Sin of Lycaos

SIN OF LYCAOS

Part One: Damnation

by D.M.P.

***

The Almighty Zeus tasted the meat and found it was the flesh of a child. Overcome with outrage, he addressed the king, "Thou dare serve the god a plate of thy´s own flesh and blood?"

The king, frightened and bewildered, said nothing in his defense. He had slain the boy and given the flesh to Zeus only out of jest and curiosity, for none but the gods can recognize the taste of man´s flesh.

"Unspeakable cruelty dwells within your soul!" Zeus declared. "Child slayer! Foul monster! Thou art not a man, but a beast!"

And with this declaration, the king of Arcadia and his companions were changed into wolves....

- "Myth of the Lykanthropos"

***

Prologue

Nighttime. Something howled from afar, a savage call. It echoed through the small, dark room. He stared out the window. The forest was a black hulk sitting on the horizon. If he squinted his eyes and looked at where the black forest met the outskirts of town, he could have sworn that a slinking figure was sitting there, staring right back at him.

Remmy shuddered. He never saw anything come out of that forest at night. In the day, he sometimes saw young deer or the occasional sparkle of fairies, but when darkness fell, the woods were usually quiet. He shivered again and pulled the bed sheets closer around him.

"I won´t let you go, sire, I kin´t!"

A voice from downstairs. What was going on? Slipping out of his bed, he went into the hall.

"I know you may be concerned, but there is no need to worry. I have it all taken care of," someone answered. It was his father, the only family he ever knew. He had a mother of course, but she had died so long ago that he barely remembered her. She was the furthest thought from Remmy´s mind as he eavesdropped on the conversation.

The young boy looked over the banister towards the living room, then crept down the stairs and paused at the doorway before sneaking in. Two men´s voices were heard loud and clear.

"He´s crazy, sire. He´s been crazy fo´ years, ev´r since takin´ that babe´s life." Murphy sounded hushed and worried, his gruff voice taking a higher pitch than normal.

"I wouldn´t need to fear him then. Someone as insane as Lycaos should be easy to handle," Father replied confidently. Remmy smiled to himself from his hiding place behind the couch. He never knew his dad acting otherwise.

"But Lycaos is not a man, no more - he ain´t, sire! Takin´ a human life- he´s a demon, sire, a demon! Livin´ like the beast he is, I reckon, out in them forests. He´s a savage one; you kin´t face him!"

Father smiled and clasped his hand onto the elderly man´s shoulder. "Murphy," he told the manservant gently, "I have to take the job. The mayor of Hogsmeade personally requested that I go put the devil out of his misery once and for all. Lycaos has been a threat to this town for years and it´s time that we did something about it."

"But alone, sire?" Murphy pleaded. "Yer can´t go all by yerself; it´s too dangerous! Least take me wth yer!"

"And me too!" Remmy called out. He gasped at his sudden outburst and knew he was caught. "Oops," he murmured as his father leaned over the couch to look down at his son.

"Remmy," Father said sternly, "You know I told you to go to bed half an hour ago." He was already dressed for work: dark clothes with a thick leather vest and knee-high boots. Around his neck a silver cross hung on a slim chain. On his back was a quiver of bow and arrows and slung on his belt was a variety of vials and bags. His ebony wand was tucked in his hand.

"But I couldn´t sleep!" Remmy protested. "And I want to go too! Who´s Lycaos?"

"Lycaos is nun of yer busnuss," Murphy said quickly. "Now off to bed with yer, young´un. 'Tis close to the witchin´ hour, yer know!" He gently put both hands on Remmy´s shoulders and began to scoot him out of the room. Remmy broke away and addressed his father. "Please?" he asked sweetly, giving his best sad little puppy dog look.

Father chuckled and shook his head. "Murphy´s right. It´s too dangerous."

Remmy sighed. "You always say that," he whined.

"Because I´m always right." Father winked at him, then in one quick move, gathered his son up into his arms. "Now off to bed!"

"Hey!" Remmy objected but let him carry him back up the stairs. He leaned his head against his father´s shoulder. His rough beard tickled Remmy´s cheek. "When can I ever go with you?" he asked sulkily.

"When you´re older," his father reassured him. "But right now, it´s time for you to go to sleep." Placing him gently on the bed, he wrapped the covers over Remmy. "Good night," he whispered, kissing his son on the forehead.

Remmy turned over on his side away from his father, still angry at being refused.

Father shook his head. "My work isn´t for little children, Remmy," he explained.

"I´m not little! I´m almost," - he counted on his fingers - "seven and a half!" Remmy declared stubbornly. He crossed his arms over his chest and stuck out his lower lip. "No fair!"

"I promise you that I´ll take you out into the meadows tomorrow," Father compromised. "I saw a unicorn with her foal there other day, and if you´re nice and quiet, you might be able to see them."

Remmy groaned inwardly. Unicorns were for babies. But Father hardly ever showed him aspects of his work, and Remmy would take any chance he could get.

"Okay..." he agreed reluctantly.

"Good." Father patted the top of his head. "See you in the morning."

Remmy sighed as he heard his father close the door. It just wasn´t fair! He knew he could take care of himself! Why did Father always have to treat him like a kid? Well, I´ll show him, Remmy thought to himself. I´m not a baby anymore....

Twenty-nine years later....

Chapter 1

Ssscccrrreeeeeeee...

The sound of the train stopping was what woke him up. Lupin groggily lifted his head up to see the passengers around him. The train came to a full stop, the ride over all too soon. Fairview Station, the last stop on the route. People started grabbing their bags, their coats, their little children´s hands. After this stop, everyone had to leave before the new passengers boarded.

Near the back of the last passenger car, Lupin sat staring out through the window. He could tell it was cold outside, for the heat of the cabin had created a layer of steam upon the windows. He rubbed a circle into the pane, and the steam filled it back up in less than a minute. It must be freezing out there.

Lupin didn´t want to leave his seat. He could remain just until the other passengers left. If he was lucky he could hang back and probably stay onboard from another hour or so. He could get off when the train comes to the next station on its new route back to Norwich. If he left this train now, he might not have anywhere else to sleep for the next couple of days.

Hitching rides like this was how he lived. It gave him something to keep his mind on, traveling from one station to the next. He neither had a permanent home nor the money to buy one anyhow. Trains always did have a certain appeal to him by far. At least it gave him time to think by himself and was far safer than Apparating from place to place, which was altogether pointless since he never had a destination to Apparate to.

Sure, he could always wander from town to town by foot as usual, but autumn was here, and the cold was fierce at night. He didn´t want to spend another night outside; the last time he did, he woke up with a layer of frost covering his clothes. A telltale sign that he would have to find a more sheltered home before the winter snows came. Yet he wondered if he should bother finding shelter for this winter. Surviving with himself didn´t seem too appealing.

The other passengers shuffled past him. All Muggles, for this was a Muggle train. Lupin wished he could have called the Knight Bus for a ride, but then again, when did the Knight Bus allow such passengers as himself to board? He didn´t have a particular destination to go anyway and hadn´t enough money to pay the fee. But those beds would be nice; Lupin would give anything to sleep in a bed again.

A mother was helping her son down the aisle, and when her back was turned, she accidentally bumped into him. She turned her head slightly, and an automatic, "Sorry," brushed past her lips. Then, she saw the man she was addressing and abruptly ushered herself and her son out of the car. Even Muggles could tell how different he was. The unspeakable curse seemed to hover over him like a cloud.

Sometimes, during the years Lupin had wandered the Muggle world, he would just sit in street corners and watch them rush past, all ignorant of how fortunate they were. How much they didn´t have to know. And he wished during those times that he was an ignorant Muggle too, that he didn´t have to have anything to do with magic or wizardry or his condition.

The conductor was coming around, checking for stowaways and freeloaders. He stopped at the last seat. Looking at him, the conductor gave a firm look and jerked a thumb over his shoulder. Time to go.

Lupin silently got up, stretched, and headed out to the exit, grabbing his shabby black case before he left. The conductor sighed as he watched the man leave. Another bum just sent back to the streets, he thought.

Outside, an icy wind blew as he stepped off the train. Lupin tightened his shabby jacket around himself. He was right. It was as cold as hell.

Slipping into the throng of Muggles, he wandered along the train station platform until he spotted a bench to sit on. Lowering himself down, he gazed at the mass of Muggles in front of him. Look at them go. Places to be, homes to go to, families to love. He sighed, then chided himself.

Stop pitying yourself, Lupin thought bitterly. Nothing will come of it. He hated when he did that. Wallowing in despair was something that he tried not to do. The only thing the ever came with grief was more grief. If he let himself become depressed again, he was afraid that he might never come out of it.

He put a hand to his neck and felt the slim steel chain. Tracing his hand over the chain, his fingers touched warm metal. He lifted the necklace up over his shirt. A silver cross hung there, white light reflecting off its surface. Strung next to the crucifix was a pair of dog tags, the type that military folk wore. His name and registration number was stamped into the metal. Remus J. Lupin. Number 4765 at the Registry of Magical Creatures.

Dog tags for the werewolf. How ironic. Lupin had gotten the set a few years back, thinking that if anything happened to him, at least his identity wouldn´t be unknown. But if someone found him in his other form, they would have wondered who would keep a pet wolf.

A dry chuckle escaped from Lupin´s lips as he let the chain drop back under his shirt. The wind blew hard against him and he shivered. He would have to go into town and find a place to stay. Too bad this station wasn´t at a big city; a homeless shelter would have been wonderful. However, in this rustic countryside the villages were too small to provide shelters for the poor.

Where was he anyway? A crumpled railway map lay on the bench, and Lupin picked it up. Smoothing out the paper, he checked the railway schedule. A train that was heading to Cambridge would stop by here in a day or so. Cambridge wasn´t so bad; at least it wasn´t as far as London. Maybe he´d head over there later.

He followed the colored lines down the map to the last stop, where he was. Havenshire. It was a small village, just fifteen kilometres away. He could cover that in a few hours.

And he´d have to start soon, before nightfall came. Already the sky was streaked with colors of russet and gold; the sun was setting. Getting up, he hurriedly left the platform and moved onto the road. Cars were streaming by at a rapid pace and Lupin ducked into the nearby woods, away from any driver´s passing eyes. Keeping an eye on the road, he started his trek.

The woods were quiet and peaceful, with the dappled, fading sunlight sprinkling the forest floor. Foliage bloomed in the colours of fall, a mixture of reds, oranges, and burnt sienna. Lupin took a deep breath of the crisp, autumn air. Despite the cold, it wasn´t so bad, walking through the woods.

However, only one thing bothered him. The birds chirped and sang their evening calls to one another throughout the forest, but this wasn´t it. It was the absence of singing when he passed the nesting trees that saddened him. He would approach a maple with calling birds, yet when he stepped within five feet of the tree, the birds suddenly silenced. Some even scattered at his coming, as if they were escaping a danger.

Danger. Yes, that´s all he was now. A danger.

That´s why Lupin left Hogwarts: because he considered himself a threat to the students. He should have never come to Hogwarts, not when he was fully aware of the evil within him. It didn´t matter that Dumbledore himself trusted him in handling that job. It didn´t matter that at Hogwarts he had a bed to sleep in or three square meals a day. It didn´t matter that for once in his life, Lupin felt that he actually had a place in the world. For it was all forsaken the moment the moonlight touched him.

A false sense of security, that´s what Hogwarts was, Lupin thought. He kicked at a pile of fallen leaves. An illusion and nothing more.

His resolve for optimism broke for a second time. He didn´t care. How he could be happy now, when he had just abandoned the best chance he ever had at Hogwarts? He was stuck in the same situation he was in before, wandering from place to place. Lupin didn´t know why he did this; maybe it was the wolf´s restless spirit. Or maybe he was looking for something, though what that thing was he had no idea.

The sun had set all too fast. Shining stars replaced it, bright pinpoints in the velvet evening sky. All the birds and small animals were tucked away, safe in their nests and burrows. Time for Lupin to sleep as well. Havenshire was still kilometres away.

Lupin looked around for a good place to rest, and choose the concealing branches of a pine. Crawling under the green boughs, he pushed away the dead twigs to make some room for himself and made a small bed out of the dry needles. He cleared a little space on the ground and placed some small stones in a circle. Gathering some needles to use as kindle, he placed them within the circle and lit them using a hand-held lighter. A mundane means, but one can´t be too careful out in the Muggle world. Soon, he had a small fire going, a little warmth to drive away the cold.

Hunched over in front of the fire, Lupin raised his hands over the comforting flame. His stomach rumbled - he hadn´t eaten a thing all day - but at least he wouldn´t freeze to death. Pulling the black case over to him, he opened it up and retrieved a small blanket. This was fairly new and quite thick; it had been a small gift from Madam Pomfrey. "You´ll catch a your death of pneumonia out there," she had said to him the night before he left. "Take this here, just in case." Most of the teachers had brought presents for him when he took his leave, a kind act since none of them were particularly close to him. In that little black case were several helpful potions, magical objects, and even a few Sickles, all gifts from them. They had given him quite a bit of food too, but that was already long gone.

Wrapping the blanket over his shoulders, Lupin leaned his back against the tree and took the case into his lap. The case had an expansion spell put on it, so it could contain much more magically than it could physically. He searched through it, looking for his Bible, one of the two books he always carried with him. Instead, he found his hands take out something cold and heavy.

The Colt .45 revolver was drawn out of the bag. Lupin held it in his hands, warming the metal. The firelight played on the contours of the weapon, highlighting the curves and slopes of the gun barrel. Opening the chamber, Lupin took out the single piece of ammunition: a silver bullet.

Sometimes at night, he would take the weapon out for no reason than just to look at it. Here could be the solution to all his problems, right here in his hands. It gave him a vague sense of power and security, if nothing else. A feeling one usually had with their wand, not a Muggle weapon.

Many tales of myth and legend surround werewolves, and many of those stories are ways to lift its curse. Some said that whoever was cursed are cursed for all eternity. Others said that if the curse was established through a werewolf´s bite, then killing the original source of the magic - the Alpha wolf - was the solution. The final cure for the curse was having the werewolf´s true love pierce a silver object through his heart.

That was why Lupin always carried this gun. Whether he would find anyone to care for him or not he couldn´t be certain, but no matter what that bullet was meant for him. Lupin prayed that someday he would find someone to cure him, before he was tempted to fire it himself.

Lupin snapped out of his thoughts. He shouldn´t be thinking about that! Shoving the bullet back into the first chamber, he closed the gun and double-checked to be sure the safety latch was on. Control - that was what this gun was. Control over the only constant Lupin had: his life. Roughly throwing the gun back into his case, he took out what he meant to get in the first place, his Bible.

Opening the cover, Lupin raised the book to his nose and sniffed at the binding and well-worn pages. Odd thought, but he always believed that books had a sacred scent, like foreign spices. Books always had a special magic about them, especially this one.

This was his family´s book, passed down for generations. On the first five pages, written in flowing letters, was his family tree. Dozens of different scripts detailed the lives of his ancestors´ births and deaths. His own father had been the last to own this book, and in neat little letters, Lupin could make out his name beneath those of his parents. He was an only child and, since all of his relatives were long gone, the last of his family line. It was unsettling, Lupin thought, that the entire existence of so many people all came down to just him.

Flipping to a book-marked spot, he began to read. Every now and then, he fed the fire a stick or two, and once in awhile he looked up to gaze into the flickering light. This was how he usually spent his nights: alone in the woods, sitting by the flames, clutching the blanket around his slim body and pouring over the words of his family´s book. And during those times he didn´t feel so much despair. He was at peace then, and maybe - just maybe - even a bit content.

Chapter 2

Owwwoooooo....

Where was he? Remmy couldn´t tell. Too dark, too dark to see. The smell of wet leaves and rotting vegetation came to his nose. The buzz of mosquitoes filled his ears. He tried swatting some away, but they were teeming in this moist air. He was near a swamp, wasn´t he? But how did he get there? Did the forest lead into the wetlands somehow...?

Owwwwwooooo...

That call. It was closer. What was it?

Snap. A twig broke behind him. Remmy whirled around and saw a bearded man staring right back at him with a shocked expression on his face.

"Remmy!" Father whispered sternly. "What are you doing here?"

"I- I was- I... I just wanted to see who Lycaos was." Remmy stared down at his feet. What happened to his declarations of bravery he had planned to say to his father before? Remmy tried opening his mouth to speak again, but instead felt shame for being there.

"I told you to go to bed!" Father started. "Why did you follow me?"

Owwwwwooooo....

"But Father," he heard himself say loudly, trying to make a case for himself. "I thought I could help..." He trailed off when he realized that he wasn´t sure how he was going to accomplish that.

However, Father wasn´t listening. He had his back turned to him, seeking out the source of the call. His blue eyes scanned the surrounding forest cautiously.

"Remmy..." he whispered haltingly. "Stay here. Don´t leave my side."

Remmy found himself nodding and went over to stand to his father´s right. "What is it?" he asked hesitantly.

"Shhhh. I need to hear..."

The boy felt a cold sweat break out over his forehead. He thought he heard something growling from the darkness of the trees. Leaning against his father, Remmy looked about fearfully. Something was here, something not right. His breath soon came out in short gasps as he tried to take hold of his father´s hand.

Father shook him off. "Not now, son," he heard him say. "I have to concentrate." He raised his crossbow up with one hand and his wand with the other. "Lumos," he whispered, and the wand lit up. He held it in front of him, peering into the night.

A swift movement in the darkness. A pair of bright, glowing eyes stared right at the boy for a split second, then disappeared. Remmy´s heart jumped out of his chest at the sight. "Father, I think I saw-"

"Quiet, Rem!" Father´s voice was deep and growling. His arm felt tense when Remmy touched it.

A soft rustle of dead leaves, this time much closer to them. "Father, there´s something-"

"Don´t Remmy-" Father started again, and then he gasped.

"ROOOAAARRRRRRRRRR!"

A white form leapt up out of the darkness and landed right on top of Father. Remmy was thrown back and crashed into the back of an elm. He looked up to see the two wrestling on the ground. In the dark, it was hard to tell who was winning, or what that thing was. Catches of grey-white fur was seen in the moonlight, along with fierce teeth. Father took out a knife from his belt and started slashing. Yet the beast snapped its jaws over the knife and easily broke the blade in two.

"Father!" Remmy jumped up and grabbed a nearby stick. He rushed at them, waving the stick over his head. He jumped and latched his little hands into the thick fur. He wrapped his arms around the neck of the animal, trying to strangle it. "Let him go!" he screamed, beating down with the stick.

The beast writhed and shook, and Remmy found his grip slipping. The creature howled and turned its head to attack Remmy, and shouting, the boy let go and fell on the boggy ground.

"Remus, no!" he heard his father groan weakly. Remmy could only sit and stare at the creature, seeing it clearly for the first time.

The animal was a large wolf with silver-grey fur. He was twice as large as a normal wolf, and stood over Remmy as his golden yellow eyes stared. His pointed muzzle was just a few inches from his face, and Remmy could smell fresh blood on his breath. A soft predatory growl came from his throat, and the wolf showed his teeth: long and stained and dripping with saliva.

At that moment, Remmy felt his heart stop. He uttered one word in fear and awe. "Lycaos."

Lycaos said nothing in return. The growl became more menacing, as the wolf licked its chops.

Thump!

"Oof!" The wolf buckled and almost fell on top of Remmy, with an arrow prodding out from his back. Luckily, the boy rolled out of the way and crawled backwards away from Lycaos. He turned his head to see Father leaning heavily against a tree, crossbow in hand. "Run, Remus!" he ordered.

Remmy got up on shaky footing to see Lycaos rise again. He shook his head dizzily and focused on Father. Roaring wildly, the wolf bounded up to tackle him again.

Thump! Thump! Thump!

Three more silver arrows shot out and plunged into the wolf´s shoulders and back. But Lycaos kept running. Remmy stood there, quaking in fear. He didn´t know whether he should start running himself or try to help. Yet it was too late. Remmy only had time to shout uselessly, "Look out!" as Lycaos collided into Father and both fell onto the ground and tumbled down a slope toward the swamplands.

Remmy heard a loud splash as the two hit the stagnant water. A wolf´s cry was heard as well as the sounds of wrestling in the water. But afterwards, no noise came. A dreadful silence draped itself over the woods. Only the quiet buzz of flies and night bugs broke the stillness.

Looking out toward the slope leading to the swamp, a full-grown panic welled up in Remmy. He started shaking as a flood of thoughts filled his mind. What happened to Father? Is he dead? Did Lycaos get him? What should he do? Where´s Father? Should he get Murphy? Is Lycaos till out there? Will there be enough time to get help? Where´s Father? Where´s Lycaos? Oh God, Father!

Help Remmy did not get. Instead, ever so quietly, he crawled over to the edge of the slope. He saw that the slope wasn´t that steep, and about fifteen feet away lay the cattails and tall grasses of the swamp. The grasses were swaying slightly. Was it from the two fighters or was it only the wind? Remmy scampered through the slippery mud and stones of the hillside toward the swamp edge. Standing by the cattails, he brushed some aside and looked around. "Father?" he whispered timidly.

Something hit against his foot as he stepped into tall grass. Remmy jumped back and glanced down at his feet. His father´s dead eyes stared right back at him, as he lay half-in, half-out of the water. His throat torn out so that the sagging muscles showed. A dribble of blood ran down the pale lips of his gaping mouth. Wet crimson covered his clothes and diluted in the dank water.

A lump rose in his throat, and Remmy backed away quickly, feeling sick. He collapsed by the tall grass and kneeled over, vomiting on the ground and on his clothes. His eyesight blurred as he wiped his mouth and spat, trying to get the foul taste out of his mouth. It was disgusting, this vomit, and this blood, this blood that had stained the mud and the rocks near the body. Oh, all he could smell and see and taste was vomit and rot and death. Remmy groaned and kneeled over again, dry-retching.

"Father..." he moaned, hugging his knees. The sound came out in tight, guttural gasps. He buried his face in his arms and started rocking back and forth, moaning the name over and over again. "Father, Father, come back, Father, Father.... oh please help me...." he whimpered, even though he knew well that his father´s corpse lay just a few feet away. He sniffed and wiped his nose.

Something sparkled in the moonlight by his feet. Remmy reached over and picked it up. It was Father´s silver chain with the little cross, the chain now blood-smeared and broken. Remmy held the bauble to his chest like a talisman.

Suddenly, he felt a shadow loom over him. Looking up warily, he saw the yellow eyes.

Remmy jumped to his feet and ran as fast as he could go. But he heard Lycaos´ quick paws loping behind him, gaining upon him, coming closer and closer and closer...

He tripped on a jagged rock and fell face first. When Remmy got up, all he could see was a streak of white and the sharp dagger teeth as they sunk into his flesh and-

"NO!"

Lupin snapped awake and clutched his side, screaming. It hurt again, it hurt, it hurt, it hurt, it hurt just like it did that night, that night, with Lycaos, blood, vomit - oh God, Father!

"Stop it, stop it!" he yelled out hoarsely, shutting his eyes tight and shaking his head back and forth. "STOP!"

Finally, the nightmare creased its grip on his mind. Lupin opened his eyes and fell back against the rough bark of the pine tree, hyperventilating. He immediately took off his jacket and lifted up his shirt. He put his hand on his left side, right below the rib cage. He felt his feverish skin, coated in a cold sweat. No blood, no pain, no broken flesh or torn muscle or brittle bone. Just the rough, jagged trace of a large dark-colored scar, all that remained from Lycaos´ attack. The werewolf´s bite.

Lupin picked up his jacket and put it on. His breathing slowed, but he still felt the raw fear inside. It was over for tonight, but it will come back again the next time he slept. The whole episode. Following his father out into the woods, being attacked by Lycaos, seeing death and tasting vomit and stench of swamp fumes - it would all come back. The memory always returned, almost every night for the last twenty-nine years. Twenty-nine years and it never left him.

He shivered. The fire had gone out. Damn. Lupin reached into his pocket for his lighter. Flicking it, he only got a sharp click and no flame. The kerosene in the lighter must have run out. Bloody hell.

Getting up, Lupin took the blanket, which had fallen aside during the dream, and stuffed it into his case. He brushed the pine needles off of his ragged clothes and moved out from under the pine tree. He didn´t feel like sleeping anymore.

"Lumos," he muttered, taking out his wand. He could risk a little magic for a comforting glow. It lit up, shedding some cheery light upon the path in front of him. He quickly made his way out of the forest and onto the deserted road. Feeling the hard, man-made asphalt under his feet made him feel a bit better. It made him think of getting to Havenshire. The simple presence of people was relief to him and something he looked forward to. He needed to be surrounded by humanity; it made himself feel more human.

The stars were fading over the horizon, and so was white silhouette of the moon. If he looked up he would have seen it over three-quarters full, but Lupin kept his eyes stolidly on the road. One hand was holding his black case, the other was at his neck, grasping the chain as if it was a lifeline. He let his thoughts wander as he took the road to town.

After his father´s death, life dipped downhill for Lupin. Yes, Lupin, not Remmy- he refused to have anyone call him by that name ever again. It was his father´s name for him, a name that he wanted to keep sacred.

Murphy, the old servant of the family, took guardianship over Lupin during the first years he was cursed. It was a miracle that Lupin had been able to survive the attack; the bite was healed overnight, but he also suffered a broken leg that crippled him for a month. That wound was healed during the first full moon after the accident, of course, since turning into a wolf helped the regeneration process.

Oh, and the first time the change occurred- now that was a different nightmare altogether. Murphy and he knew it was going to happen, but were never prepared enough for it. That night Lupin had run around Hogsmeade like a rabid dog and invaded four houses. He almost killed a woman in the first house, and just ransacked the rest, destroying everything in his path. The mayor of Hogmeade, although grateful to Lupin´s father for driving out Lycaos, and respected the dead man´s memory, made it clear that he wouldn´t tolerate another werewolf in town. And so Lupin and Murphy packed the few possessions they had and left.

Over the next four years, they traveled all over the United Kingdom, looking for a cure for Lupin´s curse. From one wizarding community to the next, they journeyed, asking for help. But who would dare help a werewolf? They were driven away wherever they went, some more fiercely than others. Lupin could remember a time where an old witch had chased them away from her cottage yelling obscenities at them while throwing hexes. Another time, a wizarding hermit even attempted to kill Lupin with a silver sword saying, "The inhuman monster! The boy´s as good as dead anyway!"

When they learned that killing his werewolf maker could cure him, the two spent months trying to track Lycaos down, but without success. The last anyone had seen of the silver-grey werewolf was at Hogsmeade. It seemed as if the old beast disappeared off the face of the earth after that. Sometimes, Lupin had wondered exactly why Lycaos bit him.

Maybe it was for vengeance against humankind: to make someone feel the same suffering he must have felt. Or maybe Lycaos had gone mad like everyone had said and bit him out of insanity. Or Lycaos could have even wanted a "cursed son" so to speak, someone to carry on the werewolf lineage. But, nevertheless, Lycaos was lost to them forever.

Two months after they had given up the search, the second cure was discovered, from an old Celtic in Ireland. Murphy had flat-out refused to attempt to impale his master´s son through the heart with anything. "Young sire, I wun´t do such things!" he had fumed to Lupin afterwards. "That beggar barely had his wits about him! What if it don´t work?" And that finished any attempt in persuading him to do so. Lupin had bought the gun years afterward, illegally, when he was eighteen.

All the information they had ever gathered about werewolves didn´t come to waste, however. It was all meticulously written down in a thick volume that Lupin carried about him in that black case, his own personal guidebook about lycanthropy. Lupin knew the writings by heart.

One passage particularly stood out in his memory. It was marked in his book, underscored twice in ink.

DAMNATION:

A person who becomes a werewolf against his will (birth, curse, or bite) is not completely damned until he tastes of human blood. Once he does, his soul is eternally damned and nothing may redeem him. Even without tasting of human blood, however, as long as the taint lays upon the human soul, it cannot enter Heaven, and will remain chained to the mortal plane upon death....

By age eleven, two things happened that changed Lupin´s life forever. One was the death of his faithful friend and protector Murphy. Poor old man, he died of heart failure when they were traveling up north. It didn´t seen fair to Lupin; a dear, loving person didn´t deserve to die without the comforts of home back at Hogsmeade. But at least, Lupin had thought, Murphy was in a better place now. Lupin didn´t have any money to pay for a proper burial, so he cremated the body himself. He carried the ashes for as long as possible and scattered them over a small woodland lake in northern England. A quiet and peaceful place that he knew Murphy would have loved.

The other event was a much happier one. Lupin had been sleeping in the slums of London that evening, when he heard the flapping of wings above him. He looked up to see a great horned owl hovering over him, holding a letter in its talons. That letter was an acceptance letter to Hogwarts. Lupin couldn´t believe it. Hogwarts was a world-renown wizarding school; what would they want to do with someone like him?

In the letter Headmaster Dumbledore had personally written about how he had known of the tragedies that had befallen him. Lupin´s father had been a well-loved wizard down at the Registry of Magical Creatures, before he had left to work as an independent Dark Creatures Auror. A couple months after he had died, Dumbledore tried contacting Lupin at Hogsmeade, but the mayor had informed him that Lupin had left. Ever since then, Dumbledore had been following up on where he and Murphy traveled, sending his guardian money every now and then so that they wouldn´t starve. They had made a secret agreement between them via owl mail to send Lupin to Hogwarts as soon as he was old enough, or in case something should happen to Murphy. "And so, Remus," Dumbledore had concluded in flowing emerald green ink, "I gladly welcome you to Hogwarts, your new home."

Home. For the first time in many years Lupin had a place to call home. And those next seven years were the happiest in his life. Roaming the many corridors and expansive grounds at Hogwarts. Sneaking out to go to the Forbidden Forests to talk with the centaurs. Visiting his hometown of Hogsmeade once again. Making friends with James and Sirius and Peter. Helping them learn how to become Animagi, thus forming the infamous foursome of Moony, Prongs, Padfoot and Wormtail.

A passing car distracted Lupin from his thoughts and he realized that he was just at the outskirts of Havenshire, which consisted mostly of farmland. The sun had just risen over the horizon, and the early risers woken up in their homes. Some farmers were already out in the fields on their tractors, starting the fall harvest. Lupin smiled to himself.

Humanity.

Strolling down the residential streets, Lupin saw that most of the homes were small and well kept. This wasn´t a rich town, but neither was it a poor hamlet. He counted less than a hundred or so residential homes as he passed, most of them being small farms. This was a true country town; he estimated that the population was no more than 500.

The center of town was the social and business district, which was rather small. A general store, a tavern, a humble school, and a church were all that was there. The deep chime of church bells rang out into the cool morning air, calling out the hour. One, two, three, four, five tolls of the bell.

Lupin headed straight towards the church, for none of the other buildings was open yet. By past experience, Lupin knew that most country churches were always kept unlocked, open to anyone who wanted to come in.

The church was plain and white with tall windows on the sides and a small bell tower. A little rose and gold stained glass window stood above the front doors. Lupin entered the church to see the straight-backed, hardwood pews leading up to the altar. A large cross hung on the wall above the altar. Near the front of the room was a stairwell leading up to the bell tower. Bright sunlight streamed into the airy room, highlighting the little motes in the air. Lupin breathed deeply into his lungs - like books, churches always had a special scent.

"Sanctuary," he whispered. Lupin traced the carved edge of a pew with his fingertips, thinking of the old medieval custom of churches offering protection to all who sought it. One could come into a church, declare sanctuary, and be safe from whatever danger he was facing. If only Lupin could do that with his curse. Yet for years churches still provided a warm shelter during winter nights or food and clothes from donation bins. A church was his supply refuge at least, if not his sanctuary.

Making his way to the front pew, Lupin solemnly made the Sign of the Cross as he sat down. He then clasped his hands together and bowed his head. Softly, he said the prayer he always said at every church he visited.

"Dear Almighty Lord and Father," he whispered solemnly, "I thank you for giving me the strength to overcome my troubles. I know that I am a cursed being, a werewolf, yet I am not damned. For this I am grateful to you. I pray, Lord, for the wisdom and love to help deliver me from this evil I have become, and the will not to succumb to the demons that plague me. I pray for the souls of my loving family who wait for me in heaven: for the mother I never knew, for dear old Murphy and, most of all, for my father, whose bravery I will never forget. May all praise, honor and glory be to the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, now and forever. Amen."

Lupin continued sitting there for a few moments, gazing at the little vigil candles placed near the front. He then sighed and got up, heading toward the stairwell leading to the bell tower.

The steps were narrow and creaked loudly when he used them. They seemed so old that he feared they might break under his weight, but the stairs held firm. A little door opened up to the bell tower. Away from the main building, the temperature plunged. He would rather have stayed downstairs, but he didn´t want to be spotted by any of the other townspeople.

The musty smell of dust and moldy wood was in the air and he sneezed as he entered the tower. Standing in the square space, he saw that it was much larger than it looked from below. Three by three metres it was, with walls that stood a little over one metre high. The ceiling was peaked so it was highest at the center, where a large iron bell hung up in the crossbeam. A heavy cable was hooked up to the bell, and hung straight down through a hole in the floor to the back room. Below, a little pulley and lever mechanism was in place, so the bell tolled automatically.

Lupin leaned out of the wooden side and gazed over the village. He could see people milling about like ants, with little old ladies stopping by the general store while groups of children walked to school. The tavern wasn´t open yet, but its keeper was outside talking with another man. A pick-up truck from one of the further farms drove by the schoolhouse to drop off a little boy.

Lupin yawned. He had been up for only a few hours, but the walk to town must have tired him more than he thought. His stomach began complaining again, but he ignored it. He had a bit of Muggle money with him; maybe he could stop by the general store later that day. But for now sleep called him.

Tucking himself in a dusty corner of the bell tower, Lupin pulled his case up against him and wrapped his arms around himself. The bell might wake him up later, but for now, he was too tired to care. Within a few minutes, he fell peacefully asleep. He needn´t worry about the nightmares then. They never came when he slept in churches.

Chapter 3

"Caw, caw!"

A sharp poke to the top of the head was what woke him up. Instinctively, Lupin flailed out and touched an angry mass of feathers and talons. Opening his eyes, he saw a red-eyed crow flap awkwardly away, cawing madly. It flapped wildly around the small bell tower, its insistent cry hurting his ears.

"Quiet down, will you!" Lupin couldn´t help but snap at the bird, who didn´t pay any attention to him at all. He groaned and rubbed his head. The bird was still clearly upset, but soon settled down as it hopped past Lupin and into a twig nest in the rafters.

"Sorry I disturbed your home," he said in a slightly caustic tone. The bird only glared at him with beady eyes and turned its head away.

Lupin checked his watch. Nearly five o´clock in the afternoon. He had easily slept for twelve hours straight. He was amazed that the bell hadn´t woken him up. But maybe it only rung at certain times during the day instead of hourly. Why would an ornery bird such as a crow live up here if the bell was constantly ringing?

Heading down into the chapel, he heard the distinct slam of the front doors. Lupin ducked back into the stairwell out of sight. He stood there for a few minutes as he heard a pair of lone footsteps walk down the aisle. He peered around the corner to see the minister slip into his back office and shut the door.

He would have to leave in a few days, that was for certain. Lupin couldn´t afford to stay here all winter. In years past, the charity of country churches had been exceedingly generous to him. Yet no one was ever kind enough to let him stay all winter. A week, even a month - usually until after Christmas if he came to the came during late autumn- but after that, it was out the door with him. Townspeople were always wary of strangers wandering into town. Also, after awhile, word got around from passing towns about him, and some people became especially worried about his character. Lupin never did anything to harm anyone during his travels, but suspicion got the best of him. Someone who walked into the place one day, dressed in shambles, keeping mostly to himself - who wouldn´t suspect him of being a criminal of some type? And so, currently, Lupin had to be careful not to be seen by too many when he traveled into small towns; who knows what they might already presume about him?

When he was sure that the coast was clear, Lupin stepped out, but went back upstairs for his case before leaving the church. Coming out for the second time, he headed to the general store, but was disappointed to find that it was already closed for the day. Irritated, he checked the front windows. No one. He sighed and turned around to go back. What kind of store closes at five?

Yet his hunger clawed at him. When was the last time he had eaten? Counting today, four days ago. Any longer and Lupin would not be around to make it to Cambridge or London, never mind before winter.

The sounds of the tavern were what drew him. Could he get something to eat in there? Just go in, get something, and get out, he thought logically to himself as he opened the door.

Upon entering the tavern, he saw that it was quite a dark and cramped place. Smells of beer and cigarette smoke filled the air and made him cough. Someone had a TV installed in the upper corner of the bar, with the station turned on to a sports game. Football was what Lupin thought it was, watching the players kick the black and white ball across the field. Nothing compared with Quidditch.

The place was crowded with regulars and he got quite a few stares as he made his way over to the bar.

"One of the usual," he quickly told the bartender, trying to fit in. The bartender, a heavy-set woman with faded red hair, quickly grabbed a bottle and shoved it in his hands without giving him a single glance. Lupin sealed the exchange by handing her the wad of Muggle money. He hadn´t bothered to count out the bills, but then again, the bartender never named the price. "Got any food?" he added hopefully, and the lady seemed to scoff without changing her insipid face.

"Try the general store, hon," she said, and turned to tend the other customers.

A bit disgruntled about that fact and the bartender´s rudeness, Lupin headed over the farthest, darkest corner of the tavern. He passed by the door and thought instantly to leave, but the atmosphere was friendly and inviting. Plus, there was warmth here, something that the bell tower lacked. And so, he took his seat and uncapped the bottle. Just take the drink and leave, he thought. After all, he did pay for it.

He took a couple swings from the bottle while watching the other people in the tavern and almost choked on its contents. Spluttering, he looked at the label. Old Samuel´s Absinthe.

Lupin took a double take. He wasn´t sure about Muggle liquors, but he could have sworn that the making of absinthe was illegal in the wizarding world. Most alcoholic beverages were frowned upon, because intoxicated wizards were dangerous wizards. He looked over at the bar and saw that most of the customers had the green-hued bottle in their hands. He sighed and took another sip, wondering if he should have asked for plain water. At least this could calm his stomach down. He remembered Murphy always keeping a whisky flask with him for that specific purpose. As long as he didn´t get drunk, Lupin decided, he´d be fine.

Lupin slumped in his seat. He took another drink from the bottle. It wasn´t too bad, actually, once he got used to the bitter edge of it. Absinthe tasted a little like black licorice.

He held the bottle lazily in his hand and sighed. He looked at the other people there. None of them were brooders and the sounds of laughter and loud talking reached his ears. Lupin suddenly felt a sharp pang of loneliness that he never felt before. When was the last time he ever had companionship? Back at Hogwarts. Lupin took another sip as he thought of his friends there. Most of the faculty was distant to him for most of the year, and the only ones he was really close to were Dumbledore, and a student of his, Harry Potter.

He would be starting his fourth year this fall, Lupin thought wistfully. There was a rumor that Hogwarts was hosting the Triwizard Tournament, an event that hasn´t been held for a hundred years. Lupin wondered what would become of him.

And where was he at the moment? Moping at a Muggle bar, pondering whether he would drop dead during the next twenty-four hours. And how long had he been stuck like this? Thirty-seven years old and what has he done with those years? For fourteen of them - his early childhood and his years at Hogwarts - he was truly happy; the rest were hell. What to make of it now? He was still stuck in mortal hell, wasn´t he?

And what next? More years of wandering? Should he go and find one of those pathetic homeless shelters to reside in, just so that he could live through another winter? Was it worth it? Was life ever worth living?

He kicked at the black case at his feet. Inside, right next to each other, were a gun and a Bible. If he got himself drunk enough, would he have the courage to take out the former or the latter?

Another swig and nothing touched his lips. Empty. Taking the glass in his hands, Lupin blinked in surprise. He didn´t realize that he drained it that quickly. The slightly bitter taste was still in his mouth. It pulled at him, tempting him. Bottle in hand, he had felt a bit better with his situation, even when pondering those morbid thoughts. When was the last time alcohol ever distracted him like this? Well, it couldn´t be really called a distraction; it was only one bottle....

Lupin checked his money. Still enough for one bottle with a little bit left over for food. However, he didn´t feel all that hungry anymore, with the absinthe in his stomach. He raised his hand up and called for the bartender, his voice much louder than before. "Another Absinthe over here, m´lady."

The bartender looked up at him for the first time and smiled, taking out another cold bottle from under the counter. Old Samuel´s Absinthe, brewed in the tavern basement.

Chapter 4

The church bells were ringing again at sunset. They only rang at the beginning and end of each day. No one was really sure why; it only happened that way.

Reverend Grisham stepped out into the cool evening air. Despite the fact that the sun sank only moments ago, the moon was already up, large and white. A full moon. The minister shivered; he always had the strangest feeling during full moons, and he couldn´t say why.

Maybe it was then he could hear the gunshot, even thought it had fired over a year ago. The lady´s silk gloved finger pulling the trigger and the blasting noise as she fell. It still haunted him, that gunshot.

His house was right behind the church and Reverend Grisham slipped into the back door. Stepping into the chapel, he called out the name of his daughter. "Mary? You here? Time for supper!"

His own echoes only came back to greet him. Reverend Grisham sighed. She wasn´t at the playground, nor was she at her friend Suzy´s house. There was only one other place she could be.

The minister took the creaking steps up to the bell tower. These steep stairs - they were one of the few reasons he didn´t like anyone going up here. Some people could fall and break their necks on these steps, they could, he thought to himself. A safety hazard. Why didn´t I put a door blocking this stairway?

He opened the door to see a little girl no more than seven years old sitting down on the bell tower floor. She had a stuffed patchwork doll in her hands and was talking to it softly. Her golden curls were tied back in little green bows, the color matching her jumper.

He adjusted the wire-rim spectacles on his long nose. "Mary," Reverend Grisham said sternly. "How many times have I told you not to come up here?"

Mary looked up at him with large blue eyes, startled, but she soon recovered. "Lydia wanted to," she said stubbornly. "Right, Lydia?" She moved the doll´s head up and down and smiled as if that gave her the reason she needed.

"And it´s freezing up here too," Reverend Grisham added, "You could get sick from playing out in this cold! I might as well put a lock on this door-"

"Oh Papa, don´t!" Mary got up and went to her father, dragging doll behind her. "Don´t lock it up! I promise I wouldn´t never, ever come up here ever again!"

"If you never come here again, then it wouldn´t matter what I do with the bell tower," he pointed out, smiling. "Now come on. Your mum´s got supper on the table." He made to lift Mary up in his arms, but the girl crossed her arms in protest.

"Say you´re not lockin´ it up," she pouted.

"It all depends," he hedged. "No one comes up here anymore since the pulley´s been put in...."

"But Papa-"

"We´ll talk more about it later," he said quickly.

"Promise?"

He sighed. "Mary, you have to remember-"

"You´re stalling," she accused, sticking her lower lip out.

"I´m not stalling," Reverend Grisham smiled, mimicking her tone, "I´d just like to point out that-"

Yet the girl didn´t listen. Mary slipped past him and down the stairs.

"Now, Mary, be careful!" Reverend Grisham gasped, agitated. "The stairs-!"

"I don´t have to be if I don´t wanna!" Mary stuck her tongue out and she leapt over the steps two at a time. She giggled and disappeared around the corner at the bottom.

"Now, wait here-" Reverend Grisham called out and rushed down. Two steps and he quickly stumbled over his feet. He nearly tumbled head over heels, but instead managed to grab a hand out against the wall after hitting the first couple steps. His spectacles fell askew and then hit the ground, making a faint cracking sound as they hit the bottom step.

"Goodness!" he spluttered, a hand to his backside. "A real safety hazard, these steps! Have to remember to lock this place up, now.... For sakes..!"

By that time, he was more than a bit annoyed with Mary´s behavior. "Mary! Come here this instant!" Yet by the time Reverend Grisham entered the church, it was empty once more.

***

Mary giggled to herself as she exited the front doors of the church, whirling her doll around in her arms. "Oh, Papa!" she simpered playfully. "I´m a big girl now, right Lydia? Papa doesn´t need to worry 'bout stupid stairs."

She headed her way to the back of the church where her home was. Mary had no idea that at the moment how irritated her father was with her. All she could think about was the bell tower. It was her personal playhouse. She and Suzy had been there practically a million times; why did Papa had to worry? And the birdie that nested up there was fun too. They talked sometimes; Mary always considered him a sort of pet.

A soft sound distracted the girl, and Mary stopped by the side of the church. A noise was coming from somewhere, something low and rough, almost like a motor running. She looked around her. The area around the center of town was relatively well-lit; Mary was only fifty yards from the lamppost that stood in front of the church.

Away from the circle of light the noise came from. Mary had never heard such a sound before, and so mistaken it for a car motor. Yet no vehicles were on the road. And no engine noise was this grizzled, this wild.

Her little blonde head turned toward the sound and focused them on a dark figure near by the tavern alley. It was a low and hunkering form, maybe that of a large, shaggy dog. Yet when the creature grew near, Mary knew that this beast was different than any dog she had ever seen.

The wolf moved awkwardly, stumbled, but then steadied itself. It flashed a pair of hazel eyes at her and crouched down, its growl still persistent.

Mary backed away, holding her doll tighter to herself. Her small heart began to beat faster. She didn´t like this doggie. Was it sick like Papa had always told her about town-ravaging animals? What was the sickness called? Ray-bies?

The wolf took two steps towards her, then swayed again. An instinct in her mind told Mary to run, but she felt her legs give out beneath her in freight. This doggie must be sick with ray-bies, she thought to herself. She swallowed hard and looked at the front door to her home and then to the door of the church. There was equal distance between her and each destination; which should she run to?

The wolf slumped down onto its knees and its growling creased, replaced by a weak whine. It dropped to the ground and laid there motionless.

Slowly, Mary felt the fear in her reside. The doggie was sick! She ventured a step towards it. Her crow had broken a wing once and she helped mend it. Could she possibly help this doggie? When the animal didn´t make another move, Mary felt brave enough to come closer. Soon, she was only a few feet from the wolf, her confidence growing.

"Doggie?" she whispered softly, reaching out a hand to stroke the brown-gray fur. "Are you okay?"

At her touch, the wolf´s eyes snapped open, confused and unfocused. They landed on Mary and the wolf snapped its jaws out towards her....

***

From inside, Reverend Grisham was at the base of the stairs, trying to fix his broken spectacles when he heard his daughter scream. "Mary?" he gasped and jumped to his feet. Another scream echoed from outside. "MARY!"

The minister rushed down the aisle, despite his limp, and threw open the front doors. Bursting out from the church, he dashed toward the sound. He halted abruptly and stared ahead in shock as his back slumped against the side of the church. He stood there meekly, gasping for breath as he viewed the scene in from of him in horror.

Something wet and red lay at his feet. He touched it gingerly with his foot, and saw the patches of unstained fabric. Slowly, he picked up the blood-stained doll from the ground. A frightened sob came from his lips as he stroked the doll´s bloody yarn hair and pressed the child´s toy to his chest. He stared ahead at the crimson blood splattered on the sidings of the church and spewed across the asphalt and grass. Split human blood, a sacrilege on holy ground. "Mary....?" he whispered before falling to his knees. "Oh dear God...."

Chapter 5

A strange taste was in his mouth, slightly metallic yet tangy. The texture was thick and sticky, like something had congealed onto his tongue. Lupin groaned and spat on the ground. He felt like crap. What happened last night?

A pounding migraine throbbed in his skull, making him grimace. Putting a hand to his head, Lupin lifted his eyes. The daytime sun poured down upon him, and the light made his head worse. He groaned and covered his head in his arms.

His body felt stiff and sore, like he had slept on the bare ground. His Muggle clothes were more dirt-stained and rumpled than usual, as if he had been rolling in a ditch. Seeing his surroundings, Lupin saw that he was correct about his sleeping area. He was back in the forest on the edge of town. How did he get there?

Lupin tried getting up, but once he did a wave of dizziness hit him and he stumbled back down. The migraine grew worse and Lupin swore he saw spots. He cursed under his breath and rubbed his eyes to clear his vision. This was the worst hangover he had in years.

Crawling on all fours, Lupin tried to remember what had happened at the tavern. He drank, yes, but how much? It couldn´t have been too much, for he wouldn´t have had enough money to pay for it all. But still... Lupin shook his head. His memory was fuzzy and it made his head hurt to try and remember. He groaned as he felt his stomach toss and turn unpleasantly. Rushing to the base of a nearby tree, he vomited in the depression between two roots.

Lupin wiped his mouth on his sleeve, disgusted by the dripping mess. How could he throw up if he hadn´t eaten in days? The vomit was red. Blood?

A puzzled look was on his face as he ran a hand through his hair nervously. That wasn´t- wasn´t- He noticed his hands, and then his clothes. Dark, dried patches of black-red covered his shirt and jacket. His hands stained with dark blood that caked under his fingernails. He wiped his mouth and flakes of it came off into his palm. He spat and the spit was tinged pink. The tangy taste in his mouth grew more pungent with this realization. The feel of blood on his hands, the taste of blood in his mouth.

A panic rose in Lupin´s chest at this realization. God, what happened to him?? Mirror, he had to find a mirror! No, water, he had to get it off! Lupin sprang up to his feet, but the vertigo made him fall back on his hands and knees. He couldn´t stand. Oh, his head, his heart, his soul! The sun was making him more nauseous and he retched on the ground beside him.

He stared at the mess on himself, at the mess on the ground. Vomit and blood, vomit and blood and death- Oh God! He shut his eyes! Water! He had to be clean! What happened? Whose blood? Whose blood!

A grieving cry welled up in Lupin´s throat. Blood and death and vomit, Lycaos jumping at him, teeth into the flesh; blood, blood on the ground, blood on Father, blood on himself and death; the smell of death and rot and damned decay and wretchedness-

STOP! Lupin put his hands to the side of his head as he drove the panic attack away. The headache grew even worse and Lupin wanted to find a dark place away from the light. He crawled - it made him queasy to stand - and scrambled off into the shade of a large maple. The leaves were brown and crisp, and floated down one by one. He huddled there and closed his eyes.

With each falling leaf, he could feel his memory return from the night before. He was at the tavern, yes, and drinking from those green glass bottles of absinthe. The bitter taste, the addictive taste- after the second bottle he made the bartender take a Sickle. It´s real silver, m´lady, it´s real silver, so get another bottle please! Drinking the bitter liquid fire, feeling the burn at the base of his stomach working throughout his body.

And he was drunk, wonderfully drunk, and the room spun all around. Stumbling up, he had to leave; he didn´t want to stay here and make a fool of himself. Slipping, falling, getting up, brushing off, heading out the door. Someone calls: need help over there? No, no, no, it´s okay, all right. Slurring words. Out the door.

Night. Cold. Had he been in the tavern for that long? He felt dizzy and very sick. Look around. Danger. Danger. What danger? Something wrong, something very wrong....

The moon. Full and white.

Falling into the alley. Feeling the savage beast roar inside. No, no, no, not now, not yet, the people, he was a danger to the people, a danger...

Changing: fur growing, muzzle growing, tail sprouting, instinct coming, savagery mounting, human thoughts disappearing, human mind leaving... fading... gone...

The world turned darker, less defined. The absinthe was still in his veins, still intoxicating. A savage moan. Hunger in his stomach where the alcohol was. Falling to the ground. Dizziness. Pain.

And a then girl, a little girl with blond curls. A little girl coming, golden child descending. Doggie... Are you okay...? Faint. All except for two thoughts, each oppressing and demanding at the same time.

Hunger.

Prey.

And then blood of the girl became the blood in his mouth and screams! The girl screaming with blood, and blood all over and flesh! Taste the flesh of the child and hunger and blood and screams! Blood on his teeth, flesh of the child on his mouth!

Lupin shuddered. No, no, not true, not real, no, no, no, no! A hand went to his neck to grasp the silver cross, and grasped nothing. The holy cross was gone. The chain, he panicked, the chain must have broke off. That´s all. Broken off. Gone.

A quiet bubbling sound came to his ears. He perked his head up. What was that? He listened for a few more minutes. Water! He crawled away from his spot under the tree and headed toward the sound.

A crystal stream flowed not too far away. Lupin kneeled by the cool brook and splashed his face with water. He washed his hands and mouth, rubbed the water against the dark stains, drank the clear liquid in hasty mouthfuls. He splashed the water against his clothes as if blessing himself and got his hair wet as he tried lapping more and more water up with his tongue.

When he had drunk his fill, Lupin sat back and watched as the brook flowed downstream. His reflection was seen in the water. It wasn´t a pretty sight. His shirt was smeared with his attempts in washing the blood off. His hands and face were still wet, with his hair dripping in dark brown tendrils. He hadn´t shaved in a while, and the brown stubble on his face made him look even more unkempt and dirty.

The smell of blood was still on him. It wasn´t something that normal Muggles or even wizards could detect, but the musky scent filled his sensitive nose in a way only supernatural creatures knew. He hated it. The smell covered everything: his hands, his clothes, the surrounding area. Lupin thought about the times he had buried prey in his wolf form and didn´t realize it until he stumbled upon the remains when he changed back. Could that girl´s bones be somewhere...? He halted the thought and gagged, fearing that he might be sick again. But there wasn´t really anything to regurgitate now, since his stomach was already emptied out.

Lupin wished for his set of wizarding robes, but that was in his black case. And that was still by that back room table at the tavern. He would have to go back into town if he wanted to get his things.

He contemplated boarding onto the next train immediately and leaving Havenshire for good. He never wanted to see this place again. Yet everything he had in the world was in that case, including his wand. He´d have to go retrieve it.

Lupin took his time and didn´t leave the forest until well into midday. He made sure that his jacket and shirt was as clean as possible, and combed his brown-gray hair roughly with his fingers. He was taking extra attention to his clothes to be sure that no spot of blood would be obvious to the passing eye. After that, he walked into town. He kept a doleful, indifferent manner about him, something he learned in his years of travel. If he kept to himself and acted just inconspicuously enough, no one would take note of him.

Upon entering the town, Lupin found it in stark contrast to the quiet, peaceful village he knew only yesterday. Three or four police cars were parked in the town square, and officers abounded. A couple television news vans were there too, with reporters interviewing fellow townspeople about what they heard the night before. The entire ten metre area around the church was fenced off with police tape. Forensic experts were already at there, taking blood and fur samples. Lupin diverted his gaze from the morbid scene.

He didn´t realize that the Muggle police force would be involved with this. But of course they would! Lupin prayed that the Ministry of Magic would be able to cover this fiasco up for him.

But wait, the Ministry of Magic...! The wizarding officers would be appalled by his actions! As soon as word gets out about an animal attack under such circumstances in the Muggle world, the Registry for Magical Creatures would look up any of its registerees for suspects. Lupin cringed, thinking of his registration number.

And his chain! His chain with his father´s cross and the dog tags! If anyone found those, wizard or Muggle, it would directly point him out as the guilty party. He was damned threefold: in body, in spirit, and in reputation.

On his way to the tavern, he stopped to see the minister and his wife come out of their home. The woman was crying profusely on the minister´s shoulder, as he tried to retain a sense of composure about him that was obviously failing. The police sergeant was with them, talking softly. Lupin paled at the sight. Were they the girl´s parents? A horrible dread built up, and he almost felt as if he could collapse right in the street.

A small voice in his head suggested going up to the minister himself and confess. Confess and your sins will be forgiven. Lupin was tempted to do just that, to approach the couple and to say, "I murdered her." But how could he do such a thing? That would be exposing who he really was to the entire Muggle world.

The minister looked up and, by chance, made eye contact with Lupin. Lupin stared right back at him. I did it, he thought softly. I killed your daughter. I never, never meant to. It was an accident. I never wanted to hurt anyone. Please may you have mercy on my soul. May God have mercy on my soul. Please, forgive me, forgive me...

"Excuse me, sir."

Lupin nearly jumped as an officer put a hand on his shoulder. "I´m afraid you have to back away from the tape," the officer said gently. Lupin looked up and saw the police chief descend the front steps alone. The minister and his wife had already gone back inside.

He blinked back his tears and turned away. "Sorry," he whispered hoarsely and headed for the tavern.

The place was empty other than for a few old men by the bar. It seemed as if all the attention was directed outside. Lupin came to his table and was relieved to see that his briefcase hadn´t been taken. He grabbed it quickly and was about to walk out when the news from the mounted television stopped him.

"Today, police are investigating the site of a gruesome death in Havenshire," the lady reporter said from her front desk. Footage taken from just a few minutes ago showed the desecrated churchyard. In the background, Lupin swore he saw himself walking past the shot. He froze and listened to her report with a fluttering heart.

"Last night," the reporter continued, "at around six o´ clock, 7 year-old Mary Grisham was outside the town church heading to her nearby home when she was apparently attacked by an unknown assailant. Her body was not found at the crime scene, but the splattered amounts of blood reveal that the girl most likely did not survive the assault. Police are puzzled about what could have happened. Some suspect that some wild animal from the nearby forests must have attacked her, but theories on what kind of animal it was is unknown. Currently, a special team of zoologists and veterinarians are being sent for from London´s Bowingburg Center for Animal Research to help identify any possible animal DNA evidence found at the scene. In the meantime, police are warning the public of Havenshire and surrounding communities to stay inside their homes after dark until the animal is captured."

She had a name, Lupin thought numbly. Mary. Mary Grisham. The child had a name.

"Come back for another shot?" the bartender asked him from behind the counter. Lupin barely had composure to give her a polite refusal before leaving the tavern as fast as he could go.

He had to get out of this town now! Sneak aboard the next train out. Leave England. Head to America even. Anywhere but here.

Should he report to the Ministry? Deep inside he knew it was the right thing to do, yet he also knew that only one consequence would result from that. The wizarding public could only tolerate werewolves so much. How could they let him off the hook after what he did? Death would be waiting for him if he turned himself in. A death that he deserved. Yet still...

Lupin felt wretched with his ambivalent feelings. He was a murderer; he should die! And he wanted to die last night, hadn´t he? But his fear wasn´t contained in death itself, but what came after. He shuddered thinking about it, then became ashamed.

A murderer and a coward. He didn´t want death. Too scared to bring it upon himself, too scared to face the consequences.

Nothing but a coward, a lone wolf wandering with his tail between his legs.

"Sir?"

Lupin turned to confront a police sergeant. "Yes, officer?"

"I´m Sergeant Bailey, head investigator in this case. May I ask you a few questions, if you don´t mind," the Sergeant said. He was a stout, clean-shaven man with a stern face. Sergeant Bailey took out a notepad and pencil and looked at Lupin expectantly.

"Go ahead." Lupin replied calmly. He clenched the handle to his black case tighter.

"Name, please?"

"Um... John Gardiner." Lupin replied. It was an alias he used often in the Muggle world.

"Are you a local resident of Havenshire, Mr. Gardiner?"

"No, I´m... I´m just traveling through here. Heading to Norwich on business," Lupin lied.

"May I request an address so I can get in contact with you later?"

"Um..." Lupin thought fast. "I have an apartment in Barbican Centre in London. 28B at 33 Lancaster Ave. I´m not there often, so I´ll give you my cell phone number." He quickly called out a random list of numbers and a fake e-mail address to boot. Sergeant Bailey wrote those down, and Lupin felt relieved that he believed him.

"Well, Mr. Gardiner," the Sergeant said when he finished, "from accounts from other witnesses, you were outside around the time of the attack last night."

Lupin nodded mutely, thinking of those other drinkers at the bar. How many others have seen him? His heart, which was already beating hard in his chest, seemed to gather speed.

"They said that you were, um, a bit intoxicated during the time. I´m not discriminating you upon this in anyway, sir. Can you possibly verify anything suspicious going on then? Perhaps any wild animal calls or sightings?"

"Well...um... I don´t really recall anything..." Lupin trailed off. He swallowed hard, trying to cover up his nervousness.

"That´s understandable." Sergeant Bailey scribbled something in his notepad and Lupin felt the urge to rip it from his hands and see what he wrote. "Yet were you outside during the attack itself? Did you hear any screams or howling, perhaps?"

"Look, I don´t really remember anything at all right now," Lupin said. He backed away from the officer. "I have to, uh, take the train in an hour or so, so maybe you can contact me later?"

"Mr. Gardiner," the Sergeant said seriously. "This is a very grave matter we have here. A little girl is presumed to be dead, possibly mauled by a wild animal. Any info-"

"I know that!" Lupin snapped. The Sergeant jumped back in surprise at this outburst. "How do you think this affects me??"

Sergeant Bailey stared at Lupin blankly. "Are you feeling all right?"

"No. I´m - I´m not all right at all," he answered. Lupin restrained himself from shouting again and calmed down. "I... I apologize, Sergeant," he said in a much softer tone. "It´s just that I feel quite... uncomfortable at the moment. The results from drinking last night..."

Sergeant Bailey nodded sympathetically. "Must be rough knowing that you could have helped her," he said.

"If you only knew." Lupin turned away. "I´ll be in Norwich later today. May we talk about this later?"

"Of course." The Sergeant handed Lupin a card. "This is the station´s number and address. We´ll keep in touch."

"Thank you, Sergeant." Lupin reached out to shake the man´s hand.

Sergeant Bailey received his hand warmly. "Your welcome, Mr. Gardiner. Good day." His eyes trailed to the front of Lupin´s jacket. Could he see the faded stains? Lupin hastily let go and turned away.

"Good day to you." Lupin gave a backwards wave as he left the town square. As soon as he slipped from the officer´s view, he ripped the card in half and threw the pieces to the ground. He then broke into a run and didn´t stop until he left the town of Havenshire behind him.