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starfishstarRAISE YOUR LANTERN HIGH
Summary: In which Remus and Tonks fight battles, arrest criminals, befriend werewolves, overcome inner demons and, despite it all, find themselves a happy ending. A love story, and a story of the Order years. (My Remus/Tonks epic, which has been years in the making! This is the second half of the story, set in the Half-Blood Prince year.)
Chapter 9: From Different Angles
But all these illusions strip and fall
And he is just a man after all
–Patti Scialfa, Spanish Dancer
By one o’clock in the morning, after several go-rounds in a Ministry interrogation room with Tonks and Savage and Dawlish all taking turns with their suspect, they still weren’t getting anywhere. All they’d really managed to establish was that the bookseller – his name was Jacobs – was not going to give up the name of his confederate, the second man Tonks had heard in the back room of the bookshop with him the other night. Probably a family member, from the tenacity with which Jacobs was protecting him.
The younger man they’d also caught, the one who’d presumably been sent in the Death Eaters’ stead, had been questioned and placed in an overnight holding cell, but Tonks doubted the charges against him would stick. It was beyond obvious that he’d been Confunded and had no idea what he was doing – nor, unfortunately, any idea who’d told him to do it.
He couldn’t even tell them where he was meant to deliver the trunks they’d seized. He was simply supposed to collect the goods, then whoever had Confunded him would come find him. Which was no longer going to happen, of course, now that the man was in Auror custody. The Death Eaters behind this shipment of contraband were in the wind.
As for Jacobs, somewhere in the depths of the night, with all three Aurors running on stale Ministry coffee and thin hope, they managed to hammer out an agreement. The Ministry would drop all suspicions concerning the second man Tonks had heard in the bookshop with him, and in exchange, Jacobs would tell them everything he knew.
Jacobs did give up as much information as he could, but it didn’t amount to much. Someone had sent an anonymous letter, he said, informing him that a convenient storage space in Hogsmeade was needed, and he should stay late at his shop on a particular night to accept a delivery. He would then be required to hold this delivery until the unknown correspondent was ready to pick it up. Not very subtle threats to his family were made, should he fail to comply with this “request.”
On the appointed night, a wizard with a “foreign accent” (Yeah, thanks, very helpful and specific, Tonks thought, her brain fuzzy with frustration and bad coffee) had arrived with three trunks, one after another, then disappeared again. A final letter, delivered by owl, had told the bookseller the date and time when the trunks would be picked up. No, Jacobs admitted, he hadn’t saved the letters, for fear they would incriminate him.
Which left them with a seller about whom nothing was known beyond his unspecified “foreign accent,” and a buyer who was most likely a Death Eater, but whom they had no way to locate.
Still, the higher-ups were happy. Tonks and her colleagues got a metaphorical pat on the back from Robards when he showed up at the Ministry, having been alerted by Savage, and another from Minister Scrimgeour when he arrived in the morning. And Savage and Dawlish were happy, because the higher-ups were happy.
Apparently, Tonks was the only one who didn’t think catching everyone but the Death Eater constituted a “win.”
Bone-tired, with reams of completed paperwork behind her and a sluggish, grey dawn now breaking, Tonks stumbled after Savage towards the bank of Floo portals in the Ministry Atrium. It was just the two of them now, Dawlish having headed back to Hogsmeade after they’d reached the deal with Jacobs, so he would be ready to take the daytime patrol shift in the village. As Tonks and Savage headed for the outgoing Floo, Ministry employees were already streaming through the incoming fires to report to work for the day.
Savage paused in front of the outgoing Floo and turned to Tonks. He cleared his throat and said, with an uncharacteristic flash of emotional intelligence, “I know you’re disappointed we didn’t get the big fish, Tonks, but it’s not always bursting into the Department of Mysteries after hours to capture eleven Death Eaters in one go. Sometimes it’s the smugglers and the middlemen. But even a small win is still a win.”
Tonks nodded. She did know that. Patience was an Auror virtue she was still learning.
“You did good work tonight,” Savage said, clapping her on the back. “We wouldn’t have caught this one without you.”
Tonks nodded again. “Thanks.”
Savage nodded back, brusque again. “You first.”
Tonks took a pinch of Floo powder from the enormous jug beside the fireplace, said, “Savage and Dawlish’s flat, Hogsmeade,” then stepped into the fire and let it carry her away.
– – – – –
It wasn’t until she awoke that afternoon, the sun already edging down towards the hills around the village, that Tonks thought of Ariadne and how she’d been asking about visiting Tonks in Hogsmeade sometime. The bookseller business had left Tonks too busy to even think about anything as normal as visits with friends, but now it struck her forcefully how welcome a little normality might be. Feeling like she was swimming through a half-awake world, Tonks stumbled over to the Post Office and sent a note inviting Ariadne to come up at the weekend.
She hadn’t bothered to connect her tiny Hogsmeade flat to the Floo Network, so on Saturday morning Tonks waited for Ariadne by the public fire at Three Broomsticks. She’d managed to arrange a rare day entirely off, and having so much free time felt sort of strange, like she’d been carrying around something heavy for so long that she didn’t know what to do with her arms now that they were empty. The adrenalin high of her investigation had dropped away, leaving Tonks feeling heavy and bleak.
Ariadne stepped out of the pub’s fireplace with grin and a whiff of London air about her, dark blonde hair flying around her face. “Wotcher, Tonks!” she said cheerfully, brushing a dusting of Floo powder from her nose. “You know, ‘How shall we spend our Hogsmeade weekend’ is not a phrase I ever thought I’d have cause to say again, but here I am.”
Ariadne chattered cheerfully as they left the pub and started strolling up the high street. Within minutes, though, her brow was furrowing. “Was Hogsmeade always this grim and I just didn’t notice?”
Tonks paused on the pavement to fasten her cloak more tightly. The days, too, were growing chilly. “You’re not imagining it. Everybody’s scared and keeping out of sight. Same as in Diagon Alley.”
“I guess I don’t notice the bleakness in Diagon Alley because I’ve got used to it.” Ariadne said, then winced. “I can’t believe I just said that. The only thing worse than things being terrible is getting used to them being terrible.”
Tonks saw Ariadne frown again as they passed the boarded-up shopfront of Zonko’s. When they went by Scrivenshaft’s, the friendly young assistant was out front, arranging the display tables. Scrivenshaft’s was one of the few shops in the village still making an effort to look busy and welcoming. The shop assistant gave them a wave and a cheery, “Hullo!”
“Merlin’s pants!” Ariadne hissed at Tonks, grabbing her arm as soon as they were out of the shop assistant’s earshot. “He likes you!”
“What? No!”
“Seriously, how can it be that in this tiny village, you’ve already got at least one bloke who fancies you like mad?”
“What – he’s not – Ariadne, come on, that’s ridiculous!”
But Ariadne kept up her teasing all along the high street until she finally got Tonks to admit that yeah, okay, she’d noticed the bloke at Scrivenshaft’s did always seem keen to chat when she came by.
“See?” Ariadne gloated, and Tonks rolled her eyes and agreed that yes, yes, Ariadne was very clever and perceptive, and they both laughed and dropped the topic.
They were passing Dervish & Banges near the outskirts of the village when Ariadne said in a different tone, “So…speaking of which…I’ve met somebody.”
It took Tonks a moment to get it. “Oh,” she said. “Oh! You’ve met somebody. Like, a bloke.” Tonks glanced over and saw that Ariadne was smiling softly.
“His name’s Damien,” she said. “You know how we used to joke that someday the perfect guy would walk into the Archives with a research question he needed me to answer? Well…he did.”
“Oh, Ariadne!” Tonks felt a rush of emotion for her friend. “You look happy. You’re happy?”
“Yeah,” Ariadne said, a slow, sweet smile spreading across her face. “I am. I’d like you to meet him sometime.”
“Of course!” Tonks said. “Can’t wait.”
They looped back through the side lanes to the centre of the village, Tonks’ mind whirring all the while, hardly aware now of the cold and the boarded-up shops. Ariadne had a bloke in her life. Ariadne was newly in love. Tonks was thrilled for her friend and also…she couldn’t quite place what this other sensation was.
Oh. On closer inspection, it seemed to be something an awful lot like jealousy.
Jealousy? Nymphadora Tonks? She’d never been jealous of anyone in her life, at least not over a bloke, and she didn’t care to start the habit now. Apparently this is what being in love does to me, she thought mournfully, and she was so depressed by the thought that she didn’t even bother to correct herself on the “in love” part of it.
Tonks scowled at herself and determined to put this uncomfortably envious feeling firmly out of her mind.
Over pasties and butterbeers at the Three Broomsticks, Tonks told Ariadne as much as she dared about her work. “So we made two arrests,” she concluded, leaning forward with her elbows on the table. “And I ought to be glad – the higher-ups certainly think any arrest is a good arrest – but the thing is, these are not the people we’re trying to get. One was Confunded; the other was coerced into his role. But I have an awful feeling the Ministry is going to keep holding them, just to look like we’re doing something. You know they’ve still got Stan Shunpike?”
“The bloke they arrested from the Knight Bus?”
Tonks nodded. “It’s been over a month and he’s still in custody, even though I’m certain he was Imperiused. I mean, I didn’t interview him myself, but all the signs are there. And now we’ve got another gormless young bloke who let himself get Confunded into fetching a delivery of Dark objects for Death Eaters, and it’s the same thing all over again.”
Tonks shoved her butterbeer bottle away from her in annoyance, then had to Summon a serviette to mop up what she’d spilled.
She grumbled, “And Robards keeps hinting we should keep a closer eye on Dumbledore. Any day now, he’s going to outright ask us to put a tail on him. ‘Cause that’s a great use of Ministry resources, trying to outsmart the cleverest wizard of the century.” She groaned. “Ugh, stop me, or I’ll keep banging on about work forever. Seriously, let’s talk about absolutely anything else.”
Tonks saw Ariadne’s glance flick up to Tonks’ mousy hair, then down again.
“Er…” Ariadne said. “Totally indelicate question, but …your hair? It was like that when I saw you before you left London, too, but I wasn’t sure…”
Tonks glowered at the tabletop. She hated admitting this, even to Ariadne. “I’ve been having trouble changing it. Started over the summer.”
“Oh,” said Ariadne. She sounded shocked. “Since…since Sirius?”
Tonks slid her half-empty butterbeer back and forth through a puddle of condensation that had formed on the tabletop. “Yeah, I guess. And then so much horrible stuff happened all at once, so many deaths, and Remus leaving… I didn’t think you had to be happy in order to exercise an innate ability like Metamorphmagism, but there you go.”
Ariadne made a pained noise in her throat. “It just seems so weird to me. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you go a whole day without at least doing funny noses or something. Er…sorry. That was about the least helpful comment ever.”
Tonks shrugged. “Well, but it’s true. Believe me, it’s weird to me, too.”
Ariadne was frowning again, like she’d done on the boarded-up high street. “And what about Remus? Have you heard anything from him?”
Tonks shook her head. “It’s not like I was expecting to, though. He’s on a delicate mission, he can’t have outside contact.”
“But couldn’t he still find a way to get a message to you if he wanted to…?”
“He doesn’t want to,” Tonks snapped. Then she grimaced in apology, because of course Ariadne wasn’t the one she was cross with. “When he left, he didn’t even say goodbye. He sent me a note.”
A whole year’s worth of feeling between them, and Remus thought he could tie it all up neatly with a couple of lines jotted on parchment. Tonks was getting angry all over again just thinking about it.
She looked up to see Ariadne studying her.
“Do you have a broom here?” Ariadne asked abruptly.
“I – what?”
“I think what we need to do right now is find some brooms and go flying. No more work, no more politics, definitely no more lame blokes who can’t seem to understand how fantastic you are. Let’s find some brooms and go flying. Right now.”
Tonks stared at Ariadne, then she said fervently, “Yes. I’ve got a broom and I know we can find another one somewhere for you to borrow so yes, please.”
Ariadne nodded decisively and downed the rest of her drink. Then they both stood up and went to find Ariadne a broom, and gave over the rest of the afternoon to the rush of flying and cold wind and the ground falling away beneath them. Tonks, gratefully, took the gift of a day where she didn’t have to think or plan or worry, but could just be, under the wide, pale autumn sky.
– – – – –
“Admit it, Quiet,” Serena said. “You enjoy the full moons with us.”
They were sitting side by side with their backs resting against the outside of the lean-to wall. Ostensibly both Remus and Serena were taking a turn today staying with elderly Anna, whom the pack never left on her own. But Anna had retired inside the lean-to to rest, leaving little they needed to do for her beyond simply staying nearby.
“I can see it,” Serena went on. “You relax a little more after each full moon.”
Remus had never been particularly concerned with this being-in-tune-with-nature aspect of the full moons that Serena and the others valued so highly. But even Remus had to admit that after each of the three full moons he had now spent with the pack, here with others of his own kind and open space in which to run, he’d woken the next morning feeling calmer and in less pain than he could remember after a full moon in a long time. If he was being truly honest with himself, he knew he’d last experienced anything comparable in the days when he’d run in the Forbidden Forest with his own personal pack of Prongs, Padfoot and Wormtail.
Softly, Serena said, “Werewolves aren’t meant to be alone. It can’t come as a surprise to you that you would enjoy the time spent in your wolf body more with us than alone.”
Enjoy was a strong word for it, Remus thought. Survive, yes. Tolerate, perhaps. But full moons and “enjoyment” were not concepts Remus expected ever to be able to unite fully within his mind. But he was trying to keep the tone of their conversation light; he was glad Serena deigned to talk to him these days, and hoped to keep things that way. So he only said, “That may be, but it’s hard for me to know, when I don’t remember any of it afterwards.”
“I could teach you that,” Serena said. She said it in a surprisingly serious tone, and Remus heard in it faint reverberations of further promises contained within that offer: He could stay here. He could make the effort to learn the ways of the pack and become a true member, pulling his fair weight and following their traditions. He could choose to belong here.
The thought was both tempting and terrifying.
“Thank you for the offer,” he said politely, “but for now I’ll stick to what I know. Can’t teach an old dog new tricks and all that.”
Serena shrugged and said nothing. Remus knew how flimsy his excuse sounded.
He cast a cautious glance at Serena beside him. They had an entire afternoon with nothing to do but talk, and Serena had warmed to him lately, a little. Perhaps it was time to attempt a deeper conversation. “I’m curious,” he said softly. “Would you mind telling me your story? How you came to be in this pack?”
“I’ve told you before.” she said, her tone flat. “I escaped from my family and found my way to the pack.”
“Yes, but how did you find them? How did you even know where to look?” Remus himself had had to do considerable research to discover the current locations of Europe’s werewolf packs, naturally secretive as they were. And he was an adult with time and resources at his disposal, not a desperate, frightened teenager.
Serena shrugged. “People talk, so I always kept my ears open about that kind of thing, just in case I ever got the chance to run. There were rumours of werewolves on the moors – the pack was much further south, then, around North Yorkshire – so when I finally escaped, that’s where I went. I spent that whole first month wandering around on my own, half-starving. It wasn’t until the next full moon, when my senses were better and my legs could run faster, that I was able to find the pack.”
Remus stared at her in astonishment. And he’d thought his first months navigating Hogwarts had been a difficult trial for a young, lone werewolf. “That’s incredible,” he said, not disguising the wonder in his voice. “That you were able to survive out here on your own for so long, and find your way to a pack.”
Serena shrugged again. “That’s how it happens for most kids whose families throw them out. Or who escape from them.”
“And Joy? River, I mean?” Remus ventured, trying to tread very gently now. “How did she end up here, if you don’t mind my asking?”
Serena stared out into the trees. “She’s my sister’s kid,” she said. Her voice had gone flat and hard. “My sister worked for the Werewolf Registry. She was one of the only good ones there, probably one of the only good ones in the whole history of that awful place. She always felt bad about what happened to me when we were kids, I suppose that’s why she chose that job. Trying to make a difference. Ha.” Serena’s voice twisted bitterly around that single syllable. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you’d met her there at some point. Irena Ash.”
“Irena Ash is your sister?” Remus exclaimed. He’d always liked Ms Ash, to the extent it was possible to like anyone whilst that person was subjecting one to a humiliating government-mandated interrogation. “Of course I’ve met her. She’s one of the few who ever treated me like a person.”
“She got on Fenrir Greyback’s bad side,” Serena said, her voice low and her hands tight in her lap. “He was probably pushing her to bend some law for him, I don’t know what. Or maybe he wanted her to give him names from the Registry, easy targets for him to recruit for his pack. Whatever it was he wanted, Irena refused him – she wasn’t that kind of person, she was never that kind of person, she would never give in to a bully – so on the full moon before the spring equinox, the year before this one, he attacked. He killed Irena and turned her daughter. Joy, as she was called then.”
“I’m so sorry.” The words were tiny, ineffectual things that clanged hollowly against the enormity of her loss. Though they changed nothing, Remus said them again. “I’m so sorry.”
Serena didn’t look at him, but Remus could see even in profile how her face twisted with anger. “And her husband, that piece of scum unfit to walk this Earth, tried to pretend everything was normal. Told everyone Irena had died in an accident, how very sad. And he said Joy was sick, and kept her shut up in the house so no one would find out what had happened. He was disgusted by her.” Serena spat on the ground.
“I’m sorry,” Remus said again, helplessly.
“So I took her away,” Serena said, steel in her voice now. “As soon as I heard, I went and found her and got her away. And I brought her here to join the pack.”
“You have legal custody of her?” Remus asked, though he suspected he knew the answer.
“No.”
“But what of her father? Surely he misses her, despite everything? Surely she misses the family she knew before?” And what about school, and learning to use her magic? he wanted to ask, though he knew where Serena stood on that question.
“This is her family,” Serena said fiercely. “A werewolf has only one true family, and that’s the pack.”
In a carefully neutral tone, Remus said, “You mentioned once that werewolves can’t bear children. Is that true? I’d heard it before, but it’s often hard to know what to believe. There’s so much misinformation, among humans.”
With the change in topic, Serena finally glanced at him again. “Female werewolves can’t,” she said. “The change every full moon is too much, a baby can’t develop through that. You, I suppose, could do what you want. But what human woman’s going to go in for that experiment?”
Remus wasn’t sure what she saw in his face, or thought she saw, but whatever it was caused Serena to drop her eyes and murmur, “I’m sorry. I didn’t realise.”
What was it she thought she had learned from Remus’ expression? That he had cared for a human woman who’d left him when she learned the truth about Remus’ illness? Well, yes, that had also happened in his life, but long enough ago now that it barely stung.
The truth, though there was no way for Serena to know it, was precisely the opposite: Remus had had the love of an extraordinary woman, someone who had willingly “gone in for the experiment,” as Serena had put it, of life with a werewolf… And Remus was the one who had thrown it away.
For good reasons, of course. And he would do the same again.
That didn’t make it easier.
They sat in silence for a long time after that, both immersed in their thoughts. Later, Joy came hopping into the camp, swinging between the hands of Jack and Ashmita. She dove into Serena’s lap for a hug, then scampered into the lean-to to pester Anna for a story. Watching her go, Remus did wonder if Serena was right on the whole. Might this indeed be a better place for a child like Joy to grow up, surrounded by an extended adoptive family who loved her for who she was, rather than who she could never again be?
As if the day weren’t already full enough of strange revelations, that evening young Ronan came and sat down next to Remus as they all settled around the fire to share roasted chunks of the rabbit Adair and Narun had caught that day. Ronan didn’t look at Remus, merely dropped down onto a low rock next to him with the awkward shyness of an adolescent trying to appear nonchalant. But there was no mistaking that he had sat next to Remus by choice.
Would wonders never cease.
Chapter End Notes:
The idea that female werewolves can't have children comes from![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
fernwithy and shimotsuki – I remember reading it in stories by both of them, but shimotsuki credits it to fernwithy. (Remember that I started writing this story before Pottermore existed, so it's not compatible with JKR's latterday additions about werewolves! These are all pre-Pottermore headcanons.)
And again, for your handy reference, the werewolf pack:
the Alpha, a male in his 40s, the pack’s leader
Anna, or the Mother, the oldest pack member, symbolic mother of all
Brighid, or Fire, the Alpha’s mate, roughly his age
Serena, or Trouble, roughly Remus’ age
Jack, or Thunderstorm, a little younger than the Alpha, Ashmita’s mate
Ashmita, or Rock Crag, Jack’s mate
Ronan, or Hardwood, young adult member of the pack, perhaps 20
Narun, or Rapids, roughly the same age
Adair, or Jump, roughly the same age
Tamara, or Blackthorn, roughly the same age
Eirwen, or Slither, a young teenager, 13 or 14
Joy, or River Run, the pack’s youngest member, 6 or 7
(continue to CHAPTER TEN: Samhain Night)
Summary: In which Remus and Tonks fight battles, arrest criminals, befriend werewolves, overcome inner demons and, despite it all, find themselves a happy ending. A love story, and a story of the Order years. (My Remus/Tonks epic, which has been years in the making! This is the second half of the story, set in the Half-Blood Prince year.)
Chapter 9: From Different Angles
But all these illusions strip and fall
And he is just a man after all
–Patti Scialfa, Spanish Dancer
By one o’clock in the morning, after several go-rounds in a Ministry interrogation room with Tonks and Savage and Dawlish all taking turns with their suspect, they still weren’t getting anywhere. All they’d really managed to establish was that the bookseller – his name was Jacobs – was not going to give up the name of his confederate, the second man Tonks had heard in the back room of the bookshop with him the other night. Probably a family member, from the tenacity with which Jacobs was protecting him.
The younger man they’d also caught, the one who’d presumably been sent in the Death Eaters’ stead, had been questioned and placed in an overnight holding cell, but Tonks doubted the charges against him would stick. It was beyond obvious that he’d been Confunded and had no idea what he was doing – nor, unfortunately, any idea who’d told him to do it.
He couldn’t even tell them where he was meant to deliver the trunks they’d seized. He was simply supposed to collect the goods, then whoever had Confunded him would come find him. Which was no longer going to happen, of course, now that the man was in Auror custody. The Death Eaters behind this shipment of contraband were in the wind.
As for Jacobs, somewhere in the depths of the night, with all three Aurors running on stale Ministry coffee and thin hope, they managed to hammer out an agreement. The Ministry would drop all suspicions concerning the second man Tonks had heard in the bookshop with him, and in exchange, Jacobs would tell them everything he knew.
Jacobs did give up as much information as he could, but it didn’t amount to much. Someone had sent an anonymous letter, he said, informing him that a convenient storage space in Hogsmeade was needed, and he should stay late at his shop on a particular night to accept a delivery. He would then be required to hold this delivery until the unknown correspondent was ready to pick it up. Not very subtle threats to his family were made, should he fail to comply with this “request.”
On the appointed night, a wizard with a “foreign accent” (Yeah, thanks, very helpful and specific, Tonks thought, her brain fuzzy with frustration and bad coffee) had arrived with three trunks, one after another, then disappeared again. A final letter, delivered by owl, had told the bookseller the date and time when the trunks would be picked up. No, Jacobs admitted, he hadn’t saved the letters, for fear they would incriminate him.
Which left them with a seller about whom nothing was known beyond his unspecified “foreign accent,” and a buyer who was most likely a Death Eater, but whom they had no way to locate.
Still, the higher-ups were happy. Tonks and her colleagues got a metaphorical pat on the back from Robards when he showed up at the Ministry, having been alerted by Savage, and another from Minister Scrimgeour when he arrived in the morning. And Savage and Dawlish were happy, because the higher-ups were happy.
Apparently, Tonks was the only one who didn’t think catching everyone but the Death Eater constituted a “win.”
Bone-tired, with reams of completed paperwork behind her and a sluggish, grey dawn now breaking, Tonks stumbled after Savage towards the bank of Floo portals in the Ministry Atrium. It was just the two of them now, Dawlish having headed back to Hogsmeade after they’d reached the deal with Jacobs, so he would be ready to take the daytime patrol shift in the village. As Tonks and Savage headed for the outgoing Floo, Ministry employees were already streaming through the incoming fires to report to work for the day.
Savage paused in front of the outgoing Floo and turned to Tonks. He cleared his throat and said, with an uncharacteristic flash of emotional intelligence, “I know you’re disappointed we didn’t get the big fish, Tonks, but it’s not always bursting into the Department of Mysteries after hours to capture eleven Death Eaters in one go. Sometimes it’s the smugglers and the middlemen. But even a small win is still a win.”
Tonks nodded. She did know that. Patience was an Auror virtue she was still learning.
“You did good work tonight,” Savage said, clapping her on the back. “We wouldn’t have caught this one without you.”
Tonks nodded again. “Thanks.”
Savage nodded back, brusque again. “You first.”
Tonks took a pinch of Floo powder from the enormous jug beside the fireplace, said, “Savage and Dawlish’s flat, Hogsmeade,” then stepped into the fire and let it carry her away.
– – – – –
It wasn’t until she awoke that afternoon, the sun already edging down towards the hills around the village, that Tonks thought of Ariadne and how she’d been asking about visiting Tonks in Hogsmeade sometime. The bookseller business had left Tonks too busy to even think about anything as normal as visits with friends, but now it struck her forcefully how welcome a little normality might be. Feeling like she was swimming through a half-awake world, Tonks stumbled over to the Post Office and sent a note inviting Ariadne to come up at the weekend.
She hadn’t bothered to connect her tiny Hogsmeade flat to the Floo Network, so on Saturday morning Tonks waited for Ariadne by the public fire at Three Broomsticks. She’d managed to arrange a rare day entirely off, and having so much free time felt sort of strange, like she’d been carrying around something heavy for so long that she didn’t know what to do with her arms now that they were empty. The adrenalin high of her investigation had dropped away, leaving Tonks feeling heavy and bleak.
Ariadne stepped out of the pub’s fireplace with grin and a whiff of London air about her, dark blonde hair flying around her face. “Wotcher, Tonks!” she said cheerfully, brushing a dusting of Floo powder from her nose. “You know, ‘How shall we spend our Hogsmeade weekend’ is not a phrase I ever thought I’d have cause to say again, but here I am.”
Ariadne chattered cheerfully as they left the pub and started strolling up the high street. Within minutes, though, her brow was furrowing. “Was Hogsmeade always this grim and I just didn’t notice?”
Tonks paused on the pavement to fasten her cloak more tightly. The days, too, were growing chilly. “You’re not imagining it. Everybody’s scared and keeping out of sight. Same as in Diagon Alley.”
“I guess I don’t notice the bleakness in Diagon Alley because I’ve got used to it.” Ariadne said, then winced. “I can’t believe I just said that. The only thing worse than things being terrible is getting used to them being terrible.”
Tonks saw Ariadne frown again as they passed the boarded-up shopfront of Zonko’s. When they went by Scrivenshaft’s, the friendly young assistant was out front, arranging the display tables. Scrivenshaft’s was one of the few shops in the village still making an effort to look busy and welcoming. The shop assistant gave them a wave and a cheery, “Hullo!”
“Merlin’s pants!” Ariadne hissed at Tonks, grabbing her arm as soon as they were out of the shop assistant’s earshot. “He likes you!”
“What? No!”
“Seriously, how can it be that in this tiny village, you’ve already got at least one bloke who fancies you like mad?”
“What – he’s not – Ariadne, come on, that’s ridiculous!”
But Ariadne kept up her teasing all along the high street until she finally got Tonks to admit that yeah, okay, she’d noticed the bloke at Scrivenshaft’s did always seem keen to chat when she came by.
“See?” Ariadne gloated, and Tonks rolled her eyes and agreed that yes, yes, Ariadne was very clever and perceptive, and they both laughed and dropped the topic.
They were passing Dervish & Banges near the outskirts of the village when Ariadne said in a different tone, “So…speaking of which…I’ve met somebody.”
It took Tonks a moment to get it. “Oh,” she said. “Oh! You’ve met somebody. Like, a bloke.” Tonks glanced over and saw that Ariadne was smiling softly.
“His name’s Damien,” she said. “You know how we used to joke that someday the perfect guy would walk into the Archives with a research question he needed me to answer? Well…he did.”
“Oh, Ariadne!” Tonks felt a rush of emotion for her friend. “You look happy. You’re happy?”
“Yeah,” Ariadne said, a slow, sweet smile spreading across her face. “I am. I’d like you to meet him sometime.”
“Of course!” Tonks said. “Can’t wait.”
They looped back through the side lanes to the centre of the village, Tonks’ mind whirring all the while, hardly aware now of the cold and the boarded-up shops. Ariadne had a bloke in her life. Ariadne was newly in love. Tonks was thrilled for her friend and also…she couldn’t quite place what this other sensation was.
Oh. On closer inspection, it seemed to be something an awful lot like jealousy.
Jealousy? Nymphadora Tonks? She’d never been jealous of anyone in her life, at least not over a bloke, and she didn’t care to start the habit now. Apparently this is what being in love does to me, she thought mournfully, and she was so depressed by the thought that she didn’t even bother to correct herself on the “in love” part of it.
Tonks scowled at herself and determined to put this uncomfortably envious feeling firmly out of her mind.
Over pasties and butterbeers at the Three Broomsticks, Tonks told Ariadne as much as she dared about her work. “So we made two arrests,” she concluded, leaning forward with her elbows on the table. “And I ought to be glad – the higher-ups certainly think any arrest is a good arrest – but the thing is, these are not the people we’re trying to get. One was Confunded; the other was coerced into his role. But I have an awful feeling the Ministry is going to keep holding them, just to look like we’re doing something. You know they’ve still got Stan Shunpike?”
“The bloke they arrested from the Knight Bus?”
Tonks nodded. “It’s been over a month and he’s still in custody, even though I’m certain he was Imperiused. I mean, I didn’t interview him myself, but all the signs are there. And now we’ve got another gormless young bloke who let himself get Confunded into fetching a delivery of Dark objects for Death Eaters, and it’s the same thing all over again.”
Tonks shoved her butterbeer bottle away from her in annoyance, then had to Summon a serviette to mop up what she’d spilled.
She grumbled, “And Robards keeps hinting we should keep a closer eye on Dumbledore. Any day now, he’s going to outright ask us to put a tail on him. ‘Cause that’s a great use of Ministry resources, trying to outsmart the cleverest wizard of the century.” She groaned. “Ugh, stop me, or I’ll keep banging on about work forever. Seriously, let’s talk about absolutely anything else.”
Tonks saw Ariadne’s glance flick up to Tonks’ mousy hair, then down again.
“Er…” Ariadne said. “Totally indelicate question, but …your hair? It was like that when I saw you before you left London, too, but I wasn’t sure…”
Tonks glowered at the tabletop. She hated admitting this, even to Ariadne. “I’ve been having trouble changing it. Started over the summer.”
“Oh,” said Ariadne. She sounded shocked. “Since…since Sirius?”
Tonks slid her half-empty butterbeer back and forth through a puddle of condensation that had formed on the tabletop. “Yeah, I guess. And then so much horrible stuff happened all at once, so many deaths, and Remus leaving… I didn’t think you had to be happy in order to exercise an innate ability like Metamorphmagism, but there you go.”
Ariadne made a pained noise in her throat. “It just seems so weird to me. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you go a whole day without at least doing funny noses or something. Er…sorry. That was about the least helpful comment ever.”
Tonks shrugged. “Well, but it’s true. Believe me, it’s weird to me, too.”
Ariadne was frowning again, like she’d done on the boarded-up high street. “And what about Remus? Have you heard anything from him?”
Tonks shook her head. “It’s not like I was expecting to, though. He’s on a delicate mission, he can’t have outside contact.”
“But couldn’t he still find a way to get a message to you if he wanted to…?”
“He doesn’t want to,” Tonks snapped. Then she grimaced in apology, because of course Ariadne wasn’t the one she was cross with. “When he left, he didn’t even say goodbye. He sent me a note.”
A whole year’s worth of feeling between them, and Remus thought he could tie it all up neatly with a couple of lines jotted on parchment. Tonks was getting angry all over again just thinking about it.
She looked up to see Ariadne studying her.
“Do you have a broom here?” Ariadne asked abruptly.
“I – what?”
“I think what we need to do right now is find some brooms and go flying. No more work, no more politics, definitely no more lame blokes who can’t seem to understand how fantastic you are. Let’s find some brooms and go flying. Right now.”
Tonks stared at Ariadne, then she said fervently, “Yes. I’ve got a broom and I know we can find another one somewhere for you to borrow so yes, please.”
Ariadne nodded decisively and downed the rest of her drink. Then they both stood up and went to find Ariadne a broom, and gave over the rest of the afternoon to the rush of flying and cold wind and the ground falling away beneath them. Tonks, gratefully, took the gift of a day where she didn’t have to think or plan or worry, but could just be, under the wide, pale autumn sky.
– – – – –
“Admit it, Quiet,” Serena said. “You enjoy the full moons with us.”
They were sitting side by side with their backs resting against the outside of the lean-to wall. Ostensibly both Remus and Serena were taking a turn today staying with elderly Anna, whom the pack never left on her own. But Anna had retired inside the lean-to to rest, leaving little they needed to do for her beyond simply staying nearby.
“I can see it,” Serena went on. “You relax a little more after each full moon.”
Remus had never been particularly concerned with this being-in-tune-with-nature aspect of the full moons that Serena and the others valued so highly. But even Remus had to admit that after each of the three full moons he had now spent with the pack, here with others of his own kind and open space in which to run, he’d woken the next morning feeling calmer and in less pain than he could remember after a full moon in a long time. If he was being truly honest with himself, he knew he’d last experienced anything comparable in the days when he’d run in the Forbidden Forest with his own personal pack of Prongs, Padfoot and Wormtail.
Softly, Serena said, “Werewolves aren’t meant to be alone. It can’t come as a surprise to you that you would enjoy the time spent in your wolf body more with us than alone.”
Enjoy was a strong word for it, Remus thought. Survive, yes. Tolerate, perhaps. But full moons and “enjoyment” were not concepts Remus expected ever to be able to unite fully within his mind. But he was trying to keep the tone of their conversation light; he was glad Serena deigned to talk to him these days, and hoped to keep things that way. So he only said, “That may be, but it’s hard for me to know, when I don’t remember any of it afterwards.”
“I could teach you that,” Serena said. She said it in a surprisingly serious tone, and Remus heard in it faint reverberations of further promises contained within that offer: He could stay here. He could make the effort to learn the ways of the pack and become a true member, pulling his fair weight and following their traditions. He could choose to belong here.
The thought was both tempting and terrifying.
“Thank you for the offer,” he said politely, “but for now I’ll stick to what I know. Can’t teach an old dog new tricks and all that.”
Serena shrugged and said nothing. Remus knew how flimsy his excuse sounded.
He cast a cautious glance at Serena beside him. They had an entire afternoon with nothing to do but talk, and Serena had warmed to him lately, a little. Perhaps it was time to attempt a deeper conversation. “I’m curious,” he said softly. “Would you mind telling me your story? How you came to be in this pack?”
“I’ve told you before.” she said, her tone flat. “I escaped from my family and found my way to the pack.”
“Yes, but how did you find them? How did you even know where to look?” Remus himself had had to do considerable research to discover the current locations of Europe’s werewolf packs, naturally secretive as they were. And he was an adult with time and resources at his disposal, not a desperate, frightened teenager.
Serena shrugged. “People talk, so I always kept my ears open about that kind of thing, just in case I ever got the chance to run. There were rumours of werewolves on the moors – the pack was much further south, then, around North Yorkshire – so when I finally escaped, that’s where I went. I spent that whole first month wandering around on my own, half-starving. It wasn’t until the next full moon, when my senses were better and my legs could run faster, that I was able to find the pack.”
Remus stared at her in astonishment. And he’d thought his first months navigating Hogwarts had been a difficult trial for a young, lone werewolf. “That’s incredible,” he said, not disguising the wonder in his voice. “That you were able to survive out here on your own for so long, and find your way to a pack.”
Serena shrugged again. “That’s how it happens for most kids whose families throw them out. Or who escape from them.”
“And Joy? River, I mean?” Remus ventured, trying to tread very gently now. “How did she end up here, if you don’t mind my asking?”
Serena stared out into the trees. “She’s my sister’s kid,” she said. Her voice had gone flat and hard. “My sister worked for the Werewolf Registry. She was one of the only good ones there, probably one of the only good ones in the whole history of that awful place. She always felt bad about what happened to me when we were kids, I suppose that’s why she chose that job. Trying to make a difference. Ha.” Serena’s voice twisted bitterly around that single syllable. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you’d met her there at some point. Irena Ash.”
“Irena Ash is your sister?” Remus exclaimed. He’d always liked Ms Ash, to the extent it was possible to like anyone whilst that person was subjecting one to a humiliating government-mandated interrogation. “Of course I’ve met her. She’s one of the few who ever treated me like a person.”
“She got on Fenrir Greyback’s bad side,” Serena said, her voice low and her hands tight in her lap. “He was probably pushing her to bend some law for him, I don’t know what. Or maybe he wanted her to give him names from the Registry, easy targets for him to recruit for his pack. Whatever it was he wanted, Irena refused him – she wasn’t that kind of person, she was never that kind of person, she would never give in to a bully – so on the full moon before the spring equinox, the year before this one, he attacked. He killed Irena and turned her daughter. Joy, as she was called then.”
“I’m so sorry.” The words were tiny, ineffectual things that clanged hollowly against the enormity of her loss. Though they changed nothing, Remus said them again. “I’m so sorry.”
Serena didn’t look at him, but Remus could see even in profile how her face twisted with anger. “And her husband, that piece of scum unfit to walk this Earth, tried to pretend everything was normal. Told everyone Irena had died in an accident, how very sad. And he said Joy was sick, and kept her shut up in the house so no one would find out what had happened. He was disgusted by her.” Serena spat on the ground.
“I’m sorry,” Remus said again, helplessly.
“So I took her away,” Serena said, steel in her voice now. “As soon as I heard, I went and found her and got her away. And I brought her here to join the pack.”
“You have legal custody of her?” Remus asked, though he suspected he knew the answer.
“No.”
“But what of her father? Surely he misses her, despite everything? Surely she misses the family she knew before?” And what about school, and learning to use her magic? he wanted to ask, though he knew where Serena stood on that question.
“This is her family,” Serena said fiercely. “A werewolf has only one true family, and that’s the pack.”
In a carefully neutral tone, Remus said, “You mentioned once that werewolves can’t bear children. Is that true? I’d heard it before, but it’s often hard to know what to believe. There’s so much misinformation, among humans.”
With the change in topic, Serena finally glanced at him again. “Female werewolves can’t,” she said. “The change every full moon is too much, a baby can’t develop through that. You, I suppose, could do what you want. But what human woman’s going to go in for that experiment?”
Remus wasn’t sure what she saw in his face, or thought she saw, but whatever it was caused Serena to drop her eyes and murmur, “I’m sorry. I didn’t realise.”
What was it she thought she had learned from Remus’ expression? That he had cared for a human woman who’d left him when she learned the truth about Remus’ illness? Well, yes, that had also happened in his life, but long enough ago now that it barely stung.
The truth, though there was no way for Serena to know it, was precisely the opposite: Remus had had the love of an extraordinary woman, someone who had willingly “gone in for the experiment,” as Serena had put it, of life with a werewolf… And Remus was the one who had thrown it away.
For good reasons, of course. And he would do the same again.
That didn’t make it easier.
They sat in silence for a long time after that, both immersed in their thoughts. Later, Joy came hopping into the camp, swinging between the hands of Jack and Ashmita. She dove into Serena’s lap for a hug, then scampered into the lean-to to pester Anna for a story. Watching her go, Remus did wonder if Serena was right on the whole. Might this indeed be a better place for a child like Joy to grow up, surrounded by an extended adoptive family who loved her for who she was, rather than who she could never again be?
As if the day weren’t already full enough of strange revelations, that evening young Ronan came and sat down next to Remus as they all settled around the fire to share roasted chunks of the rabbit Adair and Narun had caught that day. Ronan didn’t look at Remus, merely dropped down onto a low rock next to him with the awkward shyness of an adolescent trying to appear nonchalant. But there was no mistaking that he had sat next to Remus by choice.
Would wonders never cease.
Chapter End Notes:
The idea that female werewolves can't have children comes from
fernwithy and shimotsuki – I remember reading it in stories by both of them, but shimotsuki credits it to fernwithy. (Remember that I started writing this story before Pottermore existed, so it's not compatible with JKR's latterday additions about werewolves! These are all pre-Pottermore headcanons.)And again, for your handy reference, the werewolf pack:
the Alpha, a male in his 40s, the pack’s leader
Anna, or the Mother, the oldest pack member, symbolic mother of all
Brighid, or Fire, the Alpha’s mate, roughly his age
Serena, or Trouble, roughly Remus’ age
Jack, or Thunderstorm, a little younger than the Alpha, Ashmita’s mate
Ashmita, or Rock Crag, Jack’s mate
Ronan, or Hardwood, young adult member of the pack, perhaps 20
Narun, or Rapids, roughly the same age
Adair, or Jump, roughly the same age
Tamara, or Blackthorn, roughly the same age
Eirwen, or Slither, a young teenager, 13 or 14
Joy, or River Run, the pack’s youngest member, 6 or 7
(continue to CHAPTER TEN: Samhain Night)
