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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 16: The Duel
Within us the wild thing
Flickering now
–Myrra Rós, Animal
It happened a few days after the full moon.
Remus had been out with Jack in search of firewood, an increasingly desperate task as the winter wore on. When they arrived back, they found the pack in chaos.
The first sign of something amiss was the sound of raised voices as they approached the camp. The pack almost never argued aloud. Remus glanced at Jack, who broke into a trot, then a run. Remus sprinted after him.
They burst into the clearing and Jack dove into a knot of pack members all shouting over one another. The usual fire at the entrance to the lean-to lay unlit, the ashes gone cold. Remus stood to the side, trying to parse the scene before him. Gradually, snatches of speech rose out of the tumult of angry voices, and Remus’ horror grew as he began to understand.
Ronan and Tamara and Narun had been searching for food, miles away across the moor. They’d decided to raid the barn of a farm that stood alone outside a Muggle village, hoping to make away with the prize of a sheep or two. But the farmer – perhaps grown watchful after a long winter of sundry useful items going missing from his property – had seen them and followed them into the barn, wielding a shotgun meant to scare them away.
But in the physical altercation that followed, Narun had struck the man and killed him.
Now the camp was in an uproar, everyone shouting either that this had been inexcusable violence or that it was justifiable self-defence. At last, the Alpha stepped into the middle of it all and snapped, “Silence!” in a voice that sliced through the hubbub. The pack fell silent.
“Rapids,” the Alpha said, uttering Narun’s werewolf name in that same carrying tone.
Narun stepped forward, his head bowed low, until he stood directly in front of the Alpha.
“You are banned from this pack for three days,” the Alpha said, his voice harsh and low. “In three days, you may return, and I will consider your status then. Take what food you need to sustain yourself for that time and go.”
Narun raised his head, looked the Alpha straight in the eye and said, “I need nothing from you.”
Somewhere in the pack, someone gasped.
The Alpha said nothing, only stared Narun down, and Narun quailed a little under that gaze, but he didn’t drop his eyes. Then Narun turned and walked away from the Alpha, the silent pack parting to make way for him as he went. His steps were jerky, as if he longed to break into a run but was forcing himself with great effort to project an image of cool disdain.
Narun walked out of the clearing and through the trees until he was swallowed by the dusk, and still the pack stood in shock. The silence rang with Narun’s last defiant words.
A motion of the Alpha’s hand drew all eyes back to him. “Time to eat,” he said. “Now.”
The Alpha stalked away to sit on a log at the edge of the clearing, his back to the pack. Slowly, dreamlike, the others did as they had been told. Ashmita built a fire, Jack chopped a few potatoes, Brighid readied a sparing portion of the remaining smoked meat they had preserved in the autumn.
The meal was prepared in silence and eaten in silence, and the Alpha did not join them. The pack retreated early to their sleeping places in the lean-to, though Remus couldn’t imagine anyone would sleep much.
The lean-to was smoky and dim, but Remus made out a shape – it was Adair, he decided, squinting through the shadows – approaching Anna in her hammock. Remus couldn’t hear what Adair said, but his posture was supplicating, surely pleading with her to intercede on Narun’s behalf. Whatever the young ones might think of their Alpha, they had nothing but respect for the Mother.
But Anna, sitting up straight in her hammock, shook her head, resting one hand gently on Adair’s hair. Adair slunk away again to a far corner, where he bent his head and conferred with Tamara, their voices too low for Remus to hear.
Much later, after all the pack were bedded down and quiet, the Alpha came in and made his way to his own sleeping spot, beside Brighid. Their low voices, the Alpha and his mate, were a soft hush for a long while beneath the crackling of the fire, then they too were quiet.
Remus lay awake a long time, dread roiling in his stomach.
What would this mean for the already fragile peace among the pack? What would it mean for Narun, who was so young – and now a murderer? He’d done something unforgiveable, yet despite the young ones’ blustering talk, Remus didn’t think Narun had set out that day with the intention to kill. He’d gone too far, and committed an act that would brand him for the rest of his life.
And what of the man who had died – had been killed – simply for trying to protect what was his? Had he had a wife? Children? What would his friends and neighbours believe had happened, when they found his body? Would his widow spend her whole life wondering why?
Remus knew violence was an inescapable part of the hardscrabble life the werewolves lived, here at the far margins of society. He’d explained as much to Harry not long ago. But there were worlds between that theoretical knowledge and the sickening understanding, now, that someone he knew had killed an innocent person.
Remus must have drifted into an uneasy sleep, because he woke in the dimness before dawn to Alpha’s voice demanding of someone, “If you know where they are, tell me.”
Remus’ eyes snapped open. Ronan stood in the centre of the lean-to, cowering before the Alpha.
“Tell me,” the Alpha repeated, his voice quiet thunder.
“I don’t know, Alpha,” Ronan said, his voice barely a whisper. “I’m sorry. I don’t know. They didn’t tell me anything.”
Remus looked around for some explanation and his eyes landed on Serena, sitting against the lean-to wall near Remus with Joy asleep in her lap. At his questioning look, she shifted closer and murmured, “Blackthorn and Jump disappeared in the night. Thunderstorm and Rock Crag are out looking for them, but I doubt they’ll find them. It’s clear they’ve run off.”
As always, Remus had to translate the names in his head: Tamara and Adair had run away, Jack and Ashmita were looking for them. The queasy feeling in Remus’ stomach coalesced into a sharp flare of alarm.
If Tamara and Adair had run away to join Narun, and if they were all three boiling over with righteous indignation at their Alpha, who censured violence rather than celebrating it… Where else were they likely to direct their steps than to the pack of Fenrir Greyback? If there was anything worse than one hot-headed and indignant young werewolf in search of a pack that would condone violence, it was three such young werewolves banded together.
The pack were subdued that day, as they went about their tasks. The Alpha spoke to no one. Ashmita and Jack returned at midday to say there was no sign of the three young ones – they must have covered their tracks well.
Ronan cowered at the edges of the pack, unsure now of his place. His age-mates hadn’t trusted him with their plans, but the adults no longer trusted him either, by his association with them. Eirwen, too, huddled inside herself all day, terror on her face.
In the late afternoon, Remus and Serena went out scavenging together. They said little as they made their way across the crisp snow in an icy wind, looking for wood or food or anything that might be useful to the pack. Any small thing they could find would be a boon, these days, as winter had gnawed away at their food and supplies.
“You’re worried,” Serena said after a while. She had a tattered brown scarf pulled high over her mouth and nose, leaving only her eyes showing. The winter sun was sinking towards the hills and the sharp snap of their steps on the frosty ground rang out in the cold air.
“Surely you are, too?” Remus asked.
Serena gazed away towards the horizon, across the expanse of snow now stained orange by the setting sun. “These things happen, Quiet. Greyback’s pack is where those three have wanted to be for a long time now.”
Remus’ breath caught. “So you think that’s where they’ve gone, too.”
Serena laughed harshly. “Well, it’s either that, or they’re hanging about out here somewhere, having a merry party in the snow with no food and no shelter. I know which I think is more likely.”
“If they join Greyback…” Remus began, shifting the few sticks and twigs he’d found to his other hand and choosing his words carefully. “If they join Greyback, they will be in a position to tell him a number of things about this pack.”
“Indeed,” Serena said.
“Such as the names and origins of each member.”
She nodded, not looking at him.
“Fenrir Greyback,” Remus continued, “is maniacally territorial. When he turns a new werewolf, he considers that individual ‘his’ for life, a member of his pack by default. He doesn’t like it when the children he turns escape his clutches.”
“You’re not telling me anything I don’t know,” Serena said fiercely. “He killed my sister. He turned River.”
“Does he know River is here?”
“No.” Serena finally glanced over at him, and Remus could see the worry etched deeply in her face. “I’ve kept a low profile. I’ve not attended any of the big gatherings, or let word get around to other packs that River is here with me.”
“But when three new recruits present themselves to him, offering information about this pack…”
Walking beside him, Serena shuddered violently.
“Greyback knows about me,” Remus said softly. “But he knows I’ve made my life among wizards, and he seems to have given up on trying to get me, though I’m sure he wouldn’t pass up a chance if he stumbled across it. But Joy – River, I mean – and Eirwen… He may get it into his head that he wants to come and try to take them for his own.”
“We’ll fight him,” Serena said, raw anger in her voice. “If he comes here and so much as tries to touch one of the children, we’ll fight him off. We may be a small pack, but we’re not dead yet.”
Remus agreed, “We won’t let him hurt any of the pack.”
Serena glanced over at him again, a little glimmer of humour showing through her battle-ready demeanour. “‘We’? Are you aligning yourself with us, then, Quiet?”
“Of course,” Remus said, and realised he hadn’t even had to consider his answer. Of course he would stand by this pack if danger found them. He had cast in his lot with them and he cared about them, whether they ever fully accepted him or no.
Remus set his shoulders more firmly as he walked. If Greyback came, they would be ready.
They took turns keeping watch at night from then on. While the rest of the pack slept, one of the adults would stand at the edge of the lean-to in the bitter cold, looking out over the silent moor. The only ones exempt from the rotation were Anna, in deference to her age, and Joy, Eirwen and Ronan, all deemed to be too young.
And Ronan did seem younger, with his age-mates gone. Perhaps he wasn’t as old as Remus had assumed him to be, when Ronan was being swept along by his more forceful compatriots. Remus had thought him around 20 at first, but perhaps 17 was more like it.
In any case, Ronan gravitated to Eirwen, now that she was the only other member of the pack close to his age. It made Remus smile to see the two of them with their heads leaned in close, talking earnestly, but without the undercurrent of anger that had characterised so many of the other young ones’ conversations. There was little else to feel hopeful about at the moment, but Remus was glad to see the two of them becoming friends.
Weeks passed, the adults stood guard nightly, but nothing happened. Had their concerns been unfounded? Or was it simply taking this long for the three young ones to find their way to Greyback’s pack, which moved around England and was not always easy to locate?
It was March, with the full moon nearing and the snow still thick across the moor, when Ronan came tearing into camp in the late evening dark, shrieking, “IT’S HIM, IT’S HIM, IT’S HIM!”
The pack fell into formation as if they had drilled this daily. Anna and the young ones inside the lean-to, the rest of them arrayed protectively before its entrance, the Alpha at the front.
At first Remus couldn’t see anyone, although the air was crisp and clear and the moon cast its bright light across the reflective white surface of the snow-covered moor. He began to wonder if Ronan had only imagined he’d seen a man approaching.
Then Remus saw him: Striding across the moor towards their stand of trees was Fenrir Greyback, with those borrowed Death Eater robes sweeping around him and two burly henchmen behind him. Remus shuddered in revulsion. Fenrir Greyback, who had deliberately bitten a four-year-old child in revenge for a slight from the child’s father. Fenrir Greyback, who stole children to swell the ranks of his pack, corrupted their bodies and then preyed on their minds.
“Let me speak to him, Alpha, please,” Remus said suddenly, urgently, not taking his gaze from the sight of the three approaching werewolves, but inclining his head towards the Alpha. “His quarrel is with me more than with any of you.”
And let him forget about Eirwen and Joy, Remus thought. Let the prize of conquering the city wolf who escaped him for so long make him forget there are others here that he also turned.
The Alpha nodded minutely. “As you wish, Quiet.”
Remus stepped forward, away from the lean-to and into the open space in front of it, as Greyback and his two henchmen broke through the trees and into the clearing.
“Well, well, what have we here.” Greyback leered horribly. “Remus Lupin. Living with this pathetic bunch of misfits. This is your whole pack, is it? I send out this many when I want a small scouting party! You lot’ll starve out here by Beltane.”
Remus stared back at Greyback, with his rough clothes and matted hair and long, yellowed fingernails. None of them looked entirely presentable, living out here, but Greyback seemed to revel in his bestial appearance, in looking like an animal even when in human form.
But all that was an act. Remus saw this clearly for the first time, as he studied the man before him. Greyback acted the part of the mad animal as much as Remus acted the civilised human. And Remus would not let himself be intimidated, not this time.
“Fenrir Greyback, how we choose to live is our affair,” Remus said, loudly and clearly. “You have no business here.”
Greyback laughed, a horrible, scratchy sound. His stare, fixed on Remus, was possessive. Greyback shifted his stance and it seemed to Remus that he was deliberately posing, finding the posture that would make him look as large and imposing as possible. Like an animal, Remus thought again. Is this what it comes down to, in the end? Are we animals?
“You!” Greyback barked, pointing one grubby finger with its chipped nail at Remus. “All those years being so high-minded, eh? Too good for us werewolves, you were. But look now, turns out city wolf Lupin’s gone feral after all. So I thought it was time I came and reminded you – I own you. I had you in my jaws once, and I can do it again.”
“I don’t think so,” Remus answered, amazed at the calm with which he was able to say those words, because somewhere deep inside of him, even now, a four-year-old child cowered in terror. But too much was at stake now. Remus stared Greyback down, unwilling to be made afraid.
“Oh, he doesn’t think so!” Greyback guffawed, turning around to make sure his henchmen were sharing his mirth. They sniggered obediently. “Well, I think so. You belong to me.”
“A duel, then, to settle it,” Remus said. Behind him, he heard someone gasp. “You say you own me. I say I am my own man, my own werewolf. We settle it now, once and for all, with a fair fight. If I win, you leave this pack in peace.”
If Greyback insisted on acting like an animal, then Remus would meet him on those terms, with an animal’s rule of law. And for the sake of that past child inside himself, Remus would not let his fear win.
Greyback sneered. “With all your wizard learning? That’s no sort of fair fight.”
“No,” Remus said. “No wands. No magic. Werewolf to werewolf.”
From somewhere outside his own skin, Remus observed with wonder how easily he slipped into the werewolf way of thinking, where everything was hierarchy, everything was physical strength. Could he still call himself human now?
Greyback cocked his head, sizing Remus up, his eyes narrowed and mean. One unkempt finger reached up to scratch his scraggly whiskers.
Remus knew what Greyback was thinking, knew he didn’t look like much. He was half Greyback’s bodyweight at best. And when had he last been in a physical fight, without the use of a wand? How badly Remus wanted his wand now. His palm ached for its familiar warmth in his hand.
Greyback stepped forward. His henchmen crowded in after him, but he waved them back. Remus could hear Greyback’s harsh breathing clearly in the crisp air between them.
“All right,” Greyback growled. “One to one. No seconds, no tricks. No wands.”
Someone in the pack behind Remus shifted uneasily, but no one spoke. This was his right, to fight his own duel. No werewolf would step in to stop it if this was Remus’ choice.
“Agreed.” Remus nodded, and he barely had time to brace himself before Greyback lunged.
The smell assailed him even before Greyback’s hands did, the rank stench of animal. Then Greyback’s powerful arms slammed into Remus’ chest, Greyback’s body barrelled into his, and Remus was on the ground with Greyback snarling in his face.
For a split-second, Remus felt searing panic. Then muscle memory took over. Thank Merlin, thank the moon, thank whatever might be, his body remembered how to do this. Remus wrestled Greyback’s hands from his throat, shoved Greyback away and won himself enough room to breathe.
“You – are – mine,” Greyback hissed.
“I am no one’s but my own.” Remus shouted the words, despite being winded from his fall. He could feel the snow under his back melting and seeping coldly through to his skin. Greyback’s cloak was greasy and slick, and it was hard to gain purchase when Remus tried to grip him.
“I will own you. I will bite you,” Greyback snarled, his eyes wide and crazed and mere inches from Remus’ face. His head darted suddenly closer, teeth bared, and Remus barely managed to crane his neck and avoid Greyback’s lacerating jaws.
They grappled. Remus lost track of time, knew nothing but Greyback’s muscles under his hands, Greyback’s matted hair whipping him in the face as they rolled and rolled across the cold ground, locked in a hateful embrace. The world seemed to go still, as if time itself had stopped for this battle. And Remus was alive, terribly so, aware of every sinew in his body, every motion of his opponent’s limbs. No one else existed except this ancient enemy, the one he must vanquish, the one he must stop from ever harming another child.
Greyback nearly got him pinned, but Remus rolled away. Greyback snarled and lunged again. Remus snarled back and got his hands on Greyback’s throat, but Greyback tore free. They were more closely matched than Remus had dared to hope. Greyback was brutal, but Remus was clever, conserving strength and using Greyback’s own force against him when he could.
Then came a moment when Remus thought he had lost. Greyback had him pinned, and no matter how Remus struggled and turned, he couldn’t break free. Remus panted. He’d improved his strength and endurance, scavenging long distances across the moor, but he was not as young as he’d once been. And Greyback was twice his size and holding him down with his whole weight. Remus’ mind struck out furiously in search of any idea that might save him.
Unexpectedly, what floated into his mind was a simple question: What would Sirius do?
And the answer came just as fast: Laugh in his face, defiant to the last.
Remus indeed laughed out loud in surprise at the thought, and the sound of his own laughter rang out strange and wild into the night. Greyback stared down at him, disconcerted.
“Fenrir Greyback,” Remus said, and his voice, too, carried powerfully through the crisp night air. “You can never own me. You might kill me tonight, but you can never own me.”
Remus laughed again, in pure relief at that understanding.
Greyback’s mouth opened, confused. His grip slackened for just an instant, and Remus seized his advantage, knowing he wouldn’t get another, flipping them so he was on top of Greyback, knees pinning his shoulders, hands at his throat, thumbs at his pulse points and ready to press down.
That pulse jumped frantically beneath Remus’ hands. Greyback struggled, but couldn’t break free. Remus finally had him in a place where angle mattered more than brute strength. Greyback snarled up at him.
Remus leaned in closer. “I will tear your throat out,” he hissed in Greyback’s face. “Do you doubt I would do it?”
Greyback bared his teeth again, but his eyes were wide with fear.
“Quiet!” someone cried out.
It was Serena’s voice, and it startled Remus back to himself. He stared down at his foe under his hands. Had he been moments away from committing murder? Remus shivered, horrified.
Killing Greyback would be his right, as victor of the duel. But what vengeance would that unleash on the pack? Greyback’s two henchmen might retreat, but they would return with an army, and this small pack couldn’t hope to hold their own. They would all be slaughtered, because Remus had not been able to control his very personal rage.
“You go free,” Remus spat at Greyback, though he did not yet loosen his hold. “You go free tonight, Fenrir Greyback, if you give your word never to harm any member of this pack. Leave us in peace and never challenge us again.”
Remus heard the two henchmen shifting anxiously, somewhere beyond the torn-up ground where he and Greyback had grappled, but he kept his gaze fixed on Greyback’s livid eyes.
Finally, Greyback nodded, arching his neck so his throat was exposed. “Yes,” he rasped. “You have won. I will leave you in peace.”
Remus released his hold and flung himself up to a standing position, suddenly desperate to be away from the grimy touch of Greyback’s skin.
Snarling with rage and defeat, Greyback too picked himself up from the ground and stepped away, retreating to join his two followers.
Remus stood square and faced them. “Leave now. If you ever return, know that you’ll have to face me.”
“And I stand with him.” From somewhere behind him, Serena stepped forward, until she had placed herself precisely at Remus’ side. “We stand together.”
Greyback cast her a sordid leer, not too defeated for a parting shot. “Got yourself a feral bit on the side, Lupin?”
“Better than that,” Serena said, her voice solid and unafraid. “A friend. If you have quarrel with Quiet, then you have quarrel with me. Remember that.”
“And I stand with them,” came the Alpha’s deep voice, as he too stepped forward. “If you have quarrel with one of my pack, you have quarrel with all of us, Greyback, as you well know.”
Greyback took a half-step back, making one of his henchmen stumble when Greyback bumped into his shoulder.
And one by one, the pack stepped forward. Brighid. Jack and Ashmita. Ronan. Only Eirwen and Joy and Anna stayed behind, safe in the shadows of the lean-to.
Greyback sneered, but it was a weak imitation of his former posturing. He turned, heavy-footed, and motioned to his two henchmen with a curt wave of his hand. All three strode away, their pace increasing until they were nearly running, and the pack stood silently and watched until Greyback and his two followers had disappeared into the dark over the moor.
When they had gone, Serena laughed once, then flung her head back and from her human throat released an unmistakeable howl. There was a beat of silence, then the whole pack joined her, howling their victory to the sky, a wild sound that made Remus’ hair stand on end. But he followed instinct, and he raised his head too and howled.
The tension was broken. The pack burst into the first true laughter Remus had heard here in weeks or months, great whoops of glee at Greyback’s consternation at finding himself defeated, at how he’d tried to appear haughty, but then had turned and run.
From the dim interior of the lean-to, a slight figure emerged and flung itself at Remus – Eirwen. She was sobbing, great gasps of relief, as she threw herself against Remus’ chest. Remus, startled, put his arms around her.
“Thank you,” Eirwen whispered against his chest, and Remus patted her on the back until she calmed, the awkward recipient of her gratitude.
When the hubbub had subsided, and Eirwen had returned to Joy and Anna in the lean-to, Remus approached the Alpha. The Alpha nodded his assent that Remus might speak.
“You told me once that I would be of little use until I knew who I was,” Remus said. Adrenalin still thrummed and sang in his veins. “I know now who I am. I am someone who is at home among both humans and werewolves, and able to stand my ground with both. For now, I choose to cast my lot here, with this pack. So I would like to ask you, from a werewolf to his Alpha: May I stay here, as one of the pack?”
Remus could feel the collective intake of breath from the pack around him, as the Alpha studied Remus with his all-knowing eyes.
Then the Alpha nodded. “Yes, Quiet. You are one of the pack.”
Chapter end notes:
Once again, for reference, here's 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 17: Worse Than No News)
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 16: The Duel
Within us the wild thing
Flickering now
–Myrra Rós, Animal
It happened a few days after the full moon.
Remus had been out with Jack in search of firewood, an increasingly desperate task as the winter wore on. When they arrived back, they found the pack in chaos.
The first sign of something amiss was the sound of raised voices as they approached the camp. The pack almost never argued aloud. Remus glanced at Jack, who broke into a trot, then a run. Remus sprinted after him.
They burst into the clearing and Jack dove into a knot of pack members all shouting over one another. The usual fire at the entrance to the lean-to lay unlit, the ashes gone cold. Remus stood to the side, trying to parse the scene before him. Gradually, snatches of speech rose out of the tumult of angry voices, and Remus’ horror grew as he began to understand.
Ronan and Tamara and Narun had been searching for food, miles away across the moor. They’d decided to raid the barn of a farm that stood alone outside a Muggle village, hoping to make away with the prize of a sheep or two. But the farmer – perhaps grown watchful after a long winter of sundry useful items going missing from his property – had seen them and followed them into the barn, wielding a shotgun meant to scare them away.
But in the physical altercation that followed, Narun had struck the man and killed him.
Now the camp was in an uproar, everyone shouting either that this had been inexcusable violence or that it was justifiable self-defence. At last, the Alpha stepped into the middle of it all and snapped, “Silence!” in a voice that sliced through the hubbub. The pack fell silent.
“Rapids,” the Alpha said, uttering Narun’s werewolf name in that same carrying tone.
Narun stepped forward, his head bowed low, until he stood directly in front of the Alpha.
“You are banned from this pack for three days,” the Alpha said, his voice harsh and low. “In three days, you may return, and I will consider your status then. Take what food you need to sustain yourself for that time and go.”
Narun raised his head, looked the Alpha straight in the eye and said, “I need nothing from you.”
Somewhere in the pack, someone gasped.
The Alpha said nothing, only stared Narun down, and Narun quailed a little under that gaze, but he didn’t drop his eyes. Then Narun turned and walked away from the Alpha, the silent pack parting to make way for him as he went. His steps were jerky, as if he longed to break into a run but was forcing himself with great effort to project an image of cool disdain.
Narun walked out of the clearing and through the trees until he was swallowed by the dusk, and still the pack stood in shock. The silence rang with Narun’s last defiant words.
A motion of the Alpha’s hand drew all eyes back to him. “Time to eat,” he said. “Now.”
The Alpha stalked away to sit on a log at the edge of the clearing, his back to the pack. Slowly, dreamlike, the others did as they had been told. Ashmita built a fire, Jack chopped a few potatoes, Brighid readied a sparing portion of the remaining smoked meat they had preserved in the autumn.
The meal was prepared in silence and eaten in silence, and the Alpha did not join them. The pack retreated early to their sleeping places in the lean-to, though Remus couldn’t imagine anyone would sleep much.
The lean-to was smoky and dim, but Remus made out a shape – it was Adair, he decided, squinting through the shadows – approaching Anna in her hammock. Remus couldn’t hear what Adair said, but his posture was supplicating, surely pleading with her to intercede on Narun’s behalf. Whatever the young ones might think of their Alpha, they had nothing but respect for the Mother.
But Anna, sitting up straight in her hammock, shook her head, resting one hand gently on Adair’s hair. Adair slunk away again to a far corner, where he bent his head and conferred with Tamara, their voices too low for Remus to hear.
Much later, after all the pack were bedded down and quiet, the Alpha came in and made his way to his own sleeping spot, beside Brighid. Their low voices, the Alpha and his mate, were a soft hush for a long while beneath the crackling of the fire, then they too were quiet.
Remus lay awake a long time, dread roiling in his stomach.
What would this mean for the already fragile peace among the pack? What would it mean for Narun, who was so young – and now a murderer? He’d done something unforgiveable, yet despite the young ones’ blustering talk, Remus didn’t think Narun had set out that day with the intention to kill. He’d gone too far, and committed an act that would brand him for the rest of his life.
And what of the man who had died – had been killed – simply for trying to protect what was his? Had he had a wife? Children? What would his friends and neighbours believe had happened, when they found his body? Would his widow spend her whole life wondering why?
Remus knew violence was an inescapable part of the hardscrabble life the werewolves lived, here at the far margins of society. He’d explained as much to Harry not long ago. But there were worlds between that theoretical knowledge and the sickening understanding, now, that someone he knew had killed an innocent person.
Remus must have drifted into an uneasy sleep, because he woke in the dimness before dawn to Alpha’s voice demanding of someone, “If you know where they are, tell me.”
Remus’ eyes snapped open. Ronan stood in the centre of the lean-to, cowering before the Alpha.
“Tell me,” the Alpha repeated, his voice quiet thunder.
“I don’t know, Alpha,” Ronan said, his voice barely a whisper. “I’m sorry. I don’t know. They didn’t tell me anything.”
Remus looked around for some explanation and his eyes landed on Serena, sitting against the lean-to wall near Remus with Joy asleep in her lap. At his questioning look, she shifted closer and murmured, “Blackthorn and Jump disappeared in the night. Thunderstorm and Rock Crag are out looking for them, but I doubt they’ll find them. It’s clear they’ve run off.”
As always, Remus had to translate the names in his head: Tamara and Adair had run away, Jack and Ashmita were looking for them. The queasy feeling in Remus’ stomach coalesced into a sharp flare of alarm.
If Tamara and Adair had run away to join Narun, and if they were all three boiling over with righteous indignation at their Alpha, who censured violence rather than celebrating it… Where else were they likely to direct their steps than to the pack of Fenrir Greyback? If there was anything worse than one hot-headed and indignant young werewolf in search of a pack that would condone violence, it was three such young werewolves banded together.
The pack were subdued that day, as they went about their tasks. The Alpha spoke to no one. Ashmita and Jack returned at midday to say there was no sign of the three young ones – they must have covered their tracks well.
Ronan cowered at the edges of the pack, unsure now of his place. His age-mates hadn’t trusted him with their plans, but the adults no longer trusted him either, by his association with them. Eirwen, too, huddled inside herself all day, terror on her face.
In the late afternoon, Remus and Serena went out scavenging together. They said little as they made their way across the crisp snow in an icy wind, looking for wood or food or anything that might be useful to the pack. Any small thing they could find would be a boon, these days, as winter had gnawed away at their food and supplies.
“You’re worried,” Serena said after a while. She had a tattered brown scarf pulled high over her mouth and nose, leaving only her eyes showing. The winter sun was sinking towards the hills and the sharp snap of their steps on the frosty ground rang out in the cold air.
“Surely you are, too?” Remus asked.
Serena gazed away towards the horizon, across the expanse of snow now stained orange by the setting sun. “These things happen, Quiet. Greyback’s pack is where those three have wanted to be for a long time now.”
Remus’ breath caught. “So you think that’s where they’ve gone, too.”
Serena laughed harshly. “Well, it’s either that, or they’re hanging about out here somewhere, having a merry party in the snow with no food and no shelter. I know which I think is more likely.”
“If they join Greyback…” Remus began, shifting the few sticks and twigs he’d found to his other hand and choosing his words carefully. “If they join Greyback, they will be in a position to tell him a number of things about this pack.”
“Indeed,” Serena said.
“Such as the names and origins of each member.”
She nodded, not looking at him.
“Fenrir Greyback,” Remus continued, “is maniacally territorial. When he turns a new werewolf, he considers that individual ‘his’ for life, a member of his pack by default. He doesn’t like it when the children he turns escape his clutches.”
“You’re not telling me anything I don’t know,” Serena said fiercely. “He killed my sister. He turned River.”
“Does he know River is here?”
“No.” Serena finally glanced over at him, and Remus could see the worry etched deeply in her face. “I’ve kept a low profile. I’ve not attended any of the big gatherings, or let word get around to other packs that River is here with me.”
“But when three new recruits present themselves to him, offering information about this pack…”
Walking beside him, Serena shuddered violently.
“Greyback knows about me,” Remus said softly. “But he knows I’ve made my life among wizards, and he seems to have given up on trying to get me, though I’m sure he wouldn’t pass up a chance if he stumbled across it. But Joy – River, I mean – and Eirwen… He may get it into his head that he wants to come and try to take them for his own.”
“We’ll fight him,” Serena said, raw anger in her voice. “If he comes here and so much as tries to touch one of the children, we’ll fight him off. We may be a small pack, but we’re not dead yet.”
Remus agreed, “We won’t let him hurt any of the pack.”
Serena glanced over at him again, a little glimmer of humour showing through her battle-ready demeanour. “‘We’? Are you aligning yourself with us, then, Quiet?”
“Of course,” Remus said, and realised he hadn’t even had to consider his answer. Of course he would stand by this pack if danger found them. He had cast in his lot with them and he cared about them, whether they ever fully accepted him or no.
Remus set his shoulders more firmly as he walked. If Greyback came, they would be ready.
They took turns keeping watch at night from then on. While the rest of the pack slept, one of the adults would stand at the edge of the lean-to in the bitter cold, looking out over the silent moor. The only ones exempt from the rotation were Anna, in deference to her age, and Joy, Eirwen and Ronan, all deemed to be too young.
And Ronan did seem younger, with his age-mates gone. Perhaps he wasn’t as old as Remus had assumed him to be, when Ronan was being swept along by his more forceful compatriots. Remus had thought him around 20 at first, but perhaps 17 was more like it.
In any case, Ronan gravitated to Eirwen, now that she was the only other member of the pack close to his age. It made Remus smile to see the two of them with their heads leaned in close, talking earnestly, but without the undercurrent of anger that had characterised so many of the other young ones’ conversations. There was little else to feel hopeful about at the moment, but Remus was glad to see the two of them becoming friends.
Weeks passed, the adults stood guard nightly, but nothing happened. Had their concerns been unfounded? Or was it simply taking this long for the three young ones to find their way to Greyback’s pack, which moved around England and was not always easy to locate?
It was March, with the full moon nearing and the snow still thick across the moor, when Ronan came tearing into camp in the late evening dark, shrieking, “IT’S HIM, IT’S HIM, IT’S HIM!”
The pack fell into formation as if they had drilled this daily. Anna and the young ones inside the lean-to, the rest of them arrayed protectively before its entrance, the Alpha at the front.
At first Remus couldn’t see anyone, although the air was crisp and clear and the moon cast its bright light across the reflective white surface of the snow-covered moor. He began to wonder if Ronan had only imagined he’d seen a man approaching.
Then Remus saw him: Striding across the moor towards their stand of trees was Fenrir Greyback, with those borrowed Death Eater robes sweeping around him and two burly henchmen behind him. Remus shuddered in revulsion. Fenrir Greyback, who had deliberately bitten a four-year-old child in revenge for a slight from the child’s father. Fenrir Greyback, who stole children to swell the ranks of his pack, corrupted their bodies and then preyed on their minds.
“Let me speak to him, Alpha, please,” Remus said suddenly, urgently, not taking his gaze from the sight of the three approaching werewolves, but inclining his head towards the Alpha. “His quarrel is with me more than with any of you.”
And let him forget about Eirwen and Joy, Remus thought. Let the prize of conquering the city wolf who escaped him for so long make him forget there are others here that he also turned.
The Alpha nodded minutely. “As you wish, Quiet.”
Remus stepped forward, away from the lean-to and into the open space in front of it, as Greyback and his two henchmen broke through the trees and into the clearing.
“Well, well, what have we here.” Greyback leered horribly. “Remus Lupin. Living with this pathetic bunch of misfits. This is your whole pack, is it? I send out this many when I want a small scouting party! You lot’ll starve out here by Beltane.”
Remus stared back at Greyback, with his rough clothes and matted hair and long, yellowed fingernails. None of them looked entirely presentable, living out here, but Greyback seemed to revel in his bestial appearance, in looking like an animal even when in human form.
But all that was an act. Remus saw this clearly for the first time, as he studied the man before him. Greyback acted the part of the mad animal as much as Remus acted the civilised human. And Remus would not let himself be intimidated, not this time.
“Fenrir Greyback, how we choose to live is our affair,” Remus said, loudly and clearly. “You have no business here.”
Greyback laughed, a horrible, scratchy sound. His stare, fixed on Remus, was possessive. Greyback shifted his stance and it seemed to Remus that he was deliberately posing, finding the posture that would make him look as large and imposing as possible. Like an animal, Remus thought again. Is this what it comes down to, in the end? Are we animals?
“You!” Greyback barked, pointing one grubby finger with its chipped nail at Remus. “All those years being so high-minded, eh? Too good for us werewolves, you were. But look now, turns out city wolf Lupin’s gone feral after all. So I thought it was time I came and reminded you – I own you. I had you in my jaws once, and I can do it again.”
“I don’t think so,” Remus answered, amazed at the calm with which he was able to say those words, because somewhere deep inside of him, even now, a four-year-old child cowered in terror. But too much was at stake now. Remus stared Greyback down, unwilling to be made afraid.
“Oh, he doesn’t think so!” Greyback guffawed, turning around to make sure his henchmen were sharing his mirth. They sniggered obediently. “Well, I think so. You belong to me.”
“A duel, then, to settle it,” Remus said. Behind him, he heard someone gasp. “You say you own me. I say I am my own man, my own werewolf. We settle it now, once and for all, with a fair fight. If I win, you leave this pack in peace.”
If Greyback insisted on acting like an animal, then Remus would meet him on those terms, with an animal’s rule of law. And for the sake of that past child inside himself, Remus would not let his fear win.
Greyback sneered. “With all your wizard learning? That’s no sort of fair fight.”
“No,” Remus said. “No wands. No magic. Werewolf to werewolf.”
From somewhere outside his own skin, Remus observed with wonder how easily he slipped into the werewolf way of thinking, where everything was hierarchy, everything was physical strength. Could he still call himself human now?
Greyback cocked his head, sizing Remus up, his eyes narrowed and mean. One unkempt finger reached up to scratch his scraggly whiskers.
Remus knew what Greyback was thinking, knew he didn’t look like much. He was half Greyback’s bodyweight at best. And when had he last been in a physical fight, without the use of a wand? How badly Remus wanted his wand now. His palm ached for its familiar warmth in his hand.
Greyback stepped forward. His henchmen crowded in after him, but he waved them back. Remus could hear Greyback’s harsh breathing clearly in the crisp air between them.
“All right,” Greyback growled. “One to one. No seconds, no tricks. No wands.”
Someone in the pack behind Remus shifted uneasily, but no one spoke. This was his right, to fight his own duel. No werewolf would step in to stop it if this was Remus’ choice.
“Agreed.” Remus nodded, and he barely had time to brace himself before Greyback lunged.
The smell assailed him even before Greyback’s hands did, the rank stench of animal. Then Greyback’s powerful arms slammed into Remus’ chest, Greyback’s body barrelled into his, and Remus was on the ground with Greyback snarling in his face.
For a split-second, Remus felt searing panic. Then muscle memory took over. Thank Merlin, thank the moon, thank whatever might be, his body remembered how to do this. Remus wrestled Greyback’s hands from his throat, shoved Greyback away and won himself enough room to breathe.
“You – are – mine,” Greyback hissed.
“I am no one’s but my own.” Remus shouted the words, despite being winded from his fall. He could feel the snow under his back melting and seeping coldly through to his skin. Greyback’s cloak was greasy and slick, and it was hard to gain purchase when Remus tried to grip him.
“I will own you. I will bite you,” Greyback snarled, his eyes wide and crazed and mere inches from Remus’ face. His head darted suddenly closer, teeth bared, and Remus barely managed to crane his neck and avoid Greyback’s lacerating jaws.
They grappled. Remus lost track of time, knew nothing but Greyback’s muscles under his hands, Greyback’s matted hair whipping him in the face as they rolled and rolled across the cold ground, locked in a hateful embrace. The world seemed to go still, as if time itself had stopped for this battle. And Remus was alive, terribly so, aware of every sinew in his body, every motion of his opponent’s limbs. No one else existed except this ancient enemy, the one he must vanquish, the one he must stop from ever harming another child.
Greyback nearly got him pinned, but Remus rolled away. Greyback snarled and lunged again. Remus snarled back and got his hands on Greyback’s throat, but Greyback tore free. They were more closely matched than Remus had dared to hope. Greyback was brutal, but Remus was clever, conserving strength and using Greyback’s own force against him when he could.
Then came a moment when Remus thought he had lost. Greyback had him pinned, and no matter how Remus struggled and turned, he couldn’t break free. Remus panted. He’d improved his strength and endurance, scavenging long distances across the moor, but he was not as young as he’d once been. And Greyback was twice his size and holding him down with his whole weight. Remus’ mind struck out furiously in search of any idea that might save him.
Unexpectedly, what floated into his mind was a simple question: What would Sirius do?
And the answer came just as fast: Laugh in his face, defiant to the last.
Remus indeed laughed out loud in surprise at the thought, and the sound of his own laughter rang out strange and wild into the night. Greyback stared down at him, disconcerted.
“Fenrir Greyback,” Remus said, and his voice, too, carried powerfully through the crisp night air. “You can never own me. You might kill me tonight, but you can never own me.”
Remus laughed again, in pure relief at that understanding.
Greyback’s mouth opened, confused. His grip slackened for just an instant, and Remus seized his advantage, knowing he wouldn’t get another, flipping them so he was on top of Greyback, knees pinning his shoulders, hands at his throat, thumbs at his pulse points and ready to press down.
That pulse jumped frantically beneath Remus’ hands. Greyback struggled, but couldn’t break free. Remus finally had him in a place where angle mattered more than brute strength. Greyback snarled up at him.
Remus leaned in closer. “I will tear your throat out,” he hissed in Greyback’s face. “Do you doubt I would do it?”
Greyback bared his teeth again, but his eyes were wide with fear.
“Quiet!” someone cried out.
It was Serena’s voice, and it startled Remus back to himself. He stared down at his foe under his hands. Had he been moments away from committing murder? Remus shivered, horrified.
Killing Greyback would be his right, as victor of the duel. But what vengeance would that unleash on the pack? Greyback’s two henchmen might retreat, but they would return with an army, and this small pack couldn’t hope to hold their own. They would all be slaughtered, because Remus had not been able to control his very personal rage.
“You go free,” Remus spat at Greyback, though he did not yet loosen his hold. “You go free tonight, Fenrir Greyback, if you give your word never to harm any member of this pack. Leave us in peace and never challenge us again.”
Remus heard the two henchmen shifting anxiously, somewhere beyond the torn-up ground where he and Greyback had grappled, but he kept his gaze fixed on Greyback’s livid eyes.
Finally, Greyback nodded, arching his neck so his throat was exposed. “Yes,” he rasped. “You have won. I will leave you in peace.”
Remus released his hold and flung himself up to a standing position, suddenly desperate to be away from the grimy touch of Greyback’s skin.
Snarling with rage and defeat, Greyback too picked himself up from the ground and stepped away, retreating to join his two followers.
Remus stood square and faced them. “Leave now. If you ever return, know that you’ll have to face me.”
“And I stand with him.” From somewhere behind him, Serena stepped forward, until she had placed herself precisely at Remus’ side. “We stand together.”
Greyback cast her a sordid leer, not too defeated for a parting shot. “Got yourself a feral bit on the side, Lupin?”
“Better than that,” Serena said, her voice solid and unafraid. “A friend. If you have quarrel with Quiet, then you have quarrel with me. Remember that.”
“And I stand with them,” came the Alpha’s deep voice, as he too stepped forward. “If you have quarrel with one of my pack, you have quarrel with all of us, Greyback, as you well know.”
Greyback took a half-step back, making one of his henchmen stumble when Greyback bumped into his shoulder.
And one by one, the pack stepped forward. Brighid. Jack and Ashmita. Ronan. Only Eirwen and Joy and Anna stayed behind, safe in the shadows of the lean-to.
Greyback sneered, but it was a weak imitation of his former posturing. He turned, heavy-footed, and motioned to his two henchmen with a curt wave of his hand. All three strode away, their pace increasing until they were nearly running, and the pack stood silently and watched until Greyback and his two followers had disappeared into the dark over the moor.
When they had gone, Serena laughed once, then flung her head back and from her human throat released an unmistakeable howl. There was a beat of silence, then the whole pack joined her, howling their victory to the sky, a wild sound that made Remus’ hair stand on end. But he followed instinct, and he raised his head too and howled.
The tension was broken. The pack burst into the first true laughter Remus had heard here in weeks or months, great whoops of glee at Greyback’s consternation at finding himself defeated, at how he’d tried to appear haughty, but then had turned and run.
From the dim interior of the lean-to, a slight figure emerged and flung itself at Remus – Eirwen. She was sobbing, great gasps of relief, as she threw herself against Remus’ chest. Remus, startled, put his arms around her.
“Thank you,” Eirwen whispered against his chest, and Remus patted her on the back until she calmed, the awkward recipient of her gratitude.
When the hubbub had subsided, and Eirwen had returned to Joy and Anna in the lean-to, Remus approached the Alpha. The Alpha nodded his assent that Remus might speak.
“You told me once that I would be of little use until I knew who I was,” Remus said. Adrenalin still thrummed and sang in his veins. “I know now who I am. I am someone who is at home among both humans and werewolves, and able to stand my ground with both. For now, I choose to cast my lot here, with this pack. So I would like to ask you, from a werewolf to his Alpha: May I stay here, as one of the pack?”
Remus could feel the collective intake of breath from the pack around him, as the Alpha studied Remus with his all-knowing eyes.
Then the Alpha nodded. “Yes, Quiet. You are one of the pack.”
Chapter end notes:
Once again, for reference, here's 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 17: Worse Than No News)
