Sin of Lycaos

SIN OF LYCAOS

Part Eight: The Wolf

by D.M.P.

***

L'homme n'est pas ni ange ni bête, et le malheur veut que qui veut faire l'ange fait la bête.

Man is neither angel nor beast. Unfortunately, he who wants to act the angel often acts the beast.

-Pascal, Pensées, pt. 6, no. 358.

***

Chapter 28

"Are you cold, Mary?"

"....."

"Mary?"

"No..." The answer came out too slowly to be true.

Lupin wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. "We're just going to stay here for tonight," he told her. "Then, I'll take us somewhere better."

Here was a dimly-lit underground subway station. Apparently, it was one of the older ones - cracked, worn titles lined the walls with black dirt filling in the mortar. The concrete floors were layered with dust and slush tracks from above-ground newcomers. Florescent lighting highlighted the urban burrow, and the constant rumble of passing trains vibrated through the air.

Lupin managed to claim a space for them in the farthest bench away from the flight of steps that lead to the open night. It was away from the underground lights and gave him a false sense of privacy. Also, the spot was the warmest place in the station - relatively - except for the occasional moments when a frosty gale would swoop down the stairwell to nip at their exposed hands and noses.

Mary sniffed. Lupin handed her a tissue. This was her eighth in the past half-hour; her nose had slowly transformed into a dripping faucet from the north wind visits. She was probably developing a cold. Lupin hoped not. He had enough on his mind already and couldn't afford child sickness to be added to the list.

She remained immobile, leaning her small form against his. Her hands were stuffed in her pockets, too weary and cold to leave the bit of warmth. Lupin leaned in with the tissue. He draped it over her nose.

"Now blow," he instructed.

She did - it sounded like a small foghorn - and Lupin threw the used tissue over toward the subway tracks.

"Why can't we go back to the Safehouse?" she whispered tiredly, sniffing her nose again.

Lupin didn't want to think about that. "We'll go somewhere better," he reassured her again.

"Where?"

"Like to the shore."

Lupin thought this decision out very carefully. He had counted the money Claire had given to him - there was a little under five hundred on him now. He'd have to use it wisely, meaning certainly they couldn't spend it on frivolous needs. Made they could hitch a ride to Brighton, he reasoned. The resort town was in off-season. A nice, scenic college city boarded up for the winter. Perfect place for the traveling werewolf. If they needed to leave in a hurry, there were always ferries that crossed over to France or Spain... He'd find a way to avoid customs, he was sure.

"The shore?" she murmured.

"You already saw London," he continued on. "Why not see the ocean too?"

"But I want to go back to the Safehouse. See Madame de Chien-Loup. Mr. Jarohnen promised me another lesson."

Claire's hurried good-bye, pushing him out the door - there was a sense of urgency she had there.... God, how did she handle the MLES.... Jarohnen's hunched back darting around the corner - yes, he had his wand, didn't he? Lupin had to figure out a way to meet up with him and get it back...

"We'll see them again someday..." he reassured her. "Just don't think about them now..."

"The coppers aren't going to get them, right?" she asked. Her voice was quieter; she was beginning to slump over. Lupin looked over at her. She was falling asleep. Of course, it must be very late.... Lupin checked his watch. Half-past midnight.

"Never," he said. "They're not in trouble with them. Madame would just have a little talk with the police and that would be all."

"Okay Remmy..." Mary was too sleepy to negate that.

"We'll be down in Brighton for awhile. The sea isn't as pretty now as it is during the summer, but it would be nice to spend Christmas there." The realization that Christmas was only a few weeks away surprised him even as he mentioned it. Winter was here and they had no place to go... but, indeed, Brighton was the perfect town to find shelter... College pubs and the like... Students would be off on vacation... Cheap housing, possibly even a hostel... hmmm... Store prices should be lower during off-season, and no buggy tourist traps about either... Maybe he could break into an empty beach house or one of those little cottages by the shore....

"That... would be nice..." she murmured, referring to his comment about Brighton. She snuggled against his side. "I think... I have an aunty by the shore..."

"Really?"

Mary murmured something else under her breath, about an Aunt Rachel and home-baked cookies. "We'll visit her, right?"

"I don't know..." Either she forgot about the restriction against seeing her family, or she was too tired to recall it. Lupin didn't bother to remind her. It wasn't likely that she had relatives in Brighton anyhow.

She steered herself away from the topic. "Tell me about the ocean...."

"All right." Lupin sighed and stared out past the steel and concrete station surroundings. "Well, just imagine endless water," he said softly. "You could just stand in one place and all you can see is blue forever and ever, touching the sky. And a little dark ridge on the horizon - that's the continent. But it seems so far away from where you're standing, almost like another world."

"Um-hmmmm.."

"And the water isn't flat. It moves in waves and ripples, hitting the sand in front of you. Making little lapping motions like-" Lupin moved his free arm up and down, imitating the motion. "It just goes on and on.... The ocean gives you the impression that it's eternal. How the crisp wind blows over the waves and through your hair - that's eternal. How the sand always gives way to the water without running out - that's eternal. How the sea smells like..." He groped for the right words, "like a salt essence that's in your blood. That keeps you alive. That's eternal."

Mary's head drooped against his shoulder, barely awake.

"Blue forever?" she mumbled. "Like in Heaven?"

"Yes." Lupin sighed, closing his eyes. "And it goes on, my girl. Forever and ever..."

***

Claire was in a different room this time. Well, it had to be a different room anyhow. The bare plastered walls, the metal table, the stiff-backed chairs, the hanging lamp - exactly the same as the previous interrogation room. But it wasn't the same because Agent Parsons and his government henchmen had half-lead, half-forced her down a maze of narrow hallways of the Ministry to this room. Therefore, it had to be special for some reason, despite its degrading uniformity.

She had been shut in here for who knows how long. Claire had no watch on, and counted her minutes by pacing the small room. After awhile she had wondered whether the police had forgotten about her. Or maybe they had surveillance in the room. Yet if so, what were they waiting for? For her to confess whatever they needed out of pure boredom? She still didn't know what they wanted, and this captivity was irritating her beyond belief. Something about a wizard... damn, she forgot his name again...

She sat down for the umpteenth time at the small table and stared at the closed door. Actually, she suddenly realized that this room looked oddly familiar, and not because every other interrogation room looked exactly like this. Hmmm... this place, now that she thought about it, reminded Claire of the Safehouse she maintained. That would say a lot about her taste in decor.

The door finally swung open. Parsons and a thin woman with a pinched face walked into the room. His police thugs were nowhere to be seen.

"Glad to see that you're still up." The RMC official's voice, however, did not express any happiness at all. He sat down across from her and folded his hands on the table. The thin woman stood next to Claire and stared at her through small, watery eyes. In her arms was a thick folder filled with loose-leaf papers. Claire's file. The folder was blue, indicating that she wasn't a born in the United Kingdom, but a werewolf from an outside country. Any wolf that immigrated to the country was required to hand over a copy of their personal records.

"What do you think, Gertrude?" Parsons asked the thin woman.

Gertrude said nothing in reply. Instead she directed a question at Claire in a dry, cracking voice. "What is your name?"

"Cl-" she began.

"Your full name." The watery eyes narrowed at her with contempt.

Claire sighed. "Claire Hélène Bisclavret de Chien-Loup."

Gertrude's hand slipped into the manila folder and her eyes zipped across the front page. "Yes...." she verified, tipping her head up and down.

"Werewolf registration number?"

"4678."

"Do you know what today's date is?"

"November 26 at least. You 'ave no clocks 'ere, I can't be sure."

"Do you know where you are?"

"I 'ave no idea."

Gertrude's eyes narrowed. "Say that you are at Ministry headquarters, within the RMC division."

"Fine."

"Hmuf." Another shuffle of papers. "Have you any immediate relations?"

"Two brothers."

"And their names?"

"Bernard and Caleb." Claire's nerves were being to wear thin.

More nodding. "Do you know a Remus Lupin?"

"Who?"

Gertrude's eyes whipped back up to glare at her. "Do you know," she seemed to stress every syllable consciously, "a Remus Lupin?" she repeated, her voice like gravel.

"No, I do not," Claire mimicked in an innocent sort of way.

"She's lying."

The reply lashed out with surprising speed. "Lying?" she retorted. " 'Ow can you say?"

Yet the other woman insisted. "Clear signs of deception, detective." She tilted her head to the side in a crow-like fashion. "I've seen her kind before. You have my permission to proceed."

"Proceed wiz what?" the werewolf demanded.

"Thank you, Gertrude," the RMC officer nodded. "I'd like to interrogate her myself now."

"Your welcome." A quick turn of heel and she was gone. The door locked behind her with a sharp click. Claire and Parsons were alone.

A brief period of silence followed. Claire straightened her posture, becoming alarmingly aware that they were by themselves. An uneasy feeling filled the room; this was different than any of the other times he confronted her before. A sudden nervousness besieged her with a quickening of the pulse and shallowness of breath. Across the table, her interrogator, as always, was the expert at being stolid. Yet there was a strange flicker in his eyes, something that she had not seen during the failed Safehouse sweep.

She broke the silence. "No ozzars zis time?" she inquired.

"They're not needed for this interrogation," Parsons replied simply. He rose to his feet. The instinct came to jump up herself, but she forced it down.

He came to her side, leaning one hand on the table while the other rested on the back of her chair. Her instincts tugged at her again, yet she stared straight ahead. Her hands were clenched underneath the tabletop.

She said, keeping her restraint, "And why not?"

Claire could feel his breath down her neck, sending shivers down her spine. She couldn't turn her head, afraid to think that he was so close to her.

"I expect this to be very straightforward." His voice was close to her ear. Too close.

"What if it isn't?"

"I'll make sure it is."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his hand leave the tabletop. Her nearest arm jerked up, fist sideways for a quick blow. In a lightning move, he grabbed that free arm. Claire immediately pushed herself onto her feet. In the process, the chair crashed to the floor. She leaped back over the upturned chair, trying to make some space between them. However, Parsons held her forearm with an iron grip.

"Don't. You. Dare," she growled.

"Dare what?" Persons reached into his robes. Claire kicked out at the chair. Unfortunately, she used her left side and the weaker leg barely rocked the piece of furniture. But her sudden movement made Parsons falter and he let go.

Claire jumped back and took hold of the chair legs, hoisting it up between them.

Persons was not taken back. "I will use force if need be, Madame," he threatened.

He could. One flick of a wand and she'd be his. She stood firm, trying to get a better grip of the chair. But it was too cumbersome for her to manage; one throw led to a poor shot as the bulky object crashed into the table.

The noise was tremendous and Claire had a fervent hope that it would attract some outside help, even if was just another agent coming in to check. Yet she then remembered that all the interrogation rooms were soundproof.

"Pull that chair back up," he ordered. He still didn't take out his wand. This surprised her. When she did nothing, he righted it himself and sat down, propping his elbows up on his knees. In this disalarming position, he addressed her again. "Why so hostile?" he asked, his voice bordering on casual.

She only stared at him, refusing to let her guard down.

"We could go on like this all night," he continued. He didn't sound like he minded this at all. In fact - Claire was afraid to realize - he might be even enjoying himself.

Parsons got up and took a leisurely deep breath, like a closed-mouthed yawn. Claire's heart felt like it could stop. Her body already felt cold and distant, she could just be dead already... just dead, not here, ... God, she wished she was - just let her leave - just make Parsons stop looking at her that way-

If she could just - just.... A rebellious voice in the back of her mind shouted that she could do something, she could kill him, steal his wand and use it against him.... Learn a lesson from Jarohnen and kill him on the spot. However, a shamefully weak emotion prevailed: feminine terror.

He was by her side once more. "Open your mouth," he commanded.

She refused, turning her head away. His hand reached out and grabbed her chin, lifting it up to face him. Her body stiffened in panic. Parsons free hand slipped into his robes...

...and a small crystal bottle was drawn out.

"Open up," he repeated, flipping open the cap with his thumb.

She stared up at him, trying to rein in her feelings of rage and fear. What was that? A poison? A knock-out drug? He wasn't going to-? No, no, she didn't even want to think of it....

Parsons' long face retained its horribly cool expression, but she knew that he took pleasure in every moment of toying with her. "Do I have to pry your mouth open as well?" he asked stiffly.

She wanted to add something defiant then, like, "You might as well," but the terror paralyzed her. Anyhow, speaking might give him an opening to force that liquid - whatever it was - down her throat.

"It's the Veritaserum," Parsons went on briskly. "The criminal profiler just gave me permission to use it during the questioning." His other hand was still cupping her chin. His fingers trailed down along the hollow of her throat, yet his eyes trailed down even further. "What did you think I was attempting to do?"

Her fear was instantly replaced by rage. He knew all too well what she thought he was attempting to do! That jackass, he simply loved playing these damn mind games...

His fingers reached up and pried her mouth open. She balked and bit down.

"Argh!" He released his hold. Her hands reached for his belt. "You bitch!" He slammed her against the wall. She kneed him in the groin and both toppled together onto the floor.

Parsons landed on top. The bottle skidded across the ground, potion spilling. Claire felt the holster where the wand was kept and jerked at it. Parsons rolled back and wrapped his hands around her neck. He strangled her; Claire pulled the wand out from his robes; his left hand groped about to snatch it away; with his right, she was pushed into the floor by the neck, her airway cut off-

She was waving the wand alongside the ground, a stifled hiss emerging from her lips. "Ava - da - avada..."

Parsons stopped attempting for his wand and grasped at the bottle off the floor. Still a few drops. With a vicious down thrust he wedged the bottle to her mouth and tipped it forward.

On instant reaction, her back arched up and the wand slipped from her hand. She gagged wildly and tried pushing him off her. He straddled her waist, baring his weight furiously against her, ramming the Veritaserum bottle until all of its contents drained down her throat. Something like a muffled growl worked its way from around the bottle; she was trying to scream hell into his ear. She couldn't breathe; Parsons' hand was at her neck; she couldn't swallow the Veritaserum. The instinct of spitting up came to her and then he let go. The potion coursed down her throat like quicksilver. Parsons tossed the bottle away. Checkmate. The victory was his.

For a few silent moments before the potion set in, Claire stared up at him, her chest heaving as her lungs satisfied their need for air. His eyes were mirrors of hers, containing malice and insult. He was beyond anger - verging into recklessness - and so was she. Yet he was in a better position to commit his recklessness.

It was then her eye noticed that his hand over her bosom, feeling it rise and fall. She raised up her gaze at him again only to have their noses bumped together as he forced his lips upon hers.

The back of her head slammed into the ground again as he bore down upon her with his mouth and tongue. His hands grasped at her like leeches. She felt his assault but could not block it; the potion was working on her mind; her focus was clouding up... He yanked at her braid and freed his mouth from hers. She yelled. The world began to spin before her eyes. She tried to hit him, to kick him, to hurt him. He had the hem of her robes in his hand; he was pushing her knees apart. She was swearing, cursing, crying. Yet her limbs were growing heavy and weak. Her arms dropped limply to the ground, defeated.

With her surrender, his attack halted. He then seemed to have realize something of the most horrible consequence, yet his face showed nothing but the vaguest sense of disgust. Pushing her away from him, Parsons quickly got to his feet. He notched his belt and buttoned up his robes. He averted his eyes for a long moment, his back turned to her. Claire pulled herself up to a sitting position, clumsily yanking the hem of her robes down over her legs. Her vision was swimming in front of her; she felt as if she was going to be sick... This was only a nightmare - wake up, wake up, Claire...

When Parsons faced her again the bewildered expression was quickly fading, replaced by his former arrogance. A glint of that old anger returned to his eye.

He lowered his hands down by his side, hands balled into fists. A bitter retort lashed out. "What did you try to do??"

She?? Claire returned with an expression of pure hatred. His boot jerked out, kicking her in the stomach. The blow hurt; she doubled over on the floor, groaning. "What were you trying to do, wolf-?"

He made one other final comment. Whether it was directed to her or himself no one but him will ever know. "I do not indulge in bestiality."

She wasn't in the state to respond. The only thought in her mind was that he stopped. He stopped. And then, the logic turned to nothing. The dim lamplight fractured into a million hazy glowing speaks and the world dispersed into blobs and dots. Claire tried lifting a hand to her head, but suddenly her limbs felt as if they were made of lead.... She couldn't move... The floor leaped towards her... She was falling.... No, she was flying...

Parsons hauled Claire to her feet and dumped her into the chair like a sack of flour. Her eyes became dull and dilated by the potion, her face and body totally slack. The next thing she heard was a low, indistinct thundering.

"Whhhhaaatt isssss youuurrrr nammmmeeee?"

That voice.... Where was it coming from....? Slowly, Claire raised her head. She felt dizzy, almost like she was falling asleep but not quite...

The RMC officer had returned to his spot opposite of her. He was taking something out.... a bit of white.... and something flat...... She vaguely wondered what these things were, but didn't feel like bothering to try and ask. Yes, she didn't feel like freely talking at all....

"Whhhaaattt isss youuurrr nammmeee?"

The voice was booming in her head..... It pounded her skull.... Claire stared ahead.... Something in her mind was pulling at her... Couldn't tell exactly what....

"Claire Hélène Bisclavret de Chien-Loup."

Her voice... It didn't sound quite right.... She didn't feel quite right at all, really... How unbelievably odd, this sensation was.... But she had to answer.... Something in her mind willed her to do so....

"Whaaaattt isssss youuuurrrr werrrewolffff reggggissstraaationnn nummmberrr?"

"4678."

"Do youuuu knowww a Remusss Lupinnn?"

"Yes."

Claire saw the man do something.... couldn't focus... the little bit of white fluff danced across the paper.... It was a Quick Quotes Quill.... Yes, that's it....

"Havvee youu evvverrr sppokkennn withhh Remusssss Lupinnnn?"

"Yes."

"Innn whattt circummstanccee?"

"Remus came to my Safehouse about a month and a 'alf ago," she answered, voice dull. "'E 'ad a child in 'is possession. A young girl named Mary Grisham. 'E asked if zey could stay and I agreed."

Parsons moved a bit in his chair.

"Go onnn..."

And Claire did. The Quick Quotes Quill zoomed across the paper, scratching down the condemning words.

***

Mary Grisham was alive.

Agent Parsons pondered that extraordinary revelation as he sat on the end of an old couch lined with dragon hide, the most comfortable piece of furniture in the MLES break room. It was one of the many government staff rooms at the Ministry (there were twenty in all, one for each branch and subdivision that was headquartered there), but he came here to find Agent Yoshimoro. Yoshimoro was recently assigned his partner for the Ianikit RMC/MLES joint venture; he had to share this with her, for he interviewed Madame de Chien-Loup about the Russian wolf as well.

The officer in question was reading over his shoulder as they went through Parsons' interrogation. It would be curious to note that the written report had no description about the actions that took place before the questioning began.

"I can't believe it," she was murmuring under her breath. "Lupin actually got away with creating a pup..."

"I know," Parsons flatly agreed. "Then again," he added, "no one even considered that the girl might had lived through such an ordeal."

"At least he didn't kill her."

True, Lupin hadn't killed a Muggle; he only converted her into a Dark Creature like himself. The fact disturbed Parsons. While Yoshimoro would disagree, he wasn't thankful at all that the girl lived. There was now a small wolf pack on the loose, not just one fugitive. A werewolf is dangerous enough, but a pack - even only a duo - can be ten times more dangerous.

That thought of werewolf procreation turned to other, darker thoughts. Thoughts that made Persons feel suddenly irritated. He handed the stack over to his partner got up to pour himself a cup of tea from the side counter. He might as well take some; it was nearly 1:30 AM and he could use a pick-me-up.

"So," Yoshimoro inquired, "is Madame de Chien-Loup still in custody?"

"I put her under arrest as soon as the questioning was finished." Parsons mixed in a lump of sugar in with his tea. "The quill mentioned the self-incrimination on the second page. She's an illegal spell-caster. Self-induced herself into forgetting them."

Yoshimoro raised her eyes off the paper for a moment. Wizard law stated that any suspect taken in was allowed to have a lawyer present before he was questioned, so his constitutional rights wouldn't be violated. But then she remembered - werewolves had no constitutional rights in the United Kingdom.

"Does she remember Lupin now?"

"Nope, the Forget Spell will override her memory of him in the interrogation. But she has done a terrible job; a child could remove that spell."

"Why don't you?"

He looked at her questionably. "Why should I?"

What became of Madame de Chien-Loup was that she was left in the interrogation room, still drugged from the Veritaserum Potion. Parsons had sent for one of his Agents lead her to the cell. After that helpful questioning, she was of no use to him, but he put her under the RMC custody anyway. After all, she had violated the Werewolf Code of Conduct, practicing magic.

Madame de Chien-Loup could get heavily fined for that. Or six months in the Non-Wizard, Part-Human Creatures Penitentiary. Or even both. The fines would certainly take away all the money she possessed. Also, the RMC could shut down her Safehouse program in Great Britain and recommend the continental governments to do the same.

Parsons heard Yoshimoro sigh to herself and glanced at her. Amy Yoshimoro had a rosy face with round chipmunk cheeks that matched with her short, plump figure. Tonight, however, had put a strain on her expression, which was now languid and pale. And the night's work was long from over.

He poured another cup of tea and walked back to her. "Want this?"

"Cheers," she said absentmindedly, taking the offering. She blew over the steaming surface and took a sip. " 'Jarohnen Ianikit was a street wolf I met ten years ago,' " she read softly, " 'He was the founder of the Freedom Hounds and wanted to start an underground revolution to bring magic rights to the werewolf public. In my enthusiasm, I agreed to make the London Safehouse his headquarters. He later stole second-hand spell books for my wizard education and taught me everything he knew. This information he had garnered from his wife, who was a spy for the Ministry during the Grindlewald years....' Do you have his file?"

"Yes." He picked up the manila folders from the counter with a sweep of his hand.

Yoshimoro quickly leafed through them. "We have to get a RMC team to look up the Freedom Hounds...." she said. "Some other wolves were reported to be residing at the Safehouse. You think they are the same?"

"No doubt. I already sent a search team to track them down," he told her, "If they haven't fled the city, they're going to be in our custody by tomorrow night - I mean, tonight."

"Wonderful. I hope the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures gets Ianikit executed," she said bitterly, "along with his whole pack."

"It's a whole revolt waiting to happen," Parsons agreed. "If we aren't able to control these creatures, they will try an uprising against us. I've been telling my superior that for years."

"I never knew Magical Animal Regulation could be this dangerous..." She put the papers down on the couch armrest and fiddled with the empty cup in her hands, eyes downcast.

"Did you know any of the officers killed?" The question came out as a cold inquiry, but Agent Yoshimoro didn't notice.

"I went to the Academy with two of them. We were part of the same class." Agent Yoshimoro shook her head. "If I was out there tonight..."

"Werewolves are unpredictable beasts," Parsons rationalized. "Your training hadn't prepared you or them-" he referred to the deceased officers - "in handling feral animals."

A third officer came in. "The reporters have just flew in and they're waiting in the press room. They want to speak with the both of you," he told them.

Parsons nodded and waved a hand as if shooing him away. "We'll be out in a moment," he said.

"The press is here already? They're terrible," Yoshimoro said.

"News hounds are always that way," Parsons put in lightly. "All of the papers have been clawing at me for the week and a half since unconfirmed reports went about that we had a suspect for the Havenshire attack. Keeping that case private has been horrendous."

Yoshimoro couldn't help but look at Parsons with slight disbelief, as if she marveled at the fact he could feel pressured. "Why keep the Havenshire case private?"

"It wasn't my idea, but my superior's," he replied. "The entire Registry has been divided over the issue. They're afraid that if this investigation goes public, anti-lycanthrope riots will break out." He looked over at her. "Ever heard of the St. Petersburg incident?"

She nodded silently. "And the Ianikit case would only make the tension worse."

"True."

A moment of silence passed. "Isn't it ironic," Yoshimoro observed thoughtfully, "that Ianikit's own vengeful act could start something similar to what led to his clan's very downfall?"

"Wolves can be very dim that way. Few possess practical hindsight."

The two dumped their Styrofoam cups and left the break room, heading down the labyrinth of corridors and hallways to a set of tan double doors. From behind them were loud murmurs of newspaper reporters and sounds of magical TV equipment being set up.

Parsons opened the door and gave a slight bow. "Ladies first." Yoshimoro sighed and walked past him into the crowded room.

Instantly, she was enveloped with flashes from a dozen magical cameras. Reporters immediately stood up from their folded chairs and pointed their quills toward her, shouting questions. Large brilliant globes used for set lighting floated forwards, casting beams of light focused down upon the podium as Yoshimoro proceeded to the front of the room onto the platform. A couple TV cameras zoomed in as well, capturing the press conference on film to broadcast later that day. Behind her, Parsons followed and stood next to the podium with his hands behind his back.

Yoshimoro waved a wand over her throat, whispering, "Sonorus." Then, she cleared her throat, and the pressroom hushed. "The MLES and the RMC would like to make an important announcement," she started, her voice now magnified ten times its usual volume. "First off, I would like to thank you all for being able to come at such a short notice."

A light flashed directly upon Agent Yoshimoro; she raised a hand over her eyes. "Could you please tone that down a bit?"

"Sorry," the technician said and dimmed the light.

"Thank you." Yoshimoro scanned the room. "As you might have heard, last night, November 25 at approximately 9:00 PM, five MLES officers were found murdered in Islington District of North London. We have the culprit - 84 year-old Jarohnen Ianikit, registered werewolf 176. Currently he is being held at this station under maximum security."

A seated reporter raised his quill. He wore a name tag with the label, The Daily Prophet, Investigative Reporter.

"Yes, sir?" she asked, pointing at him.

"Exactly how did the wolf slay the officers?"

"Through the use of a magic wand. The wolf apparently used first the Cruciatus Curse upon the officers, then the Avada Kedavra, just before back-up units arrived. Luckily, we had a sharpshooter on hand to who was able render the wolf unconscious through the use of a Stun Spell."

Those words triggered a wave of shocked comments and Quick Quotes Quills flew across parchment scrolls as reporters began firing more questions at her.

"Isn't it illegal for a non-wizard creature to possess a wand?"

"Yes, it is under the Code of Wand Use, clause 3."

"Were there any Muggle witnesses to the incident?"

"None known. However, since the crime scene was a Muggle residential area, the back-up MLES units went door to door with Memory Charms to fix any residential Muggle's memory."

"Isn't there a werewolf Safehouse located nearby? Was the wolf a temporary resident?"

"Currently, we have brought in Madame de Chien-Loup, proprietor of the London Safehouse for questioning. We have also temporary revoked her housing permit."

"Were there any other tenants at the Safehouse?"

"Approximately nine wolves were present; however, they evaded MLES officials after Madame was brought in for questioning. As of now, a RMC team is tracking them down."

"Does the RMC or MLES believe that these wolves have any connection to Ianikit?"

"We are not exactly sure at the moment, but highly suspect that the other wolves do have some connection."

"How did Ianikit get hold of the wand?"

"The wand was owned by Remus Lupin, a werewolf who was granted spell-casting abilities by the Ministry and received a wizard education."

"Why did Remus Lupin give the wand to Ianikit? Do you know what the motive was for either wolf?" another voice called out.

"We're not sure exactly of Ianikit's motive nor the exact circumstances in which he got hold of Lupin's wand. That is under further investigation, but the MLES will inform the public as soon as possible."

"Were you able to contact Lupin about this situation?"

"Um. The RMC and MLES have no comm-" Yoshimoro was then interrupted.

Parsons tapped her on the shoulder, gesturing to take his place on the podium. Yoshimoro drew back and said, "May I introduce Agent Roger Parsons, homicide detective from the Registry of Magical Creatures and my partner on the Ianikit assignment." She stepped back for Parsons.

He quickly put the Sonorus Spell upon himself before taking the stand. "Thank you, Agent Yoshimoro," he said, then turned to the press. "I believe that I would be able to answer that question." He put both hands on the sides of the podium and leaned forward, as if he had something serious to say. "I have been told numerous times by my fellow officers at the RMC not to give out this information. However, I, for one, see that it is vital for the werewolf threat to be known in its entirety, especially since last night's crimes."

The reporters were immediately hooked. Yoshimoro, realizing what he was going to do, glared daggers at him, trying to coax him to stop with discreet hand gestures. Didn't he just tell her the dire consequences of going public with the Havenshire attack?

"And upon receiving a certain assignment had been handed to me through the Department of Mysteries almost two weeks ago, I have realized that werewolves are becoming increasingly hostile toward humans. Perhaps it is in their nature, or perhaps, they have a more sophisticated scheme in mind." Parsons was becoming uncharacteristically eloquent, building up the suspense in the room.

From the far back an impatient one cried out, "Well, tell us what it is already!"

Parsons acknowledged the outburst. "Yes, and I feel the wizard world has to know of this." His dark eyes traveled the room, holding the moment. "Over the years, it has become evident that the natural werewolf population is dwindling. In the 1980 Magical Creature census, it has been recorded that there were a little over 20,000 wolves in the world; however in 1990, the number was cut in half to less than 10,000. The natural werewolf population fell tremendously, particularly after the initial defeat of He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named.

"Surely, the naturals would be eager to increase their numbers," he said slowly, "and would go through drastic measures to do so. Measures that would cost human lives." He drew that sentence out slowly, yet without being melodramatic. Certainly the manipulative fiend.

"An example of their general aggressiveness was last night's violent slaying. Yet an indicator of their willingness to increase their population is what I am about to tell you now, something that directly concerns Remus Lupin. As you may have heard, but has been unconfirmed by other RMC officials, a werewolf attack occurred in the Muggle village of Havenshire a little over a month and a half ago. This was the case I had received from the DM. And I would like to publicly announce that Remus Lupin is our main suspect for this case. He had been placed under international fugitive status, and, I would like to say, he is armed and highly dangerous."

A Chinese writer from the Beijing Dragon Gazette immediately put up his quill. "But if Lupin doesn't possess his wand, how can he be considered dangerous?"

"What he possesses is a more potential danger," Parsons expounded smoothly. "Lupin doesn't have a wand; he has a pup."

Chapter 29

Whiiiiiiiiirrrrrr.........

The soft rumble filled Mary's ears. Her eyes fluttered open to see the inside of a train compartment. She had an aisle seat; Lupin took the window seat and was staring out at the misty pre-dawn. Outside, London's infamous early morning fog had settled in, sinking along the city skyline. The train continued to back up out of the station; the far-off buildings soon began to rush by.

"Where are we going?" she yawned, raising her clenched fists.

"To the shore," he answered in a scratchy voice. His eyes were dull and tired, with heavy bags underneath; he hadn't slept at all, had he? "Remember?"

His voice was very quiet; she knew he was thinking about something. It was rare for her to see Remmy like this, and usually it was at night, just before he tucked her in. Sometimes, when he hadn't left her to speak with Madame de Chien-Loup, he would sit on his stowaway bed and flip through the pages of his dog-eared Bible with that same air of solitude. Sometimes he would read her a story; but more often, he would take this time for himself. Once, when Mary took a glance at the front pages, she saw an endless line of names. He explained to her that it was his family. Mary thought it was strange and very sad to have a list of names be called your family.

Mary decided not to ask Remmy how they got on the train while she was still asleep; she didn't want to bother him when he was quiet like this. Besides, he was the cleverest person she had ever known. He probably used his magic.

From her position beside him, she could feel the hard metal lump in his jacket pocket. Before, she was able to forget that he even had a weapon. Guns were illegal to own in England, she knew. Her father told her that a million and one times. That and if you ever, ever, found a gun anywhere, she should tell him. Papa was always worried about guns. A little guilt came over her, as it did before. Maybe she was betraying her parents. But how could that be? It wasn't as if she would ever fire a gun.

"Why did you have a gun," she suddenly asked, "if you have magic?"

Remmy snapped out of his private thoughts and turned from the window. "I thought I told you before," he said.

"Guns are illegal," she cut in stubbornly. "You're not allowed to have one."

"Who said?" he replied calmly.

"My papa."

An indescribable expression passed over his face for a moment. Mary quickly apologized, thinking that she hurt his feelings somehow. "I didn't say it to be mean," she said, "I-I was just thinking..."

Remmy silently reached into his back pocket and took out his wallet. "You need an explanation," he said. Flipping it open, he should her the plastic cards that lay inside. "This is my identification," he explained calmly. "This allows me to move about without getting in trouble."

"John Gar..Gardiner," she read slowly from the top card. "Second Class li- li-"

"Lieutenant," he finished. "You can own a gun when you're on duty in the military."

"But are you-?"

"No. But as long as I have papers like this, I can own a weapon."

"So you have pretend papers to help you?" she asked. He nodded.

"Do I need pretend papers too?"

"I'll get some for you," he reassured her. "They're very expensive to get, though."

Mary hadn't asked that question because she wanted them. "But I would still me, right?"

"Why wouldn't you be?" His quiet mood lifted a little. Remmy tilted his head to the side and stared at her with a mock serious expression. "You still look the same. The same blue eyes." He tapped a finger to her nose. "Same button nose."

Mary giggled. "Now you're being silly."

He reached over and contemplated a lock of her hair. "Are you a natural blonde?" he questioned, arching an eyebrow.

She laughed. "Yes I am...!"

"Maybe it was just a very convincing dye job," he said innocently. "Do you have brown roots? Blondes shouldn't have brown roots."

"Remmy..!"

"Maybe I was fooled all along that you were Mary Grisham by a bleaching kit."

"Well, maybe you're not Remmy Lupin, either," Mary said, joining in. "Maybe we're fooling each other."

"But then how can we tell who's who?" A look of shock crossed his face as he put a hand to his forehead in a melodramatic gesture. "Alas, what tragedy, not knowing who we are!"

"I know who we are," she said.

"And what may that be?"

"We're werewolves." She wasn't afraid of being a werewolf now as she was in the past; this fact she could admit aloud.

"But how can that be?" Remmy asked in a disapproving tone. "Mary really isn't a name for a wolf."

Mary stuck her tongue out at him. "I can be a wolf if I want to be."

"You're too cute to be a wolf," he told her.

"Really?" she beamed. "Maybe you should call me a lamb then. Papa always called me a lamb."

He said incredulously, "Mary the little lamb?"

"And Remmy the big bad wolf!" she retorted playfully.

"So I'm the big bad wolf?" he pouted. Mary couldn't help but laugh at the expression on his face.

"Not too bad," she said. She leaned over and wrapped her small arm around his waist and placed her head against his shoulder. Her suspicions about him earlier practically flew out of the train window.

He did the same as well, pondering a rhetorical question. "The big, bad wolf and the little lamb," he mused to himself. "What a pair we make."

***

She felt ashamed. Bitterly ashamed. To succumb so pathetically to a RMC official, to a wizard, to a man. Claire had somewhat prided herself in her ability to handle whatever life threw at her with a stiff upper lip, and she was now becoming a disappointment to herself.

Claire pounded her fist against the wall jail cell wall. Oh, what was she kidding herself?? She always disappointed herself like this, not just now... She was horribly pathetic. For even after all she has tolerated throughout the years, managing a refuge in one of the world's most anti-lycanthrope hot spots, dealing with international governments in advocating werewolf rights, even those little fanatic stunts with Jarohnen years and years ago... Claire still considered herself a terribly weak-willed person at heart. Anyone else would say that was an obvious falsehood but she'd never believe them.

In her mind, she was a pitiable creature who would never succeed against the antagonistic forces in her life because she was a spoiled aristocrat and a woman.

"Madame de Chien-Loup?"

Claire stiffened and killed her train of thought. She whirled around from her spot on the cot. A MLES agent in front of her cell, that interrogator from before.

Agent Yoshimoro stood behind the bars. "Did you want a mirror call?" she asked.

Mirror call? Werewolves weren't allowed to contact the outside once in custody. Didn't she know that? Maybe it was because she dealt with wizards, that she was only familiar with their procedure. Claire was grateful and took advantage of that.

"Oh, yes." She quickly rose to her feet. Noticing her rumpled clothing, she quickly straightened out what she could. Undoing her braid, Claire ran her fingers through her hair as the MLES agent had the guard open up the bar gate.

"How was your night?" Yoshimoro asked.

"I don't know," she muttered. "'Ow would you feel after sleeping on a zin cot wiz 'orrible springs in a cold jail cell..."

The MLES officer didn't comment on that. "Conference mirror is over here."

"Conference mirror?" Claire scowled. "Don't you 'ave a telephone?"

"Telephone?" Yoshimoro looked confused for a moment. "Oh, a Muggle phone. Sorry," she shook her head. "We don't have those things at here."

The two walked down the hall and came to a closed booth with a mirror inside. Agent Yoshimoro waved her wand to open the sliding door. "You have ten minutes. Know how to use it?" she asked.

"I'll manage." She slipped inside and the MLES agent closed the door behind her. Yoshimoro stood watch outside, waiting for Madame to make the call.

Claire stood up straight in front of the mirror. She didn't want to contact anyone - she hated asking for help - but she knew she couldn't get out of this herself. There were many different contacts she knew, but only a few she trusted with this matter. After all, she didn't want the entire clan to find how her position; how embarrassing would that be? However, her cousin Eunice in La Brague had already enough on her hands with those wolves Claire had sent over to her Safehouse. Her younger brother Caleb was managing the Safehouse in Vienna, and recently, his wife had triplets. Obviously, not a good time for his sister to call and say that she was in jail. There was only one wolf she knew well enough to trust who wasn't distracted with Safehouse duties.

The decision made, she then addressed the mirror. "I would like to make a long distance call." She wondered if one could make long distance calls with a conference mirror. Apparently, it didn't matter. The mirror's whirling colors danced over the surface as it asked in a neutral voice, "Who would you like to contact?"

"Bernard de Chien-Loup please," Claire answered. She hoped that was how one used a mirror.

"Wait for a moment please. Your call is being connected."

Claire quickly put her hair in a ponytail, trying to look decent. That was one of the things that made Claire nervous about conference mirrors - it made one feel that one had to look presentable when using a mirror. When one used a telephone, one could be still in their pajamas and it wouldn't infringe upon courtesy.

The mirror hummed to itself as it made the connection and soon, the swirling colors disappeared, replaced by a black void.

Another voice then came on, spoken in mechanical French. //Hello, you have reached the conference mirror of Bernard Nicholas Bisclavret the Third, Alpha wolf of the Chien-Loup clan.

//Unfortunately, he is not home right now. If you are a co-worker at Lycanthrope Biomedical Research Center, please press 1. If you are a member of the Chien-Loup clan or any other affiliated clan, please press 2. If you are a representative from the Taxation Division of the Department for the Regulation of Non-Wizard, Part-Human Creatures please be informed that Monsieur de Chien-Loup has already paid off his needed debts according to the 501K plan under the Sentient Beasts category, except that he happened to mail the said payment off three minutes before the midnight deadline, and his owl, being very old and quite slow, perhaps caused the needed checks most likely to be lost somewhere between here and Paris. But not to worry, because currently, Monsieur de Chien-Loup is hoping that you may find it somewhere in your generous little hearts the need to give him a much desired extension...//

Claire stared blankly at the conference mirror. She didn't need to listen to this lengthy plea and really wasn't in the mood to tolerate it. But the fact was that the conference mirror had no visible buttons to press, so she couldn't get herself out of this automated message. What kind of message was this to put on a conference mirror anyway? The reason dawned on her.

"Bernard!" she snapped, switching to her mother tongue. //Turn on the lights and stop talking like a mechanical imbecile. It's me, Claire.//

Quite abruptly, the light flickered on. A man sat at the desk looking like a three year-old with his hand caught in the cookie jar. A pair of smoked glasses perched tediously on his large nose. His face itself was square and firmly set, with his skin an unusual speckled pink tone. One hand was still in the position of turning on a desk light, telling that it was really him, not an Answering Spell on the conference mirror, who was speaking the taxation rant. //Oh, it is you!// he said sheepishly.

//What are you doing, blabbering in the dark?// Claire demanded, crossing her arms.

//I'm sorry, Claire,// Bernard said apologetically, pushing the bridge of his glasses up. //I thought the tax collectors were coming after me again. You know how I hate confrontations with the tax collectors.//

//They most likely would not have believed your silly message anyhow,// Claire pointed out. //A conference mirror is not a touch-tone appliance.//

//Oh. Yeah.// Bernard appeared even more frazzled and ran a hand through his hair. It was white and in the lamplight, it shone translucent. //At least it was you and not them,// he reasoned. //Why are you using a mirror? You usually telephone.//

//I'm in police custody,// she replied bluntly.

//You are?// Bernard questioned suspiciously. //The wizard police?//

//The RMC.//

He groaned. //You not involved with those Islington murders are you?//

//How did you- I mean, what are you talking about?//

//There was an emergency press meeting early this morning. The footage is all over the Wizard Cable News Network.// He gave a disapproving look. //They got shots of the crime scene. Red snow everywhere. I heard the officers had the Cruciatus Curse put upon them until they vomited blood. The worst attack in a decade they call it. And that's the filth you put up with in London? Didn't I say that taking in those street wolves were trouble? The Freedom Hounds are nothing but a pack. // He said the word with obvious disgust. //I told you never to get involved with them. An unruly pack of law-breakers and fanatics. No wonder-//

//Bernard-//

//-those hooligans go off and cause trouble; I always knew it. Didn't I warn you years ago? And you told me they were safe, that it was a society problem and not themselves-//

//Well, it is-//

//-and I said, 'Fine, waste all the money in our coffers for your precious charity as long as we don't get our necks strung up.' And look at this, they are ready put the rope around your neck and it wasn't even your fault, but a Russian extremist's-//

//I am not in the mood to be lectured!//

//Well, it's not often I discover that my little sister deals with cop killers.// Bernard stopped, but that frowning look didn't disappear. //Are you charged with anything?//

//Probably.// She gave a frustrated sigh. //It's a long story. Even I'm not sure what's going on. They're looking for someone and thought that I had something to do with it.//

//What? The wolf had accomplices?// He paused, then started up again. //There was another report about an werewolf attack in some Muggle village awhile ago. You can't be involved with that as well? Don't tell me that Remus Lupin lived there too!//

//Who?// Claire dismissed that last comment. //Never mind. I'll explain it to you later. Right now, I just need you to come here.//

//And do what?//

//Perhaps talk to the RMC officials for me.//

//Them? You know how I hate dealing with the British. And not to mention that the government systems between the United Kingdom and France are different concerning us. I don't know why you even wanted to establish a Safehouse there; it's a wolf minefield. The British consider us beasts, Claire, not sentient beasts, and God knows how ruth-//

//Thank you, Monsieur Obvious, but I did not call for a lesson in British law. I knew the risks when I came here.// She began to regret why she couldn't have contacted Caleb instead. It would have been easier dragging him away from a house full of screaming pups in Vienna than to ask Bernard to cross the Channel.

Bernard looked grim, as if the situation got a hundred times worse now that he had to get involved with it. //I do not know if they would even listen.//

//I personally don't feel safe in this place,// she confided. She didn't want to go as far as to tell her brother her last confrontation with Agent Parsons. It was a horrid experience she wanted to keep to herself. //Technically, I still have ties to France. If not, talk with the Phelan clan and see if you could get them to step in.//

//Why would they want to cooperate?//

Claire sighed. //Look, remember the situation I'm in now.//

//This situation could blow up into an international dispute,// he muttered.

//Could you please just come over here and then we'll talk about it then?//

He finally agreed. //Fine. I'll take the next plane over,// he promised. //Right now, I have to call Caleb-//

//Don't tell anyone else about this,// she added. //I want to keep quiet as long as possible.//

//I can't have the rest of the clan be ignorant,// Bernard said irritably. //It's my duty to let them know.//

//Not immediately,// Claire persuaded. //This is already bad enough-//

//Claire....// he glowered, lowering his chin so that the red pupils of his eyes stared up from behind his lenses at just the right angle. The Look was something Bernard had mastered in their childhood and used whenever he felt the need to show some sort of authority.

Although having been subjected to The Look many times in her life, Claire still gave in, even if only because she was tired of dealing with him. //Fine,// she snapped. //Tell Caleb. But no one else.//

Bernard quickly pushed the bridge of his glasses up once more. //Perfect. Are you able to call again?// he asked.

//This is my one call.//

//All right. I'll see you tomorrow.// Bernard made a move to turn off the mirror, but his sister stopped him.

//Wait,// she said, the thought suddenly coming to her. //If you're having tax trouble, is it for the best that you suddenly leave the country?//

//Oh. Yeah.// Bernard paused. //I'm sure I could work it out later, I suppose....//

//After all,// she said helpfully, //your owl should get to Paris sometime.//

//Hmuf,// he snorted cynically. //Well, if I do get accused of tax evasion, at least I won't be home to hear about it.//

Chapter 30

Mary hated this place. But it wasn't so much as she despised this place than she was scared of it. Even though the late morning's light was hovering over the sea, the glow did not penetrate inside this small shack. Noises came unexpectedly from the unknown corners. Up above in the skeleton rafters, cobwebs floated about; she saw a grotesque spider in the corner spinning its web. Mary made sure that she sat farthest away from that corner. Spider's provoked an unspeakable terror within her. She was having chills just from knowing it was there.

All of these were tell-tale signs of monsters lurking about, she was sure of it. There was a low, bawling sound that rumbled through the house at certain times - that was the monster. Remmy assured her that it was only the wind, but she didn't believe him. Wind doesn't growl.

Near the back of the small room was a shut door. Remmy tried opening it when they first found this place, but it was locked up tight. He had waved it off without another word. "Don't bother opening the door," he told her. "Let's just stay in here for now."

Mary was sure the monster was hiding behind that door. She knew that if she closed her eyes for a moment, that monster would come out and eat them all up. That was why she was still awake, while Remmy slept in a huddled heap beside her. Mary was determined that if any monster was going to get them, she would wake Remmy up and he'd use his magic to kill it.

Her first experience on the shore wasn't as grand as Mary expected. In her mind she had pictured a dark blue, glittering ocean alongside a strip of golden sand graced by tall palms heavy with coconuts. What she saw was a gray, choppy sea with over an overcast sky. The sand was not soft and golden, but it was dirty and scattered with frozen patches of dead sea grass. A wind blew, but it was not warm and balmy, but cold and uninviting. There was a salt scent, but it made her throat feel raw and stung her eyes.

The only consolations to this disappointment were the large beach houses that stood beyond the dunes. To her, they were the tall castles of past times standing guard against the sea. Almost all of them balanced on high wood pilings; she wondered why people liked their houses on stilts. "We're going to live in one of those?" she had asked hopefully.

Remmy told her they could live in any house she wanted. He showed her that most had little name signs nailed over the doorframes. Mary chose a large, three-story complex that rose over its neighboring homes. Over the empty double-garage hung the sign 'Her Majesty.'

" 'Her Majesty' it is then," Remmy had agreed. "We'll live like royalty this winter."

But they couldn't move into Her Majesty, not yet. Remmy told her that he had to find the key to Her Majesty and then as soon as he did, they could move in. Mary suspected that he didn't have a key at all, but that was okay. No one lived in any of these big houses by the ocean anyway; they seemed so lonely against the gray shore.

Together, they had found a small, shut-in shack to rest in the meantime. Remmy said it was a lucky find to have a fisherman's cottage here so far away from the more residential areas, but Mary wasn't sure. Maybe the fisherman ran away from the cottage because it was haunted. Or maybe the fisherman died there and his ghost was lurking behind the locked door, waiting to get them. Mary didn't know which possibility was worse.

She didn't say anything in protest however. Remmy looked tired. He was moving very slowly when they walked through town early that morning, and there were dark circles under his eyes. Every time Papa had circles under his eyes she knew he wasn't feeling so good. Remmy must be going through the same thing. So she wanted him to be able to go to sleep for a bit, just to make sure he'll feel better.

"Craawwww... Crawwwww..." Weak, but noticeable scratching sounds came from the locked door.

The monster-ghost! Little hairs on the back of her neck seemed to stand on end. Another gust of sea air whistled through the gaping holes in the windows and she shivered. She moved closer to her friend until she could feel the rise and fall of his breath. She leaned her little head up against his chest, and faintly, she could feel the beat of his heart. The monster didn't seem so dangerous now.

Mary concentrated on the constant thum-dum, thum-dum, thum-dum of his heart, feeling her own beat in the same time. Remmy was here and he promised that he'd keep her safe. During this lonely time, thoughts of her parents came back to her, but she drove them away. Mama and Papa were not here for her; Remmy was. She had to remember that. He'll protect her from the monster. He'll protect her from the police. He'll protect her from ever being alone.

Another sound came to her ear, and this time, it didn't come from the locked door. It was a shuffle, the sound of feet crushing crumbly, frozen sand underfoot.

Mary rose up from her place and tiptoed across the room. The floorboards creaked and the sound behind the door grew louder.

"Craawwww... Crawwwwww..."

Through the broken windows, she saw some fifty meters away, a dark form of a man trudging up the sand hill toward their shack. Her heart jumped. Could it be? Was it the fisherman's ghost? Or a cop?

Mary raced back to Remmy's side and shook him. "Wake up, wake up!" she whispered urgently. "Someone's coming!"

Remmy stirred but did not wake. "Remmy!" she said. But he had to - had to - because someone was coming here!

Outside, the crunch of stiff sand grew louder. The monster behind the door seemed to sense the stranger, and its bellowing grew more intense.

"Crrraawwwww....!"

Mary's eyes darted from on door to another. The monster and the man. She reached into Remmy's jacket pocket and felt for the gun. A crazy thought. Maybe she could shoot him- maybe she could drive him away-

Or maybe Remmy would wake up now and he'll use his magic.

"Wake up!" she said, trying not to scream. The footsteps outside stopped. The man must have heard her. Now what will she do?

Out of the corner of her eyes a black figure come forward. He was approaching the house. He was coming closer, but walking even slower now. She'd have time.

Mary lifted the gun out of Remmy's jacket pocket. It felt very heavy in her hands and she fumbled with it, trying to get a good grip. Her mind was screaming "No!" and her hands were confused. The gun slipped and skidded across the weather-beaten floor into the corner with the spider web.

Remmy stirred again. "What is it...?"

She stared at the web as the crawling arachnid dancing across the invisible strands. She couldn't get the gun now, not with the spider-! Mary looked down at Remmy. She didn't know what to do, she didn't know how to fire it, she didn't know-

"There's a man outside," she said, keeping her voice low. She crawled toward the corner tentatively, and the spider landed on top of the gun. She recoiled for an instant.

Remmy was up now, hands on his pockets. "Mary-"

"It's over here, it's over here," she said quickly, hesitating in front of the spider web.

"Get it to me!"

"Craw! Craw!" called the beast from behind the locked door.

Remmy stared at the door, eyes wide. Now he believed her; he surely looked like he believed her; there was a monster!

The spider crawled across the gun barrel as Mary watched. The deathly fear of that little creature overwhelmed her. She couldn't touch it; she couldn't touch it! "Use your magic!" she pleaded. She didn't want to get the gun!

"I can't!"

Mary held her breath and reached out of the gun-

Remmy was absolutely still, his eyes on the door. He looked as if he were about to jump and tackle whoever walked through.

"Give it to me!" he whispered out of the side of his mouth.

The man was behind the door. Was he waiting, was he stopping-?

Creakkkkkkkk....

Mary's hand plunged forward into the corner and grabbed the handle-

"Here-" she started, shaking the bits of webs off the gun. The spider crawled onto her hand and she shrieked. Her finger accidentally yanked at the trigger.

B a n g!

***

Several things happened at once.

At the sound of the gunshot, both Lupin and Mary fell to the ground, both for different reasons. Lupin ducked down out of instinct. Mary simply collapsed into a heap on the floor. A rough, stumbling sound was heard as the stranger backed away from the door and thump! as he fell onto the sand. The mysterious creature behind the door gave a loud, mournful screech, before lapsing into silence.

He saw her fall and then he leapt to his feet up again, waving his arms and shouting at the front doors and boarded up windows in a red anger. He kicked open the front door to see a distant figure dashing down the sand dune away from the shack. Lupin leaned against the doorframe and stared out at the retreating man. Gone.

He then returned to Mary. She curled up on her side, crying a piercing, wild scream. Her head was trashing back and forth and her mouth contorted painfully. Tears squeezed out of the corners of her screwed-up eyes and she quivered violently. A live arm cradled a limp one, a twitching leg dripped dark crimson.

"Careful, don't move," Lupin tried to speak over her screams, shouting as if his voice could stifle hers.

Words were coming out of her mouth, but he couldn't make any sense of them. She was shaking so much and clutching the dead arm to her chest and saying an incomprehensible babble trailing out of her lips like spittle.

"Shhh.... shhh..." Lupin came to her side and reached down as if to cradle her, but feared that he might harm her with his touch. He kneels down by her side, placing a hand in a puddle of blood that was quickly pooling on the floor. "Just hold on." Lupin put a hand to his forehead, trying to steady his mind.

But Mary's shouts were getting louder, and Lupin bowed his head with a certain mental anguish. The screams-! The screams-!

Lupin ripped off his jacket and folded it up into a tight wad. "Let me see it, dear, let's me see the wound." His hand extended out to her and she rolled back- a conscious or subconscious move he did not know- and she screamed again. Her voice was growing hoarse. Gushing tears poured down her face and onto her lips. She coughed, once, twice, then started her strangled moans again. She seemed ignorant of him in her agony.

"Shhhh... shhhh... Hold steady now, my girl, hold steady." He put a hand on her shoulder. "Can you listen to me? I'm right here."

Mary rolled her eyes up to him. Her screams had died out, if only because her voice was gone. She gave a raspy whimper like that of an injured animal.

"Let me see, I have to put this over the wound. You have to let me see it..."

He kneeled by her side and moved the gun away from her. First things first. Had to apply pressure to the wound. Had to stop the bleeding. Lupin began talking these thoughts aloud in an authoritative tone; it steadied his nerves.

"Just lay back there, Mary; let me tend to your leg, and then I'll look at your arm."

Another little sound gurgled from the back of her throat. Then her head suddenly fell back; she grew limp and became still.

No! His hand went to her neck. Feeling nothing, he leaned down and put his ear to it. Faintly, very faintly, the heart was beating. She was unconscious, but not dead.

Relief filled him and spurred him into action. Speedy hands carefully straightened her out on the floor from her feral position, laying her arms by her side, and gently, gently, moving her legs. The arm she was clutching was already blue and purple, swelling around the wrist. He placed his hands over her arm and felt its length. No broken bones.

Those deft hands then traced along the blood trail to the bullet wound. It was in the calf of her leg. Checking carefully from his spot beside her - he didn't want to move Mary any more - he saw that the bullet didn't pass straight through, but was caught somewhere inside. Probably lodged into the bone.

The blood by this time was still flowing heavily; Lupin grabbed his bundled up jacket and pressed it to the wound. The blood soaked through, covering his hands. He had to apply more pressure. But in doing so, would he only damage her leg more? Which was worse, the blood loss or breaking her leg?

Lupin clenched his jaw and gingerly applied the needed pressure. He began counting in his mind, as if there was a set time for the bleeding to stop.

Onetwothree- the blood wasn't stopping, was it?

Threefourfivesixseveneightnineteneleventwelve - blood pooling against her side, soaking up into his jeans....

Thirteenfourteenfifteen - damn it, count slower..! The jacket was turning soggy and crimson...

The seconds continued to pass.

Nineteen...

Twenty.....

Twenty one...

Twenty-two... more pressure? Should he risk it?

Lupin continued steady. How long does it take before the bleeding wounds stopped? One minute? Five?

God, this was much easier before! His mind recalled the night of the Shrieking Shack, when Ron Weasley broken his leg. But of course Lupin had an advantage. There was no bleeding with Ron's injury, and also, Lupin had his wand and other people to aid him. This time, he was on his own.

Three minutes passed. The bleeding still had not even begun to slow.

Should he run for a phone booth? Call an emergency ambulance? Yet should he leave her alone like this? What if that intruder came back again?

He raised his head to the door, which was still ajar. He couldn't leave Mary's side, not even to close that door. What if he did and something happened? Illogical - it wasn't as if she'd die if he got up for a moment- oh God dammit, why won't the bleeding stop??

A dull scratching was heard and he turned his attention to the back door. He did hear something coming from it, had he? God, he thought it was Mary's imagination running away with her before- Oh shit, why did he act so stupid, falling asleep like that- if there was really something behind that door- that's insane, Remus, absolutely insane, so stop thinking such thoughts-

Crrreeeekkk....

Lupin grabbed the gun and whipped about, pointing it forward.

"Freeze!" he shouted.

The front door swung back on its rusty hinges. No one. He let out a grateful sigh. A sea wind blew into the room, blowing bits of sand and grit into his face. Lupin shielded his eyes and quickly shut the portal. He then gave it a hard kick for no reason other than to vent his frustration.

Swish-swish....

Lupin peered outside. The dead sea grass rustled in the wind. Swish- swish, swish-swish.... Beyond, the gray waves licked upon the barren beach with a dull roar. Indeed, he felt very alone.

But was he? His hand was still on the handle of the gun. The metal was slick with blood and sweat and covered with dirt. For some reason, he liked that power in his hands once again. To take life, accidentally or not. To take his or Mary's or someone else's- the indiscriminate genius of a gun!

He looked at himself with the red stains on his hands, the crimson caked onto his Muggle clothes, the dirt and sand soiling him all over. This was like that full moon in October; it was like that horrible experience all over again. But it couldn't be; he had no real parallels other than Mary being hurt and he being covered in her blood.

A deep-throated chuckle came out of his mouth. He rested his forehead and arm against the splintered, salt-crusted wood and laughed. He was going insane, wasn't he? Right now, looking like hell, feeling like hell, going through hell, and yet to laugh-!

Lupin decided right them either he was finally beginning to lose his mind or beginning to lose his will to survive. There was a distinction between the will to live and the will to survive. Surviving was different than living; you can be dead but still living.

But... but that didn't really make any sense, did it now? God, was nothing making sense in this world?? His chuckle was cut short as he came to grasp at the strands of self-control.

This was just stress he was going through, that's all; he wasn't going crazy... No, no, no, not going crazy now, not him, not Remus Lupin... This was just excessive, impossible stress. Stress to the breaking point - yes, that's the term. But the point wouldn't be breaking yet; no, it couldn't, not now, it couldn't...

Lupin gripped the handle to the door. Slowly he turned it and stepped outside, heading down toward the dunes. He gazed up at the sun, estimating the time. The day was reaching its apex; noon was just around the corner.

Lupin inhaled deeply. The cold ocean air woke him up, made his nerves more refreshed and stable. Yes, that's what he needed. Stability. Coming to terms with himself, he quickly relaxed and sublimated his emotion into analyzing the situation, something he had confidence in doing.

First of all, he had a severely injured child on his hands and they were in an area that was clearly unsafe for them to inhabit. So then he would have to get Mary to a safer place. Her Majesty was where she wanted to go... Lupin had a set of lock-picks but it had been years since he had used them. He discovered when he and Mary inspected the house that Her Majesty was on the market. That should make it easier to break into; any real estate broker probably wouldn't be showing this to any interested customers until spring. So the time before then, judging that the owners only used the house for the summer, Her Majesty should be unoccupied.

Yet because it was a seasonal homestead, the place would be devoid of any household items whatsoever. But there was hot water and clean beds - good enough for him. He still had some of Claire's money on him. After a good shower he could set into town and purchase the supplies that he would need to care for Mary. Sending her to the hospital was not an option; he did not possess any Muggle insurance to cover for her treatment nor did she have any false identification he could use.

Anyhow, it shouldn't be too difficult to care for her. The full moon was in how many days? Lupin counted the number in his head; today was November 26, the next full moon would be on December 15.... that left exactly twenty days from today. If so, then Lupin could care for her until the next full moon easily. For when the transformation comes, it heals all mortal wounds. Lupin learned that himself when he first transformed years ago; the broken leg he suffered then had regenerated instantly. Thus, Mary would be put into a perfect state of health in a little less than three weeks - certainly a Muggle hospital couldn't induce a better result.

So it was decided. Lupin would bring her to the beach house immediately.

"Remus...?"

A voice behind him. Lupin stood there. He couldn't even say that he was surprised. He felt no jump in his chest, no catch of breath, no adrenaline rush. The past few hours contained enough surprises; his body now ceased to respond to them.

With controlled calmness he raised his gun and confronted this person. His arm moved before him, pointing the muzzle toward the voice before he even saw who it was. He then turned his head. It was the intruder.

Lupin paused for a moment and swallowed hard. His heart seemed to stop; the air was caught in his lungs. His firing arm turned loose and trembling; he slowly lowered it. Then, he took three measured steps toward the man until met him face-to-face.

He recognized him. Those pale eyes, with a haunted cast upon them; that thick black hair, once long and tangled, now cut shorter, just brushing against the shoulders. He looked so respectable, so clean, and so full of health, not like the half-starved, dirty prisoner like Lupin recalled from earlier times. Lupin then realized he was the one who was filthy, coarse and desperate. At the moment, he didn't care.

"Hello Sirius," he whispered lowly, and then promptly punched him in the face.

Chapter 31

The punch caught Sirius in the jaw, and he stumbled back, startled. He gave a small gasp then tripped over his own feet and fell flat on his bottom onto the cold, damp sand.

Lupin then reacted in a more positive light. "Cripes, I'm sorry!" He lowered himself down to his level. "I didn't know what came over me, then. Are you hurt?"

"Argh," Sirius groaned. He placed his hand over his jaw and gently explored the tenderness of the area with his fingers. "Don't give it a second thought. I probably deserved that."

"Here. Let me help you up." Lupin took his friend by the arm and hauled him to his feet.

Sirius wiped the sand off his gray robes. "I'm just grateful that you didn't shoot me in the head with that thing." He gestured to the Colt revolver. "Though I know you have a good reason to."

Lupin gave a quick look the weapon and shoved it in his front pocket. "What happened just before? I didn't know it was you..."

"Same here. I thought you and Mary were just a homeless pair, and snuck in to claim my stake to the place. But when I saw it was you almost jumping me there - well, it the furthest thing on my mind. And I didn't even know you owned a gun, but I figured since you lost your wand you would need something."

Lupin was dumbfounded. "Mary? Lost my wand? How did you-?"

"Know?" Sirius pulled out a rolled up newspaper from within his robes. "Today is a truly catastrophic one in the wizard world." He held up the cover page for Lupin to read, still rubbing his face with the other hand.

Lupin scanned the headlines with mute astonishment.

RUSSIAN WOLF SLAYS FIVE MLES OFFICERS IN NORTH LONDON

RMC States Wolf was Armed with Wand

WIZARD WEREWOLF TAKES MUGGLE GIRL AS PUP

Is Described as "Highly Dangerous"

"You even beat me out priority-wise." Sirius then flipped to another page and presented another news banner in smaller print.

BLACK EVADES MINISTRY AGAIN

Escaped With Help from Wild Hippogriff

Lupin couldn't believe what he was seeing. "They went public with Havenshire?" he gaped. He stared at Sirius as if realizing for the first time he wasn't supposed to be there. "An-and y-you - here - now- "

"I'm on page three," Sirius remarked lightly. "Page three, mind you. I'm mean, the Ministry declared a year ago that I'm a wanted mass murderer and here my escape is only on page three."

"Impossible!" Lupin cried out. "You can't be here; you were going back to Azkaban! Sentenced to the Dementor's Kiss!"

"Pretty much." Sirius still had the Daily Prophet open, and gazed at his article thoughtfully. " 'Escaped with help from wild hippogriff...' But didn't I escape from Hogwarts with the help from a wild hippogriff last summer? Are they recycling my headlines or am I just acting repetitive?"

"Sirius!"

"I am." He glanced up. "Remus, calm down."

Lupin backed away a few steps, feeling overcome. He propped a forearm against the gray, molding siding of the cottage.

He turned his head to shout. "At least I'm not chiding reporters about my news coverage!"

Sirius quickly folded up the paper and tucked it under his arm. "I know," he acknowledged earnestly. "I'm sorry for everything. You probably put up with a whole mess of problems because of me."

Lupin could only nod.

"And I'm here to help you out of them." Sirius walked over and put a hand on Lupin's shoulder. "I figured that you had covered for me at the Triwizard Tournament," he added softly, "and that's what led to this." His eyes went to the door. "I think Mary's another matter entirely."

He took hold of himself with the thought of her. "Yes," he straightened up, clearing his throat, "yes, we'll have to bring her somewhere more secure."

"Did you have a plan?"

"I marked off a beach house nearby. We'll stay there for the winter."

"A beach house?" Sirius arched an eyebrow. "One of those fancy properties beyond the dunes?"

"Of course." Lupin stepped back inside the cottage over to where Mary lay. His jacket was draped loosely over her leg; he took the garment and securely tied it over the wound. It had finally stopped bleeding - a sign of progress. Already Lupin felt his mood lighten even more now that he had someone on his side.

Sirius followed him into the room. "If you must know, I'm not the greatest in the field of home invasion. Last time I tried it, I happened to get myself arrested."

Lupin slowly slid his hands underneath and girl and gently raised her up in his arms. "Then, I'll just have to show you how." He walked past him out the door. "My briefcase is over there in the corner. Could you fetch that?"

"Just a moment. I have something to show you as well."

Sirius came to the back door and knocked three times. "Open up, Buckbeak!" he shouted and retreated a few steps.

"Buckbeak?" Lupin repeated.

There was an affirmative, "Squawk!" from behind the wood. Seconds later, the door flung violently open, kicked out by a horse's hindquarters.

Sirius disappeared into the mysterious back room and led out the runaway hippogriff. The creature had a difficult time getting through the doorway and not just because of his size. The poor animal hopped forward with its left front paw raised off the ground.

"How's that paw coming along?" Sirius asked politely, giving a bow.

Because of his foreleg, Buckbeak was unable to bow in return. However, he greeted Sirius with a familiar, "Craw..." and bobbed his eagle head up and down.

Lupin commented, "He was hidden there all along?"

"This was the safest place available when we arrived here." Sirius slung an arm across the animal's shoulders and thumped Buckbeak on his feathery neck. "We had to find a nice place for you, didn't we, boy?"

Buckbeak replied with a knowing turn of his head and a friendly growl. The two seemed to have developed a certain camaraderie between them since Lupin last seen them. "Is there a place for him at wherever you're taking us?" Sirius questioned. "I don't want to keep Buckbuck out here in the sea air all the time."

"There's probably an above-ground cellar or something. Let's go, I don't want us to attract any unwanted attention."

And so this odd assortment left the crumbling cottage for the dunes. Being seen by Muggles wasn't a problem. The whole area was surrounded by travel agency-owned properties; thus, during the winter, that section of shoreline was deserted.

A person could see reason why this was so. This beach was miserably barren of any sign of life. The sea grass - usually waist-high and colored green and gold - were reduced to withered tufts of straw in the winter. Parallel to the long stretches of sand, these grass plains were beat down by the wind and lay horizontally along the ground, creating almost a thatch flooring to walk on. Overall, it was easy footing for the group, though sometimes slippery from the vegetation's smooth, toughened stalks. Within minutes, they reached a small sand trail that was pounded into a somewhat hard ground by the weather and hundreds of past beach-goers before them. This path twisted and snaked along to the back way of the beachfront property. Finally, they made it to the back patio of Her Majesty.

Lupin gently lowered Mary onto the patio then appraised the sliding door. He stuck his fingers into the handle of the screen door and gave it a sideways push. This wasn't locked; the screen slid aside to reveal a door inlaid with glass. The door handle was pierced with the little slit for the key. "Hand me my briefcase," he said, not taking his eyes off the knob.

Sirius, who had been silent throughout the walk, gave it to him. Lupin unlatched the case and shuffled through various items and clothing. At the bottom lay a large iron key ring with several small iron tools attached to it. He snatched that up and took it out.

Examining each one, he then chose a long, flat steel pick a little thicker than a piece of twine and carefully inserted this into the patio door. Sirius was surprised at the skill his friend used; even Buckbeak lowered his head in order to watch.

"I didn't know any Muggle picks existed for house locks like that," he finally commented.

"There aren't," Lupin replied. A snap was heard and he twisted the doorknob, opening the portal wide. "These picks I got at Knockturn Alley."

Sirius glanced at him. "When did you ever shop at Knockturn Alley?" he asked.

"Once in awhile." Lupin slipped the keys into his back pocket and retrieved Mary. "Come on."

The house was vast and roomy, decorated in rich blues and deep purples. They stepped into a small back foyer, yet even this room was wallpapered in luxuriously dark azure paper with plush carpeting underfoot. Sirius gave a low whistle as he entered, trailed by Buckbeak, who had to bow down his head in order to get through the doorway. "You pick your lodgings rather well," Sirius commented.

Lupin didn't listen, searching the first floor for a bed, a couch, anything of that sort. The first room past the foyer was an open kitchen fit for a master chef, with various smaller rooms and hallways leading off it. He glanced into each one, carrying Mary in his arms. Dining room with a large mahogany table and Oriental rug; an elegant parlor dressed up with dolly lace and cherrywood; library lined with leather-bound books and glass display cases...

He came to a grand stairway of sorts made of shallow, stone steps, probably marble. This led to a narrow hallway that was the second floor. The closest bedroom was the master one painted sky blue and white, and in here he placed Mary, within the canopy bed. Nestling the unconscious girl among the pillows and satin sheets, he then went to work on her injuries.

"Sirius!" he called over his shoulder.

He showed up in the doorway carrying an armload of items. "Searched the house for things you could use," he said, bringing them over to a chair leaning against the wall.

"Oh, bless you." Lupin sorted through the pile and picked up a set of white towels. "Could you get any warm water and soap?"

"Got the soap, but for some reason, the hot water tap isn't working."

"Must be the water heater."

"Water heater-?" Sirius started, but Lupin was already out of the room and down the stairs. While he was gone, Sirius came up to the bed. He wanted to see this girl Lupin adopted.

Mary, who was already small and delicate for her age, looked incredibly fragile under these circumstances. She looked like an old marionette waiting to be fixed up after a puppet show. She was in a dark blue jumper with a white shirt; the blood stained her clothing with deep red patches. Her golden hair reduced to a dirty blonde from the sandy trek and her cheeks were like porcelain. Her facial features were kittenish and round like in all young children, with small lips and wide forehead. The long, wispy eyelashes rested lightly on her face, hiding innocent eyes.

Sirius cautiously took her pulse. It was slipping in and out. What is Remus thinking, bringing this girl here instead of a hospital? he wondered.

"I have the water," Lupin came hurrying in, carrying a plastic bowl full of soapy water. "How is she?"

"All right." Sirius addressed his concern. "We can't keep her here."

"Why not?" Lupin wetted a towel and dabbed it against her leg. "Got any ice?"

"Right here." He handed him a bucket. "Do you actually think you're about to care for her?"

"Yes." His friend took the bucket of ice and poured some of it into a folded towel, making a compress. "There aren't any plastic bags around?"

"Well, no." Sirius tried again. "She's got a bullet in her leg, Remus."

"I can see that." After making this cold bundle, he wrapped it tightly around Mary's swelling arm, knotting it securely. "So?"

"She'll need some medical attention."

"You don't think I can do it?"

"I think you're out of your mind if you think you can."

"Then I am. My briefcase."

Sirius gave it to him, but then crossed his arms in disapproval. "Remus, I know that she's in your care and all, but don't you think what you're doing is a bit risky?"

"Yes." Lupin was now spreading his healing salve over Mary's arm, before wrapping it up again. "But the full moon is only in twenty days, Sirius. After that her injuries will regenerate and she'll be fine. It's only twenty days," he repeated quickly.

"Twenty days is a long time."

"Not so." Lupin stopped his doctoring to face Sirius. "I appreciate your concern, but I can care for her myself. If you can think of any alternative, go ahead."

Sirius sighed. He shared Lupin's thought that there was no alternative.

By that time, Lupin was just putting the final touches to the rough bandage for Mary's leg. After, he sat at the foot of the bed, drawing back the flimsy canopy curtain a bit to give him room. The salve he had couldn't do any more than heal bruises and shallow cuts, but at least it was better than nothing. If he applied it faithfully to her wrist, the sprain might disappear within a week. He wasn't sure about the bullet wound.

"What are you going to do now?" Sirius asked him when he finished.

"I... I'll wait here," he decided, "until she awakens."

"Get cleaned up," Sirius suggested, "I'll sit by the girl."

Lupin protested, "She doesn't know you. I won't let her awake to see a complete stranger."

"Hey," Sirius took him by the shoulder and pulled him up. "I didn't want to say this before, but you look like crap. If I was a seven-year old girl waking up after shooting myself in the leg, the last thing I want to see is someone resembling a mass murderer sitting at my bedside."

"A mass murderer?" he said, letting the weariness show in his voice.

"A bit of a stretch, but yes." Sirius guided him toward the door. "Don't worry so much, Remus," he reassured. "Mary will be fine. Most likely, she won't even stir until you come back."

Lupin knew that something was about to snap within himself again, but, strangely, his emotion wasn't bordering on tears. It was like a little deflation of the stress, like a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He realized then how much of a relief Sirius had been, even for this short time. And how had Lupin treated him in return? Either by ordering him around or completely ignoring his presence. Lupin gave one last look to the canopy bed. "Sirius..."

"Oh, you're really acting like a-" Sirius started, but was silenced as Lupin pulled him in with a bear hug. This seemed to startle him as much as Lupin's earlier punch did. He took a few steps back to regain his balance.

"Thank you," Lupin whispered wholeheartedly. "Thank you." The intense relief continued to flow; he was almost shaking now with emotion. "You have no idea how much of a relief it is to me that you're here."

"The feeling's mutual," Sirius replied, but Lupin went on.

"With all of this trouble going on... I don't even know how you managed to escape; you have to tell me-"

"I will, I will." Sirius squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. "Just relax. I thought you were a goner myself, when I heard about Havenshire-"

Lupin was losing himself; he drew back, shaken yet obviously calmer. "I don't know how to make up for my initial... greeting..."

"All of us lose our heads sometimes. You were there for me when I did, so now I'm here for you." Sirius looked down at his robes. "Aw geez, you got blood all over me."

Lupin gave a sad smile. "Sorry there."

"No problem. I'll just filch something of yours." Sirius turned Lupin around and gave him a lighthearted push out the bedroom door in the direction of the bathroom. "Now go on."

Chapter 32

An hour later, Lupin and Sirius sat together again in the master bedroom. Two chairs were pulled up by the bedside. Lupin leaned forward and brushed the back of his hand against Mary's cheek. She was still pale, but breathing. He had checked her bandage around her wrist only a few minutes before; the swelling had gone down significantly.

Lupin himself was in a more presentable state than he was an hour ago. A hot shower and clean clothes had done him well, and he donned a Muggle outfit he still had. Sirius was dressed in robes, having borrowed the set from Lupin's ratty briefcase. Their bloody clothes were soaking in the bathtub. The house did have a washer and dryer, but there was no detergent available to clean the clothes with. Lupin added that to his mental shopping list for his planned trip into town.

"You think she'll wake up soon?" Sirius asked.

"Hopefully." Lupin didn't know what he would do if she didn't. He sat back in his chair, resigned to play the waiting game. He picked up Sirius' paper, which lay on a whitewashed bed stand. "Where did you get this anyway?"

"Stole it off an old witch's front porch two towns away. I don't think she minded." Sirius replied. "Are you going to read about yourself?"

"Oh, I'm not as egotistical as you, Sirius." Lupin stared at the paper and tossed it back on the stand. "Why don't I get a primary source?"

"My third great escape?" he joked. Yet his attitude wavered. "You sure you want to hear it?"

Lupin noted his discomfort. "Only if you want to tell me."

Sirius glanced out one of the baby blue curtained windows. Even though it was only three o' clock, the sky was already growing dark. He gave a small nod. "Well, I don't know where to start..." He cleared his throat and began in a steady voice, "One of the great flaws in Azkaban is that there are very few wizard guards. Almost none. Dementors have free reign there, basically."

"I'm not surprised," Lupin put in. "Since there are few people willing to work with them."

Sirius nodded. "There must have been four, five Dementors surrounding my cell... because... well, when I first woke up in Azkaban, I..." he hesitated, his mood growing dimmer. "I thought of killing myself. The feeling was just so... It bombarded my mind..." For the first time, his voice lost its optimistic undertone. "I-It was like I was drowning.... And... and this time it was worse than all my years already spent there because I knew that I had people on the outside who depended on me..."

"Harry?"

"And you." Sirius bowed his head, staring down at his hands. His air was a complete downturn from before, as if he could feel the ghost of prison taking over.

"Let's forget about this," Lupin said quickly.

Sirius raised a hand. "I'm okay. I have to tell you this, or you wouldn't understand."

"Believe me, I understand it completely. But you're here, and that's all that matters-"

"I almost committed suicide that night."

This stopped Lupin short. Sirius drew in a ragged breath. "Azkaban is worse than hell - it's hell's shit hole - and it makes you believe in crazy things... I thought that, I dunno, maybe if I died, God would let me watch over Harry from above... Somehow help all of you out..."

"So why didn't you?" A soft whisper.

"I remembered that I didn't believe in God."

"Oh." Lupin shifted his gaze away from Sirius. His friend continued on, not noticing Lupin's reaction.

"It was night, and there were... there were sounds outside my window. You know, windows in Azkaban are more like slits in the wall, nothing but a crack in the stone for cross-ventilation.... So there was this noise.... a bird calling... Which was very strange, because birds never fly over Azkaban....

"And I looked up.... I got up... tried to see, what bird was up there... and reached the window and saw a flash of gold. I recognized the sound. It was Buckbeak..."

Lupin nodded. The hippogriff at the moment was settling down comfortably in one of the rooms downstairs, his injured paw wrapped up in a sheet.

"Buckbeak was waiting for me outside that Plumb home when I talked with Harry... I was trying to give him some tips on defeating the dragon for the First Task," he explained.

So that was the reason why. Lupin wondered whether he should tell Sirius about what he knew about Mad-Eye Moody, but didn't dare interrupt him.

"I couldn't believe it.... He must have somehow hid when Plumb returned home or something... and followed me to Azkaban when I got caught. Dementors don't affect animals as much as they do us, so he wasn't scared away. Buckbeak stayed outside all night, calling... He disappeared during the day... couldn't hear him... but came back at nights... Don't think the Dementors noticed or the wizards guards cared... But he stayed for me..."

Little wonder why Sirius is so fond of that animal now, Lupin thought.

"That brought me something. Not hope - that's what the Dementors always take away - but Buckbeak's coming gave me... gave me the will, I suppose, the will to live..."

That Lupin could understand.

"My Dementor's Kiss was to take place yesterday at dawn. The guards told me... and asked if I would like a priest or... or a last meal... or anything... I asked for one thing. I asked that... that before I- well..." Sirius was having difficulty going on. His eyes had a distant look in them, and at that moment, the dark shadows lurking within seemed to take over. He stared off for a moment lost in thought. What was he thinking about? How were the guards? It was known that they were usually as bitter as the Dementors were silent. Rough treatment was no stranger there.

Lupin put a hand on Sirius' shoulder. He, in turn, raised his eyes to meet his. "I asked for it to take place outside so I could see the sun rise."

"And they granted that."

"It was my last request. They had to."

Lupin gripped his shoulder. Sirius was sentenced to die the day of the First Task... He must have thought so much about Harry, worrying over him... Again, the thought of telling him about Moody came to mind, but instead he said, "So, when yesterday morning came..."

"They brought me outside to the front courtyard, facing east..." Sirius said. "I checked around... Buckbeak had to be out there... I depended on him to be.... Tough ol' bird..."

From downstairs a faint, "Craw..!" was heard, as if Buckbeak was agreeing with him. Sirius glanced toward the bedroom door quickly then turned back to Lupin.

"He hid up there in the prison battlements... I couldn't see him from where I stood... I couldn't see him, got scared...The Dementor was coming closer... I could... could feel the cold presence... it was like my heart was cased in ice.... I was shaking... Buckbeak wasn't coming, I thought - I thought he already left, that he gave up...

"The Dementor reached out... its hand was like a skeleton's, all white and shriveled... The guards, they backed away... I could tell at that moment, they hated their job from the looks on their faces...

"And I heard Buckbeak calling and I looked up. He was diving towards me, right behind the Dementor.... He tackled the Dementor head on... It just toppled and I jumped on Buckbeak's back and yelled something... 'Go!' " Sirius' hand swooped up, highlighting the word, then went on, talking more fluidly.

"The Dementor reached up and grabbed Buckbeak's front paw. He twisted him around, trying to pull us to the ground. The guards were shouting, taking out their wands and firing Stun Spells, but the Dementor was in the way... The Stun Spells hit it instead of us, yet didn't affect it at all. And I just- I kicked out at the Dementor's hand and Buckbeak, he was flapping and screeching; he arched his head over and bit down on the Dementor's wrist. There was a snapping sound and I swear, the Dementor's wrist snapped off - the wrist bone just crunched up and the hand fell, so it hung off the arm by a bit of gray skin. There was no blood or anything..." He shuddered a bit at the memory. Lupin could tell, though, that Sirius was feeling better now the story was coming to an end.

"Then we flew out of there like a bat out of hell. We made a couple stops here and there, but wound up at Brighton and found that cottage place to stay in. Buckbeak was injured by the Dementor - those bastards have the touch of death on them - and so I kept him locked up in the back room. I was out on the search for supplies, and then when I came back, I saw you and Mary and-" Sirius threw his hands up. "You know the rest."

"Almost like a miracle," Lupin commented, "how you got out."

"There are no miracles in life," Sirius replied. "Only lucky breaks." His eyes went to the girl. Mary lay tucked between the sheets, her wounded arm crossed over her chest. Her breath came in and out, the only sign that she was still alive. "Is she a miracle or a lucky break?"

"Sometimes I like to think of her as a miracle."

"And other times?"

"I'm just grateful that I didn't kill her."

Sirius accepted that answer. "You never meant for it to happen?"

"No." Lupin sighed. "I wasn't in the best of moods that full moon. I didn't realize...." His eyes turned downcast. "I walked into town that day and got myself drunk; I never even meant to. I was just so... depressed, I suppose, ever since the summer ended and September rolled in. I kept thinking about if I hadn't made that mistake that night-" Both knew he meant he night of the Shrieking Shack. "-maybe I wouldn't have betrayed Dumbledore's trust like that... who knows, maybe I would still be at Hogwarts."

"You never betrayed his trust," Sirius argued. "You resigned."

"I felt like I betrayed him," Lupin replied. "I couldn't control my wolf and almost bit someone. The wolf can't be controlled, and I was a fool to think it could be."

Sirius looked as if he was about to say a quick retort to that, but kept it to himself. "She's your daughter now, huh?"

"Daughter?" The word sounded foreign on his tongue. Lupin never really thought of it that way. He always referred to her as his daughter for concealment purposes, but not in actual reality. "Werewolf young are called pups," he corrected him.

"Pup then." Sirius looked at her. "The paper said that her parents think she's dead and the Ministry is going to keep it that way. Does she know that she can never see them again?"

"She figured that out herself. Mary can be a very perceptive child."

"Do you know what she thinks of that?"

"Not really..." He sighed. "From what I can tell, Mary thinks that God sent her to help me. That because her father couldn't, she could." He shook his head. "I don't know how she got that idea into her head."

Sirius was very intrigued by this. "She thinks she's some sort of angel or something?"

"I don't know. She only believes that she's the one who can help me. I don't even know how I need to be helped." Her little naive mission statement had always bothered him, although Lupin could never pin-point why. Was he a bad person? Did she think that she could 'save' him? And if so, from what? What sin had he ever committed?

"Do you believe so?"

"I..." Lupin paused and thought to himself for a few moments. Finally, he replied, "I think she only told herself that in order to cope with her situation. She's telling herself these lies so she can think that even though she won't ever see her family again, she would still be linked to them somehow. Her father was a preacher; it only makes sense."

In fact, the reasoning didn't make sense and Lupin knew that. Mary told him her that before he ever informed her that she was a werewolf. Yet it was the closest thing resembling logic and he ran with it.

"Okay." A whimsical look crossed Sirius' face. "When we were younger, I always thought that if you didn't go into the Defense Against the Dark Arts, you'd go into the clergy."

"Well, I'm certainly not in the clergy," he said irritably. Lupin felt uncomfortable about the direction this conversation was going. "When Mary's older, she'll realize that she was only deluding herself." In reality, Lupin thought that in many ways, Mary reminded him of himself. Maybe he wanted to keep her innocence. Let her believe in anything she wants as long as she didn't know the truth.

Sirius imposed, "She'll have to find out sometime. You're all over the wizard news. If she's as perceptive as you say, I wonder if she even thought about exactly why the RMC is after you."

"Well, what do you expect me to tell the child?" Lupin suddenly snapped. "That I was smashed beyond belief then tried to eat her? That it wasn't God's will for this to happen, but a case of severe misjudgment? Is that what you want me to tell her, Sirius, that she was a mistake?"

"Whoa, hold it, Remus!" Sirius said, affronted by such a reaction. "I was only playing devil's advocate there. Sorry, I didn't mean to offend you or anything."

"None taken." Lupin tried to brush it off, but that uncomfortable feeling wouldn't go away. He then got up from his chair. "I'll have to leave for town," he said quickly.

"Are you sure?" Sirius asked. "I thought you'd want to stay by Mary." Lupin could tell that Sirius thought he was to blame to his moodiness. "I could go in your stead."

Lupin sighed. "I want to see if I can find some better medical supplies."

Sirius checked the window. Days were shorter now that December was coming; thus, the sun betrayed time, slipping under the horizon as if hiding from the cold. "Are you sure it's safe?"

"I have disguises."

"Really?" Sirius' tone was between amused and accepting. "Is it one of those black-mustache-fake-nose kits that Muggle children send box tops away for?" Lupin began to notice that if Sirius wasn't being grim or light-hearted, he was mildly sarcastic. Just like the old days.

"Polyjuice Potion." Lupin rummaged through that briefcase of his, which had been laid open upon a cushioned bench at the foot of the bed.

Sirius watched Lupin go through the case. "Do you have an entire storehouse packed in there or something?"

"Close." Lupin found what he wanted. It was the second canteen of Polyjuice Potion that he had made, the one he used with hair from the young Freedom Hound Toby. He had never used it, and had hastily thrown the canteen in while packing. However, time doesn't lessen the potion's potency, and since the canteen wasn't damaged, it should still work.

"Who's in there?"

"A young wolf I met at the Safehouse." Lupin shook the canteen a few times, making sure none of the ingredients had separated. "There's a half-liter in here, enough potion to last two and a half hours. We need to reserve as much of it as possible." He unscrewed the cap and took a look inside. A putrid smell wafted to his nose and he wrinkled it distastefully. Yes, the potion was still good.

"I'll only be out an hour," he said, measuring the needed amount into a collapsible cup.

"And if she awakens?"

"Only more the reason for me to hurry." Lupin held his breath and chugged the liquid down. The potion hit with a stronger blow than the last time he took it; Lupin felt his feet slip from under him and clung to the canopy bedpost for support. While the transformation happened, Lupin had his head down low, but he caught a glimpse of Sirius' face. It was an expression of complete, amazed fascination.

The transformation into Toby wasn't as starling as when he changed in Jarohnen; perhaps because Toby was a younger and more his size. Yet there was a noticeable difference. It was as if a bolt of lightning had coursed through his veins. He felt suddenly more energetic, more ready, and more willing than any moment before in his life. His very heart seemed to be stronger, beating faster; his vision seemed different, clearer; his hands felt every aspect of the painted wood. He was in a different body, and therefore the world seemed different. He knew that his vision and health probably hadn't changed much, but he felt as if he had enough stamina in him to run a mile straight through. It wasn't a real boost of health he was feeling; it was the only strength of youth. No wonder, since his real self and this counterpart had almost twenty years difference.

Sirius gave a low whistle. "Like them young, eh?"

"Really?" Lupin said, bemused. He repeated the word, "Really," just to hear the voice again. Definitely younger. He ran a hand through Toby's red-gold hair - fuller and slightly longer than his - then examined the hands. They were rough, with cracked fingernails and tough, hardened calluses on the fingers. The sleeves of his shirt went over his wrists up to his thumbs - so Toby had a smaller frame than him. His jeans gathered a bit at the ankles as well - Toby was shorter too.

"An hour," Lupin repeated to Sirius, grabbed his wallet, then left the room.

He took the stairs two at a time, skipping the last three so he could jump onto the first floor landing. Inside the parlor room, Buckbeak sprawled leisurely on the extensive couch, thoroughly ruining the embroidered seat cushions.

"Craw?" the hippogriff asked inquisitively, seeing Lupin.

"Don't worry, Buckbeak," he said pleasantly. "I'm not anyone you should fret about."

With this youthful demeanor still prevailing, Lupin went out the front door to the street. It was deserted, with no people on the street or even cars in the driveways; the houses used were probably seasonal as well.

Lupin made his way down the street, whistling to himself. He knew he should hurry, and he will. It was just that Toby's body made him feeling more relaxed. How odd; did a person's attitude change when the Polyjuice Potion is taken?

Having bought a map as soon as he and Mary arrived, Lupin knew vaguely where he was. He halted for a moment. He forgot that map didn't he? Glancing over his shoulder, Lupin wondered if he should go back and get it. His mind shrugged it off. He'd find his way out of the residential area soon enough. If not, maybe he could bum a ride.

This reasoning motivated him for a good fifteen minutes of wandering. But for every street he turned to, he only saw more residential areas. One neighborhood crossed into another, and then into another. These homes were smaller than the one in Her Majesty's neighborhood, with sprawling porches and long drives with cars parked in them: these must belong to the locals. After a while, he tried to backtrack to Her Majesty and fetch the map. Yet with every turn he made, he only got more lost. Lupin checked his watch. It was nearing twenty minutes. He'd have to get to town and quick. He knew that a somewhat tacky shopping area, mostly aimed at tourists, was located along the beach, eventually. He could go there and possibly figure his way out into the real consumer district of the area.

He turned around ready to go back toward the beach, when he saw someone turn the corner from the beach direction. Maybe he could ask him for directions.

The man dressed casually in jeans, sneakers, and a dark blue windbreaker to keep out the gale. Oddly enough, a long, gray, stick-like object was in his hands, with a little metal disk attached to the bottom. The man held a plastic bag as well, with various items within.

Lupin approached him from the side - he was in a very open mood - and initialed the conversation. "That's a very interesting thing you have there," he commented, referring to what the stranger held.

The man didn't react. A pair of headphones was over his ears and a CD player hooked onto his belt. He must be listening to something then. Lupin tapped his shoulder. "Excuse me."

The man, not expecting anyone, jumped. He took off the headphones. "Hello there," he said.

"Hello," Lupin replied. "Could you help me out?"

"Sure."

"I was wondering where I could buy something."

"What do you need?"

"Quite, um, a few things. Is there a store around?"

"In town, not by here." The man glanced up and down the street. "Are you walking by yourself?"

"Yes," Lupin admitted, somewhat sheepishly. Pedestrians aren't a common sight in the winter.

"Hey," the man offered, "I was heading back to my place. Why don't I give you a lift?"

"If it's not a problem."

"Of course not." The man gestured with a hand. "Follow me. It's just a couple houses down."

"Why thanks." Lupin trailed alongside. "That's very considerate of you."

"It's not a problem," the man replied. "It would take you a good half-hour if you walked."

Now that Lupin was talking with him face to face, this man looked familiar. He was about the height and build of his real body with short golden-brown hair. He had kind blue eyes framed behind square-framed glasses. This person reminded him of a past time and place, but Lupin was sure they had never met before.

"What is that?" Lupin asked again, pointing to the steel object.

"This?" The man lifted it up slightly. "A metal detector."

"A metal detector?" Muggles use that to find metal? Lupin didn't realize metal reserves could be found at beaches.

"It's uses a type of sonar to find metallic things underground," the man explained.

"Find anything interesting?"

"Not much." The man showed Lupin the half-open bag. "Just some change and an old key someone probably lost."

"You do this often? Walk up and down the beach finding coins and whatnot?" Lupin's voice gave way that he really didn't think that was a worthwhile hobby.

"Oh, I don't own this; my brother-in-law does," the man replied. "My wife wanted me out of the house doing something." He gave a half-shrug. "I didn't really try to find anything. I say, if I'm out of the house for a good hour, she'll think me better for it." The man was soft-spoken, and seemed to have a certain grace in his movements. When he talked, his voice held a quiet strength. When he moved, it was with the unconscious agility of a cat's.

The two stopped at a ranch house, with a pick-up truck parked in front. "I'll be right back." The man entered the house.

Lupin watched his back turn to leave. He could have sworn that he saw him somewhere before; he just couldn't put his finger on it. Trying to take his mind off the subject, he noted the vehicle parked in the driveway. Quite larger and more rugged than most cars he had seen, the truck was obviously built for heavy four-wheel driving.

A few moments later, the man came back out with the keys to the truck. "Come in," he said, opening the side door.

Lupin climbed into the passenger seat while the man took his place behind the wheel.

He noted that cars of this type he didn't see often. "Is this an import?" Lupin asked.

"American." The man stared up the engine, then backed up out of the drive. "Looking for any place specifically?"

"Not really. I'm not from around here," he said truthfully.

The man agreed. "Neither am I. My wife and I are just staying with my sister. I've been here for awhile, though, so I know my way around." He glanced at Lupin out of the corner of his eye. "You live in one of the rentals by the shore?"

"Somewhere around there, yeah." Lupin was uneasy telling the man this, but the stranger didn't seem half as hesitant about being open. After all, they haven't even properly introduced each other and yet Lupin was riding front seat with him.

"In the winter?" the man asked. "It isn't as pretty around here. Rains torrents too."

"Well, it's less crowded than during the tourist season," Lupin said. "I didn't really come here for the weather than I did for a chance to be alone for a bit."

"True. It's nice to get away to where no one really knows you." The truck turned corner and stopped. They were on one of the main streets of town, beyond the hotels and surf shops. "Here we are." With a free hand, he pointed to the various stores. "You got a food store there, a pharmacy down the street, and, if you want, there's a post office down the way in the opposite direction."

"Thanks." Lupin was impressed over how amiable this man was. He opened the door and jumped down onto the sidewalk.

"Think you can get back all right?"

Lupin checked his watch. Forty minutes. He had plenty of time to shop, but then it would mean less time to get back. He surely couldn't cover it on foot.

"Well, I might need a ride back..." he said awkwardly.

"I can drive you back, if you want," he said. "I have a few things to send off at the post office."

"Really?" Just nobody offered people rides like this. Lupin tried to find a loophole in the man's favor but could see none. "Aren't you afraid that I might hijack the vehicle or something?" he said suspiciously.

"You haven't done anything yet," the man replied simply. "I'll be at the office for about twenty minutes if you need a ride." He started up the engine again and drove off.

Lupin watched him leave, almost dumbfounded. Almost, but not quite. It was just that from his experience, people hated going out of their way to help anybody else. People, by nature, were selfish and valued their own time and convenience more than others. Either that or they did give, but with limits. A pound or two for the charity during Christmas, perhaps, or maybe a drive someplace. Considering it was close to the holiday season, that man was probably in the giving spirit.

He looked around, and immediately went into the store. The trip itself was brief, with Lupin taking only what he needed from the shelves and nothing more. Enough food to last a week, laundry detergent and minor toiletries. Within fifteen minutes he had the whole lot paid for.

His groceries all took up three bags, something he could barely handle on his own. He left them on a bench inside the store so his hands would be free while he was in the pharmacy. There, he took rolls of bandages, a couple boxes of tissues, cotton swabs and plenty of gauze, cold compresses, tubes of antibacterial cream, and a bottle of rubbing alcohol. After checking the labels of the over-the-counter medicines, Lupin carefully chose a bottle of children's aspirin and some ibuprofen as well. He wasn't sure if Mary would need anything else.

This added an extra bag to his load, and so, carrying two in each hand, he made his way to the post office. The man was there like he said, postmarking a handful of letters. He looked up and gave a sincere smile. "That was quick," he said.

"Well, I'm sort of in a hurry." Lupin checked his watch again. Ten minutes left.

"Just give me a moment." The man stuck a final stamp onto his letter and then shipped the whole stack into the 'Out of Town' slot. "Need a hand?"

"Sure." Lupin gave him the lighter of the set of bags. Together, the two made their way back to the man's car and loaded the bags into the small compartment behind the front seats. As soon as they both got on the road again, the conversation continued where it had left off.

"Why did your parents send you out without a car?" he asked curiously.

"Parents?"

"Yes. I just think it's quite strange of them expecting you to walk such a long way."

So the man thought him that young! Lupin looked at himself. Toby was only a teenager, wasn't he?

"Can you drive?"

"I'll be nineteen this April," Lupin supplied, recalling what Toby once told him. He had no idea what the driving age for a Muggle in England was.

"Ah. You should get your license sometime." They arrived onto a residential street. "Now where do you live?"

"Um, you can just drop me off at the end there," Lupin answered, refusing to name the address.

The man didn't notice. "Okay then." The truck pulled up at the corner and Lupin got out, unloading the bags.

"Thank you so much, sir," he said gratefully. "Not everyone helps out like that."

"No problem," the man replied. "I didn't mind."

Lupin, feeling obligated to express his appreciation more, stuck out his hand. "The name's Toby," he said.

"Well, your welcome, Toby." The man leaned over from the driver's seat to take his hand. "I'm Kevin."

The handshake faltered on Lupin's part. Had he heard that name somewhere before-? Something connected in his mind and he spluttered. "Kevin-?"

"Grisham." Kevin gave a small smile. "Pleasure to met you."

"Yes," Lupin managed to say. "S-same here." His hand jerked back somewhat suddenly, and he picked up the remainder of the grocery bags. "Good-bye."

Kevin closed the door and drove around the corner. Lupin stood on the sidewalk, watching him go around the curve, then down the street. Then, his feet slowly backed away. He should go. Yet Lupin couldn't break his eyes off the driver. Finally, he wrenched his gaze away.

Inside the truck, Mary's father felt that someone was watching him. He glanced out the rear window. Yet the young man he had dropped off was nowhere to be seen.