Wolf By Ears

Wolf by Ears

Part Nine: Reality vs. Illusion

By D.M.P.

***

Every man feels that perception gives him an invincible belief of the existence of that which he perceives; and that this belief is not the effect of reasoning, but the immediate consequence of perception.

- Thomas Reid

Well, if crime fighters fight crime and fire fighters fight fire, what do freedom fighters fight? They never mention that part to us, do they?

- George Carlin

***

Chapter 29

On a crowded street in London around noontime, a telephone box opened its doors. Out of it stepped a tall black man wearing a long dark overcoat over an undistinguishable suit. Sunlight glinted off his gold earring as he slipped on a pair of streamlined sunglasses.

He turned his head to the alleyway only a few metres away. In the shadows sat a dog, a chocolate-brown Labrador.

"Hey you," said the man.

The dog blinked.

Walking over, he went down on one knee and clipped a small brass locket onto the dog's collar. "Bode slipped this to me in a memo this morning," he said. "Good thing it was too small for anyone to notice."

The dog gave no response. It turned its head as the telephone box gave a shudder.

"Tell him I said hi." With a small smile, he added, "And current reports say that he's floating along the Ganges River. I'm thinking about placing him somewhere Far East later on, like Tibet."

The doors opened once again and out popped a slight, pale girl sporting a vibrant green mohawk. "Hey, Kingsley, where's that Indian place you wanted us to check out?" She looked about. "Kingsley?"

"Over here, Tonks," he called out. "So long," he said to Zaria, giving her one last scratch behind the ears. Zaria gave one last farewell blink, then turned around and trotted down the alley.

Meeting up with his fellow Auror, Kingsley Shacklebolt said, "Just a few blocks from here. I'm telling you, they have the best curry chicken I have ever tasted..."

***

Jarohnen stood by the table, holding the Stradivarius. Claire had brought it with her when she came; he was rubbing it down with a scrap of velvet. For a long time they remained in his private room, taking silent comfort in one another. She liked their silences; one can tell how close one is to another by the silences they hold together. No awkwardness, no fretting, no needless conversation. They were only there, and they both happened to be quiet.

Ever since Ulysses had reached her with his letter about Jarohnen - He's back - apprehensiveness had hatched in the pit of her stomach and risen, fluttering, to her heart. She didn't know what to think. Feelings of relief, happiness, shame, fear, and hope collided with one another: relief that the jailbreak had gone well, happiness that her old friend was alive, shame from her conscience that said what she did was wrong, fear of what had happened to him, and hope that Jarohnen had not become what she dreaded. He wasn't raving; he wasn't delirious; he wasn't catatonic. In fact, Jarohnen seemed to have come out of The Kennel unscathed. It was as if he had only left for his "campaigning" and returned, seeking her company once more.

She observed his fingers tucking the cloth just under the carved bridge of the instrument, then slipping underneath the fingerboard. There was a sort of ridiculous envy she held against Jarohnen's wife, ridiculous because Anya had died almost fifty years ago. But still, watching his careful movements, maybe it wasn't so ridiculous after all.

Jarohnen drew the velvet out, gently, and then brushed his fingers across the strings. A harmonious strum, finely in-tine. Satisfied, he tucked his dead wife's violin back into its lined case and slowly lowered the cover shut.

Turning, he drew a chair across from her and sat down. Then he spoke.

"It will take time," he said in French.

Claire raised her head. It was a rare moment when he spoke French to her. He was fluent in five different languages; it came with his training in the Soviet Academy, over half a century ago. "He has to get used to things here, but Comrade Remus will be an invaluable asset to us." His accent, transformed to perfected Parisian, rolled over the words like satin. "Alpha One has great plans for him."

Jarohnen's voice had a hypnotic quality about it; when he spoke, whatever he said, people listened. After a moment, Claire asked, "Should I tell him? He hasn't asked many questions yet... he's only been sleeping..."

Poor Remus. His state pulled at some buried maternal instinct in her heart. Claire thought that Remus had been rescued just in time. Wizard prison sent terrible memories that left her shuddering and cold.

"I'm sure you would keep a good eye on him. At least during your stay. Your brother doesn't suspect-?"

"He's in Luxembourg. He thinks I'm with Caleb."

"And Caleb?"

"Bernard would not ask. I made him promise to keep my privacy by not speaking to Caleb about my visit. He'd assume I made Caleb and his wife take the same oath." Claire always found herself speaking in a more formal tone with Jarohnen than she would with others. She didn't know why; it was as if he commanded respect.

"You are always clever," said Jarohnen with a certain pride in his voice. He paused. "Then I take it that you are happy?"

"I...I... Yes." She couldn't rein in her grin. "I can't even begin -"

"He will be useful," Jarohnen cut her off. "Very useful." Another silent moment. "Much time has passed since we could speak," he said, "like this."

"I know. Years have passed since you have used French with me..."

"It was you who always started in English." A subtle smile crept across his wrinkled face. "When you talk English, you have a little bit of a Cockney accent. Did you know that?"

"You have a worse one. Much worse," she replied with a little laugh. "London gets to all of us."

"Oui." He hesitated again. "We have never spoken in this manner since Edinburgh."

Oh, why did he have to mention that? Everything was going so well....

"How long ago was that?" the Russian wolf mused. "Five, six years...?"

Five years since that summer, Claire recounted privately. That time when she saw Toby dressed in that Ministry mail boy uniform, laughing as he placed the cap on his head. He had spread his arms wide. "Like the garb?"

Claire had been at her desk, typing up a report for the Registry. The wizards always wanted to keep a record of the tenants who came and went. It was very fun to lie on those reports. "And what are you doing dressed up like zat?" she had asked while adding the names of twenty-seven imaginary Canadian immigrants to her visitors list.

"Ulysses's taking me on my first assignment." The boy's face had glowed with excitement. "We're heading north." He had leaned forward and put a hand to the side of his mouth. "Co-op." Then, smiling almost giddily, he had added in a grand tone, "I might not be back for a few days. Man the fort while I'm gone." Giving a sly wink, Toby had exited her office.

Five days later, the Edinburgh branch of the Ministry had been plagued with Nundu's Breath. One detective had died; he had been the one who had opened the letter. A state of emergency was then declared at the site; the government office was shut down for the next month for fumigation.

One wolf was caught, but he escaped. No one knew who that wolf had been, and no organization had ever claimed responsibility. But she and Jarohnen knew well enough.

"Are you taking it as a sign that I forgive you?" Claire asked.

"I see nothing for you to forgive," Jarohnen replied. "It was a favour. I do many favours for the Gaczyna pack. They are like kin to me."

And these favours were the reason why the Gaczyna pack had helped the Freedom Hounds to enable Jarohnen's escape. Cells work alone, but they always unite in times of need.

"Even acts like... like...?" She couldn't say the word. The word the newspapers had used. The word that had discredited them and everything that they stood for. The word that had reduced them into nothing but a thing to be hated. She didn't say the word. "Like those which kill?" she said instead.

"The detective was a member of P.A.W.S." Jarohnen rebuked softly. "Death was meant for him; he was the leader of his chapter. Such scum do not even deserve to be born..." Darkness flashed across his eyes when he said that, turning them into blue, daggered ice. Claire moved back, alarmed. But that moment lasted for a fraction of a second, and there was Jarohnen again, merely snapping at her out of irritation. "We have had this quarrel many times," he said. "I thought you understood by now."

They had quarrelled when Toby and Ulysses returned after Edinburgh, a huge argument that made both Jarohnen and his Freedom Hounds quit the Safehouse. They had disappeared for the rest of the summer, but when winter winds blew, they had come back. And every winter they returned. No one spoke of Edinburgh again, except for implied glances between the Safehouse owner and the old Russian.

She regained her bearings, but persisted. "But to threaten the lives of every person in that building?" she questioned. "You know as well as I do that a Nundu's Breath could have swept through the entire city. Millions could have died. An anti-lycanthrope group - is that what Alpha One tells you? Or is that what you tell yourself?"

"Why must you bring this up now?" Jarohnen said. Instantly, he guessed her thoughts. "Comrade Remus will not come to any harm."

"What does the Alpha One want to do with him? Tell me that."

"Why must you ask? He is safe and alive; that is what you wanted, is it not?"

Claire looked away.

"What? You would rather have left him there to die?" Jarohnen demanded. "Did you want him to be murdered by the wizards in the farce they call justice?"

Hesitation.

"Non..."

"I know what I know, and it is more than you ever will about this business." His mood calmed down. "Now stop this foolishness. You have him. Do not think about anything else."

Jarohnen stood up as if to leave. Instead, he paused, leaned over and gently took her chin in his hand. Her whole body stiffened. Then, Claire let her eyes close and felt him press his lips gently upon her forehead. When she opened them, he was gone.

***

Cattails blowing in the wind. Swaying, their pulpy heads nudged against each other while in motion. Rustle of the long grass. And the cold night air with the wind and the cattails stirring with the long grass....

The drip, drip, drip of the underground. Water from the ceiling. It had been raining, and the trickling water came from the puddles from the city streets, far above his head. The air was damp and it felt like a coating of sludge was mixed in the atmosphere, leaving invisible clots he could feel as he breathed. "There will be a man named Dominic," Lupin said. "He'll offer you a drink. Have as much as you want, but remember to tell him that I'm still locked up. It's essential that you do so."

Lottie's face turned spectre-like in the lantern light. She stood on her tiptoes, clinging to the ledge of the little barred horizontal slit in the heavy door. He could see the ends of her fingers, like fat grubs, sticking over the ledge. "An' how came ye knou such things?" came her voice from the other side.

A crooked smile crossed his face. "Let's say that I've been living a double life for so long, it simply comes to me."

C r e a k...

The bedsprings beneath him groaned as Lupin shifted his weight on the cot. Where was he? A strange feeling, something like déjà vu whammed him over his skull. He felt like he shouldn't have been there at all, and then, looking about, he realised that was exactly right. Why had he thought he was speaking to Lottie only half a moment ago? No, he wasn't in the dungeon with her; hell, he didn't think he was even in Edinburgh anymore.

He was in the same room he had woken up in before, and Claire had been there. Yes, she was truly there, unlike that strange dream - or was it a vision - of sitting in the dungeon with Lottie Gordon?

So many things puzzled him. Ulysses and Jarohnen had broken him out of jail, he was sure of that now, but how had Jarohnen escaped? Who had that man been hiding outside his dungeon door, the man whom Lupin had called out to for help? The person hadn't been with the other two wolves; Lupin had witnessed the confused looks on their faces. But still, it had all happened so fast. Had that person been a guard? Not likely. Had it actually been Mr. Harper, his barrister, who had hidden rather than revealed himself to mysterious danger? Likely, but then he would have said something to Lupin before the wolves came.

For a moment in his awakening, a brief panic hit his mind about the date. What was the date? March 17^th, he knew, was the full moon; so what was today's date? How long had he been drifting in and out of sleep? No more than a day, certainly. When he had been first sent to the dungeon in Edinburgh, he had expressed concern to the guards about the full moon because it was coming up. Then, the realisation struck him that if he was going to stay in this place - wherever he was - for a few more days, he was going to experience the full moon transformation.

Everything was shuffled and disconnected in his mind. And his lapses from consciousness didn't help matters. Lupin sat up and tried to calculate how many times in the past few months he had been knocked out and then revived in a strange place. Quite more often than the average bloke, he was sure.

Was there something decidedly odd about that?

"Hey, Sleeping Beauty."

Lupin was roused from his curious ponderings by the figure standing on the threshold.

"Rise and shine," said Ulysses. "I see the chloroform's effects must have finally worn off." He was dressed in strange clothing with splatters of tan, grey and mustard all over. Over his shoulders was a plain black cloak that trailed to the floor.

"What day is it? Where are we?"

"The date is Monday, March 14^th, if you're interested," he replied offhand. Werewolves usually knew a calendar like the back of their hand.

"And the place?"

"Nowhere. Anywhere." Ulysses crossed his arms and leaned against the doorway. "If it makes you feel better, think of the most secluded spot on the continent and that's where you are." He pointed to a similar outfit to his laid out at the foot of the cot. "Get dressed, then, I'll show you around."

Seeing no other option, Lupin reached over for the clothes and Ulysses left the room while he changed. "You'll want this too," he added, handling Lupin an evergreen cloak. Put the hood over your head and lift up the mask."

"A bit secretive, would you say?"

"It's a privilege to wear a green cloak here." Ulysses buttoned up his and lifted his hood. "C'mon."

Finding the request a bit odd, Lupin fitted the mask over the lower part of his face, covered his head, and followed.

The two walked down a long hallway, which was quite plain and cracked, like his room. Other people passed them. Some donned black cloaks, but most had only the standard desert-coloured uniforms. At the end, they came to a wide hall, with many other corridors leading off it. Another large room was connected here, and Lupin saw several long tables set up. Ulysses directed him to a ramp off to the side that led to a heavy bolted door. Pushing it open, they emerged above ground.

Lupin took a good look at where he was. The wide late afternoon sky, blue and cloudless, stretched above him while surrounding him from all sides was rocky brush land. Hills surrounded him from all sides and in the distance he could see a dark mountain ridge.

Ulysses startled walking, explaining more than he had before, "This is one of our outposts on the continent. It was the closest safe place we could take you after the rescue."

"How did that happen actually?" Lupin asked, putting a hand to his head, which was still tender from being rammed into a stone dungeon wall. "Everything is quite muddled in my memory."

"Yeah, sorry for being a little rough," the Texan apologised. "We had to move quickly, because the dungeon was lined with Sensor Spells that would have detected any intruders. We got a little outside help to weaken the spells for only a few minutes."

While they were turning the hill, several small but cracking explosions filled the air. Lupin started and looked around, as the familiar noise triggered a recent memory. "What-?"

"Ah, so the wizard's never heard a gunshot before." Ulysses smiled.

"Actually, I have," Lupin corrected. "Only never so many at once."

"The troops are practicing. You'll get used to it."

Practicing? thoughtLupin. Practicing what?

Ulysses took a seat on the rocky incline under a stunted tree. "We can talk more right here."

Lupin joined him and watched as the older wolf took out a cigarette and lit it with a Zippo lighter. Taking a puff, he said, "Lemme start from the beginnin'. After we got word that the Ministry caught you -"

"I turned myself in," Lupin clarified.

Ulysses paused, but gave no reaction. "Well, we all thought that you'd be put to death by those wizards," he said. "So it didn't take us too long to start hatchin' your escape. But first thin's first, we couldn't do anything 'til we got Jaroh outta The Kennel."

The Magical Creatures prison was located on the same isle as Azkaban, which no one had ever escaped from. Except for Sirius, but then again, he had Animagus ability.

"The Freedom Hounds wracked our brains over it, but it was Claire's idea to use the Polyjuice Potion to make a fake corpse for him. We have to thank you for givin' her the recipe."

He didn't recall telling Claire how to make the Polyjuice Potion! Then Lupin realised that Claire had been in charge of acquiring the ingredients he needed while making the potion to go in disguise to the First Task of the Triwizard Tournament. She must have copied out the information and the instructions while he was making it. A momentary flare of anger that she contributed to his unwarranted escape came to him, then he remembered her state when he saw her last. The wheelchair. His anger died in an instant.

"So, we found an unsuspecting street sleeper to replace Jarohnen with. Remember Garrett Walters?"

"Who?"

"I believe Claire introduced you to him while you were trying to get into the Tournament."

Ah, yes. He was the scruffy Cockney wolf who had been smuggling in spectators for the First Task. The wolf had stolen a Portkey used during the Quidditch World Cup; it was a newspaper, Lupin remembered.

"Well, we used that Daily Prophet of his to get there. Geez,an' all the trouble we went through in finding out exactly where the island was in the first place! Three times I think we missed the place completely an' got dumped into the sea..." Ulysses gave a dry laugh as if locating prison islands was a second hobby. "Another thing was findin' his cell. No living animal within miles of that place, but we sent the Gaczyna's flyin' messenger to look for him; I'll introduce you to her when I get the chance. Well, we all worried that they took him underground in one of the cell blocks that didn't have any windows, but we were lucky. It took her three weeks to find which little slit in the stone was his, but when she did, we were shittin' ourselves for joy. Matters didn't take too long to plot the body switch, but by hell, it was harder doin' it under those Dementors' noses. Say, if they have noses at all."

"Body switch?"

"The ol' Monte Cristo deal, with the dead prisoner an' Jaroh coverin' for the body. We shot the man next door with a crossbow, a mercy killin' in my opinion, an' used the bloody arrowhead to get a body sample. That we mixed into the Polyjuice Potion and siphoned it down a tube for Jaroh to take."

The further Ulysses went into detail about the Russian wolf's escape, the more impressed Lupin was with the Freedom Hounds' ability. To think that last year when he first met them, he had only thought they were a group of unsophisticated homeless bums!

"There weren't many wizard guards there - I suspect gettin' assigned to monitor the Dementors is another wizard punishment for Ministry workers - but we impersonated a few while the rest of us waited at sea. I was one of the guards an' was supposed to check the quote, unquote 'body,'" he said this accompanied by finger motions, "before the Dementors carried it out for dumpin. Somethin' went wrong along the way, though, an' they found the real wizards knocked out in their office. Then everythin' went to hell. They knew Jarohnen was still alive an' tried to do that Kiss on him. I took out my gun an' blew out its face, grabbed Jaroh, then made a run for it. My wolves took out their guns an' started firin' on 'em. But bullets don't affect Dementors unless you shoot off their heads. They'd keep on coming after you, fast as wind... if... if you don't..."

Ulysses voice grew sombre. "We lost over half the crew during that mission. Those Dementors are sick, Kissin' whatever person they can get if they're caught free in The Kennel." A look of twisted grief came over his features and he shuddered. "God rest 'em, wherever they are," he whispered.

Lupin stared at the ground. Going to a Dementor-infested island with no magical protection...confronting those abominations with nothing more than Muggle weapons... He looked at the wolf with new admiration.

"Since it wasn't a clean break, do you know whether the Ministry found out?"

"Not to our ears," Ulysses replied dully. "Maybe the Dementors decided not to say anythin' to Fudge, since they got the body count to satisfy 'em... I tell you, those Dementors are more in charge of themselves than any ol' wizard."

A wolf in black stopped by them and whispered to Ulysses, "Mercury está aquí."

"Tráigamela," he said in return. The wolf nodded and scampered off.

A swift wind blew and Ulysses glanced up, shading his eyes. "Here she comes," he said.

Lupin followed his gaze but saw nothing. Suddenly, however, a person appeared hovering overhead, arms extended, the inside of the Invisibility Cloak flapping behind her. A short staffwith a pair of flapping translucent wings was tucked in one gloved hand, and a satchel hung over one shoulder. Despite the angelic appearance, what struck Lupin most prominently was the semi-automatic rifle slung across the person's chest.

This thin wisp of a being, more fairy than werewolf, settled on the ground and took off the hat and goggles. Lupin was surprised to see a young girl's face staring right back at him.

"This is Mercury, the Gaczyna's messenger," Ulysses introduced, handing her a package. He gave her an order Lupin didn't recognise - was it in Spanish? -, and Mercury nodded wordlessly, tucked the package into her satchel, pulled down her goggles again, then leaped over their heads. The diaphanous wings on her boots fluttered madly like a Snitch's, and in a heartbeat she was off, flying over their heads, and soon vanished as the cape settled over her again. They could hear the gunfire spring up again with newfound fervour.

Ulysses finished his cigarette and let it hang from his fingers. "Your rescue was much easier. It's like the Ministry doesn't care for prisoners kept in their extended branches." He extinguished it in the dirt and got up. "Night's coming. Better get inside for food."

They came from all different directions: from the high mountains and the valleys, from inside the hills, from the sky even, as the girl solider Mercury swooped down on her winged boots, her semi-automatic cradled in her arms, her load gone. They all filed in as quiet as death and each descended into the hillside.

Lupin went in last and was ushered by Ulysses to a large high-walled room with two long tables made of saw boards set out in the middle. Smokeless witches' fire, like the same ones which burned at Nemesis Courthouse, glowed in holders along the bare, whitewashed walls. At the far end of the room was a third table set perpendicular to the other two; at this table sat two other hooded wolves. Ulysses took Lupin by the arm, but he didn't need to push his way through the crowd. The beings parted, like formless shades, and they moved past them to the table.

The larger wolf stood up at their approach and presented his bare arms raised from their heavy sleeves. Ulysses grabbed both hands in his own and together, they swung their arms down and gave a grunt. It seemed to be a greeting of some sort. Ulysses gestured to Lupin and warily, he took hold of the other wolf's upraised hands. Instantly, his arms were yanked downwards, throwing him off-balance. He gained his footing and bit his lip as he felt his arm muscles being pulled out of shape. The other wolf let go, gave a grunt, and Lupin gave a somewhat weaker noise of his own.

"Lupin, meet A-1," said Ulysses, once their "werewolf handshake" was finished. "A-1 is the head of this group."

Lupin sat down in his seat at the table and whispered out of the side of his mouth, "A-1? Has a penchant for steak sauce, does he?"

"Alpha One," Ulysses clarified. "And if I were you, I wouldn't mention that comment ever again."

The pack leader waited until everyone was settled down. "Welcome, comrades," he boomed in an iron-bellied voice, weighed down further by a Spanish accent. "Tonight we are honoured to have several fellow wolves with us. They have escaped from the wizard oppression across the Channel. Let us revive their strength as our war rages across the ocean."

Fists pounded on tables as several members cried, "Woof! Woof!" from their seats in approval. Startled by the sound, Lupin then let his eyes pass over the crowd. Lupin recognised some of the wandering Freedom Hounds who had stayed at Claire's Safehouse sitting with their foreign allies. He noticed that only Dominic, Toby, Antonia, and Harriet were present. He wondered where the rest were: still in England or elsewhere? His stomach turned with the thought that they were beyond elsewhere, victims to Dementors.

"Now, here speaks our brethren's leader, the great traveller, Alpha Fifty-Six!"

Ulysses got up with a slight wave of his hand. For the first time it struck Lupin that Ulysses was in league with these wolves, or moreover, that like the title "Alpha Fifty-Six," the name "Ulysses" could be masking another identity. This lax gentlewolf with the Texan drawl was something else entirely from what Lupin had first thought when he met him in London.

"My fellow comrades!" he greeted, to much applause. "Well, I'm not the best speaker, and I hate talkin' for long. Still, I'd like to express our pack's deepest gratitude for all the help Alpha One and your pack has provided to the Freedom Hounds, not only in the last few months, but numerous times in the past. It's not everyday that a pack of your status is willin' to work so many favours to a small recruitin' cell, but I'm proud of the camaraderie between us. I know that there're some young wolves I have here willin' to join your ranks," he extended a hand to the young foursome sitting in the crowd, "and I only hope that my teachin's have been enough to guide 'em this far!"

"These young ones will commence training as soon as possible," the Gaczyna leader informed the crowd. "We shall embrace their fellowship with open arms."

Another round of barking ensued, and Alpha One paused for a minute or two until it passed. Then, he spoke once more. "Before the meal is served, I have one more guest."

To the right of A-1, the other wolf lowered his hood. His old eyes surveyed the group, as the Gaczyna leader continued, "It is my pleasure to introduce a very, very old friend and the co-founder of this pack, along with many others. As you may have heard, he had recently had escaped the wizard's werewolf prison The Kennel and has come to us a new wolf with a new vision. May I present Jarohnen Ianikit!"

A howl, more unsettling than the barking, filled the room as Jarohnen stood up. With a wave of a wrinkled hand they were silenced.

Seconds ticked away in silence as they waited for him to speak.

"They thought they could kill me," he began softly. "They thought that they could imprison me in my own mind. My wolves, I knew, my faithful comrades would not abandon me."

One or two wolves started to clap, but one look from Alpha One killed the attempt with one glance.

"The bravest of us has been taken by the lowest of wizard minions." A pause. "But their duty to our cause was unquestionable. My debt to those wolves who... died can never be repaid. So my dedication returns to ya, my wolves, who are willing to sacrifice so much for our people."

Then applause was allowed. It lasted for five minutes straight, and Lupin joined in, his expression solemn. Anyone who fought a Dementor and lost, no matter who he was, deserved at least that.

"There was a common saying among the old clans where I come from," Jarohnen continued when they clapping had stopped, "'Вы не должны бояться лающего волка, но Вы должны бояться тихого волка.' It means, 'You needn't be afraid of a barkin' wolf, but you should be afraid of a silent one.' We are the silent wolves of the world. The wizards believe this is because they have muted our voices, but that is not true. Bursting in their arrogance, they fail to see our quiet resistance. Look around, my comrades. We may be silent, but we have not been muted."

Lupin found it amazing how powerful Jarohnen's voice was. He had not raised it even once, yet it drove the wolves mad. As he listened, he thought of the only other person with such oratorical skills, his mentor and headmaster Albus Dumbledore. "Soon I have a feeling that we shall soon rise again. Our packs, united, shall bring down justice for our people and destroy our oppressors. Our time is coming, comrades. All we need is to wait for the opportunity to cast away our chains and fight the final revolution."

Around him, wolves howled and barked and cheered, throwing their fists into the air. Jarohnen surveyed the room with hard, level eyes before taking his seat again. Then, filled bowls were passed out for the meal as large plates of bread and drink were set out on the tables.

Once served, Lupin looked at his bowl in surprise. It contained the same simple stew Claire had cooked up for him and Mary their first night in her Safehouse. With a queasy feeling, he put his spoon down again. He felt uncomfortable in general after listening to those portentous speeches, and the thought of other wolves watching him eat made him lose his appetite.

"Where... where did all the money come from?" he asked. "To build this?"

"Here and there." Ulysses replied vaguely. He bit into a chunk of bread.

"Where's Claire?"

"Aw, she's not the type to be too social. Takes her meals in her room. Why?" He gave Lupin a sideways glance. "Hoping to meet her here?"

Lupin didn't answer. Instead, after a few minutes, he posed another question. "Ulysses, do you know what happened to her?"

"Whaddaya mean?" he asked, mouth full.

"Why is she in a wheelchair?"

"Ah, that." He swallowed. "Well, I'm not the one for you to ask. If you really want to know somethin', try Jaroh."

"Why him?"

Ulysses looked at him dubiously. "She didn't even mention that to you?" He frowned. "Because he was there when it happened."

The ending of the meal was signalled by a tall wolf in dark green blowing a whistle. Then, like an automated machine, the wolves began passing their bowls down the tables and stacking them in tall piles. Some wolves, who must have been on kitchen duty, carried the stacked bowls and piles of spoons to be washed while the rest filed out in an orderly fashion and separated down the halls. Lupin wondered what those wolves did after supper, but didn't really want to know.

Alpha One had left as soon as the whistle sounded, but Jarohnen remained, sipping from a chipped mug.

"Hello Jarohnen."

"Ah, Comrade Remus. Let me take a good look at ya. Didn't get a good chance to beforehand, for obvious reasons." Jarohnen grabbed his shoulders and studied him up and down as if he was a long-lost relation. "Gettin' thinner, I see. Your hair's dyed too. An awful colour."

"It'll grow out." Lupin pulled his seat over, not wanting to use the Gaczyna leader's chair. "Do you know what happened?"

"What d'ya mean by that?"

"To Claire. Ulysses said you knew better than anyone else."

"Did she tell ya anythin'?"

Lupin hesitated. "I haven't asked her."

"Then why are ya askin' me?"

"Because... would she tell me if I asked?"

Jarohnen gave him a hard look, measuring him up. "She never told anyone else. She never said a single word to any soul except me." The light glinted in the fractured blue in his eyes. "Yes," he said softly, as if speaking to himself, "ya have a right to know. More than anyone else."

Then, in a louder voice: "Ya know about the Registry wizards who went after ya and your pup?"

"Yes."

"The man who led the investigation was a detective by the name of Agent Roger Parsons. He was the one who conducted the Safehouse sweep last November."

Lupin nodded. He recalled hiding up in the attic with Mary as the crashes went on below. Afterward, the building had been in shambles, but he had helped restore it with his magic. Parsons called Comrade Claire in for questioning after your escape. While she was drugged with the Veritaserum, he tried to rape her."

"What?" He was so blunt about it. "Rape?"

"He assaulted her," Jarohnen spat, "in the underhanded way wizards do."

By now, Lupin had grown used to him being excluded from the Russian wolf's insults. "Is that how -?"

"No. It was before she was thrown in the dungeon, with me. I... I don't recall much during from then..." He shook his head. "But what I do recall is 'em talkin' when he came to fetch us the Wolfsbane Potion. He touched her before, and she wouldn't let him near her. That pervert, he claimed that he had to stay until she drank. Claire would have sooner dumped the goblet over his head than let him give it to her. 'Ya will wait all night,' she said, or something to that effect.

"So then, Parsons asked for the guards to shut the cell. He said he wanted to speak with her privately. Desire, that's the word he used: 'I desire a word with her.' In that slimy voice. And the wizards, those goons let him." He pounded his cane against the floor. "They let him be alone with her again, the bastards!" he hissed through gritted teeth.

"Then..." Lupin put his head in his hands. He didn't want to listen. He had heard enough.

Jarohnen whole face turned grave. "Whatever happened, she couldn't scream," he whispered dryly. "The whole dungeon was dead silent. Too quiet. Like the wizards had magicked the silence, so they could say they heard nothin'."

No response came from the listener. Instead, Lupin straightened up and sat stiffly, as if forcing himself to hear it all.

"He ran away screaming, though, when the moon came up. She must have tried to bite and cause some permanent damage." He chuckled dryly. "But they locked her up without her taking that potion, so her LOCD kicked in and her crazy wolf came out. The beast hurled itself against the stone walls, trying to get out. My wolf, eh, he was rightfully upset over that. Wanted to... to rip out her throat if only to stop her barking..." Jarohnen stopped and a misty look came over his eyes, as if reliving the night in his mind. He blinked once, snapped out of his reverie, and continued.

"In the morning there was blood. Everywhere. Ya could smell it dripping from the walls. And I saw 'em take her out, all battered and bruised up. Personally," he whispered, lowering his head, "I think she wanted to kill herself that night, and her wolf knew that. I know my wolf did.

"Comrade Claire does not talk about it. People simply know not to bring it up, when they look at her. There are times, though, if she sees the question in your face, she will say," Jarohnen said gruffly, imitating her manner, "'It is not your fault! This is my mistake!' 'All right,' we say. 'Of course.' And we leave it at that."

Jarohnen's voice hushed again. "But it's hard to agree with her, when we all know the truth. The truth she refuses to speak of, but that trails behind her like a ghost demandin' vengeance. But that is her way, and we respect that."

A pause.

"Do you respect that, comrade? What she has done?"

If Lupin had had even the smallest sneaking suspicion that this was all staged, he would have shouted, enraged. But the way he spoke, and yes, the way they all knew...! He gripped the back of his chair, wanting something to hold onto. Jarohnen waited with cold eyes until the initial horror passed and the depth of his words sank in.

"Her...? Why would she...?"

"She never says. I would not be surprised, though, if ya asked her, she'd tell ya why. She would do anything for Remus Lupin."

Falling back into the chair, a blank mask came over his face, as if it had stopped reacting to the outside world. It wasn't her "mistake" that had forced her into a wheelchair. It was his.

Lupin could only imagine. While he and Mary ran off into hiding, where had she been? He saw her locked into that pit of darkness he had been in just a day before. Being interrogated by faceless men. Screaming in a soundproof interrogation room.

And who was this Agent Roger Parsons, a man he never seen in this life but who had traumatized this person he... he had concern for...? Strangers come to destroy your life; strangers come to violate the people you care about! Lupin couldn't even picture the wizard's face, and that made him all the more furious.

Suddenly, he shot up from his seat and slammed his fist into the back of the chair, cursing.

Jarohnen didn't even flinch. "She's in her room, if ya want to talk," was all he said. If Lupin had caught his gaze at that moment, he would have seen something cunning and black. Lupin didn't, though, and in a moment Jarohnen stood up and pointed to which hallway she resided in.

Her door was ajar when he came to it. Looking in, he saw Claire staring at the window that was placed on ground level, staring with the solitude of a prisoner. Lupin knelt next to her, silently, and took her hand in his own. She turned her head, and only saw pity. Claire pushed him away; Lupin grabbed her wrist, but then let go. The quiet thickened into a heavy uneasiness as he watched her exit in her wheelchair. When she left, he raised his hand to his face. A whiff of faint lavender touched his nose.

Chapter 30

During the days that followed, the truth of his location sank in bit by bit. At dawn, Lupin woke to hear boots clumping in the halls. Outside, young wolves trained in hand-to-hand combat in dusty canvas tents, and the twilight was marked with the piercing stabs of ammunition, as if the stars appeared nightly with the lock of a loaded cartridge and the bang of a bullet.

He felt that he was witnessing history, like a villager watching the Goblin Rebellion of 1624 or the Greeks preparing the Wooden Horse. There was something simmering in the souls of these young wolves, as if they were all volcanoes being trained to explode. Lupin was trapped in this Ring of Fire and he knew one misstep could trigger an eruption that could spread across the continent. Or maybe the eruption was already in process, with the magma rising into the wolves' eyes, making them smoulder with hate.

Lupin had known from the beginning that there was something unquestionably dark about this place. He had put his finger on exactly what this camp was and what it did, and it had left him feeling that they were very wrong and at the same time... right. In their own twisted view, he could empathise with their cause. These ambiguous feelings only left feeling him lost and adrift. So he ignored what he could not stop. His eyes passed over what he could not change because it was too large for him to change. As he dealt with a society who shunned his werewolf nature, Lupin dealt with these lycanthrope fighters with tolerance, if not complete avoidance. He didn't know how else to react.

More often than not, Lupin would opt to spend time with Claire, the closest thing to normalcy in this secret, militant world. Sometimes they would leave together and move among the low brush land. Side by side, their hands remained inches away from each other. They did not hold hands, however; she pushed herself along, refusing to have someone else handle her chair.

Lupin rarely saw any of the other camp occupants during this time, but, every hour or so, gunfire would crack in the distance. And always, by nightfall, the wolves would return, and the camp would come back to life.

They wandered up along the scraggly hills. Claire's chair hindered her from crossing heavy brush; they kept to the clear dirt trails through the land. Once, they stopped, awed, as a lone raptor circled the sky, and then, swiftly, barrelled heedlessly toward the earth with an earth-shaking cry to sweep up its prey. Often, they stopped to watch passing clouds. They rarely talked while moving; whenever Claire opened her mouth to speak, she would suddenly turn away, that familiar blush creeping up her cheeks. Lupin never spoke.

Lupin soon remembered to bring a blanket and a few pillows that he tied up in a loose pack to carry on his back. They would travel far, until the hills became an oil painting landscape, and Lupin would stop, loosen his pack and lay the blankets and pillows on the ground.

"With your permission," he would whisper, gently, because he never knew when Claire wanted to be touched or didn't want to be touched and he was always feared that she would break down.

And if she wanted to, she would reach for his hand, as if he was a servant helping her off a carriage. Then, Lupin would slip her into his arms, lift her from the chair and place her on the makeshift layout. He would sit on the blanket beside her, yet always separate. Each would be alone, but together.

Sometimes, there would be a quiet desperation in her eyes, and she would take his hand before the camp boundaries had been crossed. "Get me out." Her voice would tremble with urgency. "Get me out."

Lupin didn't know whether she meant get her out of the camp or out of her chair or out of something he didn't know about, but when she said that, he would walk faster, knowing that she would catch up easily. They would make their way past the intelligence hill and make their place only a few yards away, with the tents still close enough to see their dusty covers stir in the heated wind. Lupin would catch the urgent feeling in her voice and move quickly, whipping out the sheets.

Her fingers would dig into his neck as he lifted her up and out to freedom. His nose would bury itself in her hair - sweet lavender. Vulnerable, her legs limp as jellyfish tentacles, Claire would wait until he had settled down beside her before the conversation began.

Something between them would relax once they had settled down. Each others' presence mattered so much, and, Lupin realised, he depended on it. When he was with her, he knew that she was real. He needed Claire to be real, even with her broken body and broken smile. He needed something to be real because that was what he had been looking for all along. Mary had been real to him, very real, and now Claire was transforming into something wildly, uncontrollably real to him too.

When they did talk, it was about everything. Lupin, who withheld his thoughts and true emotions from everyone at the camp, was befuddled and secretly upset by Claire's sudden emotional outpouring. It didn't feel right because Sirius had done the same thing in his own way, when they had spent time together, and Lupin couldn't respond in the same free way. Seeing her sitting there, talking softly about how stupid and useless she was feeling, made him only think about Sirius more, and how he would be repeating history if he let her talk while he remained silent. And so, with a feeling of horrible vulnerability, he spoke about all the things that happened to him since they had parted. When he finished talking about Sirius and Edinburgh and the night workers at the Ministry and the Ashwinder bite, he suddenly felt that a proper emotional quid pro quo had taken place, and he felt comfortable with her again.

One time, while watching the clouds pass, Claire plucked one of the tiny white flowers that grew in sporadic patches along the landscape among the scrub brush and the skinny trees.

" 'Ave you ever 'eard of ze Petit Prince?" she inquired suddenly. Lupin, used to her random ponderings, shook his head.

"Well, 'e was a little boy who lived on a very small planet, smaller zan a 'ouse," she explained. " 'E'ad zis little flower, who adored him very much. But 'e did not understand 'er love nor 'is own, actually, and 'e left ze planet to explore ze universe."

"A planet as small as a house? Flowers and boys in love? Who could think of such a tale?"

"Muggles." Claire shrugged. The next quarter hour was spent explaining the plot of the story: how the Petit Prince eventually landed on Earth and met a pilot who crashed his aeroplane, and how the pilot drew him a sheep to take back home with him. The sheep had no muzzle, and after the Petit Prince left, the pilot had always worried about whether the sheep had accidentally eaten the flower or not.

Many of their hours were spent like this, pondering about the light, simple issues that floated in and out of their minds. It was lazy conversation for people to entertain themselves with when spending stolen time together.

"These little flowers always remind me of ze Petit Prince's rose," she summed up. "Zese is far from a rose of course, but still, she was such a fragile thing, it always reminds me..." Claire let the thought hang in the air for a moment, and then she turned to him.

"Oui ou non, did ze sheep eat ze flower?" she dangled the tiny flower between her thumb and forefinger.

"I say non," Lupin replied, playfully pushing her wrist away.

"I say oui." Claire tucked the pale blossom behind one ear.

"Now really?" he replied, arching an eyebrow disapprovingly.

"If ze flower 'ad not died before ze Prince returned," she added. "Or better yet, ze sheep could 'ave jumped out of 'is pocket as soon as zey returned and - chomp!" She snapped her finger. "A trip to ze stars stirs one's appetite."

"My, don't you see the glass as half-empty?" He deftly plucked the slight flower from her ear and rolled the stem between his fingers.

"And why not?" she replied.

"But the flower has thorns. Thorns are a heavy defence mechanism."

"Zey are nonsense, one of God's cruel jokes."

"Cruel jokes?" Lupin raised an eyebrow.

"You sound surprised."

He said, "Care to defend yourself on that one?"

"As ze book says, sheep 'ave been eating flowers for millions of years, and still flowers 'ave been growing thorns for just as long. What is ze importance of flowers wiz thorns? What is ze importance of war, or disease, or cruelty or evil? It is all a joke and ze only one who is laughing," she rolled her eyes upward, "is sitting up zair. If anyone is laughing at all."

"And what of everything else? Like the sea and stars and not just," he brushed the flower at the tip her nose, "little flowers?"

"Zey die," Claire said simply. "Or dry up, or fade away. Nothing can last forever. Zat is another joke. Oh, what a prankster you are!" she shouted to the sky.

"I sometimes think so too," said Lupin.

Claire caught the sadness in his voice. "Let us stop zis silly talk. Little flowers are little flowers, after all. Look," she grabbed his hand, "Ze sun is starting to set. 'Ow beautiful it is."

How true. They watched the sun dip toward the horizon, bleeding an orange-gold glow in its wake. Mary would never think the flower was eaten, he thought wistfully.

She took his arm and held it close. The side of her head rested against his shoulder. He turned his head the other way. "We have to go back," he said quickly.

She bowed her head. "It is becoming late," she murmured, then straightened up. "Allons-y."

Claire was becoming real. But not real enough.

***

Lupin didn't mention the upcoming full moon to anyone else at the camp, but he could feel the rising emotion as the day drew near. When it came, the camp was in more of a fervourthan before, perhaps because the wolves felt the moon pulling at their blood like the tide. Claire was noticeably absent that day, and so Lupin remained in his room. Later, after supper, he asked Ulysses, who seemed to be everywhere at the camp, about her. "She's just being takin' care of," Ulysses told him confidently.

"But can I see her?" Lupin asked. "How does she get by during the transformation?"

The American wolf paused. "I'm not sure if she'd like you to see her in this state," he said slowly. The evening was coming soon, and all of the wolves had gone underground earlier that night for their meal. Now, for some strange reason, they were heading back out. A little warning bell went off in the back of Lupin's mind. They camp didn't lock itself up during the full moon? Were all of these werewolves going to remain outside for the transformation?

Lupin nodded. "I understand then," he answered, trying to keep the worry out of his voice.

Ulysses scratched his beard in thought. "I could take you to see her for a bit," he decided, "before you come out with us."

"So we are going out?" Lupin pressed his lips together in slight disapproval, but quickly turned so the other wolf couldn't see his expression.

"We've always went out," Ulysses said in a matter-of-fact tone. "What'd you think we did: chain ourselves up in cages?" He laughed as if that was the most far-fetched ideas he had ever heard.

"We're not in danger of any human settlements, I presume?" Lupin inquired.

"This camp isn't Nowhere-Anywhere for nothin'. C'mon, I'll show you where Claire is."

At one side of the mess hall was a set of double doors, and these led to a dirt slope deeper underground. A couple of hanging lanterns were nailed to the wall, and Ulysses took one as he walked by. There were makeshift wooden railings along the side, and Lupin took hold of them on either side on his way down. The unfinished quality of this level made him wonder if it was made in haste, as if specially prepared for a last-minute occasion, or if it was in such a shoddy condition because it wasn't put to much use. As they walked, bits of dirt fell on their heads. Far above, Lupin could hear other wolves barking outside in unison. The muffled sound made his blood turn chill.

"What are they doing?" he muttered to himself.

Ulysses assumed the question was addressed to him. "Getting ready for the transformation," he answered. Then, he called out into the darkness, "Hey, Claire, y'down there?"

Lupin froze, suddenly embarrassed to be caught by her. He paused suddenly, and slid down the slope because of the momentum.

The slope wasn't as deep as he thought, and they descend barely ten metres vertically when they reached the base. All was dark and above, Lupin saw several tunnels above his head that opened up to the night sky. All where positioned ground level, and faced the direction of the moonrise.

"Claire?" Ulysses called again.

Lupin saw two doors, made of wood. From one of them, he heard someone groaning. Upon hearing that noise, he too said, "Claire?"

Her reply came from the second door. "What are you doing 'ere?" she said sharply. "Ulysses, why did you-"

"He asked," her friend replied simply.

The person in the other door continued to groan. Ulysses raised his lantern and peered through a small window that was placed at eye-level. "He's going to be scared shitless tonight," he commented. "Why we couldn't bring him outside to tear into pieces I don't know..."

"Ze man won't stop muttering," Claire commented from her locked door. "Who is 'e anyway?"

"You'll find out soon enough," Ulysses moved away from the first door.

Lupin, rooted at the base of the slope the entire time, couldn't explain why he didn't want to come forward. He did want to see where Claire was, after all. Knowing that she was going to be kept here in the dark because of her LOCD made him feel wretched. Suddenly, he got the idea that he should spend the night with her too, and was about to voice this thought when Claire spoke to him again.

"Why did you come?" she repeated.

Lupin moved toward the door up to the small crack and looked in.

The cell she was in was brightly lit with a pair of lamps over the door. Claire sat, without her brace, on the ground, dressed in the same fatigues he usually saw her dressed in around camp. Her hair was undone, and it flowed down her back in small waves.

She wouldn't make eye contact with him. "You should 'ave Ulysses take you upstairs to join ze ozzars," she said gruffly.

"Will you be all right?" He couldn't take his eyes away from her.

"We all survive in our own little ways." Claire traced the dirt on the floor. "Please, let me be."

"Well..." Awkwardness came to him, and Lupin felt like he should say something meaningful to her then, something to get her through the night. "Good luck," he said, somewhat uncertainly, curing himself that he couldn't think of anything better.

Claire's head shot up and he caught a spark go off in those grey eyes. "I don't need your well-wishes," she answered in an even rougher tone. Then, her expression softened and she bowed her head down again quickly. He pushed her hair back behind her ears and added, "I'll be fine."

He moved away from the door, then heard some shuffling noises. Returning to the window, he jumped back, startled, to see her eyes peering through.

"How-?"

"I am not completely 'elpless," she hissed.

"Are you...?"

"I'm 'olding myself up using ze sides of ze door," she answered hastily. The exertion made her voice quiver. For a few moments, their gazes locked upon each other, before Claire dropped from his view. She collapsed on the other side, and Lupin put his fingers through the opening hastily in reaction as if trying to grab her before she fell. He drew away just as quickly, embarrassed again at such a spontaneous, illogical action. Heavy gasping sounds were heard on the other side of the door.

"Claire-?"

"Go," she panted. More shuffling sounds. "It's almost time."

Ulysses put his hand on Lupin's shoulder and tilted his head toward the exit. Lupin backed away, slowly, then turned and walked briskly up the slope.

The man's groans only became louder as they departed.

Above ground, Lupin saw the fifty or so wolves were divided into smaller units. They were talking among themselves. The rest of the Freedom Hounds were off by themselves and Ulysses and Lupin joined them.

Toby was squatting on back on his legs with his arms stretched out before him - a wolf position. Upon seeing them, he bounded to his feet and went over to Lupin with an excited air.

"Hey," he greeting casually. "Are you wolves staying with us for the night?"

Dominic scoffed from his cross-legged position on the ground. "He just wants to see whether wizards transform differently," he said to Lupin in a belittling tone. "Like with pink poofy smoke or-"

"Shut it!" Toby pushed him over.

"Heh. You shut it."

"Oh yeah!"

"Yeah!"

The two wolves began scuffling on the ground.

Ulysses cleared his throat, and both stopped, realising that they were fighting in the presence of a pack leader and a respected wizarding werewolf. Toby stared at the ground and Dominic turned around toward Antonia, who was looking rather pensive. She faced the direction of the moonrise. Her face, usually jovial, had a stark pale cast tonight.

"How are you copin'?" Ulysses asked gently.

"I will be fine as soon as the moonlight comes," she replied, her Spanish accent turning her voice into silk.

Lupin sat down beside Dominic. The fair-haired wolf lit up a cigarette and took a long drag. "She's thinking of the others," he whispered to Lupin, smoke drifting out of his nose.

"The ones that...."

"Yeah," Dominic verified. "Harriet and Margie, they both used to be real close with her. And Theo," he clicked his tongue, "you know. I think they mated once, long time ago."

"How did you three survive the Dementors?"

"Us lucky bastards," Dominic replied bitterly. "We weren't posing as guards; we stayed on the boat." Then, in a louder voice, he said, "Toby, here," and tossed his cigarette to the teenager. Toby grabbed it and took a couple puffs, then handed it to Ulysses. The American wolf took a couple of short drags before holding the cigarette out to Antonia. She offered it to Lupin afterwards, but he refused. The four wolves passed it between them in a peace pipe fashion; a little personal tradition before the full moon, Lupin supposed. By the time they were finished, the moon was just beginning to rise.

Transformation in a way was a very personal thing for Lupin. This was probably because he always had to transform alone; the only exceptions to the rule were with Mary. Now to engage in a massive transformation with many others was equivalent to coming to a public bathhouse for the first time. He looked apprehensively around him. The smaller packs kept to themselves. Then, as the moon grew higher, the screaming began. Wolves began falling over, clutching themselves. Lupin braced himself of the incoming pain and realised abruptly that many wolves weren't screaming nonsense; they were praying.

"Here we go," Dominic muttered darkly, crushing the butt between his fingers.

Then, it began.

His skin started to itch - fur sprouted in patched over his body - his tailbone shot out - muscles grew--

The Freedom Hounds around him were oddly silent. Ulysses had curled into a ball and was gnawing his arm with his teeth; Lupin saw blood. Dominic spat a million curses under his breath as if he were reciting the alphabet; Antonia lay eerily still, except for almost epileptic shaking. But Toby, oh the young wolf, he was the most fascinating of all -

Lupin's ears' moved back along his head - his knees cracked, changing position, his face contorted as his nose stretched and changed - hands morphed into claws and teeth into fearsome, long jaws - and his eyes, his eyes focussed on the boy reciting -

"This is the gift He hath given," Toby rasped as he lost his human voice. His eyes were clenched tight; he rocked back and forth in pain. "We are His chosen ones -" One wild jerk, and his head snapped back, eyes rolling, tongue hanging.

No! Lupin yelled silently.

Oddly enough, Antonia wrapped her arms around Toby from behind and held him to her chest. "Praise Him who blesses us with the powers of the beast," she muttered, then let go.

A curse! His human mind protested. It's a curse, it's a curse; all be dam-

The air ripped to pieces with howling.

***

Amazingly, there was no chaos. The camp teemed with life of a different kind that night. Packs assembled themselves and went off to hunt. Game was caught and killed. Whenever one pack confronted another over a jackrabbit or young deer, the matter was settled between the leaders. These were also the ones who wore black cloaks during the rest of the month. The wolves fought jaw-to-jaw, rolling, biting, snapping, until one bested the other in strength. Then the meat was taken, and the packs departed. True wolf life held no anger or ruthlessness, only the natural cycle of life that few people could understand.

Several interesting wolves were seen that night. Many were scraggly Spanish half-breeds who gathered here over the years. One was a giant Siberian timber wolf, whose coat, though ragged, was thick and pure white. He walked with a great hunch on his shoulders and his two front fangs were missing. Then there was the smaller, streamlined American grey, who led a small pack: a chestnut Spanish bitch, a copper youngster, and a dun-coloured male.

Of all the wolves there, only two did not belong to a pack. A lone brown and grey hunter tried to run off into the scrublands, but was cornered and watched by American grey. The other one, the crazed beast, was locked underground. An injured man locked up next door soiled himself in fear and prayed to whatever gods he still believed him.

Oh Jesus, the man prayed, please save me, please save me, I'll do anything, just don't let the wolves get me, I promise, I'll do anything, just don't let them break down the door, don't let them bite me, Oh Jesus Christ, please give me my wand, I'll do anything, please, Oh Christ please help me get my wand back...

***

Thus, the full moon passed. Lupin opened his eyes the next day with the Freedom Hounds surrounding him, already awake. Toby was laying down propped inches away from his face with a disappointed look in his honey eyes.

"So there isn't any poofy smoke, is there?" he asked.

***

There was little else for him to do at the camp, Lupin discovered. When Claire disappeared (which occurred on occasion, though she would avoid the question of her whereabouts when he asked her about them), Lupin stayed in his room. Though it had been uncomfortably barren when he had initially arrived, at the end of the first day he had discovered a pile of dusty, paperback books that seemed to have been printed by small, independent publishers. Their titles were long-winded and political such as Wizard Oppression of Other Magical Races Throughout History, or "They Promised Us a Land of Our Own": How the American MGA Tricked Native Wolves into Containment Camps. Lupin found that reading too much of only one book could stir even the blood of a sloth into active rebellion.

Toby caught Lupin scanning a map of the Alaskan Concentration Zone from one of these books when he stopped by his room. The young wolf opened the door and poked his head in; it seemed that complete privacy was not guaranteed. Lupin had checked his door long ago and had seen that there were locks on the outside of it, not the inside.

"The highest werewolf population in the world," he commented as Lupin looked up. "Americawas full of wolves, until the European wizards kicked them all out."

"Are these your required reading here?" Lupin asked, closing the book.

"It's our past," Toby replied.

"Obsessing over imprisonment and injustice," Lupin murmured. "It makes being a werewolf a psychosis."

"It's the truth." Toby said seriously. He sat down on the bed. "All wolves should know it."

Lupin didn't comment. Instead, he took note of Toby's uniform. "Been busy?"

"A little," Toby replied vaguely. "But I'm taking off on my free time and I thought I might stop by to see what you were up to."

Lupin tilted his head to the side and commented, "I dreamt of you once."

Toby raised an eyebrow. "Is that a good thing?"

"It was a long time ago. You were painting the London Safehouse white." To cover up its true colours. Giving a shrug, he added, "I didn't think much of it at the time."

A sudden thought came to the younger wolf. "Hey, you want to come out with me?"

"Where to and whatever for?"

"Combat practice." A crooked grin spread across his face. "Are you interested?"

His offer made Lupin feel more divided. Should he accept as if interested or stay distant? But the fact was that Lupin was intrigued about this "practice." He wondered whether that was a preference toward agreement with this camp. "I'm perfectly fine right here," he declined mildly. "I'm planning to meet up with Claire later."

"It won't take long." The wolf lifted his eyebrows questioningly. "You're not afraid of a bit of sparring, are you?"

"Sparring? As in hand-to-hand fighting?" Even the thought made Lupin chuckle. "What barbaric Muggle practice is that?"

"One used when you don't have a wand to defend yourself." He pulled on Lupin's arm. "C'mon, lemme show you some."

"Fighting?" Not believing that he could be pressured by an eighteen-year old in any other circumstance, Lupin rose to his feet. "Then show away."

"All right!" Beaming like a pup with a new playmate, Toby led him through the underground passageways until they came to a large, open room. Hanging light bulbs provided the only light to the floor, and the shadows hugged the walls. Heavy black rubber mats covered the floor, and a few dummies were pushed into a corner. The room itself wasn't empty: a thin wolf and his older, chestnut-haired partner were engaged in combat when they entered. Dominic and Antonia, two recruits from the Freedom Hounds.

Antonia threw a high kick towards Dominic's head. Immediately, he grabbed her foot and turned to them. "Hey," he started, then dropped his partner's foot, letting her fall, and straightened up upon seeing Lupin. "Toby. Lupin."

"Mind if we come in?" Toby asked, helping a slightly off-put Antonia up from the floor.

"Not at all," she said, glaring at Dominic, who made his way over to a nearby side table and took up an open canteen.

Toby explained, "I want to show him some of the stuff we can do."

"We're far from being black belts, but we're better than most." Dominic took a swing from his canteen as Lupin puzzled over what the term "black belt" meant. "Does Ulysses know you two are here?"

"We're big wolves now," Toby answered. "We can take care of ourselves."

"Stop being a git." Dominic leaned in close and whispered something to him in a concerned voice. Lupin watched out of the corner of his eye while Antonia quickly replied, "It's nothing. You're new here and Ulysses wants to keep an eye out."

"What for? It's not as if I'll disappear or anything," Lupin said, thinking of the locks outside his door.

She laughed. "You are our guest of honour. No one wants to let you out of their sight. You silly boys," Antonia called out nonchalantly. She moved past the two, who were now involved in their own private conversation. Toby jumped when she passed by, hand to his backside, and fired, "Hey, quit it!"

"Why can't a woman get what she wants?" she winked.

"Especially if she can get it from a kid half her age, huh?"Toby snapped back. He made a stance. "But you better watch it before I go kung fu on your arse."

"I'll take it from you there anytime."

Dominic pushed Toby aside. "Sometimes, you people disgust me," he said.

Lupin sat down and wiped his face with a towel, amused. Even wearing Gaczyna-issued fatigues, the Freedom Hounds' spirits never changed.

"So, little Toby here wants to show off, eh?" Antonia said.

Toby took a roll of canvas strips from a nearby table and started wrapping his hands. "Lupin thinks its Muggle barbarism."

Antonia gave a laugh, a rich, deep-bellied one that came from living a satisfying life. "I thought wizards fought all the time."

"We duel. There's a difference," Lupin explained. "I can do without magic, but I'm not the best."

"Hey, there's potential in everyone," Toby said with enthusiasm.

"But I can't-"

"C'mon," he egged on, taking a fighting stance. "Hit me."

"What?"

"You heard what I said. Hit me."

Lupin hesitated. "You want me to hit you?"

Toby bounced on the balls of his feet, throwing mock punches. "I want you to hit me as hard as you can."

"You sure?"

"Don't think you can do it?"

"Positive now?"

"What, chicken? Oh, the wizardin' werewolf's afraid of violence! He can't take it now- oof!"

The last comment was made when Lupin's fist made contact with Toby's jaw. The boy tumbled to the ground. "Christ!" he exclaimed. "Where'd that come from?"

"You wanted me to hit you. What did you expect to happen?"

"Argh... I dunno... probably a punch in the ear or something." Toby dusted off his clothes. "But not a bad start. I could teach you quite a few things."

"Good."

"Well, how'd you fight before?"

"I'm passive. I prefer to walk away."

"Not with a hit like that you don't."

Lupin cracked a smile. "There were times where I had to learn how to defend myself," he answered. "Now are you going to teach or talk?"

"Fine then, wise wolf," Toby moved back a couple feet and raised his fists. "This time I'm serious. Have a go."

Not being used to taking the offence, Lupin raised his fists unsurely.

"Run at me."

Lupin did. But before he could get a hold of him, the world tossed on end and thud! he handed flat on his back, the wind knocked out of him.

"Whoa," came Toby's voice from above. "I didn't mean to throw you that hard."

"I'm all right," he wheezed, getting up.

"Don't kill the bloke!" Dominic chided playfully from the sidelines. "He's not as young as we are."

Antonia said coyly, "You puppies think you're better then us?"

Thud!

Now Dominic joined Lupin on the floor, and Antonia was wiping her hands against each other with a smirk on her face.

"If you want anyone to teach you anything," she said, "let me."

It turned out that all of them were willing to show Lupin their knowledge of "Muggle barbarism." Perhaps they each had a secret ambition to flaunt their skill in front of the wizard werewolf, and half the time they bickered between themselves rather than instructing their pupil. They did manage to teach him some basic kicks and punches. After fighting among themselves for several minutes, they finally agreed on the proper throwing technique and all of them were pleased when Lupin threw Dominic (Toby bouncing about as if he had eaten a dozen Chocolate Frogs and Antonia with a cool sort of satisfaction). Toby, though, with a sense of newfound educator's pride was the one who promised to instruct him personally every afternoon if he wanted.

After, Lupin rested on the ground, tired. Maybe Dominic was right; he wasn't as active as younger wolves. "Where did you learn all this?" Dominic passed him his canteen and he took a drink.

Toby began, excited, "During the summer, we meet up with -"

"Jarohnen did," Dominic rushed in. "The Muggles taught him."

"He seems to know a lot."

"Muggles know more than you wizards think," Antonia answered, a bit smug. "If you'd take a look at those that you deem lesser than you, you might learn something."

"'You' as in the class in general," Toby added, noticing that Lupin could take offense.

"It always seems to be 'you' in general," Lupin smiled. "Otherwise, I would feel very uncomfortable right now."

"It's not your fault that wizards think the way they do," Antonia reassured him. "When they think of werewolves, they have this image of a hunkering beast waiting in the dark. It's silly."

"Or a wild wolf raging out of control," Toby said, "like those Berserkers."

This term was new to Lupin's ears. "Berserker?"

"Yeah," Dominic laughed. "If I could fight like a Berserker, I wouldn't be out here right now." He threw a punch at the swinging bag.

"Berserkers are real wolf fighters," Toby explained, sounding like a nine-year old obsessing about his favourite superhero. "Only those with ancient bloodlines leading back into the Dark Ages even have a smidgen of Berserker blood in them. But even a drop can be enough. Berserkers are legendary warriors. They can actually take their wolves and unleash them while they're human. They're absolutely ruthless. Nothing can stop them. It was a myth that a berserker can charge through a fighting horde without a single scrape; that he can leap as high as three men and have the strength of ten."

"It's all exaggeration, though," Antonia added, looking at Toby with an amused grin.

"No, it isn't!" Toby defended. "Remember what Ulysses said? He saw a Berserker once, in America," he explained quickly to Lupin. "They weren't called Berserkers of course, but some Native American name. Some kind of Pawnee shaman, I think. When the wizards were rounding up all the werewolves to the camps up north, a few of them went berserk on them. There was one - Joseph Howling Moon - who creamed fifty wizards in an hour before he was killed. And that's with only his bare hands," he added.

Lupin commented, "Almost like a giant."

"Without the extended proportions," Toby agreed.

"There's no such thing as 'going berserk' anymore," Dominic said. "It's only an expression. And a corny one too."

"I bet there're still Berserkers out there," Toby said. "They just don't talk about it. I mean, what do you think the Ministry of Magic would do if they knew a werewolf that could take out an entire squadron of Hit Wizards in less than five minutes?"

Lupin looked at the three wolves, two of them at least fifteen years younger than him, and swore he saw ancient blood making their cheeks flush. Or was it the warm weather, and the exertion from that day's exercise? Ridiculous, he reproached himself. Berserkers - he had never even heard of the word before. There were no Berserkers at this camp.

Dominic threw a high kick at the punching bag. The distant cracks of gunfire started filled the empty space. No, none of them were becoming Berserkers, he decided quietly, but something worse. Much worse.

Chapter 31

Cattails blowing in the wind. Swaying, their pulpy heads nudged against each other while in motion. Rustle of the long grass. And the cold night air with the wind and the cattails stirring with the long grass....

Heat. A distinct feeling of heat pervaded Lupin's mind, as though he was being plunged into a sauna. Sweat formed on his brow and he squinted as the dry, straw-coloured light cut through the closed blinds and hit his face. The conference room was stuffy, mostly because it had been built with a lot of concrete and very little breathing room. Usually the unheated room was freezing, but not today. Harper had his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his tie loosened around his neck. There were black smudges on his arms where he had rested them on the inked parchment. Lupin turned away, wiped his forehead with a blue linen handkerchief and watched Harper scribble.

A curious sense of déjà vu overwhelmed him. As if he wasn't supposed to be there, but nevertheless had to be there.

His eye noticed the bandages wrapped around the young man's hands.

"One of the janitors - Lottie - told me of an incident with a cursed envelope," he said.

"What letter? The complaint mail? Hey, no problem - I get complaints fired at me all the time, sometimes not even in mail form." He laughed dismissively with a nervous shaking of his shoulders.

"Was it more than a complaint, Mr. Harper?"

"Nothing," Harper said. "Look, I got most of it reversed." Peeling back one of the bandages, Lupin saw a mangy tuft of yellow fur growing on the back of his hand. "It's mostly harmless, and the doctor said it'll shed eventually. But, damn, it itches."

"Whoever sent that -" began Lupin.

"Shouldn't be your concern, Mr. Lupin," he scratched the back of his hand viciously while adding, "Next time, I'll wear gloves when checking my mail."

"As my barrister, your concerns are my own."

POW!

The impact of Toby's blow sent him flying. Lupin hit the bare ground with a heavy thud and saw stars. He raised his head, confusion on his face, as the sunlight came into his eyes.

"Mr. Harper!"

What was that? Where was he? Outside? The camp? He looked around, wildly. But hadn't he just been in the conference room in Edinburgh with Harper? Hadn't they been working on his line of questioning for the trial?

But the pain of Toby's punch still stung his jaw and left his ears ringing. And Lupin knew that he was at a camp in the middle of nowhere with werewolves that were being trained to fight. Lupin knew that he was in the middle of a sparring match with young Toby, and that he had taken a blow to the face because he was also with Harper asking about his hands. But no, that couldn't be right! Lupin blinked, rubbed his eyes, sat up, and blinked again.

"Geez, did I hit you that hard?" Toby laughed, and rubbed his hands, wrapped in tough canvas like Harper's were covered in stiff linen.

Indeed, the blow had knocked him out of one reality into another.

"I... I... I thought..." Lupin shook his head. He swore that in preceding moment he had been with Harper. Then Lupin fully remembered that he had been staying at the camp for a week or so. He rubbed his jaw. "It must be sunstroke. Yes, most likely."

Toby nodded half-believingly. "Sure. We better take it inside."

He helped Lupin up and they walked back together to the underground entrance. The young wolf offered him his canteen, and Lupin took a swig from it. They were silent for a few moments and then Toby asked, "Not to pry or anything, but who's Mr. Harper?"

"He's my barrister. Or was my barrister. When I was supposed to be on trial." Or technically still am, he added silently. Lupin stared at the sky and squinted his eyes. The weather was cool, not like the heat that had made him sweat. "I wonder how the weather is in Scotland," he mused aloud.

"Not as good as where we are," Toby said. "C'mon." And he opened the hole in the ground to disappear.

***

"Yeah, and he got all rigid and strange. Started to talk to the air." Toby scratched his head. "He said something like, 'As my barrister, your concerns are my own,' or whatever. It was like Lupin wasn't really here at all, but somewhere else."

"What do you think it means?" Claire asked. They were in the bunkers, near the back where Toby's cot was. The young wolf sat hunched over on the bottom bunk of the bed that he shared with Dominic, sharpening a small switchblade against a whetting stone.

He dragged the blade once lazily over the flat stone. "I dunno. I'm wondering whether it was the heat today or something. It was too hot to practice inside, so we went out. But you know," Toby leaned in to say in a confidential whisper, "I've been getting bad vibes from him. No offense really. He's a good wolf, Remus Lupin is, but there's also this... weird feeling I get from him. He's sort of an odd bloke."

" 'Ow do you think so?" she said defensively.

Toby raised his hands. "I'm not beating down on your boyfriend or anything-"

"Remus is not my boyfriend."

"Or, as you might call it, your beau. Whatever." He gave a cock-eyed grin and folded the blade shut. "Don't tell me you haven't been banging each other like rabbits every time you two sneak off camp."

"Banging each ozzar like rabbits?" She arched an eyebrow and shoved his shoulder. "Please."

"But, seriously, I'm wondering: if you two ever get it on, how would that happen? Would you be able to feel anything down there or is it just all nothing? That would kind of take the fun out of it - hey, hey, ouch!"

Claire stopped hitting Toby over the back of the head and leaned back in her chair. "Do you ever think of anything outside of your testosterone drive?"

"Okay, okay, I get it. Sorry." The redhead backed down. "I'd keep an eye on him, though," he added. "Even Ulysses's still wondering if he's on our side. The only reassurance we have is that he has you."

"Of course he's wiz us. All of you 'ave been like Big Bruzzer ever since he came 'ere. Remus trusts me. And whatever 'odd' thing you see in 'im, zat is ridiculous. Maybe today's weather got to 'is 'ead." She sighed. "Zair is a difference about Remus now zan from what I remember. But no matter. Jarohnen said it would take time for 'im to get used to things. Only time."

Claire observed Remus curiously during mealtime that evening. He only picked at his bowl, tasting little. His fingers kept rubbing the handle of his spoon as if making sure it was real. Most of all, he approached everything in a distant, questioning manner: adjusting and re-adjusting his posture, taking quick scans of the room and longer looks at her.

"Not 'ungry?" she asked.

"Not very much." Remus put his spoon down for the tenth time in ten minutes. "Something happened to me while sparring with Toby this morning, that's all."

"What was it?"

"I don't know." Then he picked up his spoon again and ate without another word.

***

The Ministry was a fortress, so he didn't bother going there for information. Ulysses didn't want him to break inside there anyway. He had his orders. Go to Edinburgh and find any information about their comrade Remus Lupin.

For the problem was, there didn't seem to be any information. Not even the papers had come out with anything after the Freedom Hounds rescued Lupin; Ulysses said that was the strangest part of all. Were the wizards trying to cover it up? Did they even realise Lupin was missing?

"Working nights in the Ministry nights must be hell." Dominic slipped at the mug of ale he had been nursing for the past half-hour. Beside him, his companion was downing her fifth. It was amazing to watch such a small person hold so much alcohol at once.

"Weel, Ah do wha' Ah must," came the reply along with a hiccup. With a dull thud, the empty bottle came down on the counter and tipped over.

"Do you want another one, Lottie?" the blond wolf asked, straightening up the Guinness bottle before it rolled off the table.

The red-faced Squib gave an exaggerated nod. "Gits borin' nou tha' Ah'm wurkin' by meself. Mi last janitor, he was a gud ane. Terrible tha' he left. Terrible." Lottie Gordon sighed. "An' Ah miss him. He was such a nice laddie, y'know?"

"I see." Dominic gestured for the bartender to bring over a fresh bottle and he pulled off the cap for her. Handing it over, he continued, "You probably see all sorts of things working there. Like that time a while ago when the werewolf got arrested. It was a big event when it first came out."

"Oh, an' he was a quiet laddie tae," Lottie went on. "Bu' he got his work dun, an' Ah even made him clean oot aa the johns an' he dunnae cared. Wha' a gud man Dougie Ridley was."

"I'm sure he was," Dominic agreed. "Now I'm sure you heard plenty of talk about the werewolf lately--"

"Bu' he might have got scared after the Incinerator. He went doun there - fer wha' Ah cunnae tell ye - an' he was gettin' aa 'em eggs, an' an Ashwinder went oop his leg an' got him in the ankle. He was near dead, Dougie Ridley was. Ah fund him so."

Impatient, Dominic tried playing along. "Dougie sounds like an interesting fellow," he remarked.

"Onlie the best," she agreed. "An' ye knou wha?" Her voice turned grave. "There's a secret Ah know aboot him. He's more than wha' ye think. An' Ah promised nut tae tell anee ane."

"Then maybe we should stop talking about him."

"Oh, it's a big, big secret," Lottie said, holding out her arms in a wild, drunken gesture. "Bu' Ah promised him tha' Ah wunnae tell a soul. Sum fowk might not think much of him if they knew. Bu' Ah was his gud friend; I wunnae tell anee soul fer the world -"

Dominic hit his fist against the tabletop. "Then stop chattering, you damn twit!"

Lottie halted. Her whole beefy face puckered up in disgust. With wobbly legs, she stood up. "Ah think our conversation's over," she mumbled stiffly. "Nou if ye'd excuse mi, Ah'll best be headin' hame."

Great. Twenty sickles wasted on one sorry-arsed asset, Dominic thought. Ulysses would be pleased.

"Bu'..." She stood stock straight and gave him a steady eye. "Eef ye want tae knou so much aboot tha' werewolf, Ah'll tell ye this: he's still livin' doun there in tha' dungeon, an' nune oo the Big Anes ever checked oop on him after tha' hearin'. They wanna leave him there 'til he's a skeleton in tha' dungeon."

"So not even the Ministry knows anything about him?" Dominic said, almost disbelievingly.

"He's going bonkers doun thair Ah bet," she affirmed. "He dunnae say a word. Ah never seen him meself, 'cept when the officers brought him doun, an' tha' was almost two weeks ago. Haven't heard a peep or a parry since."

Typical wizard behaviour! They threw Jarohnen in the dark for a month; the same treatment for Remus, he'd assume. But that was to the pack's advantage; by the time the Ministry discovered his disappearance, the cell would be halfway across the continent. "What bastards," he commented.

Lottie snorted. "Hope ye got's wha's cumin' tae ye," she spat. Dominic stood up and wished her good night. Lottie gave an overstretched grin that sent tremors down her chins. "Wha'ever suits yebest," she said vaguely. "Gud tae see ye gut wha' ye deserved!"

What was that Squib speaking of now? Dominic shook his head to himself as he left the Flying Leviathan. Strangely enough, Lottie emitted a peal of wild laughter, as if she had taken part in the funniest joke in the world. Her laugher flooded out the door, tumbling in Dominic's wake, and when he entered the street, it burst into a night in a fury of maniacal mirth whose source remained unknown to the world.

***

The sun rose and set, rose and set, rose and set. There was no clock; there was no time. Only the stirring of the wind over the dry, crackling brush, and the sun coasting along in its azure playground.

As time passed, Lupin's attachment to Claire grew. He felt like such an outsider here in this Nowhere-Anywhere that he found himself coming to her more and more. She was familiar to him and he liked that. When they parted, little time would pass before he would want to see her again. Old feelings stirred in his heart, and he would catch himself absorbed in the little things about her, like how she brushed her hair away from her eyes or raise the graceful curve of her neck to gaze at the heavens. And her hands were the most intriguing part; he had never seen such hands. He felt them: smooth, yet calloused, with defined knuckles and joints. These were hands that had experienced life.

Sometimes he wondered whether if he was in love with her. He must be, Lupin decided, if he had such a close fascination with her. This love, however, could never be compared with the fevered adoration he had for his little girl. Love comes in many different flavours and qualities, and his love for Claire was like drinking water and pretending it was wine.

Perhaps it was pity that moved him. Whenever the word pity moved through his mind, however, shame would drive it away. Love, not pity, he told himself. For if this is not love, then I must be damned cruel for only feeling sympathy for someone who sacrificed so much.

So he let her hand slip into his on occasion. So he held her will over his. So he practiced all the small things love should provide.

The result - to see her smile lines deepen, to hear her contented sighs, to feel her warm body, to smell the scent of her hair as she rested her head on his shoulder - was worth it. A thousand times over, it was worth it.

Thus, they left the camp for hours on end; they talked under the stars and the sun. They became so close that she trusted him more and more. And Lupin fell more and more in love. Whether his feelings were pure or tainted by guilt he could not say.

"Remus?"

He shook his head and looked at her. Early night shadows deepened the contours of her face, distinguishing her cheekbones, the darkness in her eyes. Again, he had been lost in his own thoughts about Nowhere-Anywhere. About Sirius. About Mary. About Claire.

"We 'ave to go."

"Yes, yes." He got up and folded up the blankets as she continued her way down the path.

"I didn't know we stayed out so late," she said. "Our little walks after dinner are becoming far too long."

"I never notice the time."

A pause. "Neither do I."

By the time they reached the camp, night had settled itself down upon the hills. Lone groups of five or six wolves moved past them, dressed in black and carrying long bundles under their arms and heavy belts across their chest. Lupin stared away from the group, as if by not seeing them he could pretend they didn't exist.

Underground, the torches were blazing, and sounds of shouting and laughter were heard from the mess hall. Learn how to kill, then share some food and a joke afterwards. A knot folded in on itself in Lupin's stomach and he moved closer to Claire's chair, shunning those bitter thoughts. He used her as his shield, blocking out the harsh realities he refused to confront.

They reached her room, and Lupin opened her door. He waited for her to go past him, then shut the door, as usual, but she stayed, and placed her hand on his. "Come in?" she offered.

Startled at this sudden break from routine, he asked, "Whatever for?"

"Because." Hesitation. "I want you to 'elp me into bed." She quickly amended, "If you would like to."

"Is something wrong?" he asked, concerned. "Did you hurt yourself?"

She bit her lip. "Would you only 'elp if I said zat?" A short laugh. "I'm only tired tonight...."

"Or too lazy to get out by yourself?"

"Vraiment. I am a lazy pig and," she hit his shoulder playfully, "you must 'elp me."

He laughed. "Do you want me to tuck you into bed?"

She gave a coy glance in reply.

Lupin entered the room, turned on the light and moved the sheets aside before he came to her. Resting one arm behind her back and another beneath her knees, he whispered, "Ready?"

"Oui."

He lifted her. The soft insides of her arms pressed against his neck; he could caught a whiff of lavender and another scent... a smell wonderfully natural and musky and different from anything a man could bottle....

Unconsciously, his grip tightened.

Claire wasn't the lightest of people, but he set her down upon the mattress as if she was a feather. How odd it felt to take a grown woman to bed...

Lupin pulled up the sheets with a hasty yank and resisted the urge to tuck them in beneath her chin. His hand smoothed out the winkles and brushed up against her side. A gasp was heard.

Embarrassed, he held back and retreated a few steps from the bedside. Claire stared at him from beneath lowered eyelids.

"I didn't-" he began.

"Shhhhhhh..." She reached over, took his hand, and tugged, gently. Lupin had no idea whether to resist or be taken in; confused, he stood his ground.

Claire put her other hand to her mouth; Lupin swore she was stifling a smile. But when the hand left, she was only looking flatly at him, her face still, but her eyes dancing.

With playful tugs on the arm, she drew him by her side again. "You said you would tuck me in," she teased. "You're not doing ze best of jobs now, are you?"

"I never thought you wanted me to," he heard himself say.

With small, firm stokes, she caressed the hand she held. Maddening sensations were running through him, making his palms feel sweaty and his heart quicken.

"Tonight I do," she replied, softly. Claire placed his hand on the edge of the blanket and left it there. Distracted, Lupin played with the fabric briefly, rubbing the coarse material between his fingers. Then, he reached over to take the other corner and gracefully lifted up the blanket. With utmost care, he lowered himself over her to tuck the cloth in. Being so close, with her acting so vulnerable, but so bold... Her scent filled the air; he could feel her eyes upon him.

He didn't know if he could control himself at that moment. He folded the edge over and draped it just underneath her shoulders. Lupin tried keeping his eyes low to avoid hers, but they came to rest upon a more questionable part of her anatomy. He shut them quickly. Her scent was driving him to places he dared not think-

" 'Ow long are you going to stand zair?" she whispered, half-joking.

Lupin looked down upon her face, so contained and expectant. His arms weighed down upon the cot on either side of her; she was trapped but he was the one made rigid.

Suddenly her arms were around him and his face against hers. Lips touched his and he responded, eagerly; her hands entangled themselves within his hair, her nails brushing against his scalp; his arms closed in and they were wrapped around her; his fingers were getting caught in her braid; and her scent, rich and intoxicating, overcame him...

He wanted to stay. He wanted to stay and be with her, stay and hold her, stay and let her do anything she wanted with him and let him do anything he wanted with her. And then their kiss deepened and her tongue moved with his... And he wanted to have her and he thought whether it could be possible, then he thought it was possible and he could make it so... and she gave a closed-mouth moan that sounded like she was dying, and she was dying and he was dying, entwined in each other's arms... and he shifted his weight more onto the bed and he could feel her hand slip underneath his shirt and cling to the muscles of his back... and he thought it could be possible and it was possible and he was going to make it so... and her scent, her overpowering scent dizzied his senses and he could tell his scent throttled hers as well...

They were kissing and he did not let her go. They were kissing and he did not let her go.

Then she released him with a sharp breath that drove him mad. And he felt there was too much between them, too much between them and he wanted to take it all off and he wanted nothing between them, and he wanted to touch her everywhere with nothing between them, and he was going to make it so...

Hands fumbled with cloth, pulling and shoving, ripping buttons, tearing seams. And he grabbed her hair tightly and pulled; he drowned his mouth in the delicate hollow of her neck, like a vampire. And he smelled her and tasted her and wanted her....

And the cloth tore and the hands reached. And she was pushing him away, but he did not let her go. And she had a frightened mote in her eye which make her blind and tearful; she struggled as if fighting a demon and a high, frightened noise came from the back of her throat-

"Arrêtez! Arrêtez!"

Lupin froze and thought, No, it cannot be.

"Claire?"

She buried her face in her hands, her ears burning with shame. Her whole body trembled; the smooth flesh of her bare abdomen lay exposed between folds of her open shirt, half-ripped off in his desire. With the cloth ripped from under it, the heavy straps of her brace rubbed against her skin. Abashed, she held her torn clothing shut with a white-knuckled fist. "Je regrette..." she said in a strained voice. "Je regrette beaucoup..." A hiccup jumped from her lips.

"Sorry? About what?" Lupin slid off the bed and held her shaking wrists. "Claire...?"

"I wanted to..." she explained. "I wanted to! But zen you came on top of me and I could feel my... my... clothes being thrown off and you were touching so roughly...." She trailed off. "It was nothing."

"Claire, you know it wasn't nothing." He felt indescribably disgusted with himself for reducing her to this state. Lupin knelt by the bedside and lowered her hand from her eyes. "Tell me."

"I...I...I..." Claire shook her head wildly and shoved him away. "I panicked. I became scared. Zat is all."

"It was more than that," Lupin said firmly. "I won't leave until you tell me."

"It was 'e." She pressed her lips together to make a thin, drawn line. "You were t-taking off... my... my clothes...and I... I couldn't move and I saw 'im." Another blink and her eyelashes became wet. "I saw zat it was not you and zat it was 'im and 'e was going to... to...to..."

"To assault you," Lupin euphemised.

"To rape me," she spat. Claire's eyes darted over to the corner. "And you're not 'im and you're never going to be 'im, but I became so frightened and I couldn't control myself..." Another tear. "I am so very, very sorry..."

"Don't-"

"I-I-I shouldn't 'ave done it," she said. "I ruined everything-"

"Don't." Lupin put a finger to her lips. "Nothing is ruined." He kissed her, carefully, and pulled the blanket up all the way. The disappointment throbbed within him, but not as much as the guilt. God, he did not want to remind her of that hellish nightmare she went through! Lupin wondered if she had seen Agent Parsons's face peering down over her at that moment, or if Lupin had only resembled him then and couldn't decide which possibility was worse. But he would never, ever want to transform into such a monster.

Claire truly did appear vulnerable lying there on that bed, trying to guard her modesty and her pride. What if she were to remain vulnerable for the rest of her life? Lupin felt the urge to protect her, to shelter her from any evil that would even think of harming her. It was the same feeling that he had - or maybe had had - for Mary.

A tremendous sense of need. She needed him and he needed her.

Lupin stroked her cheek. "Go to sleep."

"I am not a pup," she said harshly. "I can choose to sleep when I want."

"As you wish." Lupin rose to his feet.

"And I want to sleep wiz you."

He stopped, mid-stride. "Claire-"

"Oui," she affirmed. "I want you, 'ere, beside me..."

"Well, the cot wouldn't-"

"I want you to stay 'ere." She sounded as if she were trying to make up for her previous rejection. "Avec moi." She hesitated. "So I know I'm not alone."

Lupin gave a nod. He pulled up the stool beside her. Claire gestured to the table. "Zair are more blankets underneath."

He willingly drew them out and folded one across his lap.

"Non, non, do not sleep sitting up. You will be uncomfortable."

"But then I wouldn't be beside you," he answered, silencing her. He leaned his back against the wall and turned his head to meet her eyes. The happiness glowed, making the grey turn to molten silver. Lupin slipped his hand in hers. A small smile crept across her face.

"Bonne nuit," she whispered.

"Bonne nuit."

Chapter 32

The next day wore a lead coat that weighed down on every little thing. Activity at the camp dribbled down to a slow run rather than a torrent of action. Still, Claire could hear the soft voices of instructors in dim rooms, and the stomping feet of the young wolves exercising outside, stirring up dust from the desert-dry soil.

Claire focused on these distant sounds from her room. At the table, Remus leafed through one of the Werewolf Cause philosophy manuals. She could tell that he did this to pass the time and not reading for deep contemplation. Claire wondered what his opinion was about this Nowhere-Anywhere he resided in. Above all, she hoped he was happy, but from the guarded look in his eyes all she could tell was that he approached everything with both caution and attentiveness.

Seeing him there, Claire felt the urge to touch him, but didn't. Was it restraint? Was it uncertainty?

She did not have much time left. Every single moment had to count for an eternity with her. For a pup, a day would stretch out as far as the horizon, but Claire could see how short these few days she had would be, the days before she would leave this camp and return to the real world she was trapped in, her brother's world. So little time to get over her fears. But terror would not be her master. Not anymore.

Remus put the book down flat on the table for the tenth time in the past half-hour. "You've been awfully quiet today."

She looked over at him, meaning to reply. Claire wanted to call him tender, sincere names like she had heard lovers do, yet pet names like "honey" or "sweetheart" or "darling" made her squirm. No-one ever used those titles of affection with her; not even her mother had called her "ma chère." But he was still very dear to her. Remus was the best person she had ever met; that was why she found him so attractive. Or maybe it was the other way around.

"Remus," she said, using all the feeling she could not express otherwise, "about last night..." She could feel the back of her ears start to burn.

"You are not to blame at all for what happened," Remus said. "I have... no idea what came over me; my reaction was completely uncalled for and I cannot bear to think- "

"I know." She swallowed hard. This was something she had to do. Willing herself to the hardest measure, she said in a flat voice, "I want you to lie wiz me."

"Lie with you?"

"To sleep."

Before he could reply, she hastened, "I only want to be comfortable wiz people touching me again. At times, I feel zat I'm not even a being anymore. I feel as if I am not myself. As if I am so many different parts, but not a whole..." She could feel her face flush. "...woman," she finished, clearing her throat. "I would greatly like to feel like a woman again."

She dropped her head. Idiot! Imagine the look of repulsiveness Remus was wearing that moment! Oh, why did she have to be so stupid as to say that! Better if she had never said anything at all! Shutting her eyes, as if blocking out an unpleasant reality, she substituted, "Forget it. Ze idea is stupid and crude."

His silence only deepened her fears of indecency. "Remus?"

He took her hand. "I don't want to scare you," he said.

"I do not want to be scared. Especially of you." Claire kept her eyes closed, face turned away. "But I cannot 'elp feeling frightened when any man - any man, even if 'e was my own brother - comes near me."

"So you want us to share a bed, but nothing else? Would it be uncomfortable or..."

"If it is a short rest, we could try," she said.

She didn't want to make the first move, suddenly embarrassed to act overeager. Instead, she stared at her hands, awkwardly. Remus hesitated, in turn, standing unsurely by his chair. She took one look at him, then with fresh determination, she said, "Ferme la porte."

He did without hesitation, and Claire asked nervously, "Are you sure you want to do zis? Zat it is more zan pitying a poor fool?"

Remus gave a crooked grin. "As long as you don't hog the sheets, I won't mind."

She lifted the back of her shirt. Hard metal and unforgiving plastic. Remus turned away politely as Claire undid the straps with shaking fingers. In one swoop, all the blood rushed to her head; she was nervous; she was scared. Quickly, she stopped half-way through, pulled down her shirt, and turned around. Remus cast his eyes in the other direction, like a schoolboy. He stared at the wall and said, "You don't have to."

"I want to." She swallowed hard.

What if she reacted the same way as before? Would this be nothing but embarrassment? But what if this fear was right, was appropriate? Was she forsaking her safety? Was she only fooling herself?

What if she was making him do this? Did he even want to anymore? By the spirits, this was degrading! Why was she doing this? No, now was not the time!

With one quick motion, she undid the last straps to her brace and let it fall to the floor.

"Is taking it off safe?" he questioned, eyes to the wall.

"It will do no damage...." Putting the brake on her chair, Claire gripped the sides and lifted herself out with ease. But what if she did hurt herself? Three months the doctors said - well, that time was nearly over. Surely there could be no harm for a short while.

Sitting down on the bed, she stared at Remus as she slowly removed her shirt. Again, Remus started, "I thought -" but stopped when he saw the determination in her eyes.

"What do you think?" she asked softly, baring her back to him.

From behind, she heard his soft footsteps cross the room. The bed sagged as he sat next to her. His boots clunked as they hit the floor, and she took hers off too. Carefully, with fingers like a surgeon, he traced the rough pattern where metal had replaced bone.

"You're beautiful," he whispered.

"Don't lie."

"I'm not."

She felt his breath on her neck. "Only to hold?"

"Oui."

She watched as he unbuttoned his own shirt. An ugly brown pitted mass stretched across his left side. Claire recoiled. "We all have our scars to bear," he told her.

Gingerly, she moved her fingers across the damaged skin. Spreading her hand over it, she saw its length extended from the heel of her palm to her fingertips. When she stretched out her hand, the breadth of the scar stretched past her nails. "Why so large?"

"When he bit, the skin ripped right off," he answered bluntly. "Got past muscle, into the organs, broke a couple ribs..." He gave a wry chuckle when he saw the expression on her face. "Too much information?"

"But you survived."

"The miracle of my life." Remus slipped in beside her. "You know," he commented casually, "This is an extremely narrow bed. I feel like I'm going to fall right out at any moment."

Claire tried to make room, shuffling back further to the other edge. "I did not realise -"

"Or perhaps this would solve things." He wrapped an arm around her. "I think we'll manage."

She nodded. Quietly, she held him, flesh to flesh, muscles tense, watching the shadows from the barred window stretch and thin. She was so scared, so scared of this, of him. He rubbed his hand in little circles against her back, like a comforting parent. Soft sighs came as time slipped past. She relaxed and leaned her head against him. So warm. She could hear his heart. Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump.

Slowly, she ran her fingers through his hair, almost absentmindedly. Then, quite unexpectedly, Remus bent down and placed his lips on her forehead. Then on her cheek. Her nose. The spot between her eyes. Her lips.

Claire made a small noise as she parted her mouth to welcome his. His taste. Beautiful.

As they kissed, she felt his hands move to fondle her chest. His grip and strong, his touch firm, and - mon Dieu, par les epirits...

Agent Parsons's breath - hands - holding - couldn't - fear - breathe -

He was going to hurt her, he was going to kill her, hewas -

No. This was Remus, this was Remus. Wouldn't hurt. No. Please. Yes. Oh someone please-! He wouldn't, he wouldn't, hewouldn't -

"Please." She could feel his hot breath. Hot breath. Fear. Entrapment. No. Yes.

"Remus. Remus!" The high voice. The pale, frightened voice. "Please!"

He let go. Fear in his eyes.

"Don't. No." She took him in again.

"But you -"

"Kiss." Shaking breath. Face begging. Deliverance from fear, deliverance from pain.

He kissed her, his mouth slipping into hers. And she could feel his hand pull, tangled, in her hair, and his face pressed close to hers, and the hot breath blew on her cheek. He held her close, and she couldn't move, couldn't struggle, and everything went dark and cruel, and the panic raced up from his stomach to her chest and she struggled. Her eyes went wild, focusing not on Remus's face, but another's, and she didn't feel his hands, but another person's tearing at her flesh.

She moaned and tried pushing him away again, but he murmured, "Shhhhhhhh..." and caressed her hair with short, sure strokes, undoing her braid.

This was Remus. He wouldn't hurt her. Never hurt her. Yes. Please. Oh, please, yes.

She tasted the hollow of his neck, the salt of his skin, the smooth tanned flesh. This was Remus. And they kissed and she felt his hands press against her bare back and smelled the warm musky scent of his hair and heard the low panting fill the air.

Her arms moved lower. She let him take her mouth with his, she let him take her body with his hands. His hands rubbed the peripheral of feeling, just below her navel, slipping underneath her trousers, beneath her underwear. He slipped off the last of their clothes. She knew he was touching her below and she let him. Surrendering.

She would do anything for Remus Lupin.

Oh.

God.

Please.

Yes.

Please.

Yes.

And her eyelids fluttered like butterflies and her breath came out warm and smooth and her chest rose and fell with the same rhythm as his. Her hands grabbed him from behind and he pushed forward, wanting her. The way he pressed against her. Tasting her. Tasting each other. And the rhythm filled the air with the tribal beat of the blood in their veins and the pounding drum of their hearts. She could only see Remus, only Remus, not Parsons, not pain, not fear. Only Remus.

Hoarse whisper.

"Je t'aime."

Only Remus.

He took her leg and swung it over his hip, locking her in, while kissing her neck, her collarbone, her shoulder. Claire was dizzy with love, dizzy with want, dizzy and lost but safe. She felt so safe now, with Remus all around her.

"Now." Another kiss, long and deep and fierce. "Take me."

A murmur. A groan. "Claire..."

"No pain," she murmured in a childlike voice. "No pain. Not anymore. Please." She shoved him up against her, so that he could feel her where her legs parted. He felt her, and she swore, she swore that if she wanted to, if she really wanted to, she could feel him too. She wanted him inside, like a real woman would.

He became a child too, and they both spoke in baby voices while nestled together.

"Can you feel me?"

"Here?" She stroked gently.

A gasp. "No, not there." His hand moved and cupped her gently between the legs. "Here." One glance gave the answer. "You can't," Remus whispered.

"Doesn't matter," she murmured into his ear, pressing his hand down. "Prenez-moi."

"Can't," he whispered. "I'll hurt you." He rubbed his head against her chest. "Never want to hurt you." Another kiss on her skin.

"It won't." Whispers in the sun-streaked afternoon. "Swear it won't. I won't cry."

"You won't mean to." His eyes, so dark, so warm, locked with hers. "But you will." He moved forward again. She could feel him against her stomach, wanting her. "I'll get through this."

"Je suis si heureuse maintenant..." Another whisper, another touch. "Je te veux être heureux..."

She took him in her hand. One stroke. Gentle. Firm. His eyes rolled back, his head fell forward.

Again. He groaned. He buried his face in her neck and she could smell the strong, sharp scent of his flesh. Her free arm snaked its way around and rubbed his back, so slick, so smooth. And she felt his body tremble just as hers did, so shaking and so hot....

Mon Dieu, he was beautiful. Tense and sweating. Hair in tendrils. Eyes aglow, catching the light.

Again, and he shuddered completely, and so did she. His hips worked against her side and she wanted to guide him in, wanted to ease him in completely. But he held her so tightly and his breath came out so warm, and it was all motion, all motion, and he was so beautiful like that in her arms and there was no pain. He put his mouth to her shoulder, and she whimpered as he gently bit down. As if trying to take her somehow without coming in.

But she felt him.

So close.

Moving. Thrusting.

Again and again and again...

He came, giving a sudden, sharp yell before going limp in her arms.

Panting sounds filled the quiet room.

Contentment. Peace. Trust. Remus, exhausted, kissed her clumsily. Claire ran her fingers through his tangled hair and planted her lips to his forehead.

"Thank you." Ragged voice.

She blinked back tears. No pain. There was no pain. "You're welcome," she muttered with half-lidded eyes. "You are always welcome, mon amour." My love. Mine.

He rubbed his face against hers, saying nothing. One more kiss. Then sleep came to them, and like little pups alone in the world, they cradled each other in the fading afternoon sun.

***

In the midst of their slumber, the door moved ajar. One eye, as blue and cold as broken Arctic ice, watched for a few moments, before the door shut.

***

Evening arrived. Claire wrapped her arm around his shoulder and draped it across his chest. Pulling closer, she could smell the dry, musky scent of his neck, tinged with salt. She could feel the rich, dark hair brush against her cheek gently like a wolf's fur. Rubbing her face against it, Claire tightened her hold on his sleeping form. A proud sense of ownership buoyed her spirits. Remus would live here and Jarohnen would find work for him. He could be a professor like he used to be, and teach the young pups how to make magic.

Then maybe she would learn how to walk again. If she did, Claire could leave her dirty, broken world behind where her family stared at her with pitying eyes. She could run away from Bernard and his irritating authoritative ways. She could be free again. Then she and Remus could share a bed like this for the rest of their lives.

These thoughts made her dizzy. Tenderly, Claire let her hand brush down his chest and kissed the back of his neck.

Remus muttered something beneath his breath and stirred. She moved her hand away and closed her eyes as he turned in bed.

He murmured, "Good evening," and touched her cheek.

She opened them again, smiled, then propped herself up. "It is."

Swinging his legs out of the cot, he then reached down and picked up her brace. She took it wordlessly and wrapped it around her waist. Remus hooked together the little straps and clasps deftly, before looking about for their clothes.

They dressed, and Claire had barely finished gathering up the soiled sheets when there was a knock on the door. Toby poked his head through. "I knew I'd find you two here," he said, giving Claire a smirk. "Ulysses wants to see Lupin."

"What about?" he asked.

"Oh, he wants to show you something."

"Now?"

"Well, if you rabid bunnies want to clean yourselves up..."

"Tais-toi." Claire threw the sheets at him. "Take care of zese."

"Tell him I'll be ready in a half-hour," said Remus. He turned around to give her one last look before he followed Toby out of the room.

***

As Lupin exited, Toby clicked his tongue and held the sheets at arm's length. "You want me to get clean clothes?" He winked, leaning in. Lupin gave a rueful grin and light shove.

"Where's Ulysses?"

"You'll find him in the mess hall."

As Lupin walked down the maze of hallways to the showers, he thought of Claire. He couldn't explain why they had done what they had. She had been his first lover in a long time. Perhaps this was love, and Claire had finally become real to him. Real as the metal bones of her back and the calluses on her hands. Real as her twisted smile and her foreign accent. If it had been false, if it had been all lies, then she wouldn't have acted the way she had. That mixture of need and pain that had made him want her.

But he had not completed the act. She had wanted to, and oh God, he had felt that she was ready. He had touched her and his fingers had come away slick. Even if she could not feel it, she knew. And he knew he had wanted to and if he had been careful, it wouldn't have hurt her at all.

Then why had he held back?

Whenever there were any entangling situations, emotional or physical, Lupin tried to sort them out into a mental priority list with his concerns placed dead last. But now, in these circumstances, everything had him so highly involved that he couldn't divorce himself from any of it. First of all, he was staying in a camp that would give any Registry official nightmares. Secondly, there was a woman who had risked something more than her life, the quality of her life, for him, and that frightened him. Thirdly, - for a reason Lupin could completely feel at ease with, since it put all emotion aside - to go too far would have had dangerous consequences for Claire. What if she had gotten pregnant? He did not even want to think of the terrible consequences of that.

He had to stay, then - or, perhaps, he wanted to stay - and return her love. This wasn't too terrible, if they could ignore the destructive world around them...

His clothes were laid out over a folded chair when he left the showers. He changed quickly, thenheaded over to the mess hall.

Ulysses was adjusting the laces of his boot when Lupin met him. "So..." he drawled. "You're looking quite refreshed."

"Toby said you wanted to see me."

"Yup. A-1 and I were talkin' and we figured that it was 'bout time we asked you for advice."

"Advice?"

The Texan guided Lupin down a little corridor that Lupin hadn't noticed before. Partway down, he could hear orders echoing off the walls.

"Y'see, there's a special class that we'd like your comments about. We'd figured you'd be the pro."

The orders became clearer with each step. "Swish! Flick!"

An ugly feeling rose from Lupin's stomach. They stopped at a closed door. With a grandiose gesture, Ulysses pulled down the handle and swung it open.

"I'd like to welcome you to our Magical Arts course."

About a dozen young werewolves, all dressed in the dust brown and grey garb, sat in four rows on the benches. All observed with intense concentration as the instructor waved his arm about almost comically shouting, "Swish! Flick! Swish! Flick!"

In turn, the wolves swung their sticks in unison like conductors with batons.

"Yes! Yes! Swish! Flick! Swish! Fli-" The commands died in the instructor's throat when he noticed them. Immediately, his posture stiffened and his arms pinned themselves to his sides.

The group of wolves halted. All of them were holding their sticks in mid-flourish. Lupin didn't know whether to laugh or not. This whole situation was ludicrous, but the fierce determination he saw in their faces killed his amusement.

"Welcome to our course in the Magical Arts," the instructor said with a grand gesture to his pupils. "Humble imitations of wizard classes, but my students possess double the work ethic."

Imitation indeed. Keen embarrassment for them and keen discomfort for himself made Lupin turn to Ulysses for his response, but instead, he had a stick shoved into his hand by the Texan wolf. "I'm sure you have an expert's hand for this."

"Um... I suppose that could be true..." Lupin started, thinking fast.

"Balderdash! Go on, we're all waitin'." There seemed to be a calculating glint in the other wolf's eye as he said this. Lupin gripped the stick, and then looked quickly at the pack of wolves eager for his input. Was it his imagination, or were they all intent upon him like a predator with its next meal?

He cleared his throat and said mildly, "First off, in my experience, waving your arms about like German wizards saluting Grindelwald is not a very accurate way of conjuring."

With measured steps, he came forward and said, keeping his voice light, "You have to relax your hold. Loosen up your wrists a bit. Drop those sticks and shake your wrist out."

Like trained puppies, the group abandoned their wands and flapped their wrists as if they were broken.

"That's it!" he encouraged. "Remove all those kinks!"

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Magical Arts instructor and Ulysses whispering between themselves. Shaking off his uneasiness, Lupin continued, "There now. Once we have ourselves properly relaxed, the magic will flow stronger. Now, pick up your sticks." He held his as an example. "Not too tightly - you there, don't clench. Ready? Now, all together: swish and flick! Swish and flick!"

Feeling as if he was making a mockery of his former colleague Professor Flitwick, Lupin paraded in front of the pack, calling out the order in firm tones. The wolves obediently heeded, but still swished and flicked as if they were chopping flying cabbage heads with machetes. Nevertheless, Lupin complimented, "Can't you sense the change in your rhythm?"

"Yes, sir!" One of them barked, hacking the air in front of him.

"With true wands, you would be able to tell a marked difference." Handing his stick back to the instructor, he told him, "That's enough for today. We mustn't rush things."

"But you will return tomorrow, correct?"

Lupin didn't skip a beat, though his heart did. "Of course. This is only the basics."

Ulysses put an arm around Lupin's shoulder as if closing the jaws of the trap. "Keep it up, Remus, an' your goin' to fit right in." Lupin had no choice but to smile in agreement.

Chapter 33

During supper that night, Lupin felt a hundred eyes staring upon him as he ate. The hungry, analyzing eyes asking, "Are you one of us?"

He played with the food in his bowl and looked at Claire beside him. There seemed to be a new life sprung in her, like someone had lit a fire inside that made her cheeks glow and her movements swift. She kept looking up at him more often than he did at her. He finished quickly by not eating at all. Lupin placed his arm on hers, whispering, "Might we speak in private?"

She squeezed his hand. "Certainement."

Ignorant of her uplifted mood, he nearly pushed her chair for her as they secluded themselves in his room. Lupin went to lock the door, but then realised once again that these doors only locked on the outside. He shut it quickly and was tempted to prop a chair against the handle, but instead sat down with his back to the window.

"Claire, is this yours?" he blurted out.

She gave him a wary look. "What do you mean?"

Lupin cleared his throat, trying to rein in his anxiety. "I mean," he said, "what is your place here?"

"My... my place?" She crossed her arms. "Remus, what -"

He put a hand to his forehead. What if she was only another pair of eyes, another one of them? How could he be so foolish as to confide in her! She, who was the most out of place in this camp, had only one purpose to remain here: for him. And how long had she been a part of them? Did it go back as long as she ran her Safehouses, those terrorist breeding grounds? As long as she had had the opportunity to seduce a wizard into joining their ranks?

The feeling of betrayal made him nauseous. How long had this been going on? How long was she plotting against him? Lupin wanted to run out of this camp right at that moment if only to see if he still had the freedom to do so.

Claire came to him and rested her hand on the side of his face. "Something 'appened?"

Quelling his fretfulness, he took her hand away. "Please answer me."

Her words were chosen carefully. "Not all of it. Some of it. Your clothes. Tonight's supper. Zat's where my money goes. I make sure of it. Nothing else."

One nod. He saw the truth in her eyes and breathed slower to calm his nerves.

"Ulysses showed me around this place. We came upon a class of magical arts." He suppressed his urge either to laugh or to choke and said, "It was the first class of the kind I've ever witnessed."

Claire smiled. "Zat is because ze wizards never gave us ze chance. What did you think of it?"

Now it was his turns to pick through words. "The pupils were more enthusiastic than some Hogwarts students I knew," he answered. "Though they did not seem to have real wands -"

"Real wands are difficult to attain," she replied, "but not impossible."

Again, the unease made him nauseous. "Some of these wolves have wands?"

"I'm not sure exactly, but zose matters I'm not familiar wiz." She paused. "Why do you have zat look on your face?"

"Of what?"

"You don't believe zis, do you?"

"I'm only surprised," he explained quickly. "To think of true-blooded werewolves possessing wands -"

"Do you not think zat is possible?" she said defensively. "It is only a matter of time until we 'ave enough well-trained wizards of our own."

"I'm not sure I understand this." Lupin hesitated, but went on. "Magic cannot manifest itself in beings unless they have wizard blood in them. Even magical creatures do not have conjuring ability unless they are part wizard."

"Mon Dieu! You 'ave been brainwashed by ze wizards, Remus!" she replied, laughing. "Anyone can do magic, even us!"

"It's not that simple," Lupin stressed. It suddenly became very important that she understood this, and he used his professor voice when explaining. "Magical creatures do have magical qualities, that I don't deny, but their magic is contained in their existence."

"And zat is exactly why we can do magic," she replied with a child's ease.

"That is why magical creatures can't. That is one of the basic laws of magical elements." He sighed. "Try centaurs for instance. They are creatures that are half-horse, half-man. How were they created? How can they still exist? Simple. When centaurs were created - how even Magizoologists don't know - magic fused both human and equine qualities together. Magic kept these creatures alive; it's a part of their very nature. Yet because magic maintains their very existence, there isn't any extra magic elements they can channel to create magic themselves. So give a centaur a wand and they won't even be able to lift a feather with it."

She was quiet for a few moments before replying. "So, what you are saying," she sorted out, "is zat because magical creatures are part magic, zey cannot practice it?"

"Exactly. For humans, magic is additional, not essential to their existence. This extra magical quality is what wizards channel in order to conjure."

He hoped that Claire would understand, but she merely scoffed. "Zat is what all wizards say," she explained. "A flimsy excuse for zair oppression."

"Oppression?" Lupin couldn't believe his ears. What he explained was a concept as clear as the earth circling the sun, and she disputed it!

"Everyone is capable of magic," she said with a cold fierceness that he had never seen before. "Ze wizard bourgeois try to enforce zis caste system by suppressing our magical talent. We only need to discover our 'idden truths and zrow off zese wizard lies."

"This is proven fact for over a millennia," Lupin said, shaking his head. "You can't go against nature -"

"Ze wizards are ze ones going against nature!" Claire snapped. "And it is up to us to fight back!"

In her, he saw Jarohnen's intensity flare up like a torch, and this startled Lupin. The unease grew into something almost like dread.

"All of this will come to naught," he countered. "Have any of these werewolves ever touched a wand? The authorities in this place are fooling themselves if they think that -"

"Zen what about Jarohnen?" she said shrilly. "'E killed five wizards wiz one curse!"

"Has it even come into your mind that he could have wizard blood?"

The accusation stopped her cold. "Impossible!" she exclaimed. "Jarohnen, part wizard-? What kind of idea is zat? If 'e thought so, 'e would tear 'imself to bits!"

"That's what I've always suspected," Lupin said lowly. "Think about it. How can a werewolf have the power to throw a curse so quickly and so intensely unless he had some wizard blood? And for that curse to be an Unforgivable at that?"

She swallowed hard. "If Jarohnen can do it," she replied coolly, "zan anyone can."

He said in a hard voice, "How can I teach them something that they can never learn?"

"You are only saying zat because you do not want zem to learn," she accused.

"And what if I don't?"

Claire didn't skip a beat. "Zair is no 'don't'! You must!"

"Under whose orders? Yours? Alpha-One's? How come I was never informed about this?"

Her voice grew tense like a taut string. "You can't refuse."

"Am I still my own person, am I not? Or am I not even myself anymore? What am I? The wizard tool known as Remus Lupin?"

Her eyes flashed. "Is zat what you think?"

"How else can I think?"

"Zan you are not Remus Lupin anymore."

"What?"

"We killed him," Claire said, belligerently. "You don't 'ave to be him anymore. You can shed your old life, your wizard life, and start anew."

"What do you mean?"

"Don't you understand? Zair is no going back. You can't go and undo what we 'ave done for you! We rescued you leaving a dead body behind!"

My dead body, Lupin thought, staring ahead with my dead eyes.

"Dominic," Claire went on, "went up to Edinburgh only three days ago and a janitor told 'im zat ze wizards left you to rot. Zey left you as good as dead. But ze pack - but I - resurrected you. You are better now zan before. You are not ze criminal. Ze monster. You are free."

A janitor. Lottie. Dominic went up to Edinburgh three days ago and spoke to her... and Lupin remembered - if that could be called remembering - speaking to Lottie almost two weeks ago about Dominic... What did that mean? What did it all mean-?

"Then who is this man you freed? Tell, me Claire, if them... if you killed Remus Lupin, then who am I?"

"You are yourself!" Claire snapped. "Tu es toi-même! Why must you keep asking zis? You are 'ere and I love you. Isn't zat enough?"

Lupin was silent for a long time.

She loved him. There was never betrayal on her part if she loved him. Then who was the one lying? And why did he feel like he was betraying her? Perhaps he was. Should he stay or should he go? If he stayed, that meant that he was loyal to her, that he loved her in return. But also, if he stayed, that would be disloyal to himselfin the highest degree.

Was this what love meant? A choice between yourself and another? Did a person lose himself by conceding to be with someone else?

No, that was not love. That was bondage.

But so many things still did not make sense...

The man by the dungeon door... telling Lottie about Dominic, seeing Harper with his hands wrapped in gauze, living with bouts of déjà vu... "You can't go and undo what we 'ave done for you!" But what if it was already undone? The thought was so tremendous that Lupin didn't dare pursue it further.

"Well?" Claire demanded. "Isn't it?"

Then, he said:

"Claire... I can't stay any longer."

"What do you mean?"

She looked so angry. And she had every right to be. But Lupin knew he couldn't be stopped now. Fate, which had been pulling him along all this time, had just hopped a Firebolt and kicked off to the stars.

"I have to now. There's no stopping me."

A scoff. "Why must you go? Wizard law? Ze law is death!"

"It's not the under law's obligation that I go. Wizard law has little meaning to me. It's for her that I'm going Claire. It's my obligation to her which motivates me." There's no stopping this obligation now, he thought. I've dallied far too long here. But then again, I was meant to stay this long.

"Why?"

"I..." Lupin sighed. "Have you ever felt -" Words suddenly transformed into boulders, and he struggled over them. "Have you ever felt a certain... certain feeling that cleansed yourself? Something that made all the gravity that anchored you to the ground vanish? It was pure and perfect and..."

The final boulder was the expression on Claire's face. The anger had faded. There was no fury or hatred or sadness. A blank wash swept her face, as if all emotion was being drained out through a hole inside.

"Claire-" Lupin got to his feet and her hand clamped down upon his wrist. An unexpected strength pulled him down again.

"Tell me." Her eyes were granite. "Tell me 'ow much ze girl means to you." Her accent, now very distinct, weighed down her words.

Sirius in the cave. He was leaning against the rough wall, staring away from Lupin. His cheeks were sullen and drawn; his pale eyes were very old and very tired.

Déjà vu overwhelmed him. Sirius, I'm sorry. Claire, I'm sorry. Damn, he sounded like a broken record. Lupin didn't want to apologize to anyone anymore!

"You may not understand now, but I hope you will at least accept this. I can't lead the life you want me to lead. You ask me to become someone else. You ask me to lead a life of lies."

"Don't say zat," Claire snapped thickly. "You know better. You always knew."

Sirius's eyes were searching the ceiling. His hands, once furiously clenched moments before, were growing slack...

"Since you came, zair was a look in your eyes zat would not leave. You 'ave become a ghost, Remus. It is like a Dementor sucked out your spirit."

"I know," Lupin whispered. "I was dying, Claire. Dying and I never knew. So when you saw me, the living death that I have become, it frightened you. I had dead eyes. I frightened many people. But now it is time for me to see. And to live."

The beam of light stretched along the cave floor and touched Sirius's scuffed and worn-out boots. Particles of dust danced within, careless of his vanishing world.

"Live? I want to make you live. I thought I could make you forget."

The fireside. Sirius's hurt expression, blocked only by the flickering flames. His hand throwing dirt over the fire.

Claire was staring down at her hands. Sirius had looked away. They were in mourning. In mourning for him. But he stood outside of it all and was peering at them, detached, as if from behind a glass wall. And he was alone, yet knew more. More than either of them could ever know. "This is more than love," he said. "If this were about love, I wouldn't have made it this far. I would be in a cave back in Scotland, with my oldest friend."

Sirius was at the cave opening, seeing Lupin off. His eyes were so distant, so haunting.

"Don't lie to me."

"I want to tell you a story, Claire."

Her eyes burned with emotion. He wanted to touch her. Slowly, he came closer. With a hesitant hand, he stroked her cheek. She was still. Claire would listen.

"I'll tell you a story," he whispered, "a story I could not tell any one else before, because before I could hardly remember it." He lifted his shirt and raised his left arm. "See this?" he said.

The old scar. The werewolf's bite that tore off bone and flesh.

Cattails blowing in the wind. Swaying, their pulpy heads nudged against each other while in motion. Rustle of the long grass. And the cold night air with the wind and the cattails stirring with the long grass....

"I... I can't name it for you exactly, but I think psychology calls it resurfacing, when old memories come back to the human mind. Months, even years after a traumatic event occurs, whatever you block out... it comes back... And the memory doesn't come back randomly, or all at once. There's a trigger, Claire... a trigger that brings everything back into memory... And the Ashwinder bite I received triggered that memory. When I was bitten... when I was lying on the concrete in the Incinerator and dying.... One says that before death your entire life flashes before your eyes. Well, my impending death brought back the memory of another..."

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

"The night of the bite," he closed his eyes and the whole episode played out before him. "I snuck out of my home against my father's wishes... and saw him fight a werewolf in the forest. The werewolf, Lycaos, killed him. He was about to kill me too. I ran, frantically, fearfully, my father's chain in my hand and tripped. I remember large teeth and horrible yellow eyes laced with red. I knew that I was going to die, Claire."

Then Lupin told the story, even the parts he didn't tell the psychologist at St. Mungo's, the part he kept secret to everyone until now....

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

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

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

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

He was going faster and faster, but Lycaos gained ground with effortless bounds. A rock blocked his path and Remmy fell. He looked up to see the wolf bearing down on him, jaws wide--

"NO!"

Down he came like a hurricane. The pain was unbearable; all Remmy could see was a bright flash of red before his eyes.

The world was whirring like a top spinning in a locked box. The pain--the pain - the pain....

Remmy's limbs flailed, once, twice.

He could see steam rising from his wound in the cold night air.

Lycaos's mouth dripped with foamy red and took his arm, hand and all. Remmy felt the slippery, saliva-coated necklace - his father's silver necklace with the silver cross - slip from his fingers and drop.

Then, it all happened so fast.

The wolf gagged - he spluttered - flakes of foam hit Remmy's face - then out came his arm and he bucked, moving away.

Remmy stared with listless eyes as the blood pooled around him. The swamp stench and the redness and the vomit and the death...

Lycaos bent his great head and coughed, dropping its jaws and rolling out its stained, fleshy tongue. His eyes rolled back and he tried to howl - he couldn't - a scratchy wail came out instead -

The werewolf was choking on his father's cross.

Remmy vaguely thought of running, but didn't. He couldn't feel his legs anymore.

By now, the wolf was frantically shaking his head back and forth, back and forth in an attempt to dislodge the chain necklace from his throat. He hacked in loud, whooping sounds like dragon's wing beats - he banged his shaggy grey-white head against the soggy ground - the loud half-bark, half-gagging noise filled Remmy's ears.

Steam came from the beast's mouth. The metallic stench of silver and burning flesh filled the air.

Lycaos flailed about with bulging eyes, then staggered to the nearest tree. Sticking his huge head between two forking branches, the wolf rammed his neck against the wood again and again. He twisted his body about, moving like a whip high in the moonlit air. Then, a half-belch echoed in the air as the wolf purged his stomach.

A steaming mass of blood, flesh and dirt splattered upon the ground. That's my guts, Remmy thought light-headedly. He threw up all my insides...

Lycaos coughed again and tottered away from the tree unsteadily. Giving one last venomous loom at Remmy, he sped away into the forest.

Watching its form grow smaller and smaller in the distance, Remmy began hearing voices. Up ahead, there were small lights as sharp as dancing fairies.

"Look, he's over there!" A cry of horror. "The Auror, sir, he's -"

"Oh dear gods! Ares's boy is here too! Hurry, get the blankets!"

"I'm cold..." he whispered under his breath.

"Remus, you have to stay awake now. We're going to take you to the doctor's. You're going to get all better."

He was already getting better. He was floating away and all of the faces around him become ghost's reflections...

"Where's father...?" He murmured. "I'm cold..."

And as Remmy felt himself be lifted onto thick blankets by the other Hogsmeade villagers, he saw out of the corner of his eye a man kick at the pile of his guts by the tree. Then, something wet and warm dropped in his hand.

"Hold on to this, Remus. Can you feel it in your hand?"

"..."

Voices skimmed the surface of his mind.

"Hurry, David! Get the Healer over here!"

"Hold on;,he's coming!"

"Someone, get that mess together over there! It's the boy's!"

That same voice, hovering. "Remus, I want you to stay awake. Can you feel it in your hand?"

"...yes..."

"Good boy, good boy! Now, I just want you to hold onto it as tight as you can, all right? Hold on to this as tight as you can. Never get go. Don't fall asleep. Promise?"

"...yes... I promise..."

Remmy closed his eyes, feeling the slime-covered silver cross in his hand. He held it so tightly it made an imprint in his palm.

"...and that's what I remember Claire. That's everything that I remember."

By the end of the story, Lupin noticed that he was holding both of Claire's hands in his. She had her head down so low that all he could see was the smooth black hair and the pale line where it parted.

He wet his lips and said softly and gently, "I woke up in the home of the village Healer. I could remember voices.... Whispering over my body.... They said I was going to die... My intestines, my liver were torn out.... There was massive internal bleeding... Twenty-five cubic centimetres of skin gone.... My leg broken... And the actual disease of lycanthropy, that was indescribable...I didn't know any of this until after I fully recovered, and I didn't understand the impact of it until even later. But I lived, Claire, when I should have died." The finally came to the truth. "I was saved that night," he whispered, "and when my faith faltered, I was saved again and again from myself. I know that now."

"What... what are you trying to tell me?" Claire whispered in a tight voice.

He stroked her hair. "It's finally time I come to terms with who I really am and what I believe in," he answered in a stronger voice. "I believe in justice, if nothing else. This has nothing to do with you, nothing against you. This is about me being able to look myself in the mirror and say, 'I am Remus Lupin,' and be contented with those words. I know how selfish that sounds to you, but I can't ignore my duty. I only hope you understand."

"What are you trying to tell me...?" she repeated.

"You know, Claire."

Silence.

"Non!" Claire jerked away from his grasp. "You idiot," she hissed. "You idiot!"

"You must-"

"You think zair is a God!" she snapped, furious. "Non! No God or ancestors or spirits or anything! Why must you say zat-? Out of all ze stupid, selfish reasons in ze world, why must you say zat? Why??"

"Because." His vision turned glassy. "Because."

"You can't be talking about zis, you can't be saying zis to me and- and..." Her eyes grew wide. "Toby said you talked to no one," she whispered.

"What do you mean?"

"You speak to people who aren't 'ere... You think crazy things are real memories..."

"Claire, I'm telling the truth!"

"You don't know ze truth, Remus! Look around you!" She pounded her fist into her dead, frozen knee. "Zair is no purpose!" she cried. "Why did you say zat? You think you are so special? Zat someone else loves you so much more zan... zan -? Oh, zair is no purpose! Only... only mistakes...." A hiccup escaped her throat.

Claire bent forward and tucked her head in her arms. "You selfish bastard..." she croaked. "You selfish, deluded bastard..."

Lupin reached for her again.

"Don't." She glared at him with a pained expression. In a bitter, proud voice she said, "I always knew you were better zan us. Your 'eart is so good it rises above ze rest of ze world."

She moved backwards towards the door, her eyes not leaving his face. "Guards," she whispered.

"You can't do this."

"Guards-!" she screamed, exiting the room.

Two black figures appeared in the hallways. Lupin stood up.

"You can't stop-" he started.

Slam!

His door shut and several clicks echoed as the locks turned.

***

"Remus est devenu fou! Il a une hantise religieuse qui le rend aliéné! Il est folle! Absolutement fou!"

"Claire, qu'est-ce que c'est passé?" Ulysses fumbled awkwardly. "Je ne compend pas. Essaie en anglais maintenant. Lentement."

"It est un fou, un bâtard, un imbecile!"

"Parles lentement." Ulysses took hold of her shoulders. "En anglais. S'il te plaît."

"So mad!" she raged, flinging her arms out. "Remus's pup is controlling all of 'is thoughts. Toby was right when 'e thought zair was something wrong wiz 'im! Zair is so much wrong wiz Remus! 'E has gone insane! 'E has gone mad!"

Her eyes flashed and this time they were the colour of a razor's edge. "Remus wants to leave," she said through gritted teeth. "Remus wants to go to trial. Wizard trial!" A grievous moan. "T'ink about zat! 'E wants to be murdered. 'E wants to die..."

A fanatic, Lupin was a fanatic! Oh, Claire should have suspected this; after all, he did read that Bible to Mary at night, and he had worn that cross with him as well.... He was like her family, with the pointless teachings and traditions and stupid rituals and prayers. He was like her brother - another religious fool! Except while Bernard only practiced, Remus was so much worse...

What was wrong with those people!? Those reluctant, passive fools? Letting the world walk all over them. Taking comfort in lies and false hopes. They tolerated the world. They hid away in little cages called religion with bars hammered by their so-called God! Suffer and hope, suffer and hope and resign! But when someone tried to break the cage, tried to bend the divine bars, that person is mocked as a fool. A fool by other fools sitting in their cages, hoping to be free when their copses became rotten on the cold floor. Those people called her crazy. Like she was the one who was ignorant.

It was Mary's fault, all Mary's fault. For the first time, snake-eyed jealousy clouded her mind. How many times had he thought of the girl and not her? Did Remus love Mary more than he loved her?

Bitter pain, sharper and crueller with experience. Roger Parsons had assaulted her body, but Remus Lupin had assaulted her soul.

"Impossible!" Ulysses gasped.

Claire's head bobbed up and down like a doll's. "Mais c'est vrai! C'est vrai!" Her voice cracked. "Il est un fou!"

Ulysses was taken back by such news. "But why? It doesn't make sense...."

"I do not know! Yet it is what 'e believes in..." A sarcastic scoff. "Who does Remus think 'e is?"

"We can't let him die," Ulysses declared.

"We cannot," Claire agreed.

"Did he speak of escapin'?"

"I do not think 'e will try tonight. Maybe later..."

"Who?"

Both raised their heads. Jarohnen Ianikit lowered his hood as he stepped into the room.

"Jaroh, it seems like our wizardin' werewolf is sufferin' from a Jehovah complex," Ulysses informed him.

Lupin woke up the next morning to find three cloaked figures surrounding his cot.

Wolf by Ears will continue...