Showdown Fic - Coniston Water (2/3)
Title - Coniston Water (2/3)
Author -
joely_jo
Rating - R
Characters - Remus/Tonks, plus a couple of minor OCs, but please don’t run screaming, none of them are called Mary.
Warnings - Sex in the final part. I should probably warn for angst, as well.
Prompt - Grey
Word Count - This part weighs in at 5,020 words.
Summary - Remus returns to his family home to scatter his father’s ashes. Tonks accompanies him and together, they lay to rest some other ghosts.
Author’s Notes - The prompt ‘grey’ spoke to me of a place and a metaphor and this was the end result. I’ve always wanted to write something like this, and I figured I ought to do it before Book Seven came out. I decided to punctuate this piece with one or two photographs, to sort of give everyone the feel of the place I’m talking about. I hope this is okay.
In terms of placement in canon, this piece is set sometime around the final events of OotP. Many thanks to
writermerrinand
gloryforeverfor the beta read.
Part One
Part Two
“Is anybody there?”
Silence.
Remus felt the breathing in his chest tighten, like a rubber band stretching to extreme. He stared into the half-light emanating from the living room, knew he’d heard something. Keeping very still, he crouched in the hallway, behind the hat stand, using the coats and jackets to hide his body, and peered.
For a moment, there was nothing, then the sound came again and instantly, Remus’ ears recognised it. The sound of a body moving, rubbing against wallpaper.
He swallowed. His father’s coat hung down past the side of him, and he reached into the internal pocket, praying that the spare wand was there. If he could just get hold of that, he thought.
The movement came again, this time closer, and Remus fumbled quickly for the wand, pulling it out of the pocket. He turned it over and steeled himself.
Then, a voice… “Little boy…” The voice was sing-song, taunting. Remus felt bile surge in his throat. The footsteps crept closer. “Come out, come out, wherever you are.”
The voice was in the hallway now, a few feet from his position. He could feel the burn of the eyes on him; feel the sense of evil throbbing through the air. He knew that voice, had heard it just the other evening, out on the lawn between the house and the lake. His father, arguing with another man, a man whose very presence had made his skin crawl.
Fenrir Greyback: a man with the strength of ten men, whose reputation preceded him. Remus could remember creeping onto the porch to hide behind the flowerpots and listen to the conversation. The growl of Greyback’s voice, the anger behind it, had shocked him. The spread of the brawny shoulders, seemingly barely contained beneath the ill-fitting suit jacket, the muscular claw-like hands emerging from the cuffs; Greyback was a monster in human form.
And now he was here, in this house. And he was angry.
There was only one thing for it. Bracing himself, Remus stepped out from behind the hat stand and faced Greyback. A leering face greeted him. “Why, hello there, little boy...”
Remus wakes with a start and the dream vanishes instantly. He is bathed in sweat, his feet knotted in the sheets. It takes him a moment to realise that he is lying on the narrow single bed that was once his own and that there is no immediate danger. The room is filled with the pale light of early dawn as it filters through the thin curtains. Gently, he rolls onto his back, listening to the groan of the ancient springs as they protest at the redistribution of his weight. Otherwise, the house is quiet.
He lies perfectly still for a long moment, listening to the birds outside the window, willing his heart-rate to slow, then sits up and swings his legs over the edge of the bed.
Quickly and quietly, he dresses, then creeps downstairs, a little surprised that he can remember exactly where every squeaky floorboard is. He tries not to linger in the hallway, his mind still potent with memories. “Why don’t you come with me? The moon is about to rise and I want you close at hand.” With a shake of his head, he grabs up his jacket and heads outside, down to the lake.
It is a fair morning, but still chill from the night. Birds’ chorus in the trees and the ground is laced with dew, spider webs glinting in the budding sunlight. He paces towards the jetty, single-minded. The rowing boat still floats there from the night before, barely moving. He grabs up the rope and climbs inside, pushing himself off from the jetty with a fierce shove. The oars fall comfortably into his hands as he rows away from the shore as fast as can, hoping for some distance.
****
A restless night has brought little relief from the tiredness that gripped Tonks yesterday. It had taken her nearly two hours to finally drift off to sleep, the cracks and creaks of the old house as it settled playing games with her Auror-trained mind. She rolls out of bed and pads to the window, pulling back the curtains and looking out onto the back lawn. It is a brighter day than the one before, though still grey. She dresses quickly and heads downstairs, supposing that Remus is already up and about.
But the living room is empty, and so is the kitchen and hallway. Their mugs are still on the side table from where they left them the night before, and nothing appears to have been disturbed. Except for his jacket which is missing from the hat stand.
Tonks frowns. She calls his name, but there is no answer. Concerned, she steps outside and heads down to the lake, wondering if he has gone for a walk, but several minutes and several shouts later, is none the wiser. Just as she is beginning to give up hope, she sees Oliver’s rowing boat moving across the lake towards her. “Tonks,” he greets as he slides it alongside the jetty and climbs out. He smiles warmly at her. He still wears the same flat cap as yesterday, though his corduroys are now jeans and his jumper now a checked cotton shirt. A pipe bends from the side of his mouth, curling tobacco smoke creeping from its end. “Did you sleep well?”
“All right,” she tells him, deciding not to tell him the full truth. “Have you seen Remus?”
Oliver shakes his head. “No, no, not today, I haven’t. Why?”
“He’s not here.”
“Oh?” Oliver looks around. “The boat is missing. He must have gone out for a row.”
Nodding, Tonks moves to sit down on the dilapidated green bench in front of the boathouse. “Not to worry,” Oliver adds and secures his rowing boat to the jetty. “I’m sure he’ll be back soon.”
He moves towards her and sits down next to her. He chews thoughtfully on his pipe. “I would imagine he’s gone to Oak Island.”
“Oak Island?”
“Mm,” Oliver replies. There is a pause. “It’s an uninhabited island in the middle of the lake. He might want to go there after the last few days.”
“Why?”
A puff of smoke curls from Oliver’s pipe and he stands up, moving over towards the jetty again. Tonks follows him. “It is a place of memories for him. He would want to go there to see the sunrise.” He takes the pipe out of his mouth and blows a funnel of smoke out towards the sky. “Remus has always liked to see the sunrise.”
Abruptly, the meaning behind Oliver’s statement hits Tonks and she feels a flood of embarrassment that she didn’t understand it sooner. “Oh,” she says, stupidly, her eyes falling to the ground.
“It is easy to forget,” Oliver soothes, “what Remus carries with him. He does not make it common knowledge. Do not feel bad that you don’t fully understand him, Tonks; it has taken us years to comprehend his complexities.” He smiles and reaches out to touch her arm in a friendly gesture. “If he has indeed gone to the island, then he will be there for some time. He will sit and think and get things straight in his head. He may even allow some of his grief to show itself.”
Tonks nods, turning to look at the lake again. It is millpond still today, and unforgiving in its massiveness. Long moments pass as both of them look out across the water. Finally, she murmurs, “Will you take me out there, too?”
Oliver harrumphs in his throat, puffs on his pipe, then removes it and turns to her. “I will, if you don’t mind going alone. I don’t think it would be appropriate for anyone but you to visit him while he’s there.”
He stands and moves back to the rowing boat. “If we leave now, I suspect we will find him still there when we beach.”
“Okay,” she replies.
****
The light is milky here on the island, weak and pale. His feet crunch on the fallen leaf litter as he climbs up the slope from the beach line and all around him, the air is heavy and scented. Trees twist above his head, some ancient, others younger. Despite the name of this place, they are not solely oaks, but also beeches, firs and the occasional ash. It is quiet, save the song of birds.
He heads up onto the small cliff and, once there, stands a moment and stares. This place used to be his home for the days of the full moon when he was a child, and is replete with memories. It had been his father’s idea to put him on the island when he changed, and though his mother had objected to the idea of effectively locking their son up, she had known the truth: he was too dangerous to leave it to chance. His transformations while he was still growing had been the most painful, the days often worse than the nights, and he could remember spending many an hour curled up here on the cliff shaking with the pain.
He turned his head now towards the water, blotting out that particular memory. The place is changed since then, the vegetation different, but the rocks much the same. He can still see the striations in the rock from his claws as he tore up the stone in frustration at being unable to get free.
A familiar boulder provides a perfect seat for a moment as he contemplates those difficult times. He was a bright child and knew exactly what it was that afflicted him, and it was that intelligence that caused him to bury his condition as deeply as he could. In that respect, he understands his father. Secrecy is all. Even if it sometimes causes necessary remoteness.
His thoughts turn to Tonks. There is no doubting there is something between them; he’s known it since he first set eyes on her. At first, he thought it was simply his long-buried hormones making a show at the sight of an attractive young female. After all, he’d been in the company of men only for far too long and celibate for even longer. But, as the months passed by, and their friendship through the Order grew, he began to realise that there was something more than simple physical desire. What it was, he still wasn’t sure, but if there is something to come out of this trip together, he wants it to be an answer to that question.
His foot scuffs in the dusty ground and he takes a deep breath of the cool lake air, gathering himself for the asking.
****
Oliver’s boat scuds across the water and Tonks fixes her eyes on the island she sees looming into sight through the vague mistiness. She fancies she can see Remus standing on the beach, waving at her, though she knows that it is simply a trick of her mind.
The island is a mixture of green trees and grey rocks, simultaneously scrubby and wooded. As they row closer, she catches sight of Remus’ boat nestled between two boulders, the oars resting out of the rowlocks. Oliver pulls his boat alongside Remus’ and then gestures for her to climb out. “Good luck, Tonks,” he says, quietly and offers her a smile. “I’m sure your company will be an ease for him.”
She nods and takes a few steps back onto the stony beach, then watches as Oliver pushes the boat back into the water and begins to row away. She waves to him as he does so.
Once he is out of sight, she turns inland and starts up the slight incline away from the beach. For a moment, she considers calling out, but the place seems so unearthly quiet that it seems criminal to do so, and so she pushes on silently. The island is not large, and there are only so many places a grown man can hide.
Eventually, she moves out of the woodland and onto a sort of cliff and there, sitting on a boulder staring out across the lake, is Remus. His shoulders are hunched and he looks tired, as if he has slept even less than she. She freezes in place, but he has already heard her footsteps and turns back with a start.
“Tonks,” he says, when he realises who it is, and she sees his shoulders relax a little. She wonders for a moment what he could have been thinking about to make him so jumpy. “How did you get here? How did you know?” His expression is confused.
She smiles at him and moves forward, less nervous at the sound of his voice. “Oliver brought me. He told me he thought you’d be here.”
Remus nods. “Oh, he did, did he?” He blows a breath out slowly. “I’ll have to have a word with him about secrecy, I think.”
Tonks’ uncertainty returns with those words and she gestures backwards. “I’m sorry…” she begins. “If you’d rather be alone… I…”
He does not reply at first, returning to staring across the lake, then finally, he speaks, “No, I wouldn’t.”
She nods. She is unsure what to do with herself for a moment, and stands there staring at his back, hands pin-wheeling uselessly on the ends of her arms. “Come on, then,” he says, a little shortly. “I’m sure you’ve been told what this place is but, rest assured, I won’t bite you now.”
A nervous laugh slips out at that. She walks towards him and stands beside him, following his line of sight out across the lake. For a moment, he says nothing, then scoots up a little on the boulder and pats the rock next to him. “Have a seat?” he invites.
“Sure.” She smiles.
She tries to not think that they are sitting awfully close as she plants herself down in the space he has created. He is so near she can feel his body move as he breathes in and out. It is the kind of moment she has always wondered about and she is torn between wanting to say something, wanting to do something and wanting to continue the silence between them.
He shifts a little and a long sigh rushes out of him, like air from a punctured balloon. Tension bristles between them. Then, quite suddenly, he reaches out and takes up her hand, bringing it up to his lips. A kiss on the pale skin near her wrist, then another on the knuckles, and he releases her hand, smiling. Without saying a word, he turns back to the lake, but his hand stays holding onto hers.
****
Some time later, they end up back at the Hanson’s Farm, though she is not entirely sure how they have got there. The sun has fully risen when they dock the rowing boat at the jetty and he helps her climb out. Her wrist is still tingling where Remus’ kiss touched her. He hasn’t said a word since they left the island and remains silent as they trek up the road to the farm and are greeted by Alice, standing once again on the doorstep.
“Hello, there,” she calls as they emerge. “Oliver said we might expect you for breakfast. He’s brought bacon and fresh bread from the village especially.”
“Mmm…” Remus murmurs and makes a dreamy face. “Sounds wonderful, Alice.”
True to her word, Alice quickly produces a sumptuous feast of scrambled eggs, thick-sliced buttered bread and fried back bacon and Tonks and Remus tuck in eagerly. Remus eats as if famished, devouring two platefuls of food before Tonks has even had a chance to finish her first helping. He tops up his tea, then Oliver invites him to take a look at the new calf born just last night. Tonks watches him agree readily then climb out of his chair and disappears, leaving her alone with Alice.
For a moment, she stays silent, finishing her breakfast and drinking deeply from her mug of tea, then Alice murmurs, “Oliver tells me you went to Oak Island to see Remus this morning.”
Tonks looks up, surprised. “Yes,” she answers.
Alice nods. “That’s a good thing,” she says. She stands and picks up the empty plates, setting them in the sink for washing up later. She spends a moment clearing the table, then sits back down. “Remus has held that place a secret for too long.”
“Why hasn’t he told anybody?”
“I think it is because he doesn’t want anybody to think badly of him.” She sighs, scraping up stray crumbs and placing them back on the bread board. “I have told you that Remus is more like his mother than his father, but in some respects, that is not true. John was secretive to a fault; he never allowed anyone to see what he felt they didn’t need to see. Remus is the same. He will not tell you things he does not think you need to know.” She pauses. “You should know that he has probably told very few people about that place, let alone allowed them to step foot there.”
Tonks stares at Alice, a little shocked by the revelation. She had always known that Remus was a solitary type; he seemed to have few friends and, until a week ago, she had thought that he had no immediate family either. How wrong she had been. “That place is almost sacred to Remus. He does not tell people about his condition because he is afraid of what they will think of him. Those he chooses to share with are invariably those he feels he can trust.”
“Is he ashamed?” Tonks hears herself asking.
Alice shakes her head. “I don’t think it is shame as such, more a desire to be like everyone else. Remus has spent so much of his life being different that sometimes he craves normality. He wants to be treated like everyone else. If he tells people what he is, they look at him differently. Often they look at him badly.” She pauses. “But I don’t think you are like that.”
“No,” Tonks assures her, “I’m not.”
“Then Remus has chosen well.”
Chosen well? The statement has a gravity that Tonks hardly dares to touch upon, but the glimmer in Alice’s eyes tells her that the gravity is warranted. Her wrist tingles again.
Alice picks up the teapot and adds a little more of the deep brown liquid to her mug. She takes a sip. “Do you know how much Remus hated his name as a child?”
“No…”
“He loathed it. It was beyond hate.” Alice smiles at the memory. “Of course, the other children used to tease him about it, but he wasn’t bothered by that. For Remus, his name was a reminder of what he was. How unfortunate to have a name like Remus Lupin and be what he is…”
Tonks allows herself a small smile at the irony. She has thought of his name in exactly the same way, she knows. “But what Remus has never realised,” Alice continues, “is that the name is not necessarily a curse. He used to think that he was bitten because of his name, but that is not the case. He knows that now, but it still haunts him. Fate is often whimsical with people. The wolf is not a lonely creature. It is a creature of the pack, of family. And yet, Remus has never had a family that he’s felt attached to.” Alice stops and looks at Tonks, fixing her with a serious stare. “Perhaps this is his time.”
“Alice,” Tonks says, “what are you saying?”
Alice smiles enigmatically. “I think you know, Tonks.”
She stands and moves over to the sink, leaving Tonks isolated at the table, her mind whirling. She stares at the place too recently occupied by Remus and finds herself considering the possibilities, the potential.
****
Remus stares at the newborn calf in the pen; it is so dependent on its mother, so reliant, that he sees it as kind of an extension of its mother, another limb, acknowledged but already redundant. It walks on stilted, unsteady legs, pushing its white face into its mother’s side. He watches. “What is its name?” he asks.
Oliver leans on the fence and smiles, “I thought I’d call it ‘John’, after your father.”
Remus chuckles. “I’m not sure my father would approve of you calling a cow after him.”
“Oh, I’m sure he would find it deeply offensive,” Oliver laughs. “But, he’s gone now. You don’t have worry about what he would think anymore.”
“I suppose not,” Remus agrees.
There is silence, then Oliver asks, “Come with me up to the pastures? There are animals that need moving; you could help me…”
Remus nods. “Yes,” he says.
****
When Remus doesn’t return, she wonders if he is all right. Alice assures her that he is and encourages her to help with collecting eggs and feeding the chickens. “It’s okay, Tonks,” she tells her. “He’s with Oliver and there’ll be roaming the top pastures. Just like he’s always done, Remus will find his own way home.” She offers Tonks a warm smile. “There’s no need to worry.”
Tonks nods, though she is not convinced.
Alice dons a light overcoat, picks up a reed basket, and heads out of the door. She leads Tonks around the side of the farmhouse to one of the outbuildings, opens the double-doors with an enormous, ancient key and walks inside. The barn is dim and the pungent odour of chickens and grain fills her nose. Dust motes float in the air and the clucking begins to crescendo as the birds realise they are about to be fed.
“Take some grain from the bags over there, Tonks,” Alice instructs. “There should be a bucket there too. Put the grain in the bucket and then scatter it on the ground while I go round and collect up the eggs.”
Tonks does as she’s told; she smiles as the chickens come rushing out from the perches to peck eagerly at the grain she throws on the floor. Their chuckling clucks are pleasantly comforting.
Alice, meanwhile, uses the chickens’ distraction to scoop up eggs from the boxes the chickens lay in and set them into the basket on her arm. It isn’t long before the basket is full almost to the brim and she turns to Tonks and says, “That’ll do now. They’ve got enough and so have I.” She grins as she indicates the full basket of eggs. “Now we have to get these packaged up ready for sale. Will you help me?”
Tonks nods. “Yeah,” she says, “why not?”
****
The land up in the top fields has changed vastly since Remus last set eyes on it. The shape and size of the fields are the same, but Oliver has turned most of the land over to pasture for his herd of sheep. As they walk, Ruttle the sheepdog slinking along beside them, Oliver whistles tunelessly. It is the same vague melody he has always whistled and Remus finds himself smiling at the memory.
After twenty minutes or so of solid walking, Oliver turns to the left. A five-barred gate sits before them, marking the entrance to a large, somewhat scrubby, field. In the field are about forty sheep; most are white, but a handful are black. They lift their heads and bleat nervously as Oliver lifts the gate, one or two of them shying away. Forty sets of black eyes fix on the two men.
“I don’t think they like me,” Remus observes wryly.
Oliver gives a snort. “They don’t like people much at all,” he replies. “I wouldn’t take it personally.”
Remus chuckles. “Then perhaps they smell me.”
“Perhaps they smell me,” Oliver states.
****
The kitchen table in the farmhouse is filled with grey egg boxes and the basket is empty. Tonks sits back, plucking a stray feather from her hair, and lets out a sigh. “I never want to see another egg again.”
Alice laughs, “You’ll think differently when you’ve tasted them. Nothing like home-laid eggs.” She gets up and goes to put the kettle on again. “Go and sit yourself down in the living room, Tonks. I’ll get us some tea and biscuits.”
Nodding, Tonks stretches to her feet and wanders in the direction Alice points, down the hall. The door at the end is slightly ajar and she pushes it fully open, revealing a snug living room in shades of maroon and cream. A huge floral sofa sits around a gaping mouth of a fireplace and books line the walls either side of it. As she listens to the sounds of Alice preparing tea, she ponders the selection of books. The Sheep Farmer’s Directory of Medicines, Lake District Walks, The Making of Tarn Hows… the books are all exactly the sort of things she would have expected Oliver and Alice to own. She fingers a couple of the spines absently.
Her conversation with Alice from earlier comes into her mind again and she picks up a copy of Index of European Mammals and flicks to ‘wolf’. Her eyes scan the page, reading through the information on anatomy, distribution, feeding and mating habits, and behaviour. The door snicks open and Tonks turns quickly, snapping the book closed. Alice walks in, bearing two cups of tea and sets them down on the coffee table. “You’ve noticed the books, I see,” she comments as Tonks hurriedly pushes the book back into the space on the shelf.
“You have a lot.”
“Mm,” Alice agrees. “But then there is little else to do around here.” She pauses. “We made friends with the Lupins through books, you know. Oliver got talking to John one day and they discovered a mutual interest. It wasn’t long before they were passing paperbacks between each other.”
Slowly, she moves to the shelves and studies them a moment. “Ah, here, have a look at this…” She hands Tonks a heavy leather-bound photograph album. “There are pictures of Remus in there from when he was just a small child. Before what happened.”
Tonks, curious, opens the album and Alice leans over her to turn to the correct page. A black and white image leaps out of the page at her, featuring a small, blond-haired boy of no more than four-years-old. It is clearly Remus; she can see the trademark squint in his eyes, the half smile on his lips. He is crouching on a shingle beach, wearing Wellington boots, shorts and a pale-coloured cagoule. His hands are outstretched, picking out stones from the shingle, and his face is half-turned towards the camera, as if just realising that his picture is being taken.
“That was taken the summer of 1963,” Alice murmurs. “Look at the innocence on his face.”
Tonks studies the picture and realises that Alice is right. Remus looks carefree, at ease. There is nothing troubled behind those dark eyes, just the purity of childhood. She feels a sting in her heart as she recognises that the look could not have lasted much longer. For the boy in the photograph, the world is not far from changing forever.
“It makes me so sad, Alice,” she whispers, “to think of him like this. To think of everything he’s lost.”
A moment passes while they both stare at the photograph, then Alice reaches out and takes the album from her. “Remus has lost a lot, but sometimes it is only loss that teaches us what we truly have.”
She places the album back on the shelf and picks up her tea, settling into one of the armchairs. She smiles up at Tonks. “Stop feeling sorry for him, Tonks,” she says in a firmer tone. “Remus does not need your sympathy. He needs your friendship and your trust. Now, please, sit down and drink. I have no doubt that we will be joined shortly.”
****
Remus watches while Oliver hustles two lambs away from a black ewe. They bleat in panic as they realise he is separating them from their mother, and rush to evade his wide-spread arms. “Remus!” Oliver yells. “Grab that little one. He’s going to try to make a run for it!”
Jerking into action, Remus sees one of the lambs skipping sideways, out of Oliver’s immediate range and he launches himself at it, grabbing it sharply between his hands. The tiny creature twists and turns against his grip, calling for its mother. With a quick push and shove, Oliver sends the black ewe through the gate and into the adjacent field. “Okay,” he shouts, “you can let him go now. He’ll go off and rejoin the rest of them.”
Dutifully, Remus releases his grip and allows the lamb to leap to the ground. In a flurry of white wool, it is off. He turns to look at Oliver, who has a satisfied smile on his face, and grins.
“Little bugger,” Oliver curses, shaking his head at the lamb as it hares away. He turns to Remus and fixes him with a poignant gaze. “Give them half a chance and they’ll slip away from you. Little do they know that we’re doing this for their own good.”
Without waiting for a reply, Oliver heads back across the field, pausing to allow Remus to step through the main gate first, then closing and securing it behind them. “Now, I don’t know about you, but I could do with a cup of tea. And if we’re lucky, Alice will already have the kettle on.”
Oliver smiles and begins to walk back down the hill. Remus follows him, falling into step beside him. As they walk in companionable silence back down the hill, Remus’ mind turns to Tonks once again. He imagines her back at the farm with Alice, possibly sitting in that warm snug, already drinking hot, sweet tea. The image makes him smile and he steps up his pace, ready to be with her.
To be concluded...
Author -
joely_jo
Rating - R
Characters - Remus/Tonks, plus a couple of minor OCs, but please don’t run screaming, none of them are called Mary.
Warnings - Sex in the final part. I should probably warn for angst, as well.
Prompt - Grey
Word Count - This part weighs in at 5,020 words.
Summary - Remus returns to his family home to scatter his father’s ashes. Tonks accompanies him and together, they lay to rest some other ghosts.
Author’s Notes - The prompt ‘grey’ spoke to me of a place and a metaphor and this was the end result. I’ve always wanted to write something like this, and I figured I ought to do it before Book Seven came out. I decided to punctuate this piece with one or two photographs, to sort of give everyone the feel of the place I’m talking about. I hope this is okay.
In terms of placement in canon, this piece is set sometime around the final events of OotP. Many thanks to
writermerrinand
gloryforeverfor the beta read.
Part One
Part Two
“Is anybody there?”
Silence.
Remus felt the breathing in his chest tighten, like a rubber band stretching to extreme. He stared into the half-light emanating from the living room, knew he’d heard something. Keeping very still, he crouched in the hallway, behind the hat stand, using the coats and jackets to hide his body, and peered.
For a moment, there was nothing, then the sound came again and instantly, Remus’ ears recognised it. The sound of a body moving, rubbing against wallpaper.
He swallowed. His father’s coat hung down past the side of him, and he reached into the internal pocket, praying that the spare wand was there. If he could just get hold of that, he thought.
The movement came again, this time closer, and Remus fumbled quickly for the wand, pulling it out of the pocket. He turned it over and steeled himself.
Then, a voice… “Little boy…” The voice was sing-song, taunting. Remus felt bile surge in his throat. The footsteps crept closer. “Come out, come out, wherever you are.”
The voice was in the hallway now, a few feet from his position. He could feel the burn of the eyes on him; feel the sense of evil throbbing through the air. He knew that voice, had heard it just the other evening, out on the lawn between the house and the lake. His father, arguing with another man, a man whose very presence had made his skin crawl.
Fenrir Greyback: a man with the strength of ten men, whose reputation preceded him. Remus could remember creeping onto the porch to hide behind the flowerpots and listen to the conversation. The growl of Greyback’s voice, the anger behind it, had shocked him. The spread of the brawny shoulders, seemingly barely contained beneath the ill-fitting suit jacket, the muscular claw-like hands emerging from the cuffs; Greyback was a monster in human form.
And now he was here, in this house. And he was angry.
There was only one thing for it. Bracing himself, Remus stepped out from behind the hat stand and faced Greyback. A leering face greeted him. “Why, hello there, little boy...”
Remus wakes with a start and the dream vanishes instantly. He is bathed in sweat, his feet knotted in the sheets. It takes him a moment to realise that he is lying on the narrow single bed that was once his own and that there is no immediate danger. The room is filled with the pale light of early dawn as it filters through the thin curtains. Gently, he rolls onto his back, listening to the groan of the ancient springs as they protest at the redistribution of his weight. Otherwise, the house is quiet.
He lies perfectly still for a long moment, listening to the birds outside the window, willing his heart-rate to slow, then sits up and swings his legs over the edge of the bed.
Quickly and quietly, he dresses, then creeps downstairs, a little surprised that he can remember exactly where every squeaky floorboard is. He tries not to linger in the hallway, his mind still potent with memories. “Why don’t you come with me? The moon is about to rise and I want you close at hand.” With a shake of his head, he grabs up his jacket and heads outside, down to the lake.
It is a fair morning, but still chill from the night. Birds’ chorus in the trees and the ground is laced with dew, spider webs glinting in the budding sunlight. He paces towards the jetty, single-minded. The rowing boat still floats there from the night before, barely moving. He grabs up the rope and climbs inside, pushing himself off from the jetty with a fierce shove. The oars fall comfortably into his hands as he rows away from the shore as fast as can, hoping for some distance.
****
A restless night has brought little relief from the tiredness that gripped Tonks yesterday. It had taken her nearly two hours to finally drift off to sleep, the cracks and creaks of the old house as it settled playing games with her Auror-trained mind. She rolls out of bed and pads to the window, pulling back the curtains and looking out onto the back lawn. It is a brighter day than the one before, though still grey. She dresses quickly and heads downstairs, supposing that Remus is already up and about.
But the living room is empty, and so is the kitchen and hallway. Their mugs are still on the side table from where they left them the night before, and nothing appears to have been disturbed. Except for his jacket which is missing from the hat stand.
Tonks frowns. She calls his name, but there is no answer. Concerned, she steps outside and heads down to the lake, wondering if he has gone for a walk, but several minutes and several shouts later, is none the wiser. Just as she is beginning to give up hope, she sees Oliver’s rowing boat moving across the lake towards her. “Tonks,” he greets as he slides it alongside the jetty and climbs out. He smiles warmly at her. He still wears the same flat cap as yesterday, though his corduroys are now jeans and his jumper now a checked cotton shirt. A pipe bends from the side of his mouth, curling tobacco smoke creeping from its end. “Did you sleep well?”
“All right,” she tells him, deciding not to tell him the full truth. “Have you seen Remus?”
Oliver shakes his head. “No, no, not today, I haven’t. Why?”
“He’s not here.”
“Oh?” Oliver looks around. “The boat is missing. He must have gone out for a row.”
Nodding, Tonks moves to sit down on the dilapidated green bench in front of the boathouse. “Not to worry,” Oliver adds and secures his rowing boat to the jetty. “I’m sure he’ll be back soon.”
He moves towards her and sits down next to her. He chews thoughtfully on his pipe. “I would imagine he’s gone to Oak Island.”
“Oak Island?”
“Mm,” Oliver replies. There is a pause. “It’s an uninhabited island in the middle of the lake. He might want to go there after the last few days.”
“Why?”
A puff of smoke curls from Oliver’s pipe and he stands up, moving over towards the jetty again. Tonks follows him. “It is a place of memories for him. He would want to go there to see the sunrise.” He takes the pipe out of his mouth and blows a funnel of smoke out towards the sky. “Remus has always liked to see the sunrise.”
Abruptly, the meaning behind Oliver’s statement hits Tonks and she feels a flood of embarrassment that she didn’t understand it sooner. “Oh,” she says, stupidly, her eyes falling to the ground.
“It is easy to forget,” Oliver soothes, “what Remus carries with him. He does not make it common knowledge. Do not feel bad that you don’t fully understand him, Tonks; it has taken us years to comprehend his complexities.” He smiles and reaches out to touch her arm in a friendly gesture. “If he has indeed gone to the island, then he will be there for some time. He will sit and think and get things straight in his head. He may even allow some of his grief to show itself.”
Tonks nods, turning to look at the lake again. It is millpond still today, and unforgiving in its massiveness. Long moments pass as both of them look out across the water. Finally, she murmurs, “Will you take me out there, too?”
Oliver harrumphs in his throat, puffs on his pipe, then removes it and turns to her. “I will, if you don’t mind going alone. I don’t think it would be appropriate for anyone but you to visit him while he’s there.”
He stands and moves back to the rowing boat. “If we leave now, I suspect we will find him still there when we beach.”
“Okay,” she replies.
****
The light is milky here on the island, weak and pale. His feet crunch on the fallen leaf litter as he climbs up the slope from the beach line and all around him, the air is heavy and scented. Trees twist above his head, some ancient, others younger. Despite the name of this place, they are not solely oaks, but also beeches, firs and the occasional ash. It is quiet, save the song of birds.
He heads up onto the small cliff and, once there, stands a moment and stares. This place used to be his home for the days of the full moon when he was a child, and is replete with memories. It had been his father’s idea to put him on the island when he changed, and though his mother had objected to the idea of effectively locking their son up, she had known the truth: he was too dangerous to leave it to chance. His transformations while he was still growing had been the most painful, the days often worse than the nights, and he could remember spending many an hour curled up here on the cliff shaking with the pain.
He turned his head now towards the water, blotting out that particular memory. The place is changed since then, the vegetation different, but the rocks much the same. He can still see the striations in the rock from his claws as he tore up the stone in frustration at being unable to get free.
A familiar boulder provides a perfect seat for a moment as he contemplates those difficult times. He was a bright child and knew exactly what it was that afflicted him, and it was that intelligence that caused him to bury his condition as deeply as he could. In that respect, he understands his father. Secrecy is all. Even if it sometimes causes necessary remoteness.
His thoughts turn to Tonks. There is no doubting there is something between them; he’s known it since he first set eyes on her. At first, he thought it was simply his long-buried hormones making a show at the sight of an attractive young female. After all, he’d been in the company of men only for far too long and celibate for even longer. But, as the months passed by, and their friendship through the Order grew, he began to realise that there was something more than simple physical desire. What it was, he still wasn’t sure, but if there is something to come out of this trip together, he wants it to be an answer to that question.
His foot scuffs in the dusty ground and he takes a deep breath of the cool lake air, gathering himself for the asking.
****
Oliver’s boat scuds across the water and Tonks fixes her eyes on the island she sees looming into sight through the vague mistiness. She fancies she can see Remus standing on the beach, waving at her, though she knows that it is simply a trick of her mind.
The island is a mixture of green trees and grey rocks, simultaneously scrubby and wooded. As they row closer, she catches sight of Remus’ boat nestled between two boulders, the oars resting out of the rowlocks. Oliver pulls his boat alongside Remus’ and then gestures for her to climb out. “Good luck, Tonks,” he says, quietly and offers her a smile. “I’m sure your company will be an ease for him.”
She nods and takes a few steps back onto the stony beach, then watches as Oliver pushes the boat back into the water and begins to row away. She waves to him as he does so.
Once he is out of sight, she turns inland and starts up the slight incline away from the beach. For a moment, she considers calling out, but the place seems so unearthly quiet that it seems criminal to do so, and so she pushes on silently. The island is not large, and there are only so many places a grown man can hide.
Eventually, she moves out of the woodland and onto a sort of cliff and there, sitting on a boulder staring out across the lake, is Remus. His shoulders are hunched and he looks tired, as if he has slept even less than she. She freezes in place, but he has already heard her footsteps and turns back with a start.
“Tonks,” he says, when he realises who it is, and she sees his shoulders relax a little. She wonders for a moment what he could have been thinking about to make him so jumpy. “How did you get here? How did you know?” His expression is confused.
She smiles at him and moves forward, less nervous at the sound of his voice. “Oliver brought me. He told me he thought you’d be here.”
Remus nods. “Oh, he did, did he?” He blows a breath out slowly. “I’ll have to have a word with him about secrecy, I think.”
Tonks’ uncertainty returns with those words and she gestures backwards. “I’m sorry…” she begins. “If you’d rather be alone… I…”
He does not reply at first, returning to staring across the lake, then finally, he speaks, “No, I wouldn’t.”
She nods. She is unsure what to do with herself for a moment, and stands there staring at his back, hands pin-wheeling uselessly on the ends of her arms. “Come on, then,” he says, a little shortly. “I’m sure you’ve been told what this place is but, rest assured, I won’t bite you now.”
A nervous laugh slips out at that. She walks towards him and stands beside him, following his line of sight out across the lake. For a moment, he says nothing, then scoots up a little on the boulder and pats the rock next to him. “Have a seat?” he invites.
“Sure.” She smiles.
She tries to not think that they are sitting awfully close as she plants herself down in the space he has created. He is so near she can feel his body move as he breathes in and out. It is the kind of moment she has always wondered about and she is torn between wanting to say something, wanting to do something and wanting to continue the silence between them.
He shifts a little and a long sigh rushes out of him, like air from a punctured balloon. Tension bristles between them. Then, quite suddenly, he reaches out and takes up her hand, bringing it up to his lips. A kiss on the pale skin near her wrist, then another on the knuckles, and he releases her hand, smiling. Without saying a word, he turns back to the lake, but his hand stays holding onto hers.
****
Some time later, they end up back at the Hanson’s Farm, though she is not entirely sure how they have got there. The sun has fully risen when they dock the rowing boat at the jetty and he helps her climb out. Her wrist is still tingling where Remus’ kiss touched her. He hasn’t said a word since they left the island and remains silent as they trek up the road to the farm and are greeted by Alice, standing once again on the doorstep.
“Hello, there,” she calls as they emerge. “Oliver said we might expect you for breakfast. He’s brought bacon and fresh bread from the village especially.”
“Mmm…” Remus murmurs and makes a dreamy face. “Sounds wonderful, Alice.”
True to her word, Alice quickly produces a sumptuous feast of scrambled eggs, thick-sliced buttered bread and fried back bacon and Tonks and Remus tuck in eagerly. Remus eats as if famished, devouring two platefuls of food before Tonks has even had a chance to finish her first helping. He tops up his tea, then Oliver invites him to take a look at the new calf born just last night. Tonks watches him agree readily then climb out of his chair and disappears, leaving her alone with Alice.
For a moment, she stays silent, finishing her breakfast and drinking deeply from her mug of tea, then Alice murmurs, “Oliver tells me you went to Oak Island to see Remus this morning.”
Tonks looks up, surprised. “Yes,” she answers.
Alice nods. “That’s a good thing,” she says. She stands and picks up the empty plates, setting them in the sink for washing up later. She spends a moment clearing the table, then sits back down. “Remus has held that place a secret for too long.”
“Why hasn’t he told anybody?”
“I think it is because he doesn’t want anybody to think badly of him.” She sighs, scraping up stray crumbs and placing them back on the bread board. “I have told you that Remus is more like his mother than his father, but in some respects, that is not true. John was secretive to a fault; he never allowed anyone to see what he felt they didn’t need to see. Remus is the same. He will not tell you things he does not think you need to know.” She pauses. “You should know that he has probably told very few people about that place, let alone allowed them to step foot there.”
Tonks stares at Alice, a little shocked by the revelation. She had always known that Remus was a solitary type; he seemed to have few friends and, until a week ago, she had thought that he had no immediate family either. How wrong she had been. “That place is almost sacred to Remus. He does not tell people about his condition because he is afraid of what they will think of him. Those he chooses to share with are invariably those he feels he can trust.”
“Is he ashamed?” Tonks hears herself asking.
Alice shakes her head. “I don’t think it is shame as such, more a desire to be like everyone else. Remus has spent so much of his life being different that sometimes he craves normality. He wants to be treated like everyone else. If he tells people what he is, they look at him differently. Often they look at him badly.” She pauses. “But I don’t think you are like that.”
“No,” Tonks assures her, “I’m not.”
“Then Remus has chosen well.”
Chosen well? The statement has a gravity that Tonks hardly dares to touch upon, but the glimmer in Alice’s eyes tells her that the gravity is warranted. Her wrist tingles again.
Alice picks up the teapot and adds a little more of the deep brown liquid to her mug. She takes a sip. “Do you know how much Remus hated his name as a child?”
“No…”
“He loathed it. It was beyond hate.” Alice smiles at the memory. “Of course, the other children used to tease him about it, but he wasn’t bothered by that. For Remus, his name was a reminder of what he was. How unfortunate to have a name like Remus Lupin and be what he is…”
Tonks allows herself a small smile at the irony. She has thought of his name in exactly the same way, she knows. “But what Remus has never realised,” Alice continues, “is that the name is not necessarily a curse. He used to think that he was bitten because of his name, but that is not the case. He knows that now, but it still haunts him. Fate is often whimsical with people. The wolf is not a lonely creature. It is a creature of the pack, of family. And yet, Remus has never had a family that he’s felt attached to.” Alice stops and looks at Tonks, fixing her with a serious stare. “Perhaps this is his time.”
“Alice,” Tonks says, “what are you saying?”
Alice smiles enigmatically. “I think you know, Tonks.”
She stands and moves over to the sink, leaving Tonks isolated at the table, her mind whirling. She stares at the place too recently occupied by Remus and finds herself considering the possibilities, the potential.
****
Remus stares at the newborn calf in the pen; it is so dependent on its mother, so reliant, that he sees it as kind of an extension of its mother, another limb, acknowledged but already redundant. It walks on stilted, unsteady legs, pushing its white face into its mother’s side. He watches. “What is its name?” he asks.
Oliver leans on the fence and smiles, “I thought I’d call it ‘John’, after your father.”
Remus chuckles. “I’m not sure my father would approve of you calling a cow after him.”
“Oh, I’m sure he would find it deeply offensive,” Oliver laughs. “But, he’s gone now. You don’t have worry about what he would think anymore.”
“I suppose not,” Remus agrees.
There is silence, then Oliver asks, “Come with me up to the pastures? There are animals that need moving; you could help me…”
Remus nods. “Yes,” he says.
****
When Remus doesn’t return, she wonders if he is all right. Alice assures her that he is and encourages her to help with collecting eggs and feeding the chickens. “It’s okay, Tonks,” she tells her. “He’s with Oliver and there’ll be roaming the top pastures. Just like he’s always done, Remus will find his own way home.” She offers Tonks a warm smile. “There’s no need to worry.”
Tonks nods, though she is not convinced.
Alice dons a light overcoat, picks up a reed basket, and heads out of the door. She leads Tonks around the side of the farmhouse to one of the outbuildings, opens the double-doors with an enormous, ancient key and walks inside. The barn is dim and the pungent odour of chickens and grain fills her nose. Dust motes float in the air and the clucking begins to crescendo as the birds realise they are about to be fed.
“Take some grain from the bags over there, Tonks,” Alice instructs. “There should be a bucket there too. Put the grain in the bucket and then scatter it on the ground while I go round and collect up the eggs.”
Tonks does as she’s told; she smiles as the chickens come rushing out from the perches to peck eagerly at the grain she throws on the floor. Their chuckling clucks are pleasantly comforting.
Alice, meanwhile, uses the chickens’ distraction to scoop up eggs from the boxes the chickens lay in and set them into the basket on her arm. It isn’t long before the basket is full almost to the brim and she turns to Tonks and says, “That’ll do now. They’ve got enough and so have I.” She grins as she indicates the full basket of eggs. “Now we have to get these packaged up ready for sale. Will you help me?”
Tonks nods. “Yeah,” she says, “why not?”
****
The land up in the top fields has changed vastly since Remus last set eyes on it. The shape and size of the fields are the same, but Oliver has turned most of the land over to pasture for his herd of sheep. As they walk, Ruttle the sheepdog slinking along beside them, Oliver whistles tunelessly. It is the same vague melody he has always whistled and Remus finds himself smiling at the memory.
After twenty minutes or so of solid walking, Oliver turns to the left. A five-barred gate sits before them, marking the entrance to a large, somewhat scrubby, field. In the field are about forty sheep; most are white, but a handful are black. They lift their heads and bleat nervously as Oliver lifts the gate, one or two of them shying away. Forty sets of black eyes fix on the two men.
“I don’t think they like me,” Remus observes wryly.
Oliver gives a snort. “They don’t like people much at all,” he replies. “I wouldn’t take it personally.”
Remus chuckles. “Then perhaps they smell me.”
“Perhaps they smell me,” Oliver states.
****
The kitchen table in the farmhouse is filled with grey egg boxes and the basket is empty. Tonks sits back, plucking a stray feather from her hair, and lets out a sigh. “I never want to see another egg again.”
Alice laughs, “You’ll think differently when you’ve tasted them. Nothing like home-laid eggs.” She gets up and goes to put the kettle on again. “Go and sit yourself down in the living room, Tonks. I’ll get us some tea and biscuits.”
Nodding, Tonks stretches to her feet and wanders in the direction Alice points, down the hall. The door at the end is slightly ajar and she pushes it fully open, revealing a snug living room in shades of maroon and cream. A huge floral sofa sits around a gaping mouth of a fireplace and books line the walls either side of it. As she listens to the sounds of Alice preparing tea, she ponders the selection of books. The Sheep Farmer’s Directory of Medicines, Lake District Walks, The Making of Tarn Hows… the books are all exactly the sort of things she would have expected Oliver and Alice to own. She fingers a couple of the spines absently.
Her conversation with Alice from earlier comes into her mind again and she picks up a copy of Index of European Mammals and flicks to ‘wolf’. Her eyes scan the page, reading through the information on anatomy, distribution, feeding and mating habits, and behaviour. The door snicks open and Tonks turns quickly, snapping the book closed. Alice walks in, bearing two cups of tea and sets them down on the coffee table. “You’ve noticed the books, I see,” she comments as Tonks hurriedly pushes the book back into the space on the shelf.
“You have a lot.”
“Mm,” Alice agrees. “But then there is little else to do around here.” She pauses. “We made friends with the Lupins through books, you know. Oliver got talking to John one day and they discovered a mutual interest. It wasn’t long before they were passing paperbacks between each other.”
Slowly, she moves to the shelves and studies them a moment. “Ah, here, have a look at this…” She hands Tonks a heavy leather-bound photograph album. “There are pictures of Remus in there from when he was just a small child. Before what happened.”
Tonks, curious, opens the album and Alice leans over her to turn to the correct page. A black and white image leaps out of the page at her, featuring a small, blond-haired boy of no more than four-years-old. It is clearly Remus; she can see the trademark squint in his eyes, the half smile on his lips. He is crouching on a shingle beach, wearing Wellington boots, shorts and a pale-coloured cagoule. His hands are outstretched, picking out stones from the shingle, and his face is half-turned towards the camera, as if just realising that his picture is being taken.
“That was taken the summer of 1963,” Alice murmurs. “Look at the innocence on his face.”
Tonks studies the picture and realises that Alice is right. Remus looks carefree, at ease. There is nothing troubled behind those dark eyes, just the purity of childhood. She feels a sting in her heart as she recognises that the look could not have lasted much longer. For the boy in the photograph, the world is not far from changing forever.
“It makes me so sad, Alice,” she whispers, “to think of him like this. To think of everything he’s lost.”
A moment passes while they both stare at the photograph, then Alice reaches out and takes the album from her. “Remus has lost a lot, but sometimes it is only loss that teaches us what we truly have.”
She places the album back on the shelf and picks up her tea, settling into one of the armchairs. She smiles up at Tonks. “Stop feeling sorry for him, Tonks,” she says in a firmer tone. “Remus does not need your sympathy. He needs your friendship and your trust. Now, please, sit down and drink. I have no doubt that we will be joined shortly.”
****
Remus watches while Oliver hustles two lambs away from a black ewe. They bleat in panic as they realise he is separating them from their mother, and rush to evade his wide-spread arms. “Remus!” Oliver yells. “Grab that little one. He’s going to try to make a run for it!”
Jerking into action, Remus sees one of the lambs skipping sideways, out of Oliver’s immediate range and he launches himself at it, grabbing it sharply between his hands. The tiny creature twists and turns against his grip, calling for its mother. With a quick push and shove, Oliver sends the black ewe through the gate and into the adjacent field. “Okay,” he shouts, “you can let him go now. He’ll go off and rejoin the rest of them.”
Dutifully, Remus releases his grip and allows the lamb to leap to the ground. In a flurry of white wool, it is off. He turns to look at Oliver, who has a satisfied smile on his face, and grins.
“Little bugger,” Oliver curses, shaking his head at the lamb as it hares away. He turns to Remus and fixes him with a poignant gaze. “Give them half a chance and they’ll slip away from you. Little do they know that we’re doing this for their own good.”
Without waiting for a reply, Oliver heads back across the field, pausing to allow Remus to step through the main gate first, then closing and securing it behind them. “Now, I don’t know about you, but I could do with a cup of tea. And if we’re lucky, Alice will already have the kettle on.”
Oliver smiles and begins to walk back down the hill. Remus follows him, falling into step beside him. As they walk in companionable silence back down the hill, Remus’ mind turns to Tonks once again. He imagines her back at the farm with Alice, possibly sitting in that warm snug, already drinking hot, sweet tea. The image makes him smile and he steps up his pace, ready to be with her.
To be concluded...