FIC: Remus Lupin and the Revolt of the Creatures, Chapter 10 / 21 (PG-13), part one
Title: Remus Lupin and the Revolt of the Creatures, Chapter Ten: The Shelter of Companions, part one
Author: PaulaMcG
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: (subtly, eventually) Remus/Sirius
Chapter summary: Remus makes some friends.
Word count: around 6,100
Disclaimer: Remus won't help me make any money.
Notes: This is the first half of Chapter Ten. (While I think I’ve now - after the second beta round - finished the editing of the final action scenes in the last chapter) I’ll always be eager to polish any chapter further on the basis of concrit, too. I’ll be grateful for any other feedback as well.
Chapter One can be found here, Chapter Two here, Chapter Three here and here, Chapter Four here, Chapter Five here and here, Chapter Six here and here, Chapter Seven here, Chapter Eight here and here, Chapter Nine here and here and here.
Remus Lupin and the Revolt of the Creatures
Chapter Ten: The Shelter of Companions
The moments of transforming back were a lot more painful. The wolf did not want to lose himself now. He was rolling on the stony ground in agony, until the convulsions forced him completely rigid. His shiny fur thinned off; soon his curved claws and strong teeth were gone. He was lying bare and defenceless, mourning the loss, while his insides changed with the characteristic quickness of the outcome of the moon’s disappearance behind the horizon. This process was always more intense than the gradual transformation from man into wolf, but this time he did not vomit.
He did not open his eyes. He did not even want to move to feel too clearly that he had no supple limbs of the wolf left. But without mercy the cold ground forced him to sense the shape and the dimensions of his body. Once again like a new-born child, but having lost a previous life, he had to learn to know who he was.
One half of his face - which he had shaved carefully on the previous morning - was resting on cold stone, but the other half was pressed against feathers. The bird’s chest was wet of his tears.
Only when she was suddenly gone, did he appreciate Hedwig’s company. He actually forced himself to sit up and looked around to see if she was flying away. As a wolf he had smelled and heard her presence so clearly that he had forgotten she was still Disillusioned, and he remembered it only when the bundle of his clothes and shoes as well as his wand appeared in mid-air and fell on the ground in front of him. He reached for the wand immediately, so he was ready to lift the charm as soon as he felt her weight on his shoulder.
While now admiring the pure white of her feathers, which she had cleaned of the ash during the night, and seeking reassurance in her tender eyes, he was further reminded of his dependence on the one dominating sense of the humans. He was painfully aware of how grateful he should have been for even the imperfect and temporary gifts of other keen senses he had possessed. But this morning he felt more clearly than ever the depression, in which the transformations easily left him. He had not tasted any chocolate since what Mrs Figg had given to him, so he could not possibly be addicted to it, but the sudden craving for it rather brought to his mind the fact that there was nothing else to eat either.
Unlike before the full moon, he did not feel like torturing himself with hunger and cold. He forced himself out of his passivity just to get dressed in his robes, which were not nearly warm enough. After that he remained sitting where he was, huddled with his arms around his knees.
“Hedwig,” he said, closing his eyes again.
She had patiently returned to his shoulder. He was still clinging to the experiences of the night, and by blocking out his vision he tried his best to relive all the sense perceptions. And he sought consolation in his human ability to produce a verbal representation of it all for himself as well as for his companion to hear.
“Hedwig, my mind and body were one. I did not lose my mind. I was in control of the wolf in all his grace and power. I smelled the night air. I heard the shrubs bend under my paws. I felt the thorns sting and the berries crush. I smelled the sweet nourishment and I tasted it in my mouth. I sniffed in the wind, longing for the odour of the dog. I listened to discern the sound of the galloping hooves. I stopped in anticipation of the rat bumping into my hind legs.”
He had lifted his face, and as the wind cooled his tears, he shivered painfully. But Hedwig pressed against his neck and cheek and hooted in a cautiously cheerful tone, suggesting a happier memory.
“Yes, you pulled me out from the desperate search for the past. Your wings moved the air and brought new enticing fragrances to me. I heard the movements and the breathing of the tiniest creatures. I smelled their presence. I was one with you and with them. My pulse and my muscles shared the rhythm of the night, as my senses were filled with the life around me - and with the death. I winced at the brief whining of the mouse you squeezed in your claws. The craving and the repulsion caused by the odour of his blood was the same that I always feel when suspecting the sad necessity of righteous violence. I felt the boost of energy in you and heard his offspring escaping in the grass. My snout was plunged into the ice-cold stream, the water caressed my bowels, and when I drew the next breath, I knew no more of any separate sense. They were all one, and the glimmer of the moonlight was part of the all-encompassing pattern of the blessing. I followed you in it and you followed me in the never-ending night with no worries about time. Time was the repeated rhythm in everything we heard and felt on our skins and inside of our bodies, in everything we smelled and tasted and saw.”
Now the words were all he had. The bitter ability to capture the eternal infinite pleasure in a limited number of phrases had brought a relative reconciliation. He had listened to his own voice expressing the desperate reassurance that he was still in possession of the experience. But he hushed by allowing his yearning to reveal itself in a sob. There was no need to demonstrate strength to his loyal friend.
At the same moment he realised that he was really acting like a child. He knew he had not lost anything that he would not be able to gain at another full moon. All he needed was to survive in his man form, and he would find himself in the wolf again - find himself as a part of the creation. Then again, that was not all. His dependence on other creatures had become a more complicated issue than ever.
Would the werewolf lady survive? What had happened, and what would happen? Time in its significance to the humans had returned, although he had tried to slow down the transition. He knew that for another twenty-four hours he would be unable to apparate anywhere. He had lost his broom. And the woman’s gift was gone. Even without the childish submission to depression, in the aftermath of the transformation he was hardly strong enough physically to walk a short distance to seek shelter.
He felt too weary to word these emotions and thoughts to Hedwig, but she seemed to know them all the same. By tugging him on the sleeve she urged him to get up and guided him to a southern slope where he would be able to rest. She would fly to the village and towards the valley to gather news.
Lying among the long withered grass, he allowed the dullness of his senses to help sleep overcome him.
“There you are.”
He was woken up by a hard poke on his side. Utterly confused about where he could possibly be, as he had already recognised a smell of cheap tobacco and liquor, he opened his heavy lids and was startled by the unshaven face bent close to his. And he felt such a warm sensation that he was about to gather his strength to sit up, but he contented himself with turning on his side and lifting his head, supporting it on his hand.
Mundungus Fletcher had thrown himself on the ground next to him in the same position. Remus could not help grinning blissfully, as his Order fellow patted him on the shoulder in an awkward manner.
“You all right, Remus?” There was concern in the question and in Mundungus’s bloodshot eyes again, although he had returned Remus’s grin. “I guessed ‘Arry’s owl’d take me to you. Mock ‘ad said as ‘ow she’d gave the message to all them little birdies. But I didn't know what ‘ad ‘appened to you.”
“I’m all right. I had a good night.” He heard his own voice as a hoarse whisper, but he smiled again purposely to hint at a pleasant secret.
Mundungus returned a more uncertain smile and hesitated before asking, “They didn’t get you to join them, did they?”
Remus merely shook his head and he felt his smile widen now spontaneously. But he had to let his head down on the grass again, and closing his eyes, he hoped that Mundungus would take the first turn to offer explanations. He could not bother to try to guess what else Mundungus had seen and who else had come from London. He simply wondered how long he had slept, since he had not perceived the position of the sun while concentrating all his attention on the face so close to his own.
He felt strangely secure and relaxed with Mundungus next to him. Despite his urge to hear the news, he was about to fall into a slumber immediately. But as soon as his body was in complete rest, a shudder ran through it and he could not stop shivering. At the next moment he felt something heavy spread over him. He opened his eyes to look thankfully at Mundungus, who was even doing his best to wrap the filthy overcoat around him to protect him against the cold of the ground. One reason for the exaggerated bustle was revealed soon, though.
“Maybe you need some of this, too.” Mundungus had fumbled in the numerous pockets of the coat, until he had found a flat bottle. He shook it appraisingly.
Remus hurried to relieve him of his worries. “Thank you. No, that would make me more ill. I could do with something to eat, though.”
Mundungus glanced at him and unscrewed the top, but he obviously needed to see Remus smile, before he decided to empty the bottle. Lying down again, he sighed apologetically. “Blimey, what a day!”
“Tell me,” Remus said, huddling himself up under the coat and now determinately keeping his eyes open.
“You need to eat. My mates’ll ‘ave to take care of that.”
“Your mates? Tell me.”
After searching for a more comfortable position, Mundungus forced himself to look into Remus’s eyes when finally muttering, “Owe you an’pology. Mock went round all my regular pubs, but... I’d met this lady, see. ‘Er fella sold me the carpets, you know, but they caught ‘im anyway, and she was a bit lonely. So it took some time for Mock to find me. ‘Fraid it was almost dawn. I sent an owl to ‘eadquarters. Told ‘em I’d apparate straight to the Cotswolds. I was more ‘n a bit tired after comforting this lady an’ all, but she’d ‘ad enough of the booze that I could make it in one piece to the theatre. The Old Place in the Ancient Village of Long Compton - Mock filled me in. And ‘ere they knew sumfink about it, but not all. Don’t worry, I didn't tell them nuffink ‘bout You Know ‘Oo an’ all that. They’d got the warnin’ all over, an’ they ‘adn’t ‘eard of no-one bein’ bitten yet. But there was some people wanted to come lookin’ for you. There wasn’t no risk for us, ‘cos the sun was up when I got the carpet ready.”
Mundungus paused every now and then, but every time Remus only nodded to make him continue.
“When we got near the werewolf place, we saw all them naked people walking up to the village. Didn’t look like no party. An’ the village was all quiet. One of us went down for a moment to spy and ‘eard that a guest ‘ad excaped after tying the chief with some magic of flowers. I thought that sounded like you. So we flew out but we couldn’t ‘ave found you without ‘Edwig. She come to us an’ just showed us the direction. Now she’s flyin’ round the whole of the Cotswolds, checkin’ if some’n’s been bit. The others should be ‘ere soon, they’re just comin’ a bit slower, ‘cos the carpet…”
Another pause enticed Remus to point out, “If you have a flying carpet, we can get home now.”
But Mundungus shook his head. “Sorry, screwed up again. It was a fake. Turned back into an or’nary blanket soon after the village. I di’nt pay much more’n the price of blankets for ‘em, anyway. Got your friends on it almost this far at least.”
“My friends?”
The moon was waving and winking at him between the wild clouds. He was wrapped in the famous flying blanket, and Mundungus in the tattered overcoat, and with the grimy black pipe in his mouth, was moving among the company, making an inventory of drinks. They had all gathered in a tight circle around a campfire, and Dave the half-giant was like a rock, radiating the warmth of the day, but remarkably more comfortable for Remus to lean against.
Across the fire he saw some more fauns entering the circle of golden light from out of the shadows. One leaped over Peck’s shoulder to sit on his lap and was introduced to Tumble. A couple of others gathered very close to Mr Grubber so as to watch him giving the final touches to a bow cut of yew. Only for a moment did the old half-goblin seem irritated by the distraction. He started to lecture and to demonstrate the superior qualities of his self-made new weapon, and in a moment Remus heard him laugh out loud. Grap and Urgy stood up and their dragon leather boots shone in the flicker of the flames. The steady stronghold that Dave had formed now suddenly trembled, as he fitted an arrow on an enormous bow, too.
“‘Igh time to start makin’ some dinner, don’t you think?” The words were whispered by Mundungus, who had returned to Remus and now offered him a hand to help him stand up.
At that moment Robin’s beaming face got everyone’s attention, as he sang a strange spirited melody before giving the instructions. “We’ll proceed in a wide semicircle to drive them towards that clearing under the ridge. Let’s spread out now.”
Remus found himself following the company through the woods. He still felt extremely weak, but it was probably mainly due to the fact that he had hardly eaten anything at all for forty-eight hours. It was weirdly both fascinating and disturbing to realise that what the creatures were up to was related to exactly that fact.
“What are they - we - hunting?”
He had meant to address Mundungus, who was holding his arm.
But Robin had approached them with long strides, as he had been checking that they all proceeded in a line. He put his strong hand on Remus’s shoulder and adjusted his steps to theirs. “The quirrells are out in search for prey in the moonlight.”
“The quirrells are no dark creatures.” Remus had meant his voice to sound simply thoughtful and questioning, and he himself felt irritated by the trace of defiance in it.
But Robin did not get annoyed. “Who says we have anything against them. Some of them will just make a good dinner to feed us tonight. They aren’t too easy to hunt either, and their natural animal enemies aren’t numerous enough. When the quirrell population grows too big, it disturbs the balance.”
“You’re Defence professor. You must know. Them quirrells get easily possessed by some’un with evil intentions.”
Robin looked over Remus’s head at Mundungus when replying, “I’ve heard about such a belief, too. That’s not the reason why we hunt them. But maybe we actually catch the weakest individuals - those which would be possessed and cause harm.”
Mundungus sounded exceptionally interested. He - among these friends - was perhaps the least capable of adopting the role of a hunter, but gossiping related to the topic suited him well. “You know the wizard what was possessed by You Know ‘Oo a while back. ‘E tried to teach Defence, too. ‘Is name was Quirrell. Maybe ‘is family took or got that name ‘cos they was weak like that.”
Remus felt he had to participate in the conversation, too. Talking did not consume his energy. On the contrary, it took his attention away from the physical effort, until walking through the woods in the night air actually made him feel healthier, although he was still physically the opposite to the strong creature who he had been the night before. “I don’t know about Professor Quirrell’s family history. But the quirrells you hunt are simple magical animals. Anyway, all my best friends seem to be carnivores, and I accept them like that.”
“You eat meat yourself, don’t you, Remus? Never ‘eard you say no to a steak at ‘eadquarters.”
“No, I can hardly afford to say no to anything I’m offered. Besides, if Molly has fried a steak, it’s no longer in my power to save the poor creature. You know I’m a man of strict principles. But I don’t claim to be strong enough to follow them all in practice. What I manage to do is to follow a principle when that is the easier choice - closer to passivity, like refraining from attacking, sometimes from defending myself, too. And I’m too much tempted to act against a principle by refraining from turning down a free meal. Yet, I can’t imagine myself killing in order to eat.”
While saying the last words he realised they were not true. What a hypocrite he was. Was he simply too fond of certain phrases to replace them with the wording of his true desires? But even the wolf had felt the repulsion in addition to the craving, and had not hunted or even wished to share the prey with his companion the owl. Was the wolf his better self, in the end? Then again the wolf could live the one night which there was for him each time even without nourishing himself.
He was suddenly aware of a curious gaze, and he wondered if Robin was trying to read his emotions in his facial expressions or to just assess the signs of starvation in his features.
“That’s the noblest reason for killing,” Robin said softly, “Especially when you are in desperate need.”
“You must be right. I’d better start imagining - or doing it without imagining.” Remus felt breathless and realised that they were climbing a long, gentle slope.
“I can’t imagine you doing anything without analysing it.”
“Maybe this talk has been enough and now I can act, for once, on the basis of my primal senses. At least I’m starved enough at the moment.”
“If you want to make your contribution, you can use a weak stunning spell. Those who have knives will finish off the stunned ones. We’re arriving at the edge of the clearing where it’s easiest to catch these creatures. You’ll see their white tails clearly in the moonlight. There’s enough challenge in aiming at the head, though.”
Remus was startled by the sight in front of him. The clouds had scattered, and the space between the woods and a high cliff was bathed in white light. The sharp contrasts between the patches illuminated by the moonlight and those in shade reminded him of the black and white image into which the scene of his traumatic experience of violence had turned thirty-three years earlier.
But this image was in constant motion. The gusty wind was shaking the shrubs and the stunted trees, and among them the whitest patches were leaping restlessly, even desperately from side to side. The quirrells were obviously terrified by the presence of a crowd of big creatures and they must have just noticed that the cliff blocked their way.
Remus saw one quirrell stay still - balancing on a thin branch - for long enough for him to discern more than the white furry tail. The creature was as small as a starved stray cat. He saw the soft paws, which could hardly have got a hold of a tree trunk, not possibly of a bare stone wall. He saw the beady eyes and the trembling slim snout, which had sucked or rather magically summoned the nectar of the humble flowers of these ridges - and had now served its purpose in the chain of life.
He pulled out his wand, and as the first arrows left the bows, he whispered gently, “Stupefy!”
The quirrell fell down softly and stayed motionless on the ground. But for quite a while the clearing remained teeming with purposeful slaughtering, and he alone stood still, listening to the shrill alarmed cries of the prey and smelling their blood.
By the time he had, supported by Mundungus, managed to walk back to the campsite, there was an enticing fragrance of a square meal emanating from cooking pots on the fire. Dave welcomed him back to the shelter of his bulky figure and handed him a large soup plate. The meat had been spiced with herbs and cooked with sweet roots. Satisfying his hunger with this food gave him the astonishing sensation that he had never eaten anything real before.
The moon waved him goodbye, and gentle darkness surrounded the red glow on the circle of faces. The contented murmur got interspersed by more and more frequent bursts of laughter as well as by less and less fumbling attempts at melodies. Just when Peck’s shawm had invited Tumble to jump up to start a dance, the tune was disrupted to remain a fanfare announcing the arrival of the messengers. The message itself was the most triumphant music.
A flock of amazanthines sprinkled the clearing with the lustre of jewels in unattainable flashes, as if too precious to be captured into anyone’s possession. But their song was a continuous hymn, built up in a canon. And it still echoed in the fragrant air, after the birds had hushed and risen high up to remain above the company, like circling stars with a warm twinkle.
The solemn atmosphere changed, when each faun launched into translating the message to the other creatures. The fragments of excited conversations caused a mixture of proud amusement and embarrassment in Remus. Hedwig had apparently described the events in the village to the little birds. He felt like communicating a gentle reproach to her, when she now flew straight to him and perched on his knees. She looked so happy, however, to find him, for once, with no pain, happy and well-nourished, that he did not muster any complaint, after all. But he yearned for detailed news concerning possible casualties. He looked around expectantly and was relieved to see one of the fauns approach him.
The faun squatted himself in front of Remus and bent his head low, covering his horns with his right hand and reaching out his left open palm slantwise down and towards him. The silent homage got everyone’s attention, and all the fauns joined in it, albeit remaining at their places in the circle - while the other creatures exploded into a remarkably less restrained applause.
Remus did not know what else to do but close his eyes for a moment and bend his head, too. “Please tell me about the damage the werewolves caused,” he asked as calmly as he could.
“This is the message originally worded by Hedwig. The massacre would have been a lot worse, had you not been involved at all.”
“So there are casualties, after all?”
“Only two muggle families. They were not merely bitten but killed.”
“Just random killing…”
Remus felt that his own quiet words had escaped automatically as a phrase to express indifference and belittling. But at the next moment his mind was filled with the same hopeless guilt as during the trial in Wizengamot.
Random fights, an occasional killing, the woman had said. With the guidance of their chief the werewolves would not have wasted their aggression on something like that. They would have bitten young wizards to gain more warriors for their army. No matter how terrifying the long-term prospects would have been, Remus could not help assessing the immediate damage caused by such controlled violence as a lot less grave than this: depriving two families of their lives. And that made him aware of the fact that he had come to truly consider whether the bite could be a gift and not exclusively a curse.
He had covered his face with his both hands and he wished he could have closed his ears, too, from the praise repeated in the cheerful chatter and from the re-established attempts at dance music and community singing.
“They would have done both biting and killing in a bigger scale, had you not stopped the chief.”
Hedwig now pressed against his face, communicating the same nonverbally, so he knew that the faun was really translating her personal interpretation of the events. And he could not help suspecting it was only distortion in the favour of his peace of mind.
He had to force himself back from the edge of useless despair. The only consolation was the notion of eternal fallibility. And it was indisputably impossible to attain any knowledge concerning what would have happened, if he had chosen differently. He suddenly felt sympathy with Dumbledore and wished he were able to discuss this issue as well as their previous, shared mistake with him.
But the challenge now was to simply accept the celebration of this situation, which was not the worst they all could have imagined. They all needed the blessing of this moment, and he probably needed it more badly than anyone else.
He met the eyes of the faun, who was still squatting in front of him. “I mourn the useless deaths. But I’m grateful to all of you for taking part in preventing even more tragedies. Let us celebrate the unity among the creatures.” Bowing to the faun, he managed to smile.
The mysterious eyes sparkled in a wild fire, as the faun jumped on his feet, turned around swiftly and cried out in a shrill lament, which overpowered all other music. Remus suspected that the beginning of the song which emerged at the moment was a translation of his own words, but the hopeful conclusion grew into an endless carefree triumph in numerous variations, as others joined in it and continued it. To these creatures even a tragedy was a reason for persistent zest for life, and he felt like surrendering to it.
He wrapped the blanket tighter around himself and leaned on Dave again. Caressing Hedwig’s feathers, he kept observing the company, allowing it all to soothe his mind or at least to take the sting out of his anguish. He actually took pleasure in - instead of a conversation with someone like Dumbledore - venturing alone to approach the memory of his fear on the day before the full moon, now that it had been replaced by something significantly more complicated than unambiguous relief.
It was astonishing that he could reach this much of peace of mind so soon after he had narrowly escaped damning himself for eternity. The fear which had made him take the risk had been nothing compared to what he had felt only hours later, when having realised the mistake he had made. He had foolishly sought companionship among his kind, ignoring everything outside his personal needs. Fortunately he had been wrong to such an extent that those creatures of other kinds whom he had lost faith in, doubting their ability to understand his exceptional ordeal, had actually been able and eager to save him. In the end, they had helped him escape, and they now offered him new hope.
A long time ago one of his friends, too, had perhaps simply chosen foolishly where to seek protection - and had not managed to escape. Had Peter never been understood and helped in his fear? The most painful thought now fought for its way into Remus’s vulnerable mind. In the shelter of this community he actually dared allow it to enter.
Had he refused to see the unyielding fear in his best friend and thus denied the help which could have saved him? He had always preferred seeing the best in Peter, but such good intentions had perhaps not led to the support which should have been given. What Peter had found, when probably overwhelmed by fear, had destroyed his life - their lives.
Once again Hedwig’s feathers were wet and salty against Remus’s lips. But the laughter and music all around persistently protected him against despair. He was startled by a vague question he had never posed before. Would it still be possible to help Peter escape?
Having apparated home in the morning, Remus gave up trying to avoid Thisby’s embrace. But he refused to give her any account of the events. He might have been afraid that Peck and Tumble’s exaggerated version would feed further the suffocating admiration which she directed towards him, but the faun and the half-faun were to return more slowly with the help of their own magic, as well as of the floo powder. So he resorted to sharing a quiet moment with Gumby and allowed him to explain it all to Thisby. He soon withdrew to the relative seclusion of the loft. Hedwig had promised to fly to collect a note for Harry, before returning to Hogwarts.
He forced himself to write nothing but a couple of simple lines.
Harry,
Please let me know how you are doing. I need to know. And I hope I can do something to help you, if there’s anything you need. The times are not easy, so I don’t think there’s anybody in no need of other creatures. Tell me how your classes with Snape and the other teachers have been. Hedwig has done a great service to me, and not only to me.
Take good care of yourself.
Remus
He knew he had to refrain from trying to persuade Harry into intimate interaction by threatening him with the fear which he had felt himself and which he now sought to replace with a more optimistic view. He had been close enough to losing himself to now realise that Harry would have lost something, too. Still, he could not imagine that Harry would have been ready to share his autobiography in the form it was now taking, after the invasion into his consciousness of the most beautiful and painful memories of Peter.
Peter was the first boy I talked to on the Hogwarts express. He was the first child of my age I talked to since I was five. I remember how awkward I first felt, and how sure I was he felt the same. It was an ambiguous feeling. While it was wonderful to have something like that in common, the fact that we were both shy made it almost impossible for us to start making friends.
I first noticed him on the platform, but he was not the first one I paid attention to. When my father had grabbed me from my mother to hug me for the third time, I noticed that nobody else was taking such tender farewells of their parents. I returned the last kisses half-heartedly, while stealing glances at the crowd of children, concentrating my attention to the smallest boys and trying to guess who could be first-years. Even those excitedly grinning and bouncing creatures seemed to have already formed small groups of friends. A lot of them may not have really known anyone yet, but they were poking at each other, making the first contacts.
I saw a tall boy with long black hair turn abruptly and walk or rather rush away from his parents. As he threw the hair from his face with a quick movement of his head, I was startled by the grace of his features and by the power of the emotion in his infuriated gaze. At that moment he almost bumped into another black-haired boy. This other boy’s hair was a mess standing up to all directions, and he grabbed a golden snitch, which had almost escaped from him, flashing a wide grin to the first one. And the long-haired boy’s face suddenly lost all its sullenness; it lit up and shone in my eyes as a painfully beautiful image of the invincible power of youth.
I know all that sounds weird, but I had spent a half of my short life in solitude and among artists, living through books and theatre, dreaming of heroes, of finding a companion and of becoming a hero myself on his side. And suddenly there was this boy, an incarnation from the tales and dreams. I could not think of approaching him, but from that moment I yearned to be his best friend.
Yet, Peter was the one I dared approach. I wouldn’t have noticed him on the platform, had his father not raised his voice. A short man with a neat moustache suddenly started yelling at his wife. She turned her head aside and happened to face me, so I could see her eyes fill with tears. Her mouth remained strangely expressionless, and she simply walked away. The man continued to yell and soon followed her. That was when a saw the boy who had been standing beside the couple. He was not taller than me, and he looked down, so his face made no impression on me. Still, after boarding the train I recognised him in the only compartment without a company of two or more, because he was sitting there stooped in the same way.
I’m afraid that after the train trip I didn’t really concentrate on Peter, although he clung to me. My dream seemed close to coming true when I was the second boy to be sorted as Gryffindor, Sirius Black having been the first one. I walked straight to him and reached out my hand, sitting down at the house table beside him. Shaking my hand briefly, he appraised me with a fleeting look at my face, but he continued to fix his attention to the sorting, while some older Gryffindors still cheered and greeted me by patting my back. When soon Peter - still trembling albeit relieved - and immediately after James Potter - tossing his snitch to Sirius - joined us as the only other Gryffindor first-year boys, I was determined to keep us all together. I knew I would have to overcome my shyness and to struggle against getting isolated with Peter alone. That is why I must have been the fundamental force for the formation of the Marauders.
The tradition at Hogwarts had already separated us from those not considered worthy of the heirloom of Godric Gryffindor, as well as offered us a shared abode secluded from other Gryffindors, too. But I hurried to suggest that we confirm a further, specific alliance, before Sirius and James got any chance to drift away from Peter and me. Maybe that’s why the Marauders never had a formal leader. Nominating one of us as the king of the Marauders would have suited the parallels which at least I and probably even the others had in mind, but it was not obvious enough who among us was the most dominating one. Since the original suggestion was mine and it was not the last good one I made, neither Sirius nor James could easily overrule me. They never truly did, although it might have looked different in the eyes of an outsider.
Yet, Sirius’s suggestion for what we could call our company did beat mine. I suggested “King Arthur’s Knights”, but there was already too much of a revolutionary in Sirius to allow him to serve even an imaginary ruler. In the same statement in which he demanded us to call ourselves marauders, he declared that there would be no ruler superior to the others among us either.
Yes, those were serious negotiations. In reality we were only little boys, scared of our teachers, doubting if we had what it would take to learn what was demanded from us. We even feared the older students. Some of us missed our parents, too - namely James and I. But at least to me the formation of the Marauders not only offered an escape, but actually changed the reality by adding a new dimension to my identity.
The second half of Chapter Ten is here
Author: PaulaMcG
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: (subtly, eventually) Remus/Sirius
Chapter summary: Remus makes some friends.
Word count: around 6,100
Disclaimer: Remus won't help me make any money.
Notes: This is the first half of Chapter Ten. (While I think I’ve now - after the second beta round - finished the editing of the final action scenes in the last chapter) I’ll always be eager to polish any chapter further on the basis of concrit, too. I’ll be grateful for any other feedback as well.
Chapter One can be found here, Chapter Two here, Chapter Three here and here, Chapter Four here, Chapter Five here and here, Chapter Six here and here, Chapter Seven here, Chapter Eight here and here, Chapter Nine here and here and here.
Remus Lupin and the Revolt of the Creatures
Chapter Ten: The Shelter of Companions
The moments of transforming back were a lot more painful. The wolf did not want to lose himself now. He was rolling on the stony ground in agony, until the convulsions forced him completely rigid. His shiny fur thinned off; soon his curved claws and strong teeth were gone. He was lying bare and defenceless, mourning the loss, while his insides changed with the characteristic quickness of the outcome of the moon’s disappearance behind the horizon. This process was always more intense than the gradual transformation from man into wolf, but this time he did not vomit.
He did not open his eyes. He did not even want to move to feel too clearly that he had no supple limbs of the wolf left. But without mercy the cold ground forced him to sense the shape and the dimensions of his body. Once again like a new-born child, but having lost a previous life, he had to learn to know who he was.
One half of his face - which he had shaved carefully on the previous morning - was resting on cold stone, but the other half was pressed against feathers. The bird’s chest was wet of his tears.
Only when she was suddenly gone, did he appreciate Hedwig’s company. He actually forced himself to sit up and looked around to see if she was flying away. As a wolf he had smelled and heard her presence so clearly that he had forgotten she was still Disillusioned, and he remembered it only when the bundle of his clothes and shoes as well as his wand appeared in mid-air and fell on the ground in front of him. He reached for the wand immediately, so he was ready to lift the charm as soon as he felt her weight on his shoulder.
While now admiring the pure white of her feathers, which she had cleaned of the ash during the night, and seeking reassurance in her tender eyes, he was further reminded of his dependence on the one dominating sense of the humans. He was painfully aware of how grateful he should have been for even the imperfect and temporary gifts of other keen senses he had possessed. But this morning he felt more clearly than ever the depression, in which the transformations easily left him. He had not tasted any chocolate since what Mrs Figg had given to him, so he could not possibly be addicted to it, but the sudden craving for it rather brought to his mind the fact that there was nothing else to eat either.
Unlike before the full moon, he did not feel like torturing himself with hunger and cold. He forced himself out of his passivity just to get dressed in his robes, which were not nearly warm enough. After that he remained sitting where he was, huddled with his arms around his knees.
“Hedwig,” he said, closing his eyes again.
She had patiently returned to his shoulder. He was still clinging to the experiences of the night, and by blocking out his vision he tried his best to relive all the sense perceptions. And he sought consolation in his human ability to produce a verbal representation of it all for himself as well as for his companion to hear.
“Hedwig, my mind and body were one. I did not lose my mind. I was in control of the wolf in all his grace and power. I smelled the night air. I heard the shrubs bend under my paws. I felt the thorns sting and the berries crush. I smelled the sweet nourishment and I tasted it in my mouth. I sniffed in the wind, longing for the odour of the dog. I listened to discern the sound of the galloping hooves. I stopped in anticipation of the rat bumping into my hind legs.”
He had lifted his face, and as the wind cooled his tears, he shivered painfully. But Hedwig pressed against his neck and cheek and hooted in a cautiously cheerful tone, suggesting a happier memory.
“Yes, you pulled me out from the desperate search for the past. Your wings moved the air and brought new enticing fragrances to me. I heard the movements and the breathing of the tiniest creatures. I smelled their presence. I was one with you and with them. My pulse and my muscles shared the rhythm of the night, as my senses were filled with the life around me - and with the death. I winced at the brief whining of the mouse you squeezed in your claws. The craving and the repulsion caused by the odour of his blood was the same that I always feel when suspecting the sad necessity of righteous violence. I felt the boost of energy in you and heard his offspring escaping in the grass. My snout was plunged into the ice-cold stream, the water caressed my bowels, and when I drew the next breath, I knew no more of any separate sense. They were all one, and the glimmer of the moonlight was part of the all-encompassing pattern of the blessing. I followed you in it and you followed me in the never-ending night with no worries about time. Time was the repeated rhythm in everything we heard and felt on our skins and inside of our bodies, in everything we smelled and tasted and saw.”
Now the words were all he had. The bitter ability to capture the eternal infinite pleasure in a limited number of phrases had brought a relative reconciliation. He had listened to his own voice expressing the desperate reassurance that he was still in possession of the experience. But he hushed by allowing his yearning to reveal itself in a sob. There was no need to demonstrate strength to his loyal friend.
At the same moment he realised that he was really acting like a child. He knew he had not lost anything that he would not be able to gain at another full moon. All he needed was to survive in his man form, and he would find himself in the wolf again - find himself as a part of the creation. Then again, that was not all. His dependence on other creatures had become a more complicated issue than ever.
Would the werewolf lady survive? What had happened, and what would happen? Time in its significance to the humans had returned, although he had tried to slow down the transition. He knew that for another twenty-four hours he would be unable to apparate anywhere. He had lost his broom. And the woman’s gift was gone. Even without the childish submission to depression, in the aftermath of the transformation he was hardly strong enough physically to walk a short distance to seek shelter.
He felt too weary to word these emotions and thoughts to Hedwig, but she seemed to know them all the same. By tugging him on the sleeve she urged him to get up and guided him to a southern slope where he would be able to rest. She would fly to the village and towards the valley to gather news.
Lying among the long withered grass, he allowed the dullness of his senses to help sleep overcome him.
“There you are.”
He was woken up by a hard poke on his side. Utterly confused about where he could possibly be, as he had already recognised a smell of cheap tobacco and liquor, he opened his heavy lids and was startled by the unshaven face bent close to his. And he felt such a warm sensation that he was about to gather his strength to sit up, but he contented himself with turning on his side and lifting his head, supporting it on his hand.
Mundungus Fletcher had thrown himself on the ground next to him in the same position. Remus could not help grinning blissfully, as his Order fellow patted him on the shoulder in an awkward manner.
“You all right, Remus?” There was concern in the question and in Mundungus’s bloodshot eyes again, although he had returned Remus’s grin. “I guessed ‘Arry’s owl’d take me to you. Mock ‘ad said as ‘ow she’d gave the message to all them little birdies. But I didn't know what ‘ad ‘appened to you.”
“I’m all right. I had a good night.” He heard his own voice as a hoarse whisper, but he smiled again purposely to hint at a pleasant secret.
Mundungus returned a more uncertain smile and hesitated before asking, “They didn’t get you to join them, did they?”
Remus merely shook his head and he felt his smile widen now spontaneously. But he had to let his head down on the grass again, and closing his eyes, he hoped that Mundungus would take the first turn to offer explanations. He could not bother to try to guess what else Mundungus had seen and who else had come from London. He simply wondered how long he had slept, since he had not perceived the position of the sun while concentrating all his attention on the face so close to his own.
He felt strangely secure and relaxed with Mundungus next to him. Despite his urge to hear the news, he was about to fall into a slumber immediately. But as soon as his body was in complete rest, a shudder ran through it and he could not stop shivering. At the next moment he felt something heavy spread over him. He opened his eyes to look thankfully at Mundungus, who was even doing his best to wrap the filthy overcoat around him to protect him against the cold of the ground. One reason for the exaggerated bustle was revealed soon, though.
“Maybe you need some of this, too.” Mundungus had fumbled in the numerous pockets of the coat, until he had found a flat bottle. He shook it appraisingly.
Remus hurried to relieve him of his worries. “Thank you. No, that would make me more ill. I could do with something to eat, though.”
Mundungus glanced at him and unscrewed the top, but he obviously needed to see Remus smile, before he decided to empty the bottle. Lying down again, he sighed apologetically. “Blimey, what a day!”
“Tell me,” Remus said, huddling himself up under the coat and now determinately keeping his eyes open.
“You need to eat. My mates’ll ‘ave to take care of that.”
“Your mates? Tell me.”
After searching for a more comfortable position, Mundungus forced himself to look into Remus’s eyes when finally muttering, “Owe you an’pology. Mock went round all my regular pubs, but... I’d met this lady, see. ‘Er fella sold me the carpets, you know, but they caught ‘im anyway, and she was a bit lonely. So it took some time for Mock to find me. ‘Fraid it was almost dawn. I sent an owl to ‘eadquarters. Told ‘em I’d apparate straight to the Cotswolds. I was more ‘n a bit tired after comforting this lady an’ all, but she’d ‘ad enough of the booze that I could make it in one piece to the theatre. The Old Place in the Ancient Village of Long Compton - Mock filled me in. And ‘ere they knew sumfink about it, but not all. Don’t worry, I didn't tell them nuffink ‘bout You Know ‘Oo an’ all that. They’d got the warnin’ all over, an’ they ‘adn’t ‘eard of no-one bein’ bitten yet. But there was some people wanted to come lookin’ for you. There wasn’t no risk for us, ‘cos the sun was up when I got the carpet ready.”
Mundungus paused every now and then, but every time Remus only nodded to make him continue.
“When we got near the werewolf place, we saw all them naked people walking up to the village. Didn’t look like no party. An’ the village was all quiet. One of us went down for a moment to spy and ‘eard that a guest ‘ad excaped after tying the chief with some magic of flowers. I thought that sounded like you. So we flew out but we couldn’t ‘ave found you without ‘Edwig. She come to us an’ just showed us the direction. Now she’s flyin’ round the whole of the Cotswolds, checkin’ if some’n’s been bit. The others should be ‘ere soon, they’re just comin’ a bit slower, ‘cos the carpet…”
Another pause enticed Remus to point out, “If you have a flying carpet, we can get home now.”
But Mundungus shook his head. “Sorry, screwed up again. It was a fake. Turned back into an or’nary blanket soon after the village. I di’nt pay much more’n the price of blankets for ‘em, anyway. Got your friends on it almost this far at least.”
“My friends?”
The moon was waving and winking at him between the wild clouds. He was wrapped in the famous flying blanket, and Mundungus in the tattered overcoat, and with the grimy black pipe in his mouth, was moving among the company, making an inventory of drinks. They had all gathered in a tight circle around a campfire, and Dave the half-giant was like a rock, radiating the warmth of the day, but remarkably more comfortable for Remus to lean against.
Across the fire he saw some more fauns entering the circle of golden light from out of the shadows. One leaped over Peck’s shoulder to sit on his lap and was introduced to Tumble. A couple of others gathered very close to Mr Grubber so as to watch him giving the final touches to a bow cut of yew. Only for a moment did the old half-goblin seem irritated by the distraction. He started to lecture and to demonstrate the superior qualities of his self-made new weapon, and in a moment Remus heard him laugh out loud. Grap and Urgy stood up and their dragon leather boots shone in the flicker of the flames. The steady stronghold that Dave had formed now suddenly trembled, as he fitted an arrow on an enormous bow, too.
“‘Igh time to start makin’ some dinner, don’t you think?” The words were whispered by Mundungus, who had returned to Remus and now offered him a hand to help him stand up.
At that moment Robin’s beaming face got everyone’s attention, as he sang a strange spirited melody before giving the instructions. “We’ll proceed in a wide semicircle to drive them towards that clearing under the ridge. Let’s spread out now.”
Remus found himself following the company through the woods. He still felt extremely weak, but it was probably mainly due to the fact that he had hardly eaten anything at all for forty-eight hours. It was weirdly both fascinating and disturbing to realise that what the creatures were up to was related to exactly that fact.
“What are they - we - hunting?”
He had meant to address Mundungus, who was holding his arm.
But Robin had approached them with long strides, as he had been checking that they all proceeded in a line. He put his strong hand on Remus’s shoulder and adjusted his steps to theirs. “The quirrells are out in search for prey in the moonlight.”
“The quirrells are no dark creatures.” Remus had meant his voice to sound simply thoughtful and questioning, and he himself felt irritated by the trace of defiance in it.
But Robin did not get annoyed. “Who says we have anything against them. Some of them will just make a good dinner to feed us tonight. They aren’t too easy to hunt either, and their natural animal enemies aren’t numerous enough. When the quirrell population grows too big, it disturbs the balance.”
“You’re Defence professor. You must know. Them quirrells get easily possessed by some’un with evil intentions.”
Robin looked over Remus’s head at Mundungus when replying, “I’ve heard about such a belief, too. That’s not the reason why we hunt them. But maybe we actually catch the weakest individuals - those which would be possessed and cause harm.”
Mundungus sounded exceptionally interested. He - among these friends - was perhaps the least capable of adopting the role of a hunter, but gossiping related to the topic suited him well. “You know the wizard what was possessed by You Know ‘Oo a while back. ‘E tried to teach Defence, too. ‘Is name was Quirrell. Maybe ‘is family took or got that name ‘cos they was weak like that.”
Remus felt he had to participate in the conversation, too. Talking did not consume his energy. On the contrary, it took his attention away from the physical effort, until walking through the woods in the night air actually made him feel healthier, although he was still physically the opposite to the strong creature who he had been the night before. “I don’t know about Professor Quirrell’s family history. But the quirrells you hunt are simple magical animals. Anyway, all my best friends seem to be carnivores, and I accept them like that.”
“You eat meat yourself, don’t you, Remus? Never ‘eard you say no to a steak at ‘eadquarters.”
“No, I can hardly afford to say no to anything I’m offered. Besides, if Molly has fried a steak, it’s no longer in my power to save the poor creature. You know I’m a man of strict principles. But I don’t claim to be strong enough to follow them all in practice. What I manage to do is to follow a principle when that is the easier choice - closer to passivity, like refraining from attacking, sometimes from defending myself, too. And I’m too much tempted to act against a principle by refraining from turning down a free meal. Yet, I can’t imagine myself killing in order to eat.”
While saying the last words he realised they were not true. What a hypocrite he was. Was he simply too fond of certain phrases to replace them with the wording of his true desires? But even the wolf had felt the repulsion in addition to the craving, and had not hunted or even wished to share the prey with his companion the owl. Was the wolf his better self, in the end? Then again the wolf could live the one night which there was for him each time even without nourishing himself.
He was suddenly aware of a curious gaze, and he wondered if Robin was trying to read his emotions in his facial expressions or to just assess the signs of starvation in his features.
“That’s the noblest reason for killing,” Robin said softly, “Especially when you are in desperate need.”
“You must be right. I’d better start imagining - or doing it without imagining.” Remus felt breathless and realised that they were climbing a long, gentle slope.
“I can’t imagine you doing anything without analysing it.”
“Maybe this talk has been enough and now I can act, for once, on the basis of my primal senses. At least I’m starved enough at the moment.”
“If you want to make your contribution, you can use a weak stunning spell. Those who have knives will finish off the stunned ones. We’re arriving at the edge of the clearing where it’s easiest to catch these creatures. You’ll see their white tails clearly in the moonlight. There’s enough challenge in aiming at the head, though.”
Remus was startled by the sight in front of him. The clouds had scattered, and the space between the woods and a high cliff was bathed in white light. The sharp contrasts between the patches illuminated by the moonlight and those in shade reminded him of the black and white image into which the scene of his traumatic experience of violence had turned thirty-three years earlier.
But this image was in constant motion. The gusty wind was shaking the shrubs and the stunted trees, and among them the whitest patches were leaping restlessly, even desperately from side to side. The quirrells were obviously terrified by the presence of a crowd of big creatures and they must have just noticed that the cliff blocked their way.
Remus saw one quirrell stay still - balancing on a thin branch - for long enough for him to discern more than the white furry tail. The creature was as small as a starved stray cat. He saw the soft paws, which could hardly have got a hold of a tree trunk, not possibly of a bare stone wall. He saw the beady eyes and the trembling slim snout, which had sucked or rather magically summoned the nectar of the humble flowers of these ridges - and had now served its purpose in the chain of life.
He pulled out his wand, and as the first arrows left the bows, he whispered gently, “Stupefy!”
The quirrell fell down softly and stayed motionless on the ground. But for quite a while the clearing remained teeming with purposeful slaughtering, and he alone stood still, listening to the shrill alarmed cries of the prey and smelling their blood.
By the time he had, supported by Mundungus, managed to walk back to the campsite, there was an enticing fragrance of a square meal emanating from cooking pots on the fire. Dave welcomed him back to the shelter of his bulky figure and handed him a large soup plate. The meat had been spiced with herbs and cooked with sweet roots. Satisfying his hunger with this food gave him the astonishing sensation that he had never eaten anything real before.
The moon waved him goodbye, and gentle darkness surrounded the red glow on the circle of faces. The contented murmur got interspersed by more and more frequent bursts of laughter as well as by less and less fumbling attempts at melodies. Just when Peck’s shawm had invited Tumble to jump up to start a dance, the tune was disrupted to remain a fanfare announcing the arrival of the messengers. The message itself was the most triumphant music.
A flock of amazanthines sprinkled the clearing with the lustre of jewels in unattainable flashes, as if too precious to be captured into anyone’s possession. But their song was a continuous hymn, built up in a canon. And it still echoed in the fragrant air, after the birds had hushed and risen high up to remain above the company, like circling stars with a warm twinkle.
The solemn atmosphere changed, when each faun launched into translating the message to the other creatures. The fragments of excited conversations caused a mixture of proud amusement and embarrassment in Remus. Hedwig had apparently described the events in the village to the little birds. He felt like communicating a gentle reproach to her, when she now flew straight to him and perched on his knees. She looked so happy, however, to find him, for once, with no pain, happy and well-nourished, that he did not muster any complaint, after all. But he yearned for detailed news concerning possible casualties. He looked around expectantly and was relieved to see one of the fauns approach him.
The faun squatted himself in front of Remus and bent his head low, covering his horns with his right hand and reaching out his left open palm slantwise down and towards him. The silent homage got everyone’s attention, and all the fauns joined in it, albeit remaining at their places in the circle - while the other creatures exploded into a remarkably less restrained applause.
Remus did not know what else to do but close his eyes for a moment and bend his head, too. “Please tell me about the damage the werewolves caused,” he asked as calmly as he could.
“This is the message originally worded by Hedwig. The massacre would have been a lot worse, had you not been involved at all.”
“So there are casualties, after all?”
“Only two muggle families. They were not merely bitten but killed.”
“Just random killing…”
Remus felt that his own quiet words had escaped automatically as a phrase to express indifference and belittling. But at the next moment his mind was filled with the same hopeless guilt as during the trial in Wizengamot.
Random fights, an occasional killing, the woman had said. With the guidance of their chief the werewolves would not have wasted their aggression on something like that. They would have bitten young wizards to gain more warriors for their army. No matter how terrifying the long-term prospects would have been, Remus could not help assessing the immediate damage caused by such controlled violence as a lot less grave than this: depriving two families of their lives. And that made him aware of the fact that he had come to truly consider whether the bite could be a gift and not exclusively a curse.
He had covered his face with his both hands and he wished he could have closed his ears, too, from the praise repeated in the cheerful chatter and from the re-established attempts at dance music and community singing.
“They would have done both biting and killing in a bigger scale, had you not stopped the chief.”
Hedwig now pressed against his face, communicating the same nonverbally, so he knew that the faun was really translating her personal interpretation of the events. And he could not help suspecting it was only distortion in the favour of his peace of mind.
He had to force himself back from the edge of useless despair. The only consolation was the notion of eternal fallibility. And it was indisputably impossible to attain any knowledge concerning what would have happened, if he had chosen differently. He suddenly felt sympathy with Dumbledore and wished he were able to discuss this issue as well as their previous, shared mistake with him.
But the challenge now was to simply accept the celebration of this situation, which was not the worst they all could have imagined. They all needed the blessing of this moment, and he probably needed it more badly than anyone else.
He met the eyes of the faun, who was still squatting in front of him. “I mourn the useless deaths. But I’m grateful to all of you for taking part in preventing even more tragedies. Let us celebrate the unity among the creatures.” Bowing to the faun, he managed to smile.
The mysterious eyes sparkled in a wild fire, as the faun jumped on his feet, turned around swiftly and cried out in a shrill lament, which overpowered all other music. Remus suspected that the beginning of the song which emerged at the moment was a translation of his own words, but the hopeful conclusion grew into an endless carefree triumph in numerous variations, as others joined in it and continued it. To these creatures even a tragedy was a reason for persistent zest for life, and he felt like surrendering to it.
He wrapped the blanket tighter around himself and leaned on Dave again. Caressing Hedwig’s feathers, he kept observing the company, allowing it all to soothe his mind or at least to take the sting out of his anguish. He actually took pleasure in - instead of a conversation with someone like Dumbledore - venturing alone to approach the memory of his fear on the day before the full moon, now that it had been replaced by something significantly more complicated than unambiguous relief.
It was astonishing that he could reach this much of peace of mind so soon after he had narrowly escaped damning himself for eternity. The fear which had made him take the risk had been nothing compared to what he had felt only hours later, when having realised the mistake he had made. He had foolishly sought companionship among his kind, ignoring everything outside his personal needs. Fortunately he had been wrong to such an extent that those creatures of other kinds whom he had lost faith in, doubting their ability to understand his exceptional ordeal, had actually been able and eager to save him. In the end, they had helped him escape, and they now offered him new hope.
A long time ago one of his friends, too, had perhaps simply chosen foolishly where to seek protection - and had not managed to escape. Had Peter never been understood and helped in his fear? The most painful thought now fought for its way into Remus’s vulnerable mind. In the shelter of this community he actually dared allow it to enter.
Had he refused to see the unyielding fear in his best friend and thus denied the help which could have saved him? He had always preferred seeing the best in Peter, but such good intentions had perhaps not led to the support which should have been given. What Peter had found, when probably overwhelmed by fear, had destroyed his life - their lives.
Once again Hedwig’s feathers were wet and salty against Remus’s lips. But the laughter and music all around persistently protected him against despair. He was startled by a vague question he had never posed before. Would it still be possible to help Peter escape?
Having apparated home in the morning, Remus gave up trying to avoid Thisby’s embrace. But he refused to give her any account of the events. He might have been afraid that Peck and Tumble’s exaggerated version would feed further the suffocating admiration which she directed towards him, but the faun and the half-faun were to return more slowly with the help of their own magic, as well as of the floo powder. So he resorted to sharing a quiet moment with Gumby and allowed him to explain it all to Thisby. He soon withdrew to the relative seclusion of the loft. Hedwig had promised to fly to collect a note for Harry, before returning to Hogwarts.
He forced himself to write nothing but a couple of simple lines.
Harry,
Please let me know how you are doing. I need to know. And I hope I can do something to help you, if there’s anything you need. The times are not easy, so I don’t think there’s anybody in no need of other creatures. Tell me how your classes with Snape and the other teachers have been. Hedwig has done a great service to me, and not only to me.
Take good care of yourself.
Remus
He knew he had to refrain from trying to persuade Harry into intimate interaction by threatening him with the fear which he had felt himself and which he now sought to replace with a more optimistic view. He had been close enough to losing himself to now realise that Harry would have lost something, too. Still, he could not imagine that Harry would have been ready to share his autobiography in the form it was now taking, after the invasion into his consciousness of the most beautiful and painful memories of Peter.
Peter was the first boy I talked to on the Hogwarts express. He was the first child of my age I talked to since I was five. I remember how awkward I first felt, and how sure I was he felt the same. It was an ambiguous feeling. While it was wonderful to have something like that in common, the fact that we were both shy made it almost impossible for us to start making friends.
I first noticed him on the platform, but he was not the first one I paid attention to. When my father had grabbed me from my mother to hug me for the third time, I noticed that nobody else was taking such tender farewells of their parents. I returned the last kisses half-heartedly, while stealing glances at the crowd of children, concentrating my attention to the smallest boys and trying to guess who could be first-years. Even those excitedly grinning and bouncing creatures seemed to have already formed small groups of friends. A lot of them may not have really known anyone yet, but they were poking at each other, making the first contacts.
I saw a tall boy with long black hair turn abruptly and walk or rather rush away from his parents. As he threw the hair from his face with a quick movement of his head, I was startled by the grace of his features and by the power of the emotion in his infuriated gaze. At that moment he almost bumped into another black-haired boy. This other boy’s hair was a mess standing up to all directions, and he grabbed a golden snitch, which had almost escaped from him, flashing a wide grin to the first one. And the long-haired boy’s face suddenly lost all its sullenness; it lit up and shone in my eyes as a painfully beautiful image of the invincible power of youth.
I know all that sounds weird, but I had spent a half of my short life in solitude and among artists, living through books and theatre, dreaming of heroes, of finding a companion and of becoming a hero myself on his side. And suddenly there was this boy, an incarnation from the tales and dreams. I could not think of approaching him, but from that moment I yearned to be his best friend.
Yet, Peter was the one I dared approach. I wouldn’t have noticed him on the platform, had his father not raised his voice. A short man with a neat moustache suddenly started yelling at his wife. She turned her head aside and happened to face me, so I could see her eyes fill with tears. Her mouth remained strangely expressionless, and she simply walked away. The man continued to yell and soon followed her. That was when a saw the boy who had been standing beside the couple. He was not taller than me, and he looked down, so his face made no impression on me. Still, after boarding the train I recognised him in the only compartment without a company of two or more, because he was sitting there stooped in the same way.
I’m afraid that after the train trip I didn’t really concentrate on Peter, although he clung to me. My dream seemed close to coming true when I was the second boy to be sorted as Gryffindor, Sirius Black having been the first one. I walked straight to him and reached out my hand, sitting down at the house table beside him. Shaking my hand briefly, he appraised me with a fleeting look at my face, but he continued to fix his attention to the sorting, while some older Gryffindors still cheered and greeted me by patting my back. When soon Peter - still trembling albeit relieved - and immediately after James Potter - tossing his snitch to Sirius - joined us as the only other Gryffindor first-year boys, I was determined to keep us all together. I knew I would have to overcome my shyness and to struggle against getting isolated with Peter alone. That is why I must have been the fundamental force for the formation of the Marauders.
The tradition at Hogwarts had already separated us from those not considered worthy of the heirloom of Godric Gryffindor, as well as offered us a shared abode secluded from other Gryffindors, too. But I hurried to suggest that we confirm a further, specific alliance, before Sirius and James got any chance to drift away from Peter and me. Maybe that’s why the Marauders never had a formal leader. Nominating one of us as the king of the Marauders would have suited the parallels which at least I and probably even the others had in mind, but it was not obvious enough who among us was the most dominating one. Since the original suggestion was mine and it was not the last good one I made, neither Sirius nor James could easily overrule me. They never truly did, although it might have looked different in the eyes of an outsider.
Yet, Sirius’s suggestion for what we could call our company did beat mine. I suggested “King Arthur’s Knights”, but there was already too much of a revolutionary in Sirius to allow him to serve even an imaginary ruler. In the same statement in which he demanded us to call ourselves marauders, he declared that there would be no ruler superior to the others among us either.
Yes, those were serious negotiations. In reality we were only little boys, scared of our teachers, doubting if we had what it would take to learn what was demanded from us. We even feared the older students. Some of us missed our parents, too - namely James and I. But at least to me the formation of the Marauders not only offered an escape, but actually changed the reality by adding a new dimension to my identity.
The second half of Chapter Ten is here