Part Four: A Wolf At Rest
30: Under the Moon
High above Winter Hollow, the full moon gleamed. To the pain that its presence inflicted upon an unfortunate few, it remained blissfully oblivious.
Washed in moonlight, snapped at by the bitter cold of autumn night, his breath a cloudy shiver in the air, Reynard Lupin sighed.
He hated these nights, hated knowing that somewhere beneath the silver stained stare of a bloated moon, his only child was being contorted agonisingly into a form unrecognisable as either the little boy he had raised or the fine man his son had grown into. He hated to think of his Remus out in the world, alone and in pain. And he truly loathed knowing that there was absolutely nothing he could do to help him.
The bite of chill wind against his cheek whispered of a distant hint of morning frost and creaked his aging bones. Wincing at the ripple of old pain that travelled through his crippled leg, he leaned harder against his cane as he pushed closed the rickety door to the crooked lean-to propped up against the rear of his home. A mixture of animated chattering and sleepy chirps marked the presence of his recently fed menagerie, the watery burp of a tank dwelling old grindylow mingling strangely with the chittering of his recently acquired nest of billywigs. A flick of his wand magically sealed the padlock against potential escapes – his old colleague Riever had not been impressed when he was called out to the nearby village at Devil’s Bridge to catch the wild-eyed kneazle that was terrorising a farmer’s sheepdogs after Rey had failed to double check the locks one night – and then pulling his cloak tight against the ravages of approaching winter, Rey hurriedly limped his way down the darkened path and pulled himself up the rear step into the kitchen.
The house itself was eerily silent, only the distant crackle of the living room fire providing any accompaniment to the uneven tap of his footsteps as he moved through into the hallway and hung his cloak up on its hook. He glanced around the dimly lit familiarity of his long time home, the ghosts of distant memories and faces now departed, aged or lost forever haunting every corner, every stone like half-heard echoes or faded dreams. But now there was no one here but him.
It did not have to be this way – he knew that. Many times old friends and Diana’s friendly family, both its Muggle root near Aberystwyth and her brother’s branch, two of whom had followed their aunt to a destiny of magic at Hogwarts, had invited him to live near or with them and he had callers and correspondents enough to prevent the remoteness of Winter Hollow from compounding his isolation. And he did not always live alone – Remus stayed on and off depending on his circumstances as he had done for most of his life and would come at a single word if he felt that he was needed. It had taken much persuasion on Rey’s part to prevent his concerned son from giving up on the generous offer of Albus Dumbledore in order to stay with his grieving father following the death of Diana; in the end he had only agreed to leave for Hogwarts when his Muggleborn cousin Huw Griffith and his young wife Bronwyn had offered to move in to Winter Hollow and keep their uncle company.
That year had been amenable enough, if not an ideal arrangement. The couple were young and taken with the romance of the location, unaware that the romance could easily be eroded by simple practicalities. He could still hear the echoes of Bronwyn’s scream the day she had discovered his escaped puffskein by sitting on it as she climbed into bed and see the uncertain smile on Huw’s face when he discovered his auntie’s husband dissecting a grindylow on the kitchen table in order to establish just what it had died of. Although he remained on excellent terms with what was now a young family, it had been an unspoken relief to all concerned when Remus had returned from his first ill-fated stint at Hogwarts and given Huw and Bronwyn a way to gracefully depart free of guilt.
In spite of a tendency inherited from his mother to tidy things that didn’t really need tidying and a habit of commandeering the study, Remus had been a marked improvement as a household companion. So it had been with a tinge of sadness that Rey had greeted the arrival of a certain stray animagus whose news had once again taken his son away from Winter Hollow and back into danger.
He had not been completely abandoned – his son had written whenever he could and there had been much talk of weekend visits and Sunday lunches, although nothing outside of a short stay last Easter had yet materialised. And of course, Remus had once again made provision to insure his remaining parent was looked after – having insisted that he would never be so inhumane as to force his poor old father to suffer his own cooking, he had arranged for Mrs Evgenie Wenn, a plump, irritatingly patronising witch from a nearby village with bouncy brown-charmed curls and a smile you could swallow a frog with to drop by for a few hours every day to whip up a few meals and dust around. Neither Lupin had considered her much of a solution, but she had been the only affordable prospect for a retired Exterminator on a minimal Ministry pension and a sporadically employed werewolf otherwise occupied with helping save the world and was thus to be endured. Rey smiled tolerantly at her baby-talk remarks, apparently inspired by nothing more than a head of grey hair and a cane – Oh Mr Lupin, are you sure you can manage those stairs all by yourself? Oh Mr Lupin, would you like me to cut that up for you? You really shouldn’t strain yourself… Oh Mr Lupin, I’m sure you don’t really want that awful creature in the house... – whilst quietly cultivating an animated dislike of the woman that manifested itself into a variety of daydreams inspired by possible means of her demise. It was a way to pass the time.
But in spite of Mrs Wenn, of lonely nights, of certain painful memories to be found on the wooded mountainside, Rey would never leave Winter Hollow as long as breath remained his body. He could not exist anywhere else. He would never be persuaded.
For Diana was here. He knew it. He could feel her like a soft embrace, a brush of air, unseen but ever present, watching over her family in death with the same warmth and protective love that had characterised her life. She was waiting in the home they made together and he could no more leave her than he could touch her.
He could endure any amount of Mrs Wenn to hold onto that feeling.
He missed Diana.
He missed Remus.
But he would never in a thousand years have been so selfish as to deny his son the chance to do the job he loved.
He was happy. And that was enough.
With a weary sigh, Rey settled himself down on the broad old sofa beside the roaring living room fire, gathering up over his knees the broad, heavily-knitted green blanket with an orange embroidered R that Remus had forwarded to him a while before from a lady that he vaguely recalled as one of Diana’s former pupils; apparently, due to her knitting fetish, his son now had several very similar blankets of his own. It was gaudy and a little odd, but the warmth was valuable and Rey had grown quite fond of it. It reminded him of happier times.
But on this night such memories were doomed to falter.
For even as he reached over towards the side table in search of his book, the fireplace flared with emerald light.
A moment later Rey found himself staring at the sombre disembodied head of Albus Dumbledore.
His stomach dropped like a stone.
Oh no.
Sad blue eyes met his. The bearded jaw was tense.
“Reynard,” the old headmaster said softly. “It’s Remus.”
* * *
In Hogsmeade, there was chaos.
Judging by the shivering clusters of bloodstained figures and groaning wounded wrapped in blankets that he saw before him as he stumbled from the green flaring fireplace, the Three Broomsticks had been pressed into service as some manner of emergency field hospital. All around harried looking figures in lime-green robes bustled frantically from patient to patient, St Mungo’s healers flooed in at obvious short notice and struggling to cope – behind the bar, a dishevelled Madam Rosmerta was rushing to keep up with the demand for hot water and soothing spirits. Dark-robed Aurors lingered everywhere, bellowing orders, snapping commands and gesturing with their wands as more casualties were ushered in from the darkened, rubble-strewn street outside in order to receive treatment. A glimpse down into the open cellar door revealed the blanket-shrouded shapes of those who had come too late.
And in that moment, Reynard Lupin did not care a whit about any of them.
He couldn’t focus. He couldn’t think. His mind was plunging from past to present, shying frantically away from the chilling prospect of the future, tumbling through half-forgotten memories of his little boy at play in a then-cluttered room, or curled in his mother’s lap as he listened to his favourite story, or leaping into his parents arms with a Hogwarts letter clasped in his hand, a little thing taken for granted by so many that had utterly transformed his son’s life. He remembered four teenage boys and a frenetic, glorious broomstick-back snow ball fight over their snow-washed lawn one cold New Year’s Day that had concluded with James Potter upside down in the frozen creek, Sirius Black stuck halfway up a tree and Peter Pettigrew sitting precariously on the chimney pot. In spite of the chill he had caught from his own head-on encounter with a hefty snowdrift, Remus hadn’t stopped grinning for days after they left…
Remus…
He had to get to Hogwarts.
Rey knew he could have apparated to the gates. But given the tumultuous fragility of his mental state, he would have most likely left several important limbs and a few vital organs languishing abandoned on the floor behind him. He could not afford the time it would have taken to pull himself together.
He had to get to Hogwarts. That was all that mattered.
Remus was all that mattered.
Not Remus. Not now. Not like this.
Not both of them.
His arrival had not gone unnoticed. Although the Healers gave him no more than a passing glance and the wounded were far too involved in their own pain to care about a new arrival, several sharp intensive stares had snapped in the older man’s direction as he surged forward blindly with as much speed as his age and incapacity would allow. Looks were shared, nods were exchanged; a moment later, a tall, broad-shouldered man with dark hair and a broad, bloody scratch across his cheek had covered the few strides necessary to step between Reynard and the door and dropped his hand with gentle firmness onto the older man’s shoulder, sharply arresting his momentum.
“Excuse me sir, but you can’t go out there,” he said with quiet authority, his voice whilst sympathetic, allowing no quarter for argument. “I’m afraid we need you to wait inside a while until the area has been secured…”
“My son.” The words slipped out almost unconscious, spun from a whirlwind of memories that concealed the prospective void that threatened to rip apart his world. “Please, I have to go to my son…”
The Auror’s jaw tightened, his eyes clearly pained at the older man’s obvious distress, but his grip did not relax. “I’m sorry sir, but you’ll just have to wait here for news. I know a lot of people have relatives caught up in this but the situation is too uncertain to have civilians…”
“No, you don’t understand,” Rey had neither the time nor the inclination to allow the man to finish his words, the aching chill that crept through his chest threatening to consume him entirely. “Hogwarts, I have to go to Hogwarts!”
The Auror slowly shook his head. “Sir, Hogwarts is currently off-limits to all but Ministry personnel and Healing staff. I cannot allow…”
Remus needed him. His little boy was…was… He had to be there! He didn’t have time for this…
“Get out of my way.”
“Sir, please…”
“Get out of my way!”
“Sir, calm down! ”
Instinctively grasping the counter for support, his cane rose in support of his desperate urge to simply clear his path to Remus. His eyes alarmed but steely, the Auror was reaching for his wand…
“Hey! Hey!”
An almighty crash shattered the dangerous instant as a figure in Auror robes tumbled head over heels over a pile of medical supplies and tumbled to a standstill at the astonished combatants feet. With a muttered obscenity, the unexpected arrival dragged herself hastily upright, revealing a dark-eyed young woman with a heart-shaped face and short spiked hair in a shocking pure white hue. Steadying herself abruptly, she thrust her hands into the air between the two men in an abrupt halt to potential hostilities.
“That is enough!” she ordered with surprising authority as she turned her determined gaze upon her colleague. “Auror Danyon, don’t you think there’s been enough violence around here this evening?”
The older Auror’s featured flickered; in spite of the fact that he was clearly the woman’s senior in rank, he did not seem inclined to argue.
“All right, point taken,” he conceded with a sigh as he returned his wand to its sheath. “But that doesn’t change the fact that we can’t have any old civilian just wandering the streets and bursting into Hogwarts…”
“Then I’ll take him.” The woman’s voice was firm. “I’ll escort him through the village and to the castle. No wandering at all.”
The Auror called Danyon raised an eyebrow. “You know him?”
The woman smiled evasively. “I can vouch for him,” she dodged efficiently. Her eyes filled with a sudden plea. “Dan, mate, let me deal with this one, okay? The Death Eaters have scarpered; the streets are safe if fairly beaten up. And trust me, they’ll let him in at Hogwarts and it’s important for him to go.”
Auror Danyon was clearly a man with a lot on his plate and the removal of one troublesome morsel did not seem to hold any difficulty for him. He nodded.
“Fine, he’s all yours,” he relented with a dismissive wave of his hand. “But no trouble, okay?”
The young Auror flashed him a smile. “Cross my heart.”
Still frowning, Danyon turned and moved away. Turning her gaze onto Rey, the young woman smiled more seriously as she took a gentle grip on the older man’s upper arm and escorted him gently but hurriedly outside.
The familiar street beyond was almost unrecognisable as the cheery façade so well known to every Hogwarts student and alumni. The cobblestones were ripped up and scattered widely in the aftermath of violent explosions, craters littering the earth. Houses were charred and battered, windows smashed, signs hanging loose as dark figures darted everywhere, searching the debris, frantically calling for survivors or cautiously investigating danger. Overhead, in a crystal clear night sky, pinpricks of stars glistened like a halo surrounding the rounded gleam of the full moon.
With considerate care, the young woman guided Rey quickly, if a little clumsily through the damaged, moon-washed streets. On the rise above, Hogwarts castle squatted, a shadowy silhouette of turrets against the silver-stained night.
Remus is there. Remus is…
“Mr Lupin, right?”
He started sharply at the softly asked question; turning his head he realised that the young woman was smiling at him wanly from beneath her vivid snowy crown. In a sudden rush, he realised that he had no idea why this unknown Auror had helped him, or indeed how she might have come to know his name.
“Yes,” he managed absently. “How did you know who I am?”
Although she met his gaze solemnly, her eyes flickered with pain. “You couldn’t have been anyone else,” she whispered softly. “You look like just your son, Mr Lupin.”
Rey felt his heart leap into his throat. “You know Remus?” he gasped, stumbling to a halt as he grasped her robes almost frantically. “Is he…?” The words choked and faltered.
The young Auror’s lip twisted, her eyes glistening with moisture as the moonlight cast her features in an unmistakable aspect of distress. “He’s at Hogwarts,” she simply said, though there was a tremor to her tone that Rey could very much relate to. Gently but firmly, she turned the older man around and led him back onto the road towards Hogwarts gates “Let’s just get you there, okay? There are better people than me to explain.”
Reynard nodded distractedly, allowing himself to be guided by her reassuring hands. It was easier than trying to think for himself.
Hogwarts loomed ahead, its gates flung aside, its lawn a chaotic scatter of figures rushing to and fro. Behind the panes of glass he recognised as the windows of Hogwarts Hospital Wing, distant light was blazing.
Remus.
He could almost feel Diana’s anxious presence hovering at his side.
He could only pray that his son had not yet joined her.