and he swiped irritably at the blood, circling around as the younger werewolf got to his knees. He raised his right hand, only now realizing the wand was still in it.
“Don’t you ever, EVER do that again,” he growled. “I did nothing you your son.”
“My brother,” the young man hissed. “And get that-“ he dove in, grabbed Remus’s wand, and threw it into the forest- “out of my face. We don’t need your kind here.”
“What kind?” Remus demanded. “I thought everyone here was a werewolf.” He noticed with satisfaction that the young man was wiping blood from his own face.
“Wizards. Wizards aren’t welcome here.” There was a murmur of agreement from the crowd.
“I’m not a wizard anymore. I left.”
“You have a wand.” Remus’s eyes darted to the side, and he noticed that the young Christian had retrieved his wand and was holding it. His opponent followed his gaze. “Break it,” he ordered his younger brother. Remus’s heart leapt into his throat, choking him. “Break it,” the man commanded again. “Now.”
Christian’s eyes moved between Remus and his older brother. “No,” he said finally. “He fixed my leg with it.”
“Christian!”
“No!” Very deliberately, his eyes fixed anywhere but on his older brother, Christian stepped forward and handed Remus his wand back.
“Thank you,” Remus whispered.
The brother struggled to his feet, drawing himself painfully to his full height and looking down his nose at Remus. “Just what I would expect of a wizard. Hiding behind a child.”
“Ask yourself why the child is willing to hide me.”
The man bristled, but he didn’t attack again. Remus thought he could see a flicker of grudging respect in his eyes. “Come on, Christian,” he said, grabbing the boy roughly by the arm. “Let’s go.” He stalked away, past the interested observers. Remus stood watching him, panting for breath and clutching his wand. From the corner of his eye he could see those around him; much the same, all too thin and monochromatic. Gradually, they began to disperse. But as one older man passed him, he clapped a short hand of welcome on Remus’s shoulder.
Remus Lupin might not be accepted by the werewolves, but he would be allowed to stay.
***
That night, he sat on the log outside his cave, staring up at the stars. “I miss you,” he whispered brokenly into the heavens. “I know you wouldn’t be able to be with me, but just knowing that you were here…. Sirius, I miss you so much.”
He buried his cut and bruised face in his hands. “How am I ever going to do this without you?”
He allowed himself one minute of self pity and then returned to his cave. He huddled against the wall, imagining he could feel warm arms around his waist and gentle breathing against his back, and in the echoes of noises he’d never admit to making he could hear the sound of Sirius’s laughter.
***
The days oozed by in a mess of hot sun and humidity, broken only by swims in the river. Life began to boil down to the basic necessities.
Each day he cleaned out his cave, shaking out his blanket and brushing the floor with a pine branch. There was little for breakfast, generally shared among the pack- the community, Remus firmly corrected himself. As the newest comer, he knew he had last pick at the food. Some mornings were not bad, when the community had a deer or boar that had been killed recently, or as autumn loomed and nuts became plentiful and small game was easy to catch. Other mornings, however, there was little even for those that had first priority, and nothing left for him.
Food became the dictator of his days. He had a few Sickles, but Sickles didn’t go far, especially with winter fixed firmly in his mind. Bread was unheard of, and sweets and alcohol and other complicated foods were topics best left unmentioned. If food was around, then there was still wood to be gathered and clothing to be washed and… and. There was not much else that was done.
The others filled their time with each other. Remus had learned names and faces, but he was still an outsider, distrusted and strongly disliked. He’d anticipated this, but it still cut deep into his soul, especially on those days where he didn’t speak at all.
He tried to write to Harry. With Sirius gone, the boy probably needed someone- some connection with his parents, with his past. But every letter was a miserable failed attempt.
Dear Harry, How are you? I'm fine, except I can't tell you where I am or what I'm doing.
Dear Harry, How are you? How are you coping with Sirius's death?
Dear Harry, Hope you're well, I'm absolutely miserable and there's nothing I can say that doesn't make me feel fucking worse, so screw writing to you even though I know I should because every time I do it only brings up everything that makes me want to scream "fuck Dumbledore and fuck this war" and run away to someplace where they'll never find me.
He couldn't send any of that to Harry. So it was no wonder he began writing to Tonks.
The first letter was painfully hard to write. It took hours to compose, trying not to show his misery and his circumstances between the lines. Finally, he’d crumpled it up and tossed it into the fire and decided that honesty was best, and wrote to her as if he was writing to Sirius. He hid nothing about his days in Fenrir’s camp, and it felt good to tell someone.
His letter was answered promptly, with care, concern, and descriptions of her own trials and fears. There was courage there in her words, a determination to go on with her job as usual, despite her struggles. And he did laugh as she related the story of Harry and Draco Malfoy on the train, even if he knew it wasn’t something to laugh about, really. He frowned at her description of the Dementors, and he wondered what she saw as the Dementors came near her.
What would he see? Remus snorted. Dementors had no power over him right now- he'd close his eyes and see his life.
"What's so funny?"
Remus turned to see Christian watching him. "I didn't think you were supposed to be around me," he said bitterly.
"I'm not," Christian replied, his face grubby and his eyes hard. "But Stefan went out hunting with Otto and Amber, and so I can come over. Can you show me more magic?"
"I don't do tricks," Remus said warily.
"I don't want to see tricks," Christian said scornfully. "I want to see the real stuff." He sat down next to Remus, surprisingly unconcerned. "My Mum and my Dad were wizards," he said. "So was Stefan, but they snapped his wand and he's never gotten a new one."
"Who's they?" Remus asked, taking his own wand out.
"People," Christian said, swinging his legs and kicking the log with his heels. "When Stefan was bitten, they found out and they snapped his wand and they drove us out of the town."
"You're remarkably calm about it."
Christian shrugged and picked up the letter from Tonks. "Who's writing to you?"
"A friend of mine. She's…" he hesitated, and then decided that caution was best. "She's far away."
"She a girlfriend?"
"Not really, no."
"Where is she?"
"At a school," Remus said. "Did you go to school?" Christian met him with an even gaze and Remus sighed. "All right, all right, I get the picture. How old were you when you were bitten?"
"Eight."
"How old are you now?"
Christian shrugged. "I told you that. I think ten. Are you going to show me some magic or not?"
"All right. Wingardium Leviosa." Remus levitated a stick carefully, guiding it as it bounced along. Christian watched it scornfully.
"That's not all that impressive."
"No. It's not meant to be. Would you like to try it?"
It was a risk. Remus couldn't even be sure that the kid was magic, although if his parents were both magical and his brother had been, it was unlikely that he wasn't. Christian regarded the wand warily. "Would it work?" he asked.
"It should. It's a simple spell, and even though it's not a wand that's meant for you, you can still usually use it."
Christian gave Remus one more skeptical look, and then took the wand and waved it wildly. "Wingadaim Levosa!" he said.
Nothing happened.
Remus chuckled. "It's not quite that easy," he said. "Here. Let me show you again." Patiently, he taught Christian the incantation and the proper wand movement. The lad was very quick, he realized, very bright. On the seventh try, Christian was able to levitate the stick in front of him. He wasn't able to quite control it yet, but Remus wouldn't really expect that of a first year.
"If you wanted to learn more, I could teach you," he offered.
Christian looked at the wand and considered. "Stefan wouldn't like it."
Remus exhaled. At least Christian hadn't demanded to know why he would want to learn, or insisted that magic was evil, or anything like that. "That's not a problem," he said with a smile. "I'm great at keeping secrets."
Christian smiled back at him, looking for the first time like the child he was. "I am, too."
***
Remus stood outside in the dusk, eyes closed and just smelling the air. Bread and apple pie and the richer, darker scent of meat floated out to him, and his stomach rumbled in anticipation. A near month in Greyback’s camp had left him with a deeper hunger than he’d known for years.
The Burrow might not be glamorous, but Remus had never expected glamour and happiness to go together. His parents' home had been comfortable but modest. Hogwarts had been his high point of riches, and that was certainly no manor. In fact, the one time he'd lived in something resembling lushness was his stay at 12 Grimmauld Place, and no amount of luxury could ever give back what that place had taken away from Sirius. But tonight, after his cave, the Weasley place looked like the height of richness.
He finally knocked on the door, aware as he did so how grubby his hand was. He was very, very relieved when Bill Weasley answered, as opposed to Molly or Arthur.
"Hello, Remus," Bill said, smiling. "How are you?"
"Been worse," Remus answered.
Bill's eyes swept over him. "It looks like you've been better, too. Remus, I don't mean to be rude, but would you like a shower or something before Mum catches you? I'm sure your life would be much easier if you didn't have to listen to her."
"Thanks." Remus's shoulders relaxed with relief and he followed Bill up the back stairs. Down in the kitchen he could hear Kingsley's deep bass rumble and Arthur's jaunty tenor, and the higher voices of Fleur and Molly. Bill handed him a towel and a bar of soap.
"Say, do you want to borrow a robe?"
Remus thought about it, and then shook his head. "No thanks. I'll just use a cleaning charm on this one. If I come downstairs in your robe, your mother will catch on that something's wrong. In fact, if you could not even let her know I'm up here…."
"I can try," Bill promised. "But if she bursts in on you while you're in the shower, you're on your own!"
They both laughed, and Remus slipped into the bathroom and closed the door.
It was heaven to use indoor plumbing, and even better to have hot water streaming over him. Remus didn't realize until he was under the shower spray just how sore his muscles were and how filthy he was, despite dips in the stream and well-applied charms. He stood under the steaming water for long minutes, head tilted back and eyes closed as the water coursed down his naked body. Finally, reluctantly, he shut the water off.
Feeling worlds better he walked down the stairs, deliberately keeping his face neutral and casual, as if he'd had every reason to be upstairs in the Weasleys' shower. As he came down he caught Kingsley's eye and started to walk over to talk to him, but Molly intercepted.
"Remus!" she said. "What does Dumbledore have you doing? You're as thin as a rail!"
He smiled, half dutifully and half genuinely. Sirius, on one of his charitable days, had remarked that Molly was a mother to everyone- it was her default setting. It amused him that this woman found it necessary to mother him- a graying, shabby, werewolf,but when it led to a plate with pot roast, mashed potatoes, and vegetables being placed in front of him, he was more than willing to be mothered, even if he and Bill did have to stifle their laughter when Molly ladled out a second serving for him.
At least, his amusement lasted through dinner. Between Kingsley's imitations of the new Prime Minister (which were spot on, everyone admitted), Arthur's and Molly's good-natured bickering , and the (rather nauseating, although he'd never say it) display of affection between Bill and Fleur, no one felt it necessary to plumb him for information. Perhaps they were remembering the last time he'd visited, when he and Bill had launched into the laundry list of the woes of England's wizarding world, and didn't want a repeat. Fair enough. The thought kept him occupied until the pie Molly served for dessert was gone and Fleur, Bill, Arthur, and Kingsley had headed for the living room.
"There's something I need to discuss with you, Remus," Molly said as she settled across from him before he could move, a glass of milk in her hand.
"Oh?"
"Yes." Molly settled herself across from him. "I've been talking with Tonks."
"How is she?" Remus asked.
Molly snorted. "As if you care! She's told me what's been going on between you two, Remus."
It honestly took him a moment to understand what Molly meant. "In August, you mean?" he asked.
"That's one way to put it! Remus, from what I understand you and Tonks had quite a connection, and then you simply dropped her, with no word in weeks!"
He stared at her blankly.
Molly sighed. "Remus, dear, I know you've been busy, and I have an idea of what Dumbledore's asked you to do. But one letter in a month?"
"Molly, forgive me, but I fail to see what business my correspondence is of yours."
Molly was undeterred. "Tonks has been talking to me quite a bit, Remus. I don't think you realize just how badly she's taking this."
"Tonks has a lot of things on her mind right now," Remus pointed out. "With her duties in Hogwarts and Dementors on the loose, I hardly think her love life is a high priority. Besides, not that it is any of your business, but she and I had an understanding."
"So I heard," Molly said acridly, and Remus privately thought Dumbledore was definitely wrong in not putting Molly on the front lines. Determination like that could win wars. "But Remus, Tonks is a young woman. Didn't it ever occur to you that she might take more from it than you intended?"
He shrugged. "That's between her and myself."
"Well, that's just it. You're not letting it be between her and yourself. You've shut her out completely and now she has nowhere to turn. She said you were both happy during that time."
Happy was a relative term, but Remus didn't feel like explaining that to this bossy, intrusive presence at the moment. "Molly, there are reasons- and very good ones- that I am not looking for a commitment at this point in time."
She arched an eyebrow. "Oh?"
He couldn't bring himself to say Sirius's name to her. But there were other reasons. "I can't even pretend I could provide for a wife, Molly. I can barely keep myself fed and clothed."
"So I noticed."
He ignored her. "Tonks is twenty-four, going on twenty-five. I am thirty-seven, going on fifty. And Molly, I am a werewolf."
"She's a bright young woman, Remus. She's aware of that fact."
He sighed. "Never mind." He stood up. "I'm going to find Arthur. There are some things we need to discuss."
Molly laid a hand on his shoulder. "You can't keep shutting people out just because you're a werewolf, Remus."
"Oh yes? Well Molly, watch me."
***
Molly and Arthur had offered that he could stay the night, and even though he knew he should return to the settlement, Remus accepted. The full moon was tomorrow night, and the prospect of being near humanity tonight was too hard to pass up.
He thought he would sleep well. They'd given him Percy's old room, and the bed was soft and sported clean sheets. The room was quiet and private, but Remus imagined tonight he could feel the bitterness that had driven the third Weasley son from this house. For the first time, he understood a bit. He didn't forgive, but he understood just how Percy must have chafed.
At least, that was why he told himself he was awake. It had nothing to do with the fact that a soft mattress now felt foreign to him, and he was worried about returning tomorrow. Or a stomach that was still craving food, despite two hefty helpings at dinner.
It was the last that finally drove him out of bed in the wee hours of the morning and sent him creeping downstairs to the kitchen. To his surprise, he found the light on, and a red head bent over a parchment and quill. He breathed a sigh of relief when Bill looked up and smiled at him.
"Can't sleep?" Bill asked.
Remus shrugged. "A little hungry," he confessed.
The remains of the pie were on the table. Bill summoned over another plate and cut Remus a generous piece. "Granted, I'm sure a sugar high won't help, but if you counteract it with some warm milk you might come out ahead." He set the quill and parchment aside. "I saw Mum cornered you earlier."
"Your mother is a terrifying woman."
Bill laughed. "You're telling me." He shifted uncomfortably. "Listen, given how much Mum and Tonks go over and over it, I guess I should tell you I know what's going on. I've known for quite a while- since June."
"June?" Remus nearly choked on a slice of apple. "Nothing was happening in June!"
"I thought she made a pass at you?" Bill said around a mouthful.
"I don't think she did, but I could be… oh wait." Remus's insides squirmed uncomfortably as he remembered a night a week after Sirius died. Tonks had insisted on cooking him dinner (well, she'd heated the sauce and boiled spaghetti), and served it by candlelight with wine. There had been stilted conversation and odd looks across the table, and now the meaning of the entire scene came crashing down on him. "Oh shit."
Bill snickered, trying to hide it and failing miserably.
"Why do women try to be subtle?" Remus asked, slumping in his chair and feeling completely stupid. Other things started falling into place, making sense. The way Tonks brushed against him more, the way she kept confiding in him (was that a sign? Well, maybe not), key words she'd said… he could have hit himself over the head for being so stupid.
And the worst was, he had known it. Somewhere, on some level, he had acknowledged this the very first time he'd slept with her, completely pissed and looking for comfort. But he'd pushed it from his mind, and forgotten it thoroughly in the aftermath of Dumbledore's assignment.
"I'm such a bloody idiot," he moaned, cradling his head in his hands. "She wasn't subtle."
"It could be worse," Bill said. "I mean, you do like her, right?"
"Well, yes, in many ways," Remus admitted. "But that's exactly the problem."
"What's the problem?"
"If you want to find a comfort fuck, it's usually better to do it with someone you don't like. At least that way when you mess up their head it doesn't matter so much."
Most men would have laughed. Molly would have been disgusted. Bill Weasley simply studied Remus with open blue eyes. "Remus, this is probably an inappropriate question, and tell me to sod off if you don't want to answer it, but what exactly where you looking for comfort for?"
"Sod off."
"All right." Bill didn't seem at all offended. Instead, he just took another bite of his pie. "Have you heard from Dung recently?"
Remus snorted. "No. I haven't heard from anyone." He pushed the untouched pie away. "I should write more often, I suppose."
"Harry wishes you would."
That hurt more than anything else anyone had said all evening. "Did he talk about it when he was here?" Remus asked.
"No, not really. But Ginny says so, and she's usually right. At least she is when it comes to Harry."
Remus made a face and said nothing, remembering his failed attempts to write to Harry. He thought about young Christian, whom he was beginning to mentor, and pushed away the thought that the son of his best friend was probably looking at him for guidance as well. He thought about what would happen if Fenrir Greyback did get his hands on one of those letters, and the thought made him feel better because it was a valid reason for not writing to Harry. "I can't," Remus finally said.
Bill shrugged. "You know your life best," he said, but there was no resentment in that. But Remus had the sick feeling that it was all going to come tumbling down on him, whether he liked it or not.
End of Part I
Pairings: past-R/S, present R/T.
Rating: PG-13 for some violence
Summary: Remus Lupin is still healing from his loss when Dumbledore assigns him his newest mission, and he's not happy about it.
Word Count: ~9000
Disclaimer: Not ours, in any way, shape, or form, or I'd be suggesting we go to Hawaii and post this from our laptops on the beach as we drink maitais or something.
Author's Note: This is one of those fics intended to incorporate BOTH R/S and R/T with dignity. Read at your own pleasure/risk. The sex, however, is barely mentioned- the higher version of the rating is for language and violence. However, although it has shippy elements, Remus has taken over completely and the whole thing might well be called Remus-centric, as opposed to any sort of romance.
Happiness Where I Can Find It
The falling of night did not make the air any cooler or any easier to breathe. Remus sucked in a lungful of heat and humidity and it burned through his body, making him sting with pain. At least he could blame it on the air.
The roof of number 12 Grimmauld Place was not the most comfortable place to sit, but then, most roofs weren’t. Despite the heat Remus huddled in on himself, hugging his knees to his chest and bracing his feet against the chimney, and staring up at the night sky. If he closed his eyes, he could almost feel Sirius sitting beside him like they’d sat so many nights the past year, shoulder against shoulder, thigh to thigh.
“I miss you,” he whispered, his words directed at the bright star overhead and the memory beside him. “It’s been a month, and it only hurts more.”
Of course, neither the star nor the memory answered. But Remus never really expected a response.
Hours later, he made his way back down to his room. His room, he thought bitterly, the one he’d only slept in four or five times in before Sirius died, not the room he shared with Sirius. It was a monastic, empty cell that seemed nothing like home and he was contented for it to be that way. As the dawn broke, he finally drifted to sleep, his back pressed against the solidity of a wall instead of Sirius’s body.
***
Remus poured another glass of whiskey, watching Tonks’s eyes warily. Please, he prayed to a deity he didn’t actually believe in, whatever you do, don’t let her start crying again. There had been enough crying and tears and sadness laid on his shoulders in the past two months, and he didn’t know how to shake it off. Or rather, perhaps he didn’t want to.
Searching for Peter had brought him up empty-handed often enough that Dumbledore had ordered him to stop. Guarding the prophecy was no longer an issue. Sirius… he closed the door on the thought that Sirius had been considered as much a duty as a friend in the eyes of others. And despite the fact he was more than capable, no one had yet suggested that he be the one to teach Occlumency to Harry. Stupid Order. But at least he could do this, and as annoying as it was, no one would take it away.
“I could have done something more,” Tonks was insisting, as she had for the past two months. “Remus, what if I’d-“
“It’s pointless,” he said, his voice sounding hollow and dull in his own ears. “You can’t change it, Nymphadora. You can go over what you might have done a million times, but nothing changes.”
“But Sirius-“
Remus sighed heavily. “You forget that Sirius was an Auror as well. An Auror with the same exact amount of training and experience as you.”
He wished she’d shut up. It wasn’t a nice thought and he wanted to chase it away, but the alcohol clogged his brain and wouldn’t allow him any self-delusion. He was tired of telling her it wasn’t her fault, that there was nothing she could have done, consoling and comforting and-
“Remus?”
He snapped back to the present. “Yes?”
Her hand covered his, and he looked up to see her looking surprisingly together. “You don’t hate me, do you?”
“Why should I?” he asked, not really listening.
“I know… well, no one ever mentions it, but he was your best friend. And if it hadn’t been for me…”
Her words cut through the fog, because she was right about no one ever mentioning it. He leaned towards it, parched on some emotional level. “If it hadn’t been for Bellatrix,” he insisted automatically, but he didn’t quite hear it. Not this time.
The memories were crashing down around him, and he sat staring sightlessly at her face, her hand gripping his. He could have sat there for hours. But she spoke, simply saying, “Will you tell me about him?”, and he was whipped back to reality. And it was a reality that he hadn’t known he needed.
He pulled back and chuckled, composure restored, and picked up his glass. “Did either of us ever tell you about our first fight, in the first war?” Tonks shook her head. “I turned a Death Eater into a duck, and Sirius and James turned two more into newts. It was in this club that Dumbledore wanted us to go to…”
His voice washed over his own ears, recounting the tale of that first battle and then other skirmishes as well. Remembering Sirius’s humor, his temper, his honor, his loyalty. Tonks listened eagerly, her hand never wandering far from his as he became more and more animated. The liquor loosened his tongue and soothed the pain a little, and eventually the evening became a blur.
***
Morning light drifted over his back, waking him and reminding him that he had a dry mouth and a pounding, excruciating, painful headache. Odgen, Remus decided, should have been shot a long, long time ago. Or maybe even drawn and quartered, hangovers were that bad. He moved, and then stopped dead for a minute as his arm encountered warm skin and soft cotton, and the realization that a hangover might not be the worst of his problems.
He froze, lying still and feigning sleep as consciousness sauntered in, dragging him to the surface and awareness. Next to him, his companion stretched with a happy sigh, sounding something like a satisfied cat purring. Well, of course satisfied, his consciousness said smugly as it poked him and said it might be time to wake up and figure out what had happened. He mentally smacked it over the head and told it to bugger off, and kept his eyes closed as he insisted he was still sleeping.
The mattress shifted, and the woman- yes, definitely a woman- sat up. He cracked one eye open and saw her stretch, ruffling her hair into even more of a sweaty, tousled mess than it had been. Tonks. Oh, shit.
He wondered why, if he must seek sex as comfort, he hadn't had the good sense to sleep with Hestia Jones. Kingsley Shacklebolt. Severus Snape. Hell, even Minerva McGonagall. Why, why, WHY sleep with someone who was already such a mess? This fell into Complete and Utter Asshole territory. Just for the record. And he repeated that as she leaned over and kissed his head, stroking his hair for just a moment before she retreated to let him sleep. He heard her pad out, humming a soft tune under her breath, and the door shut, leaving him in peace.
Of course, his consciousness reminded him again, you ARE a Complete and Utter Asshole at times. And Tonks was the only one offering. Sleep with Severus Snape? You must be out of your mind. Besides, she IS kind of cute, and she's very sweet, and-
I told you to shut up and bugger off, he reminded it tartly. I want to go back to sleep. In sleep he could forget. In sleep he could imagine that Sirius was still here, wrapped around him and alive. In sleep, anything was possible.
Delusional, his conscious mind mocked him. You know Sirius is dead and he's never coming back, and all the sleep in the world doesn't change that.
Remus sat up abruptly, his limbs protesting and a joint squealing in remembered pain. THAT was a line of thought he didn't want to go down at all. Acknowledgement was one thing, yes. Using a nice, sweet, wonderful girl to get over it, to find comfort, to forget... that was completely unacceptable. He eased himself out of bed, finding his robe and pulling it around his body. This had to be stopped now, before it went any further and burned them both.
He opened the door and determinedly did not look back at the unmade bed.
***
Remus meant to find Tonks immediately, to let her down gently and explain that this was a one time thing. Hopefully they'd laugh about it, agree that it had been wonderful, and then perhaps have breakfast and go about their day. He hadn't counted on the white-haired wizard sitting at the kitchen table, watching him with solemn blue eyes. Remus reflexively jerked to something like attention, and pulled his robe tighter around himself. “Good morning, Headmaster.”
Dumbledore smiled at him, but there was no twinkle behind the glasses like Remus remembered. "Would you care for some tea, Remus?" he asked, gesturing to the pot and the empty cup. "I need your wits about you."
Remus sat down with a grateful thump and took the proffered cup. "Thank you."
Dumbledore nodded and stirred his own tea. "This house…" he began, looking around.
"It's empty," Remus said, voicing the unspoken ending. "I know." Dumbledore's gaze was sympathetic, but Remus didn't have the patience for it this morning. "There's something you want me to do."
"Yes."
Remus sighed heavily. "And it's not easy, or you wouldn't be asking me over tea and," he peered into the paper sack near Dumbledore's elbow, "glazed donuts."
Dumbledore smiled again, but it was a humorless smile. He pushed the sack towards Remus. "The full moon is in three days," he said, completely unnecessarily. Remus blinked at him, waiting for the continuation. "It probably insults your intelligence to tell you that. Just as it insults your intelligence to tell you that Voldemort is making every effort to recruit werewolves to his cause."
Remus nodded.
"Up until now it has been a matter of small consequence," Dumbledore said with a sigh. "However, several things have changed. The capture of several Death Eaters at the Department of Ministry has been a blow to Voldemort."
"It can't be all that significant," Remus argued. "There were only a handful of them."
Dumbledore didn't respond, but his silence was acknowledgement in itself. He drummed the fingers of his good hand on the tabletop- a gesture Remus couldn't remember seeing him make in years.
"As impossible as it may seem, the stakes are higher," Dumbledore continued. "Voldemort has become aware of his connection to Harry's mind, and the repercussions of that could be staggering. And there are other factors; factors that I can not tell you because I fear for the safety of those involved."
"Severus?"
"Yes." And when Dumbledore confirmed that speculation, Remus knew the truth of why the Headmaster was here on a summer morning. Dumbledore was sending him on what might well be a suicide mission. Nothing else would justify telling Remus any more than he needed to know, especially when it put the safety of others in question. "You want me to go to the werewolves," he said dully.
"Yes. The ones in the north."
The words filtered through his brain, and he set the cup down with a decisive clink. "No." Dumbledore said nothing. "No. I won't do it. That's asking too much."
"Remus-"
"No. No." Remus was trembling now and had to grip the edge of the table. "Please, Albus. Don't make me do this."
"I need you to do this," Dumbledore said, laying his withered hand over Remus's healthy ones. "We all need to make sacrifices."
"I've sacrificed," Remus said, bitterly. "I've sacrificed more than you know." And yet, even the mention of Sirius- even in this veiled (oh, don't even think that) form- pushed him to the edge of capitulation.
"We all face our demons," Dumbledore pressed. "Be they the houses of our fathers, the halls of Hogwarts, the dens of our enemy or rats in caves. Or a destiny set to us because a prophesy made it fate. I would not ask you to do this if it was not crucial, my boy."
Remus bowed his head in defeat.
***
He was still sitting at the table when Dumbledore left and the morning sun crept across the kitchen. The tea cooled and the donuts- a pitiful peace offering and consolation- sat uneaten, and he stared unblinkingly at the wood.
"Remus?"
He looked up to see Tonks standing in the doorway, fully dressed in a t-shirt and jeans. "Tonks," he said, a syllable more than a name.
She sat down across from him. "Dumbledore told me you're leaving," she said bluntly. "He told me why."
"Demons to face," he snorted.
"It won't be that bad, will it?" Tonks asked. "You've done it before."
"I've spoken to werewolves on Dumbledore's behalf before. This is different."
"Why? What's so different about it?"
He took a deep breath, and then another. And then he looked up at her with a perfectly calm face and said, "Fenrir Greyback."
Tonks blinked. "I don't understand. I know who he is, of course, but-"
"Never mind." Remus waved a hand, anxious to be off the subject. "Did Dumbledore speak to you as well?"
"Yes, although it's not much of a surprise." She grinned. "Well, maybe it is, after last year. For once, the Ministry and Dumbledore are in agreement, or near enough. He wants me guard Harry, and the Ministry wants me to guard Hogwarts."
Remus nodded, his insides unfurling a bit. At least Harry would be safe. He smiled, pleased to discover the muscles actually worked on their own and didn't need to be forced.
"When do you leave?" Tonks asked.
"Day after full moon. You?"
"Three days after that. Remus… last night…."
He tensed. "Yes?"
"I really enjoyed it." Her smile was wider now, sly with mischief and suggestion.
"I did too," he said. "But Tonks… I-" he broke off, confused.
"You what?" she asked.
He thought about it. When he'd come down the stairs this morning, he'd had every intention of gently telling her that this shouldn't happen- that they should just forget last night and go back to being friends. And then Dumbledore had given him worse than a suicide mission; he'd sent him to Greyback. He sighed, running a hand through his disheveled hair.
Tonks moved around the table and settled in his lap. He didn't push her away. She was soft and feminine, but more than that, she was alive. She was interesting. She was full of chat and vitality and… and life. His arm settled around her waist of its own accord.
"We have three days," Tonks said, her voice dropping low and husky.
Three days. Three days to feel a man before he was regulated to a beast. Three days to have something warm and happy, even if he wasn’t ready for it. Three days of comfort, of not being alone to dull the edge of the vast expanse of loneliness and terror that lay ahead of him.
"Three days," he agreed, wrapping his other arm around her waist. "But that's all. Are you all right with that?"
She nodded, and he breathed a sigh of relief. She understood. He bent his head and brushed his lips over hers, determined to enjoy it.
***
The night before the moon was full he crept up to the roof again, leaving Tonks sleeping in his room. The past two days had been a blur of bittersweet pleasure, but tonight the ache in his bones made it impossible to sink into any sort of oblivion. So he sat on the roof, feet jammed against the chimney, and closed his eyes to imagine Sirius sitting beside him.
"Like you'd even want to talk to me right now," he muttered. "You've only been dead two months and I'm…" he trailed off, too tired and bone-weary for that line of guilt. "The truth is it wouldn't bother you, isn't it? You know I still love you." He sighed and pulled his threadbare robe around him tighter, despite the muggy heat of the night. "I'll always love you, and you'll always know it. When you came back from Azkaban, you told me you were glad for any happiness I'd found while you were in that place. I imagine it would be the same now, wouldn't it?"
He looked up at the sky, his eyes training immediately on Sirius the star. The star glimmered back at him, laughing in the darkness of the night.
"I'm not happy now," he told the star. "I want to be, and some part of me is…" he chuckled dryly. "No, not that part. Well, yes, that part, but that wasn't what I was talking about. You've always been incorrigible, Sirius." He wrapped his arms tighter around his knees. "I don't want to go. I've been to the werewolves, back in the first war. Do you remember? When I'd leave for weeks at a time? I'd sneak home for a night, and god… those nights…" he laughed bitterly again. "You made me feel human again. You always did, even when things were getting bad between us.
"I don't want to go back there, Sirius. Especially since you're not with me. I know I can do it alone, but I'm tired of it. The last two years… the last two years I didn't have to be alone." He fell silent, fingers playing in the folds of the robe as he remembered. Remembered that day in the forest, by the pool, sliding off a thestral and into Sirius's arms. Remembered the heat of Morocco and the sheltered harbor where they'd kissed for the first time in thirteen years. Remembered letters in a sprawling hand, appearing at odd intervals and always answered. Remembered angry fights and bitter words and empty nights when the memories were too strong and made their presence known between them, and the exhausted tender reconciliation that would follow. Walking into his home to see Sirius sprawled on the couch, reading. Coming into Grimmauld Place to lay a burden on willing ears and soothing hands and comforting lips. Two years of not being alone, even when there were miles between them.
No wonder he could still feel Sirius now.
"I don't want to do it," he whispered, "but I will. How can I not, when you and Harry and Albus sacrifice so much of what you should never have to give? I'd give my life, Sirius. Why do I have to give my soul?"
Once again there were no answers, and as the silence pressed down around him Remus shook his head. Silly, melodramatic thoughts that had no place in this war or in his head. Yes, this would be hard- the hardest thing he'd ever done- but he would survive.
After all, he always had.
***
The day after the full moon was always rough, but Remus felt the aches and bruises more sharply than normal. He'd only healed the worst of the wounds, and left the rest as open badges of the night before and what he was. A wise precaution and necessary, but not comfortable.
He stared down at the small bundle he'd packed. A few items of Muggle clothing, an old cracked mug and plate, and a pair of gloves with holes in the fingers. Two paperback novels, ragged and worn, a sheaf of parchment, a bedraggled quill, and a bottle of ink. And a blanket filched from Sirius's bed that Harry would never know was missing, and a picture he couldn't bear to leave behind.
What bothered him was that none of these possessions had needed doctoring.
Granted, he'd left quite a bit here. Some of his better clothing, all of his robes, his battered briefcase, and a few odds and ends that he hadn't had to sell and that he could still cling to. He tucked them away into a box, and sealed the box with his wand.
"You're not going out dressed like that, are you?" Tonks was standing in the doorway, staring at him.
He looked down at his torn trousers, patched shirt, and broken shoes. "That's what I'd planned, yes." He smiled at the stricken look on her face. "I'm going into a society of extreme poverty, Tonks, and one that despises wizards. It seems best to play the part."
Tonks sat down on the bed. "I suppose. What are you doing with the box?"
"I can't take everything with me," he explained. "I really need to travel light. Could you hold on to it for me?" She nodded. "And if something happens… I guess give it to Harry. Not that there's much there," he said a little bitterly, thinking of what Sirius had been able to do for James's son and all that he himself could not provide. "When do you leave for Hogwarts again?"
"In a few days. Remus… will I see you again?"
"I would imagine so," he said, amused. "I don't plan on dying right away. Hopefully Greyback doesn't have other ideas."
"That's not what I mean," she said, and he immediately felt stupid.
"Oh."
"Look, these past few days have been absolutely wonderful, and I… I think…."
He caught her hands before she could go any further and say words he thought she'd regret. "Tonks, listen. You are a lovely young woman and any man would be glad to have you. But this… this thing between us," he gestured, "it's not… it can't go on."
"Why not?"
"I'm thirty-eight, and you're twenty-four. I'm old, Tonks."
She snorted. "Thirty-eight is not old."
Remus smiled. "It feels that way, some days. It's too old for twenty-four, at any rate. I have nothing to offer anyone. The best I can leave the son of my best friend is a packet of pictures and some old robes that have seen better days." He threw a contemptuous glance at the box on the bed. "And Tonks, I'm a werewolf."
"So?"
"So, I have no job. I won't have a job, even if the laws are changed in the Ministry. People's feelings run too deep. I'm a social outcast besides. You deserve much better than that."
"I don't care," she insisted stubbornly, tilting her face up to look at him defiantly.
"I do. I won't ruin your life like that. Can you imagine going home and telling your parents about me?" His voice rose to a pseudo-girlish pitch. "Mom! Dad! I met this bloke, and you're going to love him! He's fifteen years older than me, he doesn't have a job, and he's a werewolf to boot!" He shook his head. "If I was your father, I'd kill me."
"You don't know my parents," Tonks argued, her eyes flashing with anger.
Remus shrugged. "It's beside the point, Tonks. You are right. The past three days have been wonderful, and I thank you for them. But we agreed that would be all from the beginning, right?" She nodded, and he kissed her forehead. "I'd better go."
"Fine."
"Take care of yourself." He kissed her once more. "And say hello to Harry for me."
He picked up the bundle and they walked down the staircase and to the door, where she kissed him goodbye once more. He was so intent on his thoughts and the task ahead of him that he didn't notice the tears in her eyes.
***
It was worse than he remembered.
The community (he refused to think pack- pack was for animals, not humans) was far from any cities, in a deep, dark area that made him think of a child's evil forest. There were caves there- that much he had remembered- and the network of caves formed shelter for those who made their home here. It wasn't a place that people would inhabit by choice, but out of protection.
When he'd been here years ago, there had been some semblance of civilization. Of course, the pair he'd fallen in with had been wizards themselves, bitten late in life but unable to hide what they were. They were long gone, killed in that first war. Now, there was no one here he remembered from the old days.
He stood on the edge, watching a woman bent over a fire. Her hair was gray and matted, her hands marred with dirt and scars. She wore a shapeless garment that had no real color and slid off one shoulder, revealing the protruding bones beneath. But when she turned to face Remus, he was shocked to see that her face had no age lines, and in fact, she looked like she was younger than him.
"What do you want?" she snarled. Her voice was hoarse, like his, rough and abused by the shifts in anatomy. Her eyes traveled over his clothing, and suddenly he was aware that even the threadbare rags he wore showed far more than he intended.
"Refuge," he choked out. "I'm looking for a place to stay. I have nowhere else to go."
Her eyes narrowed as they traveled over him, noting the claw marks and the bruises, the graying hair and the exhaustion. "Greyback's gone," she said finally. "Had work to do. You'll have to talk to de Broglie."
He didn't recognize the name. "Where can I find him?"
"Over there." She pointed, and he followed her gesture to a firepit, where a grey-haired man crouched down, roasting a haunch of meat. The bloody, mangled corpse of a deer lay beside him.
“Thank you,” he said, choking down his disgust. She turned away from him as if he’d ceased to exist for her, and he made his way over to where de Broglie was, feeling like his greatest hopes and worst fears were confirmed simultaneously. The man had long grey hair, ratted into dreadlocks and wore only a pair of shredded pants. But there was a grace to his hands and an economy of motion in his cooking that belied an intelligence and experience with such tasks. He looked up as Remus approached, brow furrowed.
“I don’t know you,” he said before Remus could say a word, “and that’s surprising. I thought I knew every werewolf in Britain.”
Remus extended a hand. “Remus Lupin.”
De Broglie tipped back on his heels. “Oh. Oh. Well, that explains it then.”
“Explains it?” Remus asked.
“I know who you are, of course,” and Remus’s heart sank to hear the frostiness in the man’s voice. “But I’ve never seen you.” His eyes fastened on Remus, boring into him. They were gray, hard as granite and cold as a tundra. “You’re a wizard.” He spat the last word as a curse.
“Yes. I was.” He was standing on a cliff’s edge, about to fall, flailing for balance as he met de Broglie’s eyes. The silence stretched between them, heavy with threats and pleas and desperation. Finally, de Broglie shrugged.
“Stay then. At least until Fenrir returns. I can’t promise you anything that he doesn’t approve himself.” He smiled, a cold, bitter, angry smile. “After all, this is his place.”
***
The cave that Remus claimed as his own was small; more a cross between an outcropping of rocks and a burrow than any proper living accommodation. The door was small, the walls were crumbling, and the floor was far more dirt than rock. It had been vacated recently because its former occupant had been captured and killed by the Ministry. Remus wasn’t quite sure how he felt about that, except that he was certain that the former occupant had left the stench that assaulted his nose when he first walked in.
There was no bed here, and no pillow- just the blanket he’d brought with him that he could wrap around him as he slept. There were no bookcases and no desks, no chairs or sofas- just a firepit situated under a hole that had been scratched to release the smoke, and a little cubby formed by an inlet of rock where Remus could stash his few possessions and block them from view with a sheet. His bathtub was now a freezing river outside, and his bathroom the great outdoors. It all seemed a romantic or amusing enough notion when camping, but when living it as a life it seemed nothing more than what it was.
He stepped out of the cave and into the sunlight, looking around as he settled on a log. The community stretched before him; an odd mixture of despair and order. There were people- werewolves, he corrected himself with no small shade of sarcasm- moving through the clearing, there in front of him. Some, like the girl he’d seen as he’d entered this hideaway, were unwashed and carelessly sloppy. He saw the dark stains of blood and crusted remnants of meals blotching colorless rags. Feral grins and teeth and animalistic movements, matted hair and stench and no guarantee that certain portions of anatomy will be covered.
And yet, here and there he spotted signs of civilization; others who still struggled to be human. A line of tattered washing fluttered between two trees. A young man with clean hair sat heating a battered kettle over a fire. His clothing was mismatched and ragged, but there was a certain amount of pride in the way he dressed- some intangible difference that Remus couldn’t put a finger on. He wondered if the young man sitting by the fire might be an ally, or at least someone who would respond to his arguments rationally.
But today was not the time for making arguments. He couldn’t afford to make himself stand out- not yet.
A pair of eyes was watching him.
“Hello,” he said, tentatively. “You can come out.”
The boy that emerged from the brush had blonde hair and bright blue eyes, and a wary expression as he regarded the newcomer sitting on the log. “Who’re you?” he demanded.
“Remus. Remus Lupin. Who are you?”
“I’m Christian,” the boy said. He wore a long man’s shirt that hung to his knees, the sleeves rolled up to expose bony elbows. He also had an open wound on one ankle. “I’ve never seen you before.”
“I just came today. What happened to your ankle?”
“I cut it a few days ago.” Christian shrugged.
“Does it hurt?” The boy shook his head, but Remus could see the way he was favoring it and the festered infection. He patted the log beside him. “Why don’t you sit down?” he suggested. “I could look at it.”
Christian obeyed, and Remus slid off to take the foot into his own hands. It was slender and delicate, but badly proportioned. “How old are you, Christian?” he asked as he studied the wound.
“Ten, I think. Fenrir says I’ve been here two years, so I guess that would be right. I don’t remember for sure.”
“Do you have a last name?”
The boy scowled. “No,” he growled. “I don’t want one. They didn’t want me and I don’t want them.”
“All right then.” Remus pulled out his wand, and before the boy could protest, began muttering the necessary spells. They weren’t adequate- what he wouldn’t give for Madame Pomfrey’s collection of potions and disinfectants right now!- but he kept a tight grip on the boy’s foot and soon the skin began to smooth and the whimpers of pain faded into sighs of relief.
“Christian!”
Remus whirled to see the young man he’d noticed sitting by the fire running towards them. He started to stand, to greet him, but the man pushed him hard, knocking Remus off-balance and sending him sprawling against the ground. A quick fist followed, bringing an explosion of pain to his right eye, and followed by a knee to the kidney.
His wand was in his hand. He could hex the person, throw them off and back, make them regret this attack… but instinct told him this was a fight he had to win without magic. And so he punched back, a sharp uppercut in his attacker’s ribs. The blow didn’t phase the younger man, but rather galvanized him, and the fight became fiercer.
Remus was dimly aware of joints that didn’t want to move and the fact he’d lost one shoe, which had been loose anyway. He knew blood was streaking from his nose and a crowd had gathered around, watching the fight and shouting wild encouragement. His attacker was young and strong, and unhampered by wounds from the night before, while Remus felt the wounds on his ribs beginning to bleed again.
He finally wedged his foot against the man’s hip and pushed, hard enough to make the younger man tumble off of him, and Remus stumbled to his feet. A cut above his eye was bleeding freely and he swiped irritably at the blood, circling around as the younger werewolf got to his knees. He raised his right hand, only now realizing the wand was still in it.
“Don’t you ever, EVER do that again,” he growled. “I did nothing you your son.”
“My brother,” the young man hissed. “And get that-“ he dove in, grabbed Remus’s wand, and threw it into the forest- “out of my face. We don’t need your kind here.”
“What kind?” Remus demanded. “I thought everyone here was a werewolf.” He noticed with satisfaction that the young man was wiping blood from his own face.
“Wizards. Wizards aren’t welcome here.” There was a murmur of agreement from the crowd.
“I’m not a wizard anymore. I left.”
“You have a wand.” Remus’s eyes darted to the side, and he noticed that the young Christian had retrieved his wand and was holding it. His opponent followed his gaze. “Break it,” he ordered his younger brother. Remus’s heart leapt into his throat, choking him. “Break it,” the man commanded again. “Now.”
Christian’s eyes moved between Remus and his older brother. “No,” he said finally. “He fixed my leg with it.”
“Christian!”
“No!” Very deliberately, his eyes fixed anywhere but on his older brother, Christian stepped forward and handed Remus his wand back.
“Thank you,” Remus whispered.
The brother struggled to his feet, drawing himself painfully to his full height and looking down his nose at Remus. “Just what I would expect of a wizard. Hiding behind a child.”
“Ask yourself why the child is willing to hide me.”
The man bristled, but he didn’t attack again. Remus thought he could see a flicker of grudging respect in his eyes. “Come on, Christian,” he said, grabbing the boy roughly by the arm. “Let’s go.” He stalked away, past the interested observers. Remus stood watching him, panting for breath and clutching his wand. From the corner of his eye he could see those around him; much the same, all too thin and monochromatic. Gradually, they began to disperse. But as one older man passed him, he clapped a short hand of welcome on Remus’s shoulder.
Remus Lupin might not be accepted by the werewolves, but he would be allowed to stay.
***
That night, he sat on the log outside his cave, staring up at the stars. “I miss you,” he whispered brokenly into the heavens. “I know you wouldn’t be able to be with me, but just knowing that you were here…. Sirius, I miss you so much.”
He buried his cut and bruised face in his hands. “How am I ever going to do this without you?”
He allowed himself one minute of self pity and then returned to his cave. He huddled against the wall, imagining he could feel warm arms around his waist and gentle breathing against his back, and in the echoes of noises he’d never admit to making he could hear the sound of Sirius’s laughter.
***
The days oozed by in a mess of hot sun and humidity, broken only by swims in the river. Life began to boil down to the basic necessities.
Each day he cleaned out his cave, shaking out his blanket and brushing the floor with a pine branch. There was little for breakfast, generally shared among the pack- the community, Remus firmly corrected himself. As the newest comer, he knew he had last pick at the food. Some mornings were not bad, when the community had a deer or boar that had been killed recently, or as autumn loomed and nuts became plentiful and small game was easy to catch. Other mornings, however, there was little even for those that had first priority, and nothing left for him.
Food became the dictator of his days. He had a few Sickles, but Sickles didn’t go far, especially with winter fixed firmly in his mind. Bread was unheard of, and sweets and alcohol and other complicated foods were topics best left unmentioned. If food was around, then there was still wood to be gathered and clothing to be washed and… and. There was not much else that was done.
The others filled their time with each other. Remus had learned names and faces, but he was still an outsider, distrusted and strongly disliked. He’d anticipated this, but it still cut deep into his soul, especially on those days where he didn’t speak at all.
He tried to write to Harry. With Sirius gone, the boy probably needed someone- some connection with his parents, with his past. But every letter was a miserable failed attempt.
Dear Harry, How are you? I'm fine, except I can't tell you where I am or what I'm doing.
Dear Harry, How are you? How are you coping with Sirius's death?
Dear Harry, Hope you're well, I'm absolutely miserable and there's nothing I can say that doesn't make me feel fucking worse, so screw writing to you even though I know I should because every time I do it only brings up everything that makes me want to scream "fuck Dumbledore and fuck this war" and run away to someplace where they'll never find me.
He couldn't send any of that to Harry. So it was no wonder he began writing to Tonks.
The first letter was painfully hard to write. It took hours to compose, trying not to show his misery and his circumstances between the lines. Finally, he’d crumpled it up and tossed it into the fire and decided that honesty was best, and wrote to her as if he was writing to Sirius. He hid nothing about his days in Fenrir’s camp, and it felt good to tell someone.
His letter was answered promptly, with care, concern, and descriptions of her own trials and fears. There was courage there in her words, a determination to go on with her job as usual, despite her struggles. And he did laugh as she related the story of Harry and Draco Malfoy on the train, even if he knew it wasn’t something to laugh about, really. He frowned at her description of the Dementors, and he wondered what she saw as the Dementors came near her.
What would he see? Remus snorted. Dementors had no power over him right now- he'd close his eyes and see his life.
"What's so funny?"
Remus turned to see Christian watching him. "I didn't think you were supposed to be around me," he said bitterly.
"I'm not," Christian replied, his face grubby and his eyes hard. "But Stefan went out hunting with Otto and Amber, and so I can come over. Can you show me more magic?"
"I don't do tricks," Remus said warily.
"I don't want to see tricks," Christian said scornfully. "I want to see the real stuff." He sat down next to Remus, surprisingly unconcerned. "My Mum and my Dad were wizards," he said. "So was Stefan, but they snapped his wand and he's never gotten a new one."
"Who's they?" Remus asked, taking his own wand out.
"People," Christian said, swinging his legs and kicking the log with his heels. "When Stefan was bitten, they found out and they snapped his wand and they drove us out of the town."
"You're remarkably calm about it."
Christian shrugged and picked up the letter from Tonks. "Who's writing to you?"
"A friend of mine. She's…" he hesitated, and then decided that caution was best. "She's far away."
"She a girlfriend?"
"Not really, no."
"Where is she?"
"At a school," Remus said. "Did you go to school?" Christian met him with an even gaze and Remus sighed. "All right, all right, I get the picture. How old were you when you were bitten?"
"Eight."
"How old are you now?"
Christian shrugged. "I told you that. I think ten. Are you going to show me some magic or not?"
"All right. Wingardium Leviosa." Remus levitated a stick carefully, guiding it as it bounced along. Christian watched it scornfully.
"That's not all that impressive."
"No. It's not meant to be. Would you like to try it?"
It was a risk. Remus couldn't even be sure that the kid was magic, although if his parents were both magical and his brother had been, it was unlikely that he wasn't. Christian regarded the wand warily. "Would it work?" he asked.
"It should. It's a simple spell, and even though it's not a wand that's meant for you, you can still usually use it."
Christian gave Remus one more skeptical look, and then took the wand and waved it wildly. "Wingadaim Levosa!" he said.
Nothing happened.
Remus chuckled. "It's not quite that easy," he said. "Here. Let me show you again." Patiently, he taught Christian the incantation and the proper wand movement. The lad was very quick, he realized, very bright. On the seventh try, Christian was able to levitate the stick in front of him. He wasn't able to quite control it yet, but Remus wouldn't really expect that of a first year.
"If you wanted to learn more, I could teach you," he offered.
Christian looked at the wand and considered. "Stefan wouldn't like it."
Remus exhaled. At least Christian hadn't demanded to know why he would want to learn, or insisted that magic was evil, or anything like that. "That's not a problem," he said with a smile. "I'm great at keeping secrets."
Christian smiled back at him, looking for the first time like the child he was. "I am, too."
***
Remus stood outside in the dusk, eyes closed and just smelling the air. Bread and apple pie and the richer, darker scent of meat floated out to him, and his stomach rumbled in anticipation. A near month in Greyback’s camp had left him with a deeper hunger than he’d known for years.
The Burrow might not be glamorous, but Remus had never expected glamour and happiness to go together. His parents' home had been comfortable but modest. Hogwarts had been his high point of riches, and that was certainly no manor. In fact, the one time he'd lived in something resembling lushness was his stay at 12 Grimmauld Place, and no amount of luxury could ever give back what that place had taken away from Sirius. But tonight, after his cave, the Weasley place looked like the height of richness.
He finally knocked on the door, aware as he did so how grubby his hand was. He was very, very relieved when Bill Weasley answered, as opposed to Molly or Arthur.
"Hello, Remus," Bill said, smiling. "How are you?"
"Been worse," Remus answered.
Bill's eyes swept over him. "It looks like you've been better, too. Remus, I don't mean to be rude, but would you like a shower or something before Mum catches you? I'm sure your life would be much easier if you didn't have to listen to her."
"Thanks." Remus's shoulders relaxed with relief and he followed Bill up the back stairs. Down in the kitchen he could hear Kingsley's deep bass rumble and Arthur's jaunty tenor, and the higher voices of Fleur and Molly. Bill handed him a towel and a bar of soap.
"Say, do you want to borrow a robe?"
Remus thought about it, and then shook his head. "No thanks. I'll just use a cleaning charm on this one. If I come downstairs in your robe, your mother will catch on that something's wrong. In fact, if you could not even let her know I'm up here…."
"I can try," Bill promised. "But if she bursts in on you while you're in the shower, you're on your own!"
They both laughed, and Remus slipped into the bathroom and closed the door.
It was heaven to use indoor plumbing, and even better to have hot water streaming over him. Remus didn't realize until he was under the shower spray just how sore his muscles were and how filthy he was, despite dips in the stream and well-applied charms. He stood under the steaming water for long minutes, head tilted back and eyes closed as the water coursed down his naked body. Finally, reluctantly, he shut the water off.
Feeling worlds better he walked down the stairs, deliberately keeping his face neutral and casual, as if he'd had every reason to be upstairs in the Weasleys' shower. As he came down he caught Kingsley's eye and started to walk over to talk to him, but Molly intercepted.
"Remus!" she said. "What does Dumbledore have you doing? You're as thin as a rail!"
He smiled, half dutifully and half genuinely. Sirius, on one of his charitable days, had remarked that Molly was a mother to everyone- it was her default setting. It amused him that this woman found it necessary to mother him- a graying, shabby, werewolf,but when it led to a plate with pot roast, mashed potatoes, and vegetables being placed in front of him, he was more than willing to be mothered, even if he and Bill did have to stifle their laughter when Molly ladled out a second serving for him.
At least, his amusement lasted through dinner. Between Kingsley's imitations of the new Prime Minister (which were spot on, everyone admitted), Arthur's and Molly's good-natured bickering , and the (rather nauseating, although he'd never say it) display of affection between Bill and Fleur, no one felt it necessary to plumb him for information. Perhaps they were remembering the last time he'd visited, when he and Bill had launched into the laundry list of the woes of England's wizarding world, and didn't want a repeat. Fair enough. The thought kept him occupied until the pie Molly served for dessert was gone and Fleur, Bill, Arthur, and Kingsley had headed for the living room.
"There's something I need to discuss with you, Remus," Molly said as she settled across from him before he could move, a glass of milk in her hand.
"Oh?"
"Yes." Molly settled herself across from him. "I've been talking with Tonks."
"How is she?" Remus asked.
Molly snorted. "As if you care! She's told me what's been going on between you two, Remus."
It honestly took him a moment to understand what Molly meant. "In August, you mean?" he asked.
"That's one way to put it! Remus, from what I understand you and Tonks had quite a connection, and then you simply dropped her, with no word in weeks!"
He stared at her blankly.
Molly sighed. "Remus, dear, I know you've been busy, and I have an idea of what Dumbledore's asked you to do. But one letter in a month?"
"Molly, forgive me, but I fail to see what business my correspondence is of yours."
Molly was undeterred. "Tonks has been talking to me quite a bit, Remus. I don't think you realize just how badly she's taking this."
"Tonks has a lot of things on her mind right now," Remus pointed out. "With her duties in Hogwarts and Dementors on the loose, I hardly think her love life is a high priority. Besides, not that it is any of your business, but she and I had an understanding."
"So I heard," Molly said acridly, and Remus privately thought Dumbledore was definitely wrong in not putting Molly on the front lines. Determination like that could win wars. "But Remus, Tonks is a young woman. Didn't it ever occur to you that she might take more from it than you intended?"
He shrugged. "That's between her and myself."
"Well, that's just it. You're not letting it be between her and yourself. You've shut her out completely and now she has nowhere to turn. She said you were both happy during that time."
Happy was a relative term, but Remus didn't feel like explaining that to this bossy, intrusive presence at the moment. "Molly, there are reasons- and very good ones- that I am not looking for a commitment at this point in time."
She arched an eyebrow. "Oh?"
He couldn't bring himself to say Sirius's name to her. But there were other reasons. "I can't even pretend I could provide for a wife, Molly. I can barely keep myself fed and clothed."
"So I noticed."
He ignored her. "Tonks is twenty-four, going on twenty-five. I am thirty-seven, going on fifty. And Molly, I am a werewolf."
"She's a bright young woman, Remus. She's aware of that fact."
He sighed. "Never mind." He stood up. "I'm going to find Arthur. There are some things we need to discuss."
Molly laid a hand on his shoulder. "You can't keep shutting people out just because you're a werewolf, Remus."
"Oh yes? Well Molly, watch me."
***
Molly and Arthur had offered that he could stay the night, and even though he knew he should return to the settlement, Remus accepted. The full moon was tomorrow night, and the prospect of being near humanity tonight was too hard to pass up.
He thought he would sleep well. They'd given him Percy's old room, and the bed was soft and sported clean sheets. The room was quiet and private, but Remus imagined tonight he could feel the bitterness that had driven the third Weasley son from this house. For the first time, he understood a bit. He didn't forgive, but he understood just how Percy must have chafed.
At least, that was why he told himself he was awake. It had nothing to do with the fact that a soft mattress now felt foreign to him, and he was worried about returning tomorrow. Or a stomach that was still craving food, despite two hefty helpings at dinner.
It was the last that finally drove him out of bed in the wee hours of the morning and sent him creeping downstairs to the kitchen. To his surprise, he found the light on, and a red head bent over a parchment and quill. He breathed a sigh of relief when Bill looked up and smiled at him.
"Can't sleep?" Bill asked.
Remus shrugged. "A little hungry," he confessed.
The remains of the pie were on the table. Bill summoned over another plate and cut Remus a generous piece. "Granted, I'm sure a sugar high won't help, but if you counteract it with some warm milk you might come out ahead." He set the quill and parchment aside. "I saw Mum cornered you earlier."
"Your mother is a terrifying woman."
Bill laughed. "You're telling me." He shifted uncomfortably. "Listen, given how much Mum and Tonks go over and over it, I guess I should tell you I know what's going on. I've known for quite a while- since June."
"June?" Remus nearly choked on a slice of apple. "Nothing was happening in June!"
"I thought she made a pass at you?" Bill said around a mouthful.
"I don't think she did, but I could be… oh wait." Remus's insides squirmed uncomfortably as he remembered a night a week after Sirius died. Tonks had insisted on cooking him dinner (well, she'd heated the sauce and boiled spaghetti), and served it by candlelight with wine. There had been stilted conversation and odd looks across the table, and now the meaning of the entire scene came crashing down on him. "Oh shit."
Bill snickered, trying to hide it and failing miserably.
"Why do women try to be subtle?" Remus asked, slumping in his chair and feeling completely stupid. Other things started falling into place, making sense. The way Tonks brushed against him more, the way she kept confiding in him (was that a sign? Well, maybe not), key words she'd said… he could have hit himself over the head for being so stupid.
And the worst was, he had known it. Somewhere, on some level, he had acknowledged this the very first time he'd slept with her, completely pissed and looking for comfort. But he'd pushed it from his mind, and forgotten it thoroughly in the aftermath of Dumbledore's assignment.
"I'm such a bloody idiot," he moaned, cradling his head in his hands. "She wasn't subtle."
"It could be worse," Bill said. "I mean, you do like her, right?"
"Well, yes, in many ways," Remus admitted. "But that's exactly the problem."
"What's the problem?"
"If you want to find a comfort fuck, it's usually better to do it with someone you don't like. At least that way when you mess up their head it doesn't matter so much."
Most men would have laughed. Molly would have been disgusted. Bill Weasley simply studied Remus with open blue eyes. "Remus, this is probably an inappropriate question, and tell me to sod off if you don't want to answer it, but what exactly where you looking for comfort for?"
"Sod off."
"All right." Bill didn't seem at all offended. Instead, he just took another bite of his pie. "Have you heard from Dung recently?"
Remus snorted. "No. I haven't heard from anyone." He pushed the untouched pie away. "I should write more often, I suppose."
"Harry wishes you would."
That hurt more than anything else anyone had said all evening. "Did he talk about it when he was here?" Remus asked.
"No, not really. But Ginny says so, and she's usually right. At least she is when it comes to Harry."
Remus made a face and said nothing, remembering his failed attempts to write to Harry. He thought about young Christian, whom he was beginning to mentor, and pushed away the thought that the son of his best friend was probably looking at him for guidance as well. He thought about what would happen if Fenrir Greyback did get his hands on one of those letters, and the thought made him feel better because it was a valid reason for not writing to Harry. "I can't," Remus finally said.
Bill shrugged. "You know your life best," he said, but there was no resentment in that. But Remus had the sick feeling that it was all going to come tumbling down on him, whether he liked it or not.
End of Part I