Lychen Gentleman

I

A Fair Trade

Has passivity lost its allure?

Will you bow to the ancient Lychen lore?

Yes, to teeter ever so precariously,

Strangled always by my own lycanthropy.

With the cry of "Dog!" and the rush of blood still pounding-- echoing-- in his ears, Remus Lupin strode toward the place which he would hardly call a home, blood-spattered, angered, and weary. A bit of the blood which besmirched his overcoat was his own. Most of it was not.

Having only just hauled himself out of a chill Underground ventilation shaft near the Shadwell Station moments before, Remus now stalked down St. Redcastle Close, the hammering of his heavy boots against the concrete growing swifter as he began to now lope, wolf-like, toward his flat.

The fucking silence. It was unnerving that it should be so quiet on a Saturday night in the East End of London. Perhaps, Remus thought with a mirthless, twisted inward grin, it had something to do with the reputed (true reputes, he might add) stories that a score of people had just been shot, stabbed, and impaled in an open massacre at the Shadwell train landing. The neighbourhood had been scared into stillness and peace. Ironic, really.

Oh, they hadn't been slaughtered needlessly. Never would he kill with completely cold blood flowing in his veins. He wouldn't lie... his blood had been hot tonight. Remus thought all of this as he bounded up the crumbling steps of his boarding house and through the blackened door.

The foyer was dark, the light bulb above burst, the floor grimy, the wall tiles chipping. An old woman which Remus recalled lived in the flat below him stood leaning against the banister. Her scarf had slid to the floor and she absently flicked her cigarette ashes onto it as she smoked with knurled, shaking hands. The woman was so blind in her age that Remus did not much worry that she'd notice his gory state. "Back late tonight, boy! Bolted toward home and left some pretty young thing shaking in her bed, perhaps?"

"Not this time." Remus barked a laugh as he took the stairs two at a time. The sound immediately reminded him of Sirius. He put the thought out of his mind as he plunged upward in a headlong rush up the stairs. He panted some as he reached Room 4D. The Hellhole stamped with the label of "Home" at last.

The keys he cast to the scarred kitchen table. He swiftly ignited a candle and it shed a scanty pool of light about the room. Rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck, Remus began the task of cleaning himself up.

He stripped off his gloves, wincing as the leather peeled away from an open wound on his left palm. Sometimes the last line of defence between one's neck and a blade is the naked hand. He next stripped off his overcoat, hanging it on a peg and allowing it to drip a viscous stream of scarlet into a basin. He'd deal with washing it shortly.

And weapons next. Weapons must be cared for before even the body. His weighty, simple, functional sword, his twin seven-inch daggers, his set of razors, and his spare knife which he kept tucked in his boot were all removed accordingly, rinsed, dabbed dry and lain to rest wrapped in cloth on the counter. His two handguns he wiped briefly and reloaded with precious bullets full of nothing less than pure, ultra-violet light-- his enemies' bane. He shoved these into a drawer. He drew his aspen wand from his belt and looked at it for a moment. He hadn't used it this night and hoped he would never have to in this realm of his life. Sometimes he was first a wizard and then a werewolf. Such was not the case lately.

Running his undamaged right hand through his untamed hair, Remus set about taking an inventory of physical wellness. A deep gash above his eye, a strained shoulder, a bullet grazing to the thigh and the sliced palm. Not bad. Nothing that couldn't be quickly taken care of. He splashed some cool water on his face and thought of how good a steaming bath would feel in a half-hour or so. He set about drawing numerous bottles and vials from cabinets and mixing a tiny concoction of belladonna root, nightshade, cinquefoil, henbane, soot, and alcohol in a random shot glass. Stirring it with nothing more elegant than his index finger, he daubed a bit on every open wound, wincing only slightly as the skin sizzled, puckered, and healed itself seamlessly.

"Now..." He made toward a chair in order to remove his boots and relax, but his sixth sense suddenly perked. How had he missed this upon entering the flat? Had he been so distracted as to not notice the ribbon of yellow light that shone from under the dingy parlour door? He had left no lights on when he left. Someone had been-- or was-- here. Remus silently laid hold of a gun and his wand and crept toward the door.

He thought briefly of easing the door open in a hope not to be noticed by they hypothetical intruder, but decided against it. Taking a deep breath, Remus plunged his foot at the door in a vicious kick. The latch shattered and splinters exploded from the doorframe.

A female voice screamed and someone began coughing as if choking. Remus blinked against the sudden light and, the second he comprehended the scene before him, he lowered his gun, feeling both ashamed and nervous.

"What is the meaning of this, Remus? I hardly expected a welcome such as that."

"Damn, Professor!"

"I think my heart just stopped. That was not funny."

Three people that Remus hardly had expected to find sat before him, pale in their shock: Albus Dumbledore, Harry Potter, and Hermione Granger.

"I'm sorry I startled you, but I thought-- Well... what are you doing here? No one ever said anything about--"

"We came, Remus," Dumbledore said, standing and walking forward. He looked terribly tall. "for simple reasons. Harry's aunt's house is no longer a safe haven for him. There's still three weeks before the Autumn Term and... well, I was hoping I would find your lodgings (and your behaviour) a bit more contusive to baby-sitting, in a manner of speaking."

"Baby-sitting?!" Harry looked highly indignant.

"I... uh..."

"The Weasleys are so occupied with missions for the Order that I didn't have the gall to ask them for one more favour. No one except the people you see here know that Harry has been removed from Little Whinging. Miss Granger had been visiting at Harry's house. I turned to you because you're the next best thing to Sirius."

Remus felt an unimaginable wave of guilt wash over him. "Why isn't Privet Drive secure, sir? What news of the Order?"

"In due time, Remus. I think the more pressing question is why exactly you've returned home at two in the morning, stained (Remus quickly noted that blood had seeped through his overcoat and to his shirt), and armed." Dumbledore appraised the younger man with penetrating blue eyes. Remus looked away.

"Yes, sir... why are you carrying a gun?" Hermione voiced quietly, looking at him as if she'd never met him before. Harry looked at him questioningly also. Both of them looked remarkably older than he remembered... nothing like the children he'd taught nearly four years ago nor even the adolescents with whom he'd spent so much time during their fifth year.

"It's a long story. I don't know what to tell you."

Suddenly, Dumbledore took on a strange expression and pushed past Remus and into the kitchen. "I'd suggest the truth. What is this?"

Remus groaned. Dumbledore had lit his wand and was staring, hard-jawed, at the scene Remus had left: dripping overcoat, blades, gloves, and potions covering the counter. Harry and Hermione walked up behind him and looked, too.

"Remus."

He snapped his head toward Dumbledore. "Remus, if this implies what I believe it may imply, I must say that I am horrified." And yet he looked short of horrified. He looked... disappointed.

"Yes. It does mean what you think." He said it in his steadiest of tones.

"Why?"

"Because... because it's who I am, Albus! You can understand that, can't you? I'm sorry to remind you, but I am a werewolf!" He was suddenly angered.

"All Lychens are werewolves, but not all werewolves are Lychens! I would never have suspected this of you!" Dumbledore was shaking.

Hermione gasped loudly and Remus was sure she was aware of the connotation of the word "Lychen". She began immediately murmuring to Harry, glancing at Remus as though he may suddenly detonate.

"Turning Lychen is not what I would call a healthy remedy to your-- admittedly-- unfortunate problem! They are murderers, Remus! Simply look around you at the tools of your trade! Look at what you have become! You have not become so bitter as to take out your anger in this form, have you? It's murder, I tell you!" Remus had never seen the man so out of his natural state of calmness. This was the wizard who had faced Lord Voldemort coolly a dozen times, watched his friends and colleagues die, lived over a century and seen things that would curl the average wizard's hair, and yet he had spun into a definite rage at this news.

"You know many things, Albus, but you don't know a fucking thing about Lychens! It's not exactly what it's portrayed to be! It's no different than what you're doing! I thought you believed in justice!"

Harry and Hermione were nothing less than dumbstruck by all this. Harry was apprehensively eyeing the sinister weapons strewn about. Hermione had covered her face in her hands and was leaning somewhat lifelessly against the wall like an abandoned doll.

"Goddamn it, Remus! It's different in every way than what I'm doing! It's-- it's uncivilised! I thought you were loyal to the Order! To the fight against Voldemort! To the cause for which your friends have fought and died! This is an entirely different war and one that does not concern us!"

"Different in every way? Fighting to rid the world of an ancient wrong? Fighting in self-defence? Fighting for the sake of future generations? Fighting to break down barriers of prejudice and rid society of its pureblood shit? I mean it, Vampires are just like a thousand haughty carbon copies of Lucius Malfoy. I think that sounds remarkably similar to your War, Albus! And I'll have you know that I have, by no means, abandoned the resistance against Voldemort. You know perfectly well that the Giant wars, the Dementor revolts, the Centaur unrest-- they're all interconnected! Don't you think that Vampire Covens could perhaps be vaguely linked to Voldemort?!" Remus brought his fist down hard on the table and the sound reverberated through the kitchen. Hermione whimpered.

"Speaking of Vampires, friend... it would seem that you have met a few this night," Dumbledore said in a dangerously quiet voice. He glanced meaningfully at the basin under the overcoat that was now a sickening oxide red.

"Yes. I have indeed."

"Where?"

"Shadwell Landing."

"How many?"

"Seventeen... eighteen."

"And Lychens?"

"Ten."

"What of civilians? Bystanders?"

"It's late. There were few. And none of those few were harmed, I assure you."

"That, at the very least, is comforting. What, Remus, do you personally harbour against them?"

"It's a matter of principle."

"You, I know, were never enslaved."

"That's not the point. They are out to exterminate us."

"Speaking in terms of 'they' and 'us' is never a good sign, Remus. I would not have thought you prone to brainwashing. We will not discuss Lychen-Vampire politics and history here."

"Who are you to say what we will and will not dis--"

"Remus, Remus, calm down. I am a tired old man and I cannot conjure the passion to yell another word." He truly looked it. Albus Dumbledore sank into a chair and looked up at Remus, his eyes sad and confused. Remus felt as though he had no right to shout when he was faced with such a look.

"What has happened to you? You have lived with this lycanthropy for a lifetime and tolerated it better than I could have hoped."

"I..." Remus sat down across from Dumbledore. "They've taught me how to control it, Albus. Wolfbane Potion isn't the only advancement people have made in the werewolf realm. It's very nearly like being an Animagus now. And if I've been gifted with this new power then the least I can do in return is devote some time to fighting their battles. And most of them aren't wizards. They need all the magical insight they can get."

"I could always picture James entrenched in battle. Sirius, too. But you were never like them. It was always books, and thinking, and art, and philosophy for you. You are too cool-blooded for this vengeance folly."

"But don't you think it a change for the better that I've harnessed the curse? That's partly what the Lychens are about : taking the otherwise awful thing and turning it into something useful."

"Can you do it now?"

"What?"

"Transform into a wolf at will and keep a sane mind?"

With no word as answer, Remus stood and closed his eyes briefly. He felt his blood boil, his ribs creaking and expanding, his eyes burning, his fingers writhing-- within seconds, he stood on all fours, a monstrously large, silver-furred, amber-eyed werewolf. While he did feel an innate urge to kill something, he had reasonable control over it. Nothing could have surpassed his surprise when he felt Hermione's hand reach out and touch his head, running her trembling fingers over his ear before retracting her hand as if realising a horrid transgression. Changing back was easier. He stood tall again as a man and looked to Dumbledore.

"I must say that is remarkable. How long has this been going on?"

"Six months. Give or take. I'll tell you that I've been associated with the Lychens for maybe a year. Since Sirius died. I haven't really been one of them for that long though. I cannot tell you how wonderful it is to have some logical understanding of being a werewolf. Nothing could be better save being free of the thing altogether." Remus said this with conviction.

"I see. But... is the pleasure of that worth becoming a brutal killer? Is it worth selling your soul? Is that a fair trade?"

"I haven't sold my soul." Remus felt wounded by that choice of words.

"Do you deny that Lychens enjoy a kind of abnormally long life and a supernatural resistance to injury? Isn't a warping of life a bit like selling your soul? They're certainly connected. I never liked Nicolas' choice to create and use the Philosopher's Stone. I'd give up the fight myself after nearly 160 years if I didn't think it was necessary that I hang on a bit longer for the sake of duty. It goes against the very human condition. And I'd always like to be able to think of you as human, Remus."

For the second time that night Remus felt ashamed of himself. Yes, all the anger that had exploded earlier in their shouting match had dissolved, but Dumbledore had not yet convinced Remus that what he was doing was completely wrong. But the old wizard had made good points.

"You are very lucky that the Ministry rejects Lychen-Vampire relations as out of their domain of statute. Too cowardly to deal with the atrociousness of it, I say. You'd have probably found yourself in Azkaban by now. I absolutely must discuss this with the Order. "

"No! I mean, is that necessary? I'm still going to work for the Order! It's still the most important thing in my life! I'll be the same man!"

"I'm afraid you'll never be the same man, Remus. You can play at it, but I can't see how you could possibly come through this unchanged. And I won't be telling everyone. Where's your fire and Floo Powder? I'm just going to take counsel with Minerva, Severus, and Alastor."

"Not Mad-Eye. He'll Apparate here and kill me on the spot." Remus had no doubt of this. Moody had killed thirty Lychens if he'd killed one. If there were no Death Eaters with which to occupy his time, he'd have been on the hunt for Lychens. They were his second favourite loathing simply for their lawlessness.

For this first time that night, Dumbledore smiled. "I promise he won't. Your fire?"

Remus showed him to the bedroom where he conjured a fire in the grate and pointed out the Floo Powder. He reluctantly left Dumbledore to his meeting and tramped out to the kitchen again.

He'd almost forgotten that Harry and Hermione were there. He now came face to face with the two of them, pale and wide-eyed in his dilapidated kitchen. He underwent a moment of disgust at the thought that he-- a bold-faced killer-- should be standing in a filthy, dilapidated East End flat daring to face the son of James. He wasn't fit to inhabit the same city as such a one, much less the same room. Remus pictured James, Lily, and Sirius, ensconced in some wonderful afterlife, shaking their heads in repugnance at the terrestrial scene. What could he possible say to them?

"Professor...?" Harry said hesitantly.

"I haven't been a teacher for four years. You do know my name's Remus?"

"Er... Remus? Have you really just returned from a battle with Vampires? You've honestly just killed-- whatever it was-- eighteen people?"

Remus sighed heavily. This was as horrible as it could get. "Yes," he replied wearily. "Not eighteen all by myself. If you want the truth, it was five. And Vampires aren't people."

Hermione adopted her ever-present look of righteous offence. "What do you mean? They're human!"

Remus could see this was not going to be easy. They were half angry with and half terrified of him. He sat down again.

"Hermione, I would think you'd have known this in your studies. Vampires aren't human beings. They might have been originally, but they've ceased to be. Werewolves aren't people either."

"No! You're human! Dumbledore said so!"

"I'm not."

Harry made to say something and stopped.

"Dumbledore said no such thing. In fact, he rather said the opposite... only that he'd like to think of me as human."

Hermione stared at him. "Okay, then, you're a sentient, intelligent being. Just like Centaurs or Merpeople or House Elves. And you've just killed five other sentient (if non-human) beings. I'm sorry, but that does count as killing 'people'."

"You're right, Hermione. But I can't help trying to justify it."

Harry spoke again. "Unlike some people who spend every spare minute in the Library, I'm afraid I don't exactly understand this Lychen-Vampire thing. What is this 'war' that Dumbledore mentioned?"

"Alright, I'll tell you in two hundred words or less. But know that you're getting a slightly biased version of events." He paused, thinking how to best proceed. "You know that the phenomenon of Vampires originated in the Fourteenth Century in Romania with the miraculous death and resurrection of the Emperor Vlad... if you didn't then I'm disappointed in my own teaching abilities because we discussed that repeatedly in class."

"I remember," Harry said quietly.

"Good. Well, werewolves had existed for a lot longer than that... since the early days of Nordic civilisation, people guess. Werewolves were always outcasts in both Muggle and wizarding society. They were always animals. You'd think that Vampires would earn the same reputation... being no less bestial. But, somehow, that wasn't the case. Vlad was an aristocrat and a king and he made sure that his successors were of the same quality. Vampires were originally all of high birth and even those later ones that weren't were initiated into the upper distinguished circles. It was almost like an honour. It's exactly like the pureblood crap you both know so well."

Hermione again looked righteously outraged. Remus knew she had probably studied all this extensively, ever obsessed with the rights of the underdog as she was.

"Of course, it was only a time before Vampires and werewolves came into similar company, but werewolves were dealt no less a harsh hand by the Vampires than the rest of the population. They knew we were powerful and somehow akin to them, but they didn't want to share power. So they used us. Vampires have distinct weaknesses and they enslaved us in order to pick up their slack. Werewolves were reigned in as servants... slaves to do the dirty work and move their coffins during the daylight hours. But a Vampire is worse than the average slave-driver, of course. Bloody bastards-- I digress. Sorry." Remus rubbed his eyes furiously. He really hated talking about this with them.

"We laboured in the dungeons of their Covens' castles and were treated like vermin or, at best, pets--"

"And all of you laugh at my House Elf efforts," mumbled Hermione.

"There's a bit of a difference between the two situations, Hermione. House Elves want to work. And, unlike werewolves, they'd never get fed up and occasionally "accidentally" kill their masters. It's only natural that there would be a rebellion after a century or two of this. It was probably a good thing that the Vampires so underestimated the werewolves' intelligence, because they continued to miss the due warning signs of the revolt right up until the last minute. It came in the mid-1700s. And it was bloody Hell, I'm sure. There was a war of epic proportions taking place right under Muggle and wizard noses alike and no one was the wiser for it."

Harry was looking intrigued by all this. Hermione was stony-faced... probably about his House Elf comments. Remus went on.

"Both species were nearly extinct for the slaying. But it quieted in a decade or so... not that it ended, by any means. The war that Dumbledore mentioned is still, technically, the same war. It's been reduced to an ancestral feud now. The Vampires were frustrated because it had been harder then they thought to recapture the werewolves. But, very slowly, they were winning the war anyway. There had always been more Vampires than werewolves because Vampires, when they procreated, created more Vampires. Werewolves who have children have normal human children. With every warrior killed, ten more oblivious people had to be bitten and recruited to the cause. But their greater advantage was in that they were very nearly immortal. Sunlight-- contrary to the popular belief that there's more than one way to skin a Vampire-- is the single thing that will destroy them. There was a thousand ways to kill a werewolf, ordinary, common ways with simple blades and bullets. The werewolf resistance organized itself better and began plans to make themselves real contenders with the Vampires. They attempted to become immortal. But it wasn't that easy. Eventually, they succeeded with much work, risk, and lives lost in experimentation. These werewolves who underwent the process were almost of a different species from a regular werewolf. They could transform at will and better control themselves during the full moon. They were larger and stronger in their transformed states. They could live longer than the average wizard-- up to four centuries. They resisted spells, sickness, and injury better than ever and could only really be killed by prolonged subjection to silver in the bloodstream. And their children were also born werewolves. They called themselves the Lychens... as in lycanthrope. All of this was a priceless gift, but the Lychens had to attach some price to the exclusive process. A werewolf that seeks the gift must, in exchange, lend his new talents to the war against the Vampires."

"Wait. So if I picked up that sword right over there and stabbed you with it... you wouldn't die?" Harry said incredulously.

"Er... I wouldn't recommend doing that. Just because it won't kill me doesn't mean it wouldn't hurt. But, theoretically, I could pull it out and hand it back to you without real damage."

Harry stared. "What about Avada Kedavra?"

"Ah, now that's a different story. That will kill any living creature, no exceptions other than yourself. It doesn't work on Vampires because they're already dead."

"So why don't Vampires use it against the Lychens?"

"Because most Lychens and most Vampires don't also happen to be witches and wizards."

"Really? But Muggles don't even believe in Vampires and werewolves."

"Exactly. The wizarding world knows about their existence and is therefore more wary and alert about the risks. Muggles are completely unsuspecting, so they're easier prey. Also, they're completely fresh to the world of magic once they become werewolf of Vampire, so it's easier for them to be "brainwashed"-- as Albus would say. In the large group of Lychens with whom I am familiar, I am one of four wizards. I'm also in the minority of werewolves that were actually bitten... most of them have parents that were Lychens."

Harry considered this and then said, "What's this 'process' of becoming a Lychen that you talked about?"

"I'm afraid I can't tell you."

There was a brief moment of silence before Hermione stood, her eyes smouldering. "I just don't believe this! I can't believe that you--" she choked on her words. "You were the best teacher I've ever had and you always taught us to take the high road! You always talked about Stunning before killing! What would make you do this?!" she shrieked. Harry and Remus were a bit taken aback.

Honestly, Remus didn't know how to reply. He didn't know how to explain to the girl how his feelings had changed since he taught them in third year. It had something to do with the heightening War and something to do with being fed up of losing control once a month and something to do with Sirius being gone. How could he put it into words?

But he was saved by the reappearance of Dumbledore. The old wizard walked in from the bedroom with an incomprehensible look on his weathered face. Hermione promptly sat down, her face reddened.

"Has anything occurred out here of which I should be informed?"

"No, sir," said Hermione.

"Were you able to contact them? What did they say?" said Remus nervously. When no one had known of his midnight adventures, he hadn't felt remotely ashamed of himself. Now he envisioned Minerva McGonagall's horrified face and felt as though he had distinctly let down the world with his decision.

"Yes, I talked to them. They were appropriately aghast... except Severus, he seemed a bit vague about his sentiments. Remus, they want to convene the Order to discuss a plan of action."

"No! Why does the whole Order need to know about this? Why should it be even relevant? As long as I still carry out all my duties, what I do on my own time shouldn't matter! Look at Mundungus, for Christ's sake!"

"Listen to me, Remus. It does matter. Handling stolen cauldrons and passing a few deals with Hags is very different from what you're doing. Tomorrow evening everyone will be at Grimmauld Place and I want to see you there, too."

Remus gave up the fight. "Alright. I suppose you're right. Wait... what about this business with Harry? You never told me about why he's been removed from Little Whinging."

"That also will be discussed tomorrow." Dumbledore glanced to Harry and Hermione. "Come, the both of you. There's no one at Grimmauld Place, so I can't leave you there. You'll stay with me tonight."

"But... what about me? You brought Harry here--"

"You cannot seriously think that I'll be leaving Harry here now after what's just passed," said Dumbledore with a piercing stare.

Remus said nothing. He felt as though the bottom of his stomach had just hit the floor.

"We'll see you tomorrow, Remus. And I sincerely hope that all of this comes out for the best." With that, he beckoned to Harry and Hermione and strode out the door.

Remus sunk down to the floor as the door clicked shut. He sat there in the dark, feeling nauseous. He really wasn't fit company for Harry. Dumbledore was afraid to leave him with him. And the worst thing was that he was right.

What would it take to beckon you home

Oh, infamous brother of golden Rome?

A life, a soul, a relief from the burn...

Such a ransom for my safe return.