Fic: Out of Sight
Title: Out of Sight
Author: shimotsuki
Rating & Warnings: PG (mild profanity)
Prompts: chance, and "Love looks not with the eyes but with the mind." - A Midsummer Night's Dream (I, 1, 234)
Word Count: 3658
Summary: As Remus sets out to join Greyback's pack, memories of his friendship with Tonks are his anchor to sanity. But there are certain things that both of them simply must forget, and time spent apart will let them do that. ...Won't it?
Author's notes: This story is part of the Kaleidoscope series, but it stands alone. (The two nameless thugs from Subterfuge make a cameo appearance.)
Out of Sight
"All right, Lupin," Moody growled. "This is it."
Remus nodded, pulling his shabby rucksack on over one shoulder, then the other, and shrugging once to settle its weight in the centre of his back. He reached high up inside the hollow tree one last time to feel for the reassuring smoothness of his wand, hidden from view (if not from touch) by a handful of dry leaves and several Concealment Charms.
"Leave a coded message in the tree if you need to contact the Order. I'll check it every day or two. Or send me a Patronus, for emergencies."
Out of nowhere, even in these singularly unfunny circumstances, Remus found himself fighting to suppress a snigger at Moody's ponderous mission briefing. He did know all the plans by heart, after all-most of them were his plans.
"I'll meet you right here Tuesday next at sunset to hear your first report." Moody's magical eye was darting in all directions, spinning so fast it made Remus feel slightly ill. "If I can't make it, Tonks is your backup contact. I'll bring her along sometime before then, to show her this Apparition point."
Remus nodded again, but the bubble of laughter in his chest froze and shattered, leaving him empty.
It was a good thing Moody hadn't said for sure which day Tonks would be here.
Remus wasn't sure he trusted himself to stay away.
The old Auror clapped a heavy hand on his shoulder and looked at him with both eyes for once. The natural eye was full of something that didn't quite seem to fit in Moody's craggy face-Remus wasn't sure if it was apology, or concern, or maybe even compassion, but it warmed him a little despite the dementor-induced chill blanketing the countryside.
"Thank you, Alastor. I'll see you Tuesday evening." Remus scraped up half a smile for the man who was now his only link to the Order and turned to go.
"Lupin."
He turned around again.
"Constant vigilance!"
Remus bit back a fresh surge of slightly manic laughter and nodded gravely.
. * . * .
Stepping away from the minimal protection of the wood, Remus began to follow a narrow, rutted lane. Today, the road disappeared into the clammy fog not ten paces away. But he had been here before, under Moody's Invisibility Cloak, so he knew it ran straight for a good half mile before curving to the left to follow a sluggish river. And there, at the bend in the road by the river's edge, stood three derelict old houses.
Derelict, but far from abandoned. Those three houses were the heart of Fenrir Greyback's domain.
Remus turned around and looked behind him. He could no longer see the wood, but mist would be no problem for Moody's magical eye. He didn't dare wave, so he nodded, once, before resuming his trek along the lane.
A faint pop echoed unevenly through the fog. Moody had Disapparated.
Remus was alone.
He clenched his fists, refusing to acknowledge the shiver that crawled down his spine. This was simply another Order mission. There was nothing to be gained by dwelling on the fact that he would be gone for months, not days. Or that, in order to be accepted in Greyback's pack, he might be forced to rip away the veneer of civilisation-of humanity-that he had so carefully nurtured all his life.
"Furry little problem," he muttered, striding resolutely through the mist. If he could manage to maintain his sense of humour, against all odds, maybe he could stay himself as well.
At least there was one good thing about this mission-it meant it would be months before he saw Tonks again.
Months. His rebellious heart twisted, and he struck his thigh with one fist, angry at himself for that selfish reaction. Being apart from Tonks was a good thing. If he stayed away long enough, surely this mad idea of hers, that she was in love with him, would fade. They would be able to have their old comfortable friendship again.
Remus closed his eyes and saw her heart-shaped face, alive with laughter, framed in spiky pink hair. He needed her friendship so very badly, especially now that Sirius was gone. He simply would not think about her voice, low and unsteady, insisting that he should give her a chance to be more than a friend. He would not think about that night, weeks ago, in Hogsmeade-the sudden unexpected warmth of her hands on his shoulders-the faint scent of lavender he breathed when she leaned close-the joy that exploded in his heart when she kissed him.
Tonks was his friend. The best friend he had found since his school days. He must never forget how lucky he was to have such a steady, loyal, cheeky, funny friend.
And he must never, ever let himself think about how much he loved her.
. * . * .
Voices began to penetrate the mist. The wisps of fog thinned, and Remus saw that he had reached the bend in the road and the houses by the river.
There were several people sitting or squatting around a fireplace made from half a metal drum split lengthwise. A burly-looking man was feeding kindling to a tiny fire, swearing at it under his breath as the logs refused to catch.
A taller, thinner man jerked his head up and stared. "Who're you?"
"The name is Lupin," Remus said evenly. "I'd like to join your camp." He swung the rucksack off his shoulders and dropped it onto the ground at his feet.
Everyone was watching him now, except the man who was still poking and grumbling at the fire. There was a middle-aged woman with her coarse grey hair hacked short and uneven, and another, younger woman knitting something with a pair of smoothed and sharpened sticks. A lanky black-haired man, maybe a little older than Bill Weasley, was in the middle of cleaning and spitting three rabbits. He regarded Remus with his head slightly tilted, and there was something effortlessly aristocratic about his bearing that said old pureblood family. The eyes under the black hair weren't grey, though-or hazel, either, just a clear dark blue-and Remus found himself feeling grateful for that. The man wasn't particularly handsome, but his face was young, unlined. He must not have been a werewolf for very long.
"You want to stay here, eh?" The tall man who'd spoken before stood and walked closer, sizing Remus up. "The rules are, anything you find or steal outside the camp is yours. But take something from one of us, and we beat you to a quivering pulp."
"Understood." Remus made a show of looking the man over as well. The streaks of grey through the straw-coloured hair were disturbingly familiar.
"And you don't eat unless you contribute," the man went on. "So tonight, you don't eat."
Remus nodded. "Fair enough." For once, that would be no hardship. Molly had plied him with roast beef and Yorkshire pudding that afternoon, blinking back tears as she fussed and hovered and kept filling his plate until he thought he would burst.
The older of the two women squinted shortsightedly at him. "Where are you from?"
"Nowhere, really. I've been homeless for a while," he lied. "My family are all dead, and I haven't had a job for years." That part, of course, was true, and the sigh he let himself heave for effect was a real one. "I'm tired of moving around."
The woman nodded and gestured at one of the logs that formed a rough circle around the fire. "I'm Bess. Take a seat."
Remus sat, studying faces and listening to conversation, which was mostly about plans for hunting, scavenging, and-apparently-stealing the next day.
His people. His world, now.
He found his eyes drawn to the swift, repetitive movements of the makeshift knitting needles. The young woman wielding them was quite tall, with a thin, closed face and light brown hair that hung down her back in a long plait. She seemed to sense Remus watching her, because she looked up and stared back. He tried a friendly smile, but she scowled suspiciously and returned to her knitting.
Remus sighed and looked away. His gaze landed on the dark-haired man, now turning the spitted rabbits over the fire, but what he saw was another knitter-one with better needles and clean new yarn, but much less skill.
. * . * .
Tonks had surprised them all, one night last winter at Grimmauld Place, when she declined to join a game of Exploding Poker and pulled a pair of knitting needles and a fat skein of wool out of her battered Auror satchel instead. A few lumpy, uneven rows of stitches were all she had so far, and she tugged at them uncertainly before catching her bottom lip between her teeth and launching herself into the fray. She knitted without magic, the needles awkward in her unpractised hands.
"Looks like you've been around my mum a bit too much lately," Bill teased, casting an elegant Shuffle Charm on a battered old deck of cards.
Tonks didn't look up, but she grinned. "Naw, I learned from my gran, years ago. That's why I use Muggle needles."
The poker game was as cutthroat as always, but Remus's attention kept straying to the valiant struggle playing out beside him. With disconcerting frequency, Tonks counted stitches, swore robustly under her breath, and ripped out a row or two. He thought she was managing to knit more than she was unravelling, but he wasn't entirely sure.
"What's the project?" he asked once, while he was waiting for Sirius to decide whether Kingsley was bluffing.
"Muffler," she replied, her eyes never leaving her fingers.
Remus picked up the skein of variegated wool. The dark gold might have been for Hufflepuff, but instead of black, there was a rich red, a warm toffee brown, and a deep blue. He wondered if the muffler was a present for Ted. "I like these colours."
"Glad to hear it." She flashed him a mischievous grin before groaning and ripping out yet another row of stitches.
For three days Tonks and her brightly coloured muffler-to-be were inseparable. Kingsley even teased her about knitting on her lunch breaks at work. But Remus found himself hoping this new obsession wouldn't last too long-he missed her joining in their card games, and she was only halfway listening to the conversation, reserving the bulk of her attention for counting stitches and swearing.
The third evening was the night before the full moon. Tonks and Moody had stopped in, and they all sat and chatted (no sense playing poker with a magical eye in the room) until the clock in the hall upstairs chimed ten. Then Remus pushed back his chair and stood.
"I'd better make it an early night tonight," he began, but Tonks was looking up at him in a near panic.
"Oh, wait just a minute, won't you? I'm nearly finished!"
"Well, in that case, I'd hate to miss the grand debut." Remus sat back down, smiling fondly as her look of fierce concentration intensified. She was adding fringe to the edges, pulling lengths of yarn through the last row of stitches with some kind of hook and knotting them off. For all the unravelling she had done, the muffler was plenty long now, although it was still just as lumpy and uneven as it had been from the start.
"Ha." With a look of triumph, she shook the muffler out and held it up. "A work of art!"
Remus and Sirius applauded; Moody merely harrumphed, but the corners of his mouth twitched.
And then she was pressing it into Remus's hands, with a smile that was almost shy. "Here."
He blinked at her, caught off guard. "It's for me?"
Tonks nodded. "I start a whole week of night shifts tomorrow. I won't be able to stop by, the evening after the moon."
"Oh." Remus felt unreasonably disappointed-he'd really begun to count on her visits to lift his spirits after he woke up from sleeping off the transformation. But that was stupid. She had her job, and her own life-it certainly wasn't her responsibility to keep him entertained, for Merlin's sake.
She caught his hand and squeezed it, though, and the easy friendly gesture made him smile again.
"That's why I wanted you to have the muffler-something cosy and colourful. I thought it might cheer you up a bit."
And she'd spent every spare minute knitting it since she'd seen the Auror duty roster, so that it would be finished before the moon. Remus felt warm all over. "It's exactly what I need. I'll be sure to wear it all the time when I'm recovering."
Tonks grinned at him, the wide bright grin like a sunbeam that he so loved to see.
. * . * .
"All right, you lot," someone called out.
Remus looked up, heart racing. Stupid. He couldn't afford to lose himself in daydreams like that, not on a mission.
The black-haired man was arranging the roasted rabbits on a large platter that seemed to have begun life as the upturned lid of a trash bin. "Supper's ready."
Remus sat quietly as the others hovered around the fire, each taking a plate from a haphazard pile stacked under a tree. They were all eyeing the rabbits hungrily, but no one approached the platter until the tall, thin man pushed his way through, picked up a long knife, and carved himself a chunk of the slightly charred meat. Then the burly man started to follow, but the woman called Bess fixed him with a steely glare and he backed away, letting her go first. He crossed his arms and swept the clearing with a dangerous scowl. Remus dropped his eyes, pretending he hadn't seen the silent altercation.
Instead, he made a mental note for future reference.
All together there were only about a dozen people gathered around the roasted rabbits, but through the mist Remus could just make out another fire on the far side of the third house. On his reconnaissance missions, under Moody's cloak, he'd seen enough to judge that Greyback lived in the furthest house-the one closest to the ugly sprawling town that huddled along the river a few miles downstream. This was why Remus had approached the camp from the wood instead of from the town. It would be best to stay away from Greyback himself for as long as he could manage it.
The young woman with the knitting and the black-haired man were the last to have a go at the rabbits. They had to work a bit, picking meat off the bones, but they each had a decent-sized pile of food on their plates in the end.
Remus scanned the circle of silent, munching werewolves, watching for any sign at all that some of them might be approachable-and refusing to let himself compare this chilly meal with the generous camaraderie around the table at the Burrow, or in the kitchen at Grimmauld Place, that he had once thought was normal.
It wouldn't do to be forgetting that this was normal, now.
. * . * .
The muffler was in Remus's rucksack. He hadn't planned to bring it along on this mission-only a couple of blankets, a change of clothes or two, Muggle biros and notebooks for his Order reports, maybe one book. But at the last minute, he'd snatched up the muffler and stuffed it deep inside the rucksack. He'd leave it in there, where it would be safe; he didn't want to get it dirty, or lose it. Just knowing that a soft, lumpy, colourful talisman of friendship was close at hand made him feel a little less like a soul set adrift.
And then a disturbing thought pricked at him. Are you so sure it was a talisman of friendship? What had the light in her eyes meant, that pre-moon night, brimming over with concern and eagerness and just a hint of shyness?
Remus shook his head. It had to have been friendship. She couldn't possibly have thought she loved him as long ago as that. Surely he could keep the muffler with him-take comfort from it-with a clear conscience.
. * . * .
People had begun to set their plates down, leaning back to watch the fire or wandering away again. The young woman got to her feet, tossed her plait over her shoulder, and began gathering up the empty dishes. "All right, Matt?"
The black-haired man nodded and stood, wiping his hands on his trousers.
"Wait," said Bess. "Cathy, have a rest. Lupin, you help Matt with the washing up."
Shrugging, the young woman dumped her armful of plates on the ground and picked up her knitting again. Remus glanced carefully around the group, but no one seemed to think this development was unusual, so he filled his arms with chipped and mismatched crockery and followed the younger man through the fog to the river's edge. The light of the campfire and the sporadic sound of voices faded away behind them as the mist closed in, and Remus felt his neck prickle. He was alone with a destitute stranger.
The man squatted down and set his load of dishes on the riverbank, but he made no move to start cleaning them. Remus squatted next to him and waited, muscles coiled in readiness to dodge a blow. Or land one, if need be.
But the man merely turned to look Remus over, thoroughly. "This may sound like an odd question, but..." A sardonic smile settled on his craggy face. "Do you believe in werewolves?"
Caught completely by surprise, Remus laughed once, sharply. "I'm afraid I haven't much choice, as I find myself faced with incontrovertible evidence every twenty-nine days."
The dark head nodded. "Well, I'm sorry to hear it, but at least that means you're safe."
"Safe?" Remus raised an eyebrow.
"Safe enough." The sardonic smile returned. "Ordinary vagrants come here too, sometimes, trying to stay with us."
"What happens to them?"
"What do you think?" The man scooped up a plateful of water and let it splash back into the river. "Come full moon, there's one human and two dozen werewolves. My money isn't on the human."
Remus swallowed, tasting bile.
The smile stretched tight, humourless. "Exactly. Greyback-he's the leader here-he thinks it's funny when a human joins the pack, but Bess and I don't like it much. We try to warn them away if we can."
Remus studied the younger man, trying to see what he could read in the somewhat haughty face. And-Bess again. She had sent them off to wash dishes together. What kind of influence did she have in the pack? Could he widen her rift with Greyback?
The man held out his hand. "Matthias Malkin."
Remus took the hand and shook it. "Remus Lupin."
But at that, Malkin dropped his hand and stared. "Merlin's balls-you're the Gryffindor prefect."
Remus blinked. "Were we at Hogwarts together? I'm sorry-I don't remember you-"
The other man laughed; it sounded genuine. "I was a first-year Slytherin. There's no reason you would have remembered me. But I remember you." His gaze was sharp. "You never did anything to stop those wild friends of yours, but you never went out of your way to harass Slytherins, either. We thought you were all right."
The two of them studied each other, wary but curious.
"This is no place for a prefect," said Malkin abruptly. "If you want to eat, and stay warm, you have to do what it takes." He shrugged. "But you're a werewolf now, so I suppose you've worked out the facts of life on your own."
Remus drew a careful breath. This was his first opening. "Actually, when I was a prefect, I was already a werewolf."
Malkin shuddered. "Good God, man, that's what, twenty years of transformations?"
"Nearer thirty," said Remus quietly. "But the point is, we have more choices than this."
The other man sneered. "What brings you here, then? You don't look like you've got a lot of choices just now."
"It's a long story." Remus managed a weary smile. "But I don't suppose our days are full from dawn to dusk, here." Not the most brilliant joke he'd ever made, but at least he hadn't lost his sense of humour completely. Yet. "Maybe I'll have a chance to tell you sometime."
Malkin still looked dubious, but the sneer was gone, and the glint of curiosity was back. "Right. Maybe you will."
. * . * .
That night was cold and very dark. The moon (waning gibbous) was completely obscured by the dementors' clammy fog.
Remus lay, wrapped in his two shabby blankets, on the musty stained carpet of what had once been a living room. All around him were mutters and snores-the sounds of his packmates. His fellow werewolves. Some of whom might even be potential allies.
Even so, a cold knot of loneliness cramped his stomach and sent sleep hovering just out of reach.
He sighed and rolled over. He'd gone soft. For Merlin's sake, he had been essentially alone for the better part of twelve years; it shouldn't be this difficult to strike out on his own again. He should have known it would be dangerous to let himself begin to rely on Sirius's blazing loyalty, or Molly's motherly fussing, or Tonks...
Her image filled his mind again, before he could stop it-hair lank and brown, eyes dark with anger, fists clenched in frustration. "I don't care how long you'll be gone. I'll be waiting, Remus. I love you."
"Don't-please don't. You mustn't." But as his lips formed the silent plea, his hand crept into the rucksack and groped for a handful of soft, lumpy wool.
He wound the muffler around his neck and settled one loose end under his cheek.
Warmer now, in body and in soul, Remus slid gently into sleep.
. * fin * .
Author: shimotsuki
Rating & Warnings: PG (mild profanity)
Prompts: chance, and "Love looks not with the eyes but with the mind." - A Midsummer Night's Dream (I, 1, 234)
Word Count: 3658
Summary: As Remus sets out to join Greyback's pack, memories of his friendship with Tonks are his anchor to sanity. But there are certain things that both of them simply must forget, and time spent apart will let them do that. ...Won't it?
Author's notes: This story is part of the Kaleidoscope series, but it stands alone. (The two nameless thugs from Subterfuge make a cameo appearance.)
Out of Sight
"All right, Lupin," Moody growled. "This is it."
Remus nodded, pulling his shabby rucksack on over one shoulder, then the other, and shrugging once to settle its weight in the centre of his back. He reached high up inside the hollow tree one last time to feel for the reassuring smoothness of his wand, hidden from view (if not from touch) by a handful of dry leaves and several Concealment Charms.
"Leave a coded message in the tree if you need to contact the Order. I'll check it every day or two. Or send me a Patronus, for emergencies."
Out of nowhere, even in these singularly unfunny circumstances, Remus found himself fighting to suppress a snigger at Moody's ponderous mission briefing. He did know all the plans by heart, after all-most of them were his plans.
"I'll meet you right here Tuesday next at sunset to hear your first report." Moody's magical eye was darting in all directions, spinning so fast it made Remus feel slightly ill. "If I can't make it, Tonks is your backup contact. I'll bring her along sometime before then, to show her this Apparition point."
Remus nodded again, but the bubble of laughter in his chest froze and shattered, leaving him empty.
It was a good thing Moody hadn't said for sure which day Tonks would be here.
Remus wasn't sure he trusted himself to stay away.
The old Auror clapped a heavy hand on his shoulder and looked at him with both eyes for once. The natural eye was full of something that didn't quite seem to fit in Moody's craggy face-Remus wasn't sure if it was apology, or concern, or maybe even compassion, but it warmed him a little despite the dementor-induced chill blanketing the countryside.
"Thank you, Alastor. I'll see you Tuesday evening." Remus scraped up half a smile for the man who was now his only link to the Order and turned to go.
"Lupin."
He turned around again.
"Constant vigilance!"
Remus bit back a fresh surge of slightly manic laughter and nodded gravely.
. * . * .
Stepping away from the minimal protection of the wood, Remus began to follow a narrow, rutted lane. Today, the road disappeared into the clammy fog not ten paces away. But he had been here before, under Moody's Invisibility Cloak, so he knew it ran straight for a good half mile before curving to the left to follow a sluggish river. And there, at the bend in the road by the river's edge, stood three derelict old houses.
Derelict, but far from abandoned. Those three houses were the heart of Fenrir Greyback's domain.
Remus turned around and looked behind him. He could no longer see the wood, but mist would be no problem for Moody's magical eye. He didn't dare wave, so he nodded, once, before resuming his trek along the lane.
A faint pop echoed unevenly through the fog. Moody had Disapparated.
Remus was alone.
He clenched his fists, refusing to acknowledge the shiver that crawled down his spine. This was simply another Order mission. There was nothing to be gained by dwelling on the fact that he would be gone for months, not days. Or that, in order to be accepted in Greyback's pack, he might be forced to rip away the veneer of civilisation-of humanity-that he had so carefully nurtured all his life.
"Furry little problem," he muttered, striding resolutely through the mist. If he could manage to maintain his sense of humour, against all odds, maybe he could stay himself as well.
At least there was one good thing about this mission-it meant it would be months before he saw Tonks again.
Months. His rebellious heart twisted, and he struck his thigh with one fist, angry at himself for that selfish reaction. Being apart from Tonks was a good thing. If he stayed away long enough, surely this mad idea of hers, that she was in love with him, would fade. They would be able to have their old comfortable friendship again.
Remus closed his eyes and saw her heart-shaped face, alive with laughter, framed in spiky pink hair. He needed her friendship so very badly, especially now that Sirius was gone. He simply would not think about her voice, low and unsteady, insisting that he should give her a chance to be more than a friend. He would not think about that night, weeks ago, in Hogsmeade-the sudden unexpected warmth of her hands on his shoulders-the faint scent of lavender he breathed when she leaned close-the joy that exploded in his heart when she kissed him.
Tonks was his friend. The best friend he had found since his school days. He must never forget how lucky he was to have such a steady, loyal, cheeky, funny friend.
And he must never, ever let himself think about how much he loved her.
. * . * .
Voices began to penetrate the mist. The wisps of fog thinned, and Remus saw that he had reached the bend in the road and the houses by the river.
There were several people sitting or squatting around a fireplace made from half a metal drum split lengthwise. A burly-looking man was feeding kindling to a tiny fire, swearing at it under his breath as the logs refused to catch.
A taller, thinner man jerked his head up and stared. "Who're you?"
"The name is Lupin," Remus said evenly. "I'd like to join your camp." He swung the rucksack off his shoulders and dropped it onto the ground at his feet.
Everyone was watching him now, except the man who was still poking and grumbling at the fire. There was a middle-aged woman with her coarse grey hair hacked short and uneven, and another, younger woman knitting something with a pair of smoothed and sharpened sticks. A lanky black-haired man, maybe a little older than Bill Weasley, was in the middle of cleaning and spitting three rabbits. He regarded Remus with his head slightly tilted, and there was something effortlessly aristocratic about his bearing that said old pureblood family. The eyes under the black hair weren't grey, though-or hazel, either, just a clear dark blue-and Remus found himself feeling grateful for that. The man wasn't particularly handsome, but his face was young, unlined. He must not have been a werewolf for very long.
"You want to stay here, eh?" The tall man who'd spoken before stood and walked closer, sizing Remus up. "The rules are, anything you find or steal outside the camp is yours. But take something from one of us, and we beat you to a quivering pulp."
"Understood." Remus made a show of looking the man over as well. The streaks of grey through the straw-coloured hair were disturbingly familiar.
"And you don't eat unless you contribute," the man went on. "So tonight, you don't eat."
Remus nodded. "Fair enough." For once, that would be no hardship. Molly had plied him with roast beef and Yorkshire pudding that afternoon, blinking back tears as she fussed and hovered and kept filling his plate until he thought he would burst.
The older of the two women squinted shortsightedly at him. "Where are you from?"
"Nowhere, really. I've been homeless for a while," he lied. "My family are all dead, and I haven't had a job for years." That part, of course, was true, and the sigh he let himself heave for effect was a real one. "I'm tired of moving around."
The woman nodded and gestured at one of the logs that formed a rough circle around the fire. "I'm Bess. Take a seat."
Remus sat, studying faces and listening to conversation, which was mostly about plans for hunting, scavenging, and-apparently-stealing the next day.
His people. His world, now.
He found his eyes drawn to the swift, repetitive movements of the makeshift knitting needles. The young woman wielding them was quite tall, with a thin, closed face and light brown hair that hung down her back in a long plait. She seemed to sense Remus watching her, because she looked up and stared back. He tried a friendly smile, but she scowled suspiciously and returned to her knitting.
Remus sighed and looked away. His gaze landed on the dark-haired man, now turning the spitted rabbits over the fire, but what he saw was another knitter-one with better needles and clean new yarn, but much less skill.
. * . * .
Tonks had surprised them all, one night last winter at Grimmauld Place, when she declined to join a game of Exploding Poker and pulled a pair of knitting needles and a fat skein of wool out of her battered Auror satchel instead. A few lumpy, uneven rows of stitches were all she had so far, and she tugged at them uncertainly before catching her bottom lip between her teeth and launching herself into the fray. She knitted without magic, the needles awkward in her unpractised hands.
"Looks like you've been around my mum a bit too much lately," Bill teased, casting an elegant Shuffle Charm on a battered old deck of cards.
Tonks didn't look up, but she grinned. "Naw, I learned from my gran, years ago. That's why I use Muggle needles."
The poker game was as cutthroat as always, but Remus's attention kept straying to the valiant struggle playing out beside him. With disconcerting frequency, Tonks counted stitches, swore robustly under her breath, and ripped out a row or two. He thought she was managing to knit more than she was unravelling, but he wasn't entirely sure.
"What's the project?" he asked once, while he was waiting for Sirius to decide whether Kingsley was bluffing.
"Muffler," she replied, her eyes never leaving her fingers.
Remus picked up the skein of variegated wool. The dark gold might have been for Hufflepuff, but instead of black, there was a rich red, a warm toffee brown, and a deep blue. He wondered if the muffler was a present for Ted. "I like these colours."
"Glad to hear it." She flashed him a mischievous grin before groaning and ripping out yet another row of stitches.
For three days Tonks and her brightly coloured muffler-to-be were inseparable. Kingsley even teased her about knitting on her lunch breaks at work. But Remus found himself hoping this new obsession wouldn't last too long-he missed her joining in their card games, and she was only halfway listening to the conversation, reserving the bulk of her attention for counting stitches and swearing.
The third evening was the night before the full moon. Tonks and Moody had stopped in, and they all sat and chatted (no sense playing poker with a magical eye in the room) until the clock in the hall upstairs chimed ten. Then Remus pushed back his chair and stood.
"I'd better make it an early night tonight," he began, but Tonks was looking up at him in a near panic.
"Oh, wait just a minute, won't you? I'm nearly finished!"
"Well, in that case, I'd hate to miss the grand debut." Remus sat back down, smiling fondly as her look of fierce concentration intensified. She was adding fringe to the edges, pulling lengths of yarn through the last row of stitches with some kind of hook and knotting them off. For all the unravelling she had done, the muffler was plenty long now, although it was still just as lumpy and uneven as it had been from the start.
"Ha." With a look of triumph, she shook the muffler out and held it up. "A work of art!"
Remus and Sirius applauded; Moody merely harrumphed, but the corners of his mouth twitched.
And then she was pressing it into Remus's hands, with a smile that was almost shy. "Here."
He blinked at her, caught off guard. "It's for me?"
Tonks nodded. "I start a whole week of night shifts tomorrow. I won't be able to stop by, the evening after the moon."
"Oh." Remus felt unreasonably disappointed-he'd really begun to count on her visits to lift his spirits after he woke up from sleeping off the transformation. But that was stupid. She had her job, and her own life-it certainly wasn't her responsibility to keep him entertained, for Merlin's sake.
She caught his hand and squeezed it, though, and the easy friendly gesture made him smile again.
"That's why I wanted you to have the muffler-something cosy and colourful. I thought it might cheer you up a bit."
And she'd spent every spare minute knitting it since she'd seen the Auror duty roster, so that it would be finished before the moon. Remus felt warm all over. "It's exactly what I need. I'll be sure to wear it all the time when I'm recovering."
Tonks grinned at him, the wide bright grin like a sunbeam that he so loved to see.
. * . * .
"All right, you lot," someone called out.
Remus looked up, heart racing. Stupid. He couldn't afford to lose himself in daydreams like that, not on a mission.
The black-haired man was arranging the roasted rabbits on a large platter that seemed to have begun life as the upturned lid of a trash bin. "Supper's ready."
Remus sat quietly as the others hovered around the fire, each taking a plate from a haphazard pile stacked under a tree. They were all eyeing the rabbits hungrily, but no one approached the platter until the tall, thin man pushed his way through, picked up a long knife, and carved himself a chunk of the slightly charred meat. Then the burly man started to follow, but the woman called Bess fixed him with a steely glare and he backed away, letting her go first. He crossed his arms and swept the clearing with a dangerous scowl. Remus dropped his eyes, pretending he hadn't seen the silent altercation.
Instead, he made a mental note for future reference.
All together there were only about a dozen people gathered around the roasted rabbits, but through the mist Remus could just make out another fire on the far side of the third house. On his reconnaissance missions, under Moody's cloak, he'd seen enough to judge that Greyback lived in the furthest house-the one closest to the ugly sprawling town that huddled along the river a few miles downstream. This was why Remus had approached the camp from the wood instead of from the town. It would be best to stay away from Greyback himself for as long as he could manage it.
The young woman with the knitting and the black-haired man were the last to have a go at the rabbits. They had to work a bit, picking meat off the bones, but they each had a decent-sized pile of food on their plates in the end.
Remus scanned the circle of silent, munching werewolves, watching for any sign at all that some of them might be approachable-and refusing to let himself compare this chilly meal with the generous camaraderie around the table at the Burrow, or in the kitchen at Grimmauld Place, that he had once thought was normal.
It wouldn't do to be forgetting that this was normal, now.
. * . * .
The muffler was in Remus's rucksack. He hadn't planned to bring it along on this mission-only a couple of blankets, a change of clothes or two, Muggle biros and notebooks for his Order reports, maybe one book. But at the last minute, he'd snatched up the muffler and stuffed it deep inside the rucksack. He'd leave it in there, where it would be safe; he didn't want to get it dirty, or lose it. Just knowing that a soft, lumpy, colourful talisman of friendship was close at hand made him feel a little less like a soul set adrift.
And then a disturbing thought pricked at him. Are you so sure it was a talisman of friendship? What had the light in her eyes meant, that pre-moon night, brimming over with concern and eagerness and just a hint of shyness?
Remus shook his head. It had to have been friendship. She couldn't possibly have thought she loved him as long ago as that. Surely he could keep the muffler with him-take comfort from it-with a clear conscience.
. * . * .
People had begun to set their plates down, leaning back to watch the fire or wandering away again. The young woman got to her feet, tossed her plait over her shoulder, and began gathering up the empty dishes. "All right, Matt?"
The black-haired man nodded and stood, wiping his hands on his trousers.
"Wait," said Bess. "Cathy, have a rest. Lupin, you help Matt with the washing up."
Shrugging, the young woman dumped her armful of plates on the ground and picked up her knitting again. Remus glanced carefully around the group, but no one seemed to think this development was unusual, so he filled his arms with chipped and mismatched crockery and followed the younger man through the fog to the river's edge. The light of the campfire and the sporadic sound of voices faded away behind them as the mist closed in, and Remus felt his neck prickle. He was alone with a destitute stranger.
The man squatted down and set his load of dishes on the riverbank, but he made no move to start cleaning them. Remus squatted next to him and waited, muscles coiled in readiness to dodge a blow. Or land one, if need be.
But the man merely turned to look Remus over, thoroughly. "This may sound like an odd question, but..." A sardonic smile settled on his craggy face. "Do you believe in werewolves?"
Caught completely by surprise, Remus laughed once, sharply. "I'm afraid I haven't much choice, as I find myself faced with incontrovertible evidence every twenty-nine days."
The dark head nodded. "Well, I'm sorry to hear it, but at least that means you're safe."
"Safe?" Remus raised an eyebrow.
"Safe enough." The sardonic smile returned. "Ordinary vagrants come here too, sometimes, trying to stay with us."
"What happens to them?"
"What do you think?" The man scooped up a plateful of water and let it splash back into the river. "Come full moon, there's one human and two dozen werewolves. My money isn't on the human."
Remus swallowed, tasting bile.
The smile stretched tight, humourless. "Exactly. Greyback-he's the leader here-he thinks it's funny when a human joins the pack, but Bess and I don't like it much. We try to warn them away if we can."
Remus studied the younger man, trying to see what he could read in the somewhat haughty face. And-Bess again. She had sent them off to wash dishes together. What kind of influence did she have in the pack? Could he widen her rift with Greyback?
The man held out his hand. "Matthias Malkin."
Remus took the hand and shook it. "Remus Lupin."
But at that, Malkin dropped his hand and stared. "Merlin's balls-you're the Gryffindor prefect."
Remus blinked. "Were we at Hogwarts together? I'm sorry-I don't remember you-"
The other man laughed; it sounded genuine. "I was a first-year Slytherin. There's no reason you would have remembered me. But I remember you." His gaze was sharp. "You never did anything to stop those wild friends of yours, but you never went out of your way to harass Slytherins, either. We thought you were all right."
The two of them studied each other, wary but curious.
"This is no place for a prefect," said Malkin abruptly. "If you want to eat, and stay warm, you have to do what it takes." He shrugged. "But you're a werewolf now, so I suppose you've worked out the facts of life on your own."
Remus drew a careful breath. This was his first opening. "Actually, when I was a prefect, I was already a werewolf."
Malkin shuddered. "Good God, man, that's what, twenty years of transformations?"
"Nearer thirty," said Remus quietly. "But the point is, we have more choices than this."
The other man sneered. "What brings you here, then? You don't look like you've got a lot of choices just now."
"It's a long story." Remus managed a weary smile. "But I don't suppose our days are full from dawn to dusk, here." Not the most brilliant joke he'd ever made, but at least he hadn't lost his sense of humour completely. Yet. "Maybe I'll have a chance to tell you sometime."
Malkin still looked dubious, but the sneer was gone, and the glint of curiosity was back. "Right. Maybe you will."
. * . * .
That night was cold and very dark. The moon (waning gibbous) was completely obscured by the dementors' clammy fog.
Remus lay, wrapped in his two shabby blankets, on the musty stained carpet of what had once been a living room. All around him were mutters and snores-the sounds of his packmates. His fellow werewolves. Some of whom might even be potential allies.
Even so, a cold knot of loneliness cramped his stomach and sent sleep hovering just out of reach.
He sighed and rolled over. He'd gone soft. For Merlin's sake, he had been essentially alone for the better part of twelve years; it shouldn't be this difficult to strike out on his own again. He should have known it would be dangerous to let himself begin to rely on Sirius's blazing loyalty, or Molly's motherly fussing, or Tonks...
Her image filled his mind again, before he could stop it-hair lank and brown, eyes dark with anger, fists clenched in frustration. "I don't care how long you'll be gone. I'll be waiting, Remus. I love you."
"Don't-please don't. You mustn't." But as his lips formed the silent plea, his hand crept into the rucksack and groped for a handful of soft, lumpy wool.
He wound the muffler around his neck and settled one loose end under his cheek.
Warmer now, in body and in soul, Remus slid gently into sleep.
. * fin * .