Banish Misfortune

Chapter 3:

 

“For the strength of the Pack is the Wolf, and the strength of the Wolf is the Pack!”

                                                                             --Rudyard Kipling, “The Jungle Books”

The End of Summer, off the Farne Islands

The Worm was hungry. Newly awakened, he swam slowly, circling up from the hollow at the bottom of the sea where he’d been imprisoned, stuck to the rock for centuries. The words of power in that long-ago spell had weakened him, dazed him into a waking death, dulled all his senses. He didn’t know how long he’d been helpless, how long since he’d been on land. Didn’t know why he was now free. He looked upwards, watching for moving shapes on the surface. His long head swept slowly back and forth, hunting.

He was not a worm, in the modern sense: he’d been named long before any system of taxonomy had been conceived. He was a Worm, to his early observers, because he was long and flexible. He did have legs; he could survive for short periods on land. He could move very fast, on land, for short distances. Faster than a man on horseback. He preferred the sea, however: the hunting was better. There was nowhere for humans to hide, in the sea.

Nor was he a dragon, as some had supposed. Dragons were as powerful as the Worm, some of them. They were as frightening, when aroused. Dragons were fearsome, incredibly dangerous animals. And there was the difference: the Worm was not, technically speaking, an animal, no more than Dementors were Beings. The Worm, like the Dementors, was a creature of Darkness. He lived upon the terror that he generated among living things. He ate living human beings: swallowed them, their animals, ships and sometimes their homes. But it was not their actual substance that nourished him.

He was impossibly huge. He’d been asleep for more than thirteen centuries. He was very hungry.

                                   **********************************                                 

Old Alice lived on the island of Longstone, in what looked to Muggle eyes like a deserted lighthouse. The rough weather for which the islands were notorious was a delight to her: she walked the island’s perimeter daily, with her wand. Sighting along its length gave her a better, more accurate view of the surrounding islands than the most powerful binoculars could do, and made light work of seeing through fog and rain. Alice was tall and thin, erect, with a mass of white hair, usually blowing wildly about her face. Visitors to the Islands seldom noticed her, not because she was particularly elusive. She would have said she just wasn’t noteworthy. She had lived on one or the other of this little group of islands for a very long time.

She had a little boat that went wherever she wanted it to go, and which travelled uncannily well through the choppy seas. She often went back and forth among the islands, looking for anything of interest. The birds and seals were used to her, accepting her as one of them. The excursion boats that brought tourists from the mainland all summer were unaware of her existence; the few naturalists and divers who visited on their own had never taken any notice of her; presuming her, if they thought of her at all, to be a member of some other party.

Alice had seen many shipwrecks in her day; the islands were a notorious shipping hazard. She had performed her share of rescues, and had sent in alarms for other rescues. Two wrecks had occurred this past month, however, that she had been unable to help with. Both ships, an excursion boat and a diver’s rig, had simply disappeared without trace, seemingly sucked down by a whirlpool, which had proved not to exist when she sailed close. No survivors, no bodies had been found either time. Muggle investigation had found both ships to be out of the little town of Seahouses, but from different owners. No connection could be made between them, nor could any reason be found for them to have crashed. Nor could Alice make any connection between them, except that she had seen them both happen. They had both turned round and round for a long time. She’d heard the screams of the passengers. And she’d seen the waves swelling in a most unusual manner, around the boats. She thought there might be some sort of animal, down there.

                                  ***********************************

Early Autumn, the Border Country

Andie awoke gradually, senses slowly coming to order: light, the light was different. The smell of the air was different too. Without moving, she looked around for the window. The room was different—of course, this was Remus’s house. They’d been flying all night. Just before dawn, they’d arrived here, given Buckbeak his breakfast, and tumbled into bed. Travel by Hippogriff had been a novel experience: exhilarating at first, but tiring in the long haul. She hadn’t ridden a Hippogriff since her days with Hagrid.

The rest of the Pack appeared to be still asleep. She twined her fingers in the black fur pillowing her head, and drew her other arm gently around the Wolf beside her. What a summer this had been! Her life had changed so completely, she could hardly remember what it had been like before the Pack.

Family: she’d had misgivings most of her life about the whole ‘family’ question. Forced away from her father and brother at age ten, she’d lived a self-imposed solitary life, awkward around the other students at her new school, resentful of her mother’s insistence that they move so far away. The first close bond she’d formed with anyone was with Hagrid in the Forest at Hogwarts. A solitary figure like herself, he had been teacher, father figure, confidante. He still wrote to her, now and then. She’d gone on to a job that took her, alone, all over Europe. She loved her work; had never felt lonely. Her few attempts at conventional relationships hadn’t been all that satisfactory. She’d begun to believe, at twenty-eight, that she was naturally a loner.

But now, what was this? She was, without doubt, a member of a Family. These men, this dog and this Wolf, had become dearer to her than anyone had ever been. Sirius, her big brother—it was unbelievable how close they still were, how much they still had in common. How much she loved him. Remus: Sirius’s best friend, his only surviving childhood friend. It had been desperately important to her, when she learned of their history, to help Sirius in finding a cure for him.

And now—she rubbed her cheek against his fur. He and Sirius, weeks ago, had begun transforming into their canine shapes at bedtime, claiming it was warmer. Tactful of them, she thought. Not pressuring her into anything more than the companionship of a Pack. Perhaps, though, it wasn’t tact so much as a shying away, themselves, of any relationship more complicated than this. Neither of them had had an easy time of it. She held the two of them closer, and closed her eyes again, smiling. She was Home, wherever they were. They were hers; she’d look after them.

                                  **********************************

“Welcome home, little sister! What do you think of our palatial new digs?” Sirius was standing at the table, pulling large containers of food out of a small satchel, as Remus watched from one of the two chairs, a cup of tea beside him, lazily directing a loaf of bread to unwrap itself. “It looks as if Cécile’s sent us half her pantry. Which of you two fools asked her for the éclairs? They’re all over everything else; I hope you’re happy.”

 

Andie blinked and sat up, looking around her with interest. This was the shepherd’s hut she’d heard so much about. Remus had found and claimed it at seventeen; he and Sirius had expanded the interior. Dumbledore was the only other person, apart from themselves, who knew of its existence. Remus had lived here, happily, for nearly five years.

 A large all-purpose room held the kitchen table at one end, fireplace in the centre of one wall, and bed at the other end. Bookcases, empty, lined the wall opposite the fireplace. The stone walls were bare of decoration, but there was a small, framed Muggle photograph on the fireplace mantel. The slightly uneven stone floor was also bare. Four curtainless windows, two at either end of the room, flanked two doors in the kitchen end of the room, and one door at the bed end. Grey light streamed in the windows.

“Lavish! Remus, I never suspected you were such a hedonist. I hope one of those doors leads to a bathroom. And I hope there’s at least a toilet and a washbasin in it.” She stood up, directing the thick bedcover to straighten itself. Following Remus’s pointing finger, she crossed the room, opened the right-hand door, gave a satisfied nod, and closed it behind her.

As the sounds of splashing and snatches of song ensued, Sirius looked down at his old friend with hesitant concern. “She has a point,” he said softly. “What became of all your books? And all the other stuff? I wasn’t in much of a position to comment, back in June, but didn’t you live here? Did you sell everything? What happened to you, while I was away? If you don’t want to tell me I’ll understand, but if you can manage it I’d like to know.”

Remus stared thoughtfully at a corner of the table. “I gave all my things away; I didn’t really care. I left here a few months after you were locked up. I worked for free; I suppose you could call it that, in Romania, for a famous vampire hunter—Dumbledore knew him. There were vampires, but packs of werewolves, too. You wouldn’t believe how they lived. I tried to help them. They—one of them—some of them—were very kind to me. They let me run with them. Let me live with them, even though I was a foreigner. In lots of ways, I was a foreigner, but I almost felt at home there, sometimes. It was great sometimes, running with them under the moon.” He closed his eyes briefly, sighed, then looked up at Sirius. “I killed a man. A werewolf. I did lots of things I never thought I’d do. I learned a lot. I missed you.” He gave a crooked smile. “That’s about it, really.”

 

“Well, it sounds as though you did good work, and I’m glad you weren’t alone. I pictured you all alone every month, without—” Sirius’s voice was soft and strangely hoarse as he made a great business of wiping squashed éclair off the inside of the satchel. “They wouldn’t let me write to anyone. I wanted more than anything to let you know what had really happened. But I didn’t suppose you’d believe me anyway. I wish…”  The sentence hung for several moments in the air, unfinished. Then he straightened up suddenly, the wolfish grin gleaming, his eyes wet but triumphant. “Never mind. What I wished for… I have it now.”

                                       *****************************

The Hut was taking on signs of habitation: the Pack had been shopping. A solo excursion that first day, by Andie, had procured Muggle money from Hogsmeade, along with some basics: a case of Butterbeer and a clock with a hand for every Pack member. She had had the hands of the clock engraved ‘Padfoot’, Moony,’ and ‘Andie’.

Next day the Pack, as a young couple and their big black dog, visited a nearby Muggle town, searching the rows of charity shops along the high street for inconspicuous clothing. The clerks in the first few shops were highly amused at the young man who kept holding articles of clothing up for his dog’s approval. As the afternoon wore on, however, and it began to drizzle, Padfoot was forced to wait outside. (The signs plainly read “No Dogs on Wet Days.”) They went away with several pairs of jeans, a wide selection of heavy woollen pullovers, and windproof jackets. An antique store held a carpet that Remus admired, as well as a very old set of blue and white china, with only a few pieces missing. Andie insisted upon curtains for the windows. Padfoot rolled his eyes, but consented to wait outside another shop while these were purchased. Remus, noting his friend’s slowly diminishing patience, went down a side street and came back with several bottles of Scottish ale. The trip home was accomplished with a minimum of grumbling, and only slightly damp fur.

                                  ********************************

 

The following morning, just at breakfast, Dumbledore appeared for a visit, followed by a large box. He directed it inside, waved it open with his wand, and watched as the books floated up to the shelves. “Background reading,” he announced, with the air of one producing a delightful surprise. “I understand you will be visiting Old Alice at Longstone, in the Farnes. Very interesting place, full of history, both magic and Muggle. In many cases the histories overlap. I thought you might find these useful.”

The Pack glanced at each other, smiled, and eyed the volumes with interest, but without surprise. They’d all known Dumbledore for quite some time. His appearance here signified that he had known about, or perhaps had even suggested, Alice’s letter to Andie.They accepted his presence as a nudge, a plan for them. “Would you like some breakfast, Professor?” asked Andie.

A fourth chair was conjured. After a few moments devoted mainly to food, Dumbledore glanced around the table. The Hut, after only two days, had begun to look homelike. The conversation was easy, good-humoured and relaxed. The Pack, all three of them, seemed well, happy, at peace. He decided to test that peace.

“I’ve been thinking of you three,” he began. “I am very much interested in how you intend to spend tonight: it’s the full moon, you know. Please don’t be offended at what must seem an intrusion into your affairs: your Werewolf Rescue project is a significant achievement, which may benefit others some day. I would like to know what you expect to happen.”

Sirius glanced at Remus and put a casually protective hand on his shoulder. “I told you I’d be watching,” he said softly. “I’ll be here. We’ll stick together, for all our sakes, and I think the Wolf will feel secure with that. I think he’ll keep on trusting us. I hope he will. The full moon may still have some effect; somehow we should allow for that. But out here there’s room to run and nobody to be alarmed.”

Remus sat very still. He closed his eyes for a moment, taking stock. “Nothing hurts,” he said, opening his eyes. “The Wolf seems to be living in peace so far. I’ve wondered how this night will be; I don’t mind telling you I’m afraid. After this past month, if I have to go back to the way things were before, it will be… difficult.”

“It will never be the way it was before,” Andie declared. “This is our Wolf: it’s Moony. He expects us to be with him; he knows us. He’d never hurt us now: we’re his Pack, we love him. I’ve been thinking about this too, and here’s what I believe: Last month, the Wolf took us on faith, at Sirius’s request. He stayed hidden all night, on the strength of a chance to run free—truly free—the next day. This time, I think we should let him have his moon. I think Remus should transform into the Wolf before the moon appears, do you see? This month, we should take Moony on faith.”

Dumbledore looked over at Andie with a nod of appreciation. “That sounds only fair. Do you know, I believe you have the right approach. Hagrid taught you well, my dear. He sends his warm regards, by the way; I told him you would be working in Britain this autumn. You could write to him from here, or from Alice’s, if you like, or perhaps even go to see him. I don’t think he should know about the Pack, however: Hagrid tends to gossip in the pub occasionally, and that could be awkward for Sirius.”

Dumbledore stood up. “I should be getting back. The school won’t look after itself, much as I would like for it to do, sometimes. Thank you for breakfast; it’s a pleasure to see you all looking so well. Alice will be expecting you in the next day or two; I told her you would be in touch after the full moon. Continue to look after each other, my dears, and send an owl tomorrow. ”

                           **********************************

The Wolf sat outside the door of the Hut, with his Pack. Clouds piled up in the corners of the sky, changing and shifting in constant motion. Swallows, swooping through the air after insects, gave way to bats as dusk came on; bats in turn left the sky to the owls. The air was crisp, clear, exhilarating. A fox barked, somewhere. The Wolf wagged his tail. Andie stroked his fur; Padfoot licked him on the ear. He turned and tried to take the black dog’s muzzle in his own mouth, bringing on a playful wrestling bout that lasted for a few seconds.

Stars appeared, one by one. The moon came out-- huge and round; beautiful. The Wolf sprang to his feet. Front end crouching, tail in the air, he invited the Pack to run with him. Through the trees, across the burn, up to the top of the hill, and down the other side they sped, on and on, yipping, snatching at each other with hands or mouths, laughing. At the top of the third hill, they stopped.

 The Wolf looked down, laughing at the human in his Pack, who was just now catching up. He ran back down to the bottom of the hill to her, gave her a wet kiss with his tongue, raced up to the top again, and howled: the longest, loudest, happiest, most heartfelt howl ever heard in those hills: “I’m here!” Miles away in all directions, scattered farm dogs heard this howl and joyously returned it. Padfoot joined the Wolf in a second round of howls: “We’re here!”  They were answered again. The hills rang. Andie wiped tears from her eyes and laughed at them. The Wolf was thoroughly, completely happy for the first time in his memory.