A Man Among Wolves



Crouched low to the ground under the cover of a rapidly fading Disillusionment Charm, Remus Lupin lay in wait.

Unemployment had not suited the young former teacher—it never had. But today, the clothes Remus wore were far from what he was used to. The man was clad in torn and reeking rags, the miserable remains of what had once been his best—albeit shabby—robes. But it was a sacrifice Remus had been willing to make. This, though? Remus was no longer sure.

Had one been able to look behind the Disillusionment Charm at Remus’ face, they would have thought that the man was on his last legs of life. No longer was he the healthy, vibrant man of his younger days. Grey-skinned and pallid, Remus’ gaunt face and sunken eyes almost gave the appearance of a skeleton or an Inferius. He was thinner than ever, his hair was greyer, and he seemed so beaten-down and defeated that no one—no one—would be able to guess why he was here.

Remus Lupin was a spy for the Order of the Phoenix.

As he lay, weak-limbed, on the hard and scratchy ground, Remus fervently cursed whoever had decided it would be best for him to arrive on the full moon. That was Dumbledore, wasn’t it? Remus could hardly think straight anymore, and he found himself eagerly anticipating the nearing moonrise. At least then, after the initial pain of transformation, he would be able to think clearly.

Moments later, a stormy dark cloud passed over the setting sun. Immediately it became gilded with gleaming silver and fiery red light. Remus instinctively looked to his wrist, only to snort dryly when he recalled removing his watch. No matter, though—he didn’t need a watch to know that it was almost time.

Rising silently to his feet, Remus carefully examined his scarred and calloused hands to make sure that the last traces of the Disillusionment Charm had faded from his body. Perfect.

Suddenly, a scream of agony tore itself from Remus’ hoarse throat as the full moon appeared atop the darkened storm cloud. Arching his back in pain, clawing at the trunk of the nearest tree, Remus was dimly aware of similar shrieks sounding from the darkened forest around him. For a moment, he was almost animalistic in his pain; all thought, all reason, escaped him. But moments later, it was over.

He was able to breathe easier now; to see, hear, and smell easier as well. His body still ached and throbbed, but the burning fire that had had been there mere seconds before had waned. He was on all fours, hunched and hairy, but he was still himself, still Remus.

Thank God for Wolfsbane.

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Remus spent several minutes standing in his place, still trying to collect his thoughts. My name is Remus Lupin, I am a werewolf, I am a spy for the Order of the Phoenix. Good; he still remembered. Remus still found it difficult to believe that he now kept his mind during transformations; after so many years of the brutal mental and emotional torment, he was almost a completely normal human. The wolf bared his teeth in a wry smile. Well, except for the tail.

Things felt so... so different... as a wolf. Remus could hear the wind rustling in the treetops, smell the tinkling waters of a brook from miles away. Luminous amber eyes could pinpoint movement in the far reaches of the forest, and he could feel the heartbeat of a mouse or rabbit from their loamy burrows deep beneath him. Remus pricked his ears upright, waiting for the sound that would be his signal.

Aw-oooorr!

The deep and guttural howl sounded from somewhere to the east; it was immediately echoed by two dozen others, each varying in pitch and volume. Throwing back his narrow head, Remus did the same. Aw-ooor!

Taking care to keep his tail low to the ground, Remus dogtrotted quickly toward the original howl. Around him, he could hear the other werewolves doing the same; now and then, a pair of gleaming golden eyes could be spotted in the distance, all focused on one spot: where Fenrir Greyback awaited the remainder of his pack.

Before long, a motley array of wolves had gathered in a small forest clearing. There were big ones, scrawny ones, males and females; wolves of all different shapes and sizes. But in the center of the ring of wolves stood the largest of all.

Standing alone at the edge of the clearing, Remus felt his breath catch unexpectedly in his canine throat. Greyback. The last time Remus had seen the rangy, hulking grey wolf—the cruel yellow eyes flecked with hatred and rage—his life had been altered irreversibly. Would history repeat itself, and would something similar happen tonight?

Nearly rooted to the spot in his sudden terror, Remus had no idea what to do. Dumbledore was counting on him to approach the wolves now, to submissively join the ranks of the pack. But that would inevitably involve Greyback, the man—no, the beast—who had torn Remus’ life apart. He had known this all along, of course... but nothing could have prepared him for this moment.

But for better or worse, Remus was spared the necessity of making the first move. For as Greyback stood there, surveying his pack with primordial satisfaction, an unfamiliar whiff of scent caught in his nostrils and alerted him to Remus’ presence. With a snap and a bound, the snarling Greyback launched his massive body toward the newcomer.

Remus was literally bowled over by the impact. The next thing he knew, he was on his back, whimpering submissively to the savage wolf atop him. Greyback’s eyes gleamed with malevolence as his teeth flashed above Remus’ throat.

It was only pure, wolfish instinct that saved Remus at that point. Reeling with distaste at what he must do, Lupin closed his eyes and tentatively licked Greyback’s bloodstained muzzle, whimpering all the while.

Greyback’s entire demeanor changed at this submissive display. Taking several steps back, the alpha wolf wagged his tail high above him like a plume before turning to return to his pack.

Remus knew what this meant; he had been accepted safely into the pack. With a sigh of relief, he joined the ring of wolves around Greyback, allowing himself to be sniffed and greeted by his new comrades.

Remus hoped fervently that joining the werewolves while untransformed would be so easy. Dumbledore had assured Remus that, if the “introductions� were made during the full moon, things would go smoothly.

Good thing Dumbledore is always right.
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The rest of the evening was spent with the pack, hunting and resting beneath the starry canopy of the nighttime sky. Remus could not have been more grateful that Greyback had decided not to go on a rampage of human attacks. But as time progressed and the moon began to dim, his heartfelt dread began to rise within him like bile once more.

As the sun’s first rays began to shine throughout the forest, Remus awoke in a dazed stupor. He was lying in a limp heap on the forest floor, surrounded by groaning forms.

Without rising, Remus closed his eyes to slits and tried to get stock of his surroundings. He was in the middle of what appeared to be a village; a number of mud-and-thatch huts had been clumsily erected in a large clearing, each large enough to house one or two people at the most. A small, muddy stream ran through the center of the clearing, but it was so stopped up with garbage and refuse that the water hardly seemed usable.

Around him, the awakening werewolves were beginning to stand up and get about with their lives. They were just as diverse as people as they had been as wolves. Men and women of all ages and races were striding purposefully but gingerly about; the only commonality between them seemed to be the grubby, defeated look they all wore. Even the strongest and most muscular of them seemed scrawny and underfed; Remus’ heart panged with pity as he caught sight of a little girl, who could not have been more than six years old, clutching her sunken belly as she waited for an older female to wake up.

Now that about half of the werewolves were awake, Remus rose carefully from his place, trying to be neither too loud nor too quiet. However, his attempts at subtlety failed; almost immediately, a circle of werewolves gathered around him. Each person wore an expression of curiosity and deep suspicion; a few had their wands raised threateningly at him, but the majority simply watched or brandished poorly-crafted, sharpened wooden stakes.

Remus felt like a deer in the headlights as he looked around; they had him surrounded. Even those who had just awoken were joining the circle, murmuring all the while. Everyone seemed to be whispering, but Remus could only identify individual words.

“Humans—denial—wizard.�

Suddenly, though, a hush fell over the circle. A terror like no other gripped Remus as he realized why—as the werewolves took up another, more distinct cry.

“Fenrir! Fenrir!�

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Remus’ stomach clenched as he watched the crowd part slowly; to him, it seemed as though he was watching the Red Sea open up for the Jews. But the man striding toward him was no Moses...

Despite his matted hair and tattered robes, Fenrir Greyback somehow managed to appear regal as he walked toward Remus, his shoulders thrown back and head held high. He had not changed much in the years since Remus had last seen him; only his hair had faded from sandy brown to grey, and his eyes gleamed with even more malice than ever before. Greyback showed no sign of recognizing Remus as the boy whose life he had ruined so many years ago—why would he, for Remus was only one of dozens of children Greyback had bitten?

“Who are you?� Greyback’s voice was hoarse and raspy, yet commanding at the same time. His eyes—the same cruel, amber eyes of the wolf—gleamed fiercely. “Well?�

“Romulus.� Remus forced himself to maintain his composure as he answered. Dumbledore had not only warned Remus not to use his real name, but also suggested he use a distinctly wolfish pseudonym; Greyback, the headmaster had said, liked that.

True to Dumbledore’s words, Greyback bared his pointed, yellowed fangs in approval at the name. “Romulus, Romulus.� The words rolled off his tongue like honey, and all at once Remus understood why the other werewolves followed Greyback. This man was smart, he was strong, and he was persuasive. Remus felt a tremor of fear run through him. Things would be even more difficult than he had ever imagined.

“Now, Romulus, why are you here?� The spectators watched on in impressed fascination as Greyback leaned forward, his snarling mouth inches away from Remus’ face.

It was all Remus could do not to avert his face as Greyback’s rancid breath washed over him. “I’ve come to join you.� He watched the other werewolf’s brutal face closely for a reaction, but fortunately there was none. Apparently, Greyback had been fooled.

“Ahh, I thought so.� Fenrir pushed Remus away from him and began pacing back and forth, his tattered, bloodstained robes sweeping impressively behind him. “Now, Romulus, when were you bitten?�

Remus had rehearsed the answer to this question—and those that would follow—many times. Keeping his eyes locked with Greyback’s, he replied steadily. “Five or six years ago... I lose track. I...� He trailed off with a shuddering sigh, praying that his acting was enough to fool the wolves.

“Where did it happen?�

Remus felt suddenly grateful for all the pranks Sirius and James had played back in their schooling days. The many times he had been forced to cover for them, coupled with the dark secret of his lycanthropy, had finely honed his lying skills. It was all he could do not to smile wryly at the irony of it all. At least they’re being put to noble cause.

“I was in Germany at the time, backpacking with a friend. I had no idea it was... the full moon, and one night... my tent...� Remus trailed off with a look of pain on his face. There had been more he was going to say, but the carefully rehearsed story reminded him suddenly of that fateful day so long ago...

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Six-year-old Remus Lupin giggled happily. He had already taken his bath and been put to bed, but his mother and father had gone to visit some friends and he was home alone. Naturally, they hadn’t expected him to wake up so soon... But he had!

Remus jumped in surprise as the big clock on the wall began tolling—eight times, to be exact. Of course, Remus couldn’t actually see the clock; it was very, very dark, and he was beginning to grow afraid. He looked around for the light switch, but it was too dark to locate it. The little boy felt scared now, for the only light to speak of was that of the full moon shining in through the windows.

That, and a pair of savage golden eyes leering at him from mere metres away.

Remus’ breath caught in his throat as the massive wolf outside removed its paws from the windowsill, momentarily disappearing from sight. The next moment, however, the air was split with a savage howl and the wild shattering of glass. Remus screamed in terror as the hulking grey creature pounced upon him, its lips curled up in a snarl. Its breath reeked of blood and fear, of anger and of death. The last thing Remus felt was a set of jaws and a pair of vengeful eyes pierce his body and his soul.

Beyond that, his only memory was that of darkness closing in.

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Fenrir Greyback bared his pointed teeth in a feral smile of satisfaction as the newcomer’s eyes glazed over at the memory. There was no better way to instill fear in a werewolf than to make him relive the moment of his bite.

Greyback allowed Remus several more moments of painful reminiscence before bringing him back to the present with a sharp, barking laugh.

“Not pleasant at all, was it, Romulus?� Watching the younger man’s lined face carefully, Fenrir scratched his matted hair absently before speaking. “You have an interesting name, my friend.� His voice, despite its harshness, was like oil gliding over silk. “Tell me of its origins.�

It was a command, not a request, and Remus had no choice but to comply. “Romulus was one of the legendary founders of Rome—it is said that he and his brother were suckled by a she-wolf as infants.�

“Ahh...� Fenrir paused a moment to examine his dirty yellow nails before continuing casually. His golden eyes were gleaming in triumph, and he could barely keep a smile from his voice as he spoke. “And his brother—remind me, Romulus, what was his name?�

With a horrible sense of déjà vu, Remus felt a terrible dread take over him. As he stared into Fenrir’s cold, mesmerizing eyes, there was no doubt in his mind that the Death Eater knew. He knew.

Greyback’s fangs were bared once more in a vicious smile. His pointed claws raised menacingly, the hulking werewolf advanced toward Remus with a heavy, purposeful stride.

Remus cursed Dumbledore silently for telling him not to bring a wand. The man backed up several steps, but was immediately shunted forward by the eager crowd of werewolves behind him. Remus began to raise his fists—for all the good they would do—but lowered them in resignation almost immediately. Greyback was still circling... circling...

In that moment, every last semblance of fear left Remus Lupin. He no longer cared for his own life—for, in reality, his life was hardly worth living. But he had failed. He had failed the Order, failed Dumbledore, failed Harry... He had failed Sirius and James.

Holding his head high, Remus looked Greyback dead in the eye. Suddenly, he felt nothing but contempt for the beast before him. No fear, no hatred, no anger—just contempt.

“The brother?� Feeling a surge of pride rush through him, Remus took a step forward so he was face to face with his enemy.

“His name was Remus.�