Once a Wolf

Canto One: The Dark Wood of Error
Section 3

"Democracy must be something more than two wolves and a sheep voting on what to have for dinner."
--James Bovard, Civil Libertarian (1994)

Chapter 4

"As-tu perdu l'esprit?! Tu dèlires?! Je n'y crois pas! Tu es fou! Tu dèrailles!"

With both French and Rumanian belonging to the Romance language family, Constantin Korzha understood enough of Julien Charlebois' stream of speech to get the message. It was loud and clear. Even if it wasn't, comprehension was unavoidable after Charlebois slammed the evening edition of the Daily Prophet down on the table between them. The headline blaired in enormous bold lettering:

UNFORGIVEABLE! AUROR AJAX HAMMERSTEIN MURDERED!
Werewolves Accused!

"Do you know what this could mean to us?!" hissed Charlebois as he leaned over the table so his words could be emphasised in a hushed tone. "You put everything we've worked for in jeopardy!"

Korzha kept aloof in the face of his outraged Alpha-Male. Loss of temper was unlike the urbane Frenchman and the hunter knew the normal even-tempered disposition of his leader would return after berating him if he restrained from comment. That infuriated Charlebois further still.

"You are doing nothing more than exacerbating the rift between werewolves and wizards," rollicked Charlebois. "Your fainéant actions are gratuitous and detrimental to all that we strive for!"

"It was one Auror, Julien," Korzha reminded, pushing the newspaper back across the table, not looking at it as he did.

"Ajax Hammerstein was no mere Auror, Constantin. He was the best Auror the Ministry had."

"How tragic if he was the best! Who is alive to tell the tale?"

"Ne poussez pas votre chance! Vous pissez j'au loin!"

"Calm yourself, Julien, you are drawing attention!"

"Je m'en fiche complètement!" Then lower: "You have besmirched us!"

"Stop being melodramatic. We are werewolves, we cannot be more stained than we already are."

"I am trying to accomplish our freedom and establish our human rights with our manifesto..."

"They could care less about your manifesto or us!"

"...with our manifesto on the verge of being presented to the public, how am I supposed to mitigate them long enough for them to listen?"

"It was a mistake. It won't happen again."

"I should hope not, Constantin. Your disobedience will be punished. You must be reminded who is Alpha-Male and why. Do not dare to contest me."

A frosty glare from Julien's eyes would've unsettled any one else in the pack but Korzha's past rendered him unmalleable. The old wolf's epistemic instincts raised a flag perceiving a more aggressive, upcoming young male in his right-hand man. He would need to be wary of the headstrong whelp which was precisely why he chose to keep the younger wolf close to him: the wise adage of keeping your friends close but your enemies closer.

Charlebois sucked in a deep breath and raised a hand to his pinched brow in effort to not explode. Korzha would suffer for his transgressions later. While the man was more lenient on delinquent members of the pack, the wolf was not. The full moon was a little less than another fortnight away but the wolf in him would sustain enough human memory to recall the indiscretions.

"I do not wish to upset you, Julien," excused Korzha with a connotation of challenging animosity. "I was doing what was necessary to survive."

Charlebois raised his head from his hand, eyes blazing.

"What was necessary to survive? What were you doing in the bed chamber? You were instructed to monitor Wedgewood, not to make contact with him!"

"I didn't make contact with him..."

"Same difference! It could have easily been him! Imagine the media circus your aversion to following orders has already caused! It could finish us!"

"I will be in your good graces again, Julien. What will I do to win your favour?"

Charlebois sighed, flustered. He waited for the calm to befall him, relaxing with a few deep breaths. If he didn't remove himself from Korzha's presence he felt like he would strangle the Rumanian. All he wanted to do was go home, think things over and give the young wolf a miscellaneous, complex task that would set him straight or, at the very least, keep him busy.

He was at a loss untill he looked across the room of the packed out pub they were in and recognised a man sitting alone in a corner. The loner looked ill as if he was about to vomit, his face sweaty and eyes darting around in search of someone before dropping down to his coat. He watched as the loner reached into a pocket to produce a scrolled up ancient bit of parchment. An idea came to him.

Leaning closer still towards Korzha, he muttered: "Do you see that man in the corner?"

Both werewolves glanced unobtrusively at the table where a man fidgeted with his hands as he read the worn parchment by the candle alight before him.

"Yes. What of him?"

"His name is Remus Lupin..."

* * * *

To my dearest Moony:

I know I've been a right bastard to you, which is nothing new. I've never been ace at expressing much of anything outside of mirth from childish pranks or unadulterated rage. All I was ever allowed to be was angry; I either spent my time having arms with my family or playing the part of the greatest miscreant who ever docked the doors of Hogwarts. Well, one of the greatest. I had loads of help with that. Crack a smile, Moony, you know you want to.

Neither my family nor my past excuse my actions and I confess I my need to grow up a lot but you must agree that anger was the only emotion they let me express. Being locked up in the nick for so bloody long, removed from any humane touch has, I'm afraid, boilled the vicious blood in my veins which binds me to my dark surname. I have too many hang-ups and I, as well as you, am knackered by justifications.

I am sorry for everything, Remus. I've spent too long away from the only friend who ever gave a damn for me. I regret being so beastly to you when all you've done was try to make amends for our lost time. You merely attempted to be the friend for me that I can never manage to be for you. From the soles of my feet to the hair atop my head, I cannot seem to say it often enough: I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Sorry I'm such a berk. Sorry I didn't react differently on that long ago night which separated us so tragically. Sorry for the ill treatment you received throughout your life. Hell, I'm sorry for the moon monthly rising in such a fashion and making you lose yourself. Please return to me and I will try my damnedest to be a better person. I promise.

On a lighter note, I received a letter from Harry - quite a few at this point - and things are all mucked up. S'pose it isn't such a lighter note, Moony. Says his scar's hurting. We know what that implies. By the time you receive this correspondence I shall be returned to Scotland. I have to be near him, to actually perform the duties our long lost Prongs entrusted me with. I've cocked up with you so I need to do right by Harry. It's the least I could do. I know you understand but I'm not positive that you care any more.

Harry's letters have me cacked, Moony. He told me about the scar then retracted his fears. I know he did so out of alarm for my safety but the importance of his safety exceeds mine. I cannot reveal my precise location to you after I reach Scotland but I would like to arrange a time and place to meet you.

Come back to me, Moony. Please give me another chance. You and Harry are all I have left. Please don't bin me off.

Forever yours,
Padfoot

Lupin folded the parchment and placed it inside his coat pocket. The owl that delivered it had pecked expectantly at his fingers but when he opened his hand to show its vacancy to the bird, it twittered an incredulous gripe then cleared off to find its way back to Black.

Lupin absently stroked his black-and-blue cheek. The mark remained irritably tender but the swelling had gone down. The ugly bruise that replaced the knot proved most unfavourable for the busking business. No-one, particularly children, trusted a battered man enough to pay him for a few magic tricks no matter how stellar those tricks were. He didn't blame them.

He didn't want to think of it or Black at the moment. Nor did he plan to write him back so he was glad the disappointed messenger left. He would write in his own time. Let Black think he was at last finished with him. Let him think that he pulled the last bolt of wool over his eyes. Let him think whatever he wanted, Lupin did not care. Not any more. Not for now at least. More pressing matters were at hand.

Many hadn't stopped for him today and fewer gave anything. He counted the coins in his palm and noticed in disgruntlement that he'd scraped up barely enough for a pint at the Dragon's Breath but not enough for what he needed from Adam. That was fine. He'd set up a time to meet his other source here, due in at any minute. Where was he? He nervously scanned the room with his eyes, peering passed the woman who served the absinthe he ordered.

"Thank you," he uttered soft-spokenly but continued to look over her, through her, for the person on whom he waited. She was indifferent as she shuffled off to deliver the next order.

The Dragon's Breath was a rowdy rathskeller Lupin patronised to drown his sorrows in absinthe and opium. A filthy, obscure hole-in-the-wall, it was where the worst of Wizardkind went to concoct wrongs against society; an ideal place for werewolves to trade the miserable pittances they earned for respite from their troubled lives. The rooms were always choked with cigarette smoke and every time he left the stench stayed embedded in his skin, hair and the fibres of his clothing. Lupin was immune to it from his frequent visits, plus in times such as this when his need to quell the addiction ran rampant through his system, he could care as less about the atmosphere than he did about Black's correspondence.

Thankfully the environment was uncommonly tame tonight so he imagined his guest would not receive a feeling of dislocation although the man was a malcontent who would never find anyplace suitable. He complained often and, frankly, Lupin was desperate enough for intellectual conversation that he did not care. He would drown out the negativity with drink and drug.

Lupin's observance of the door was distracted when two hardened wizards whipped out their wands and pointed them at each other. Entertainment at its best, he thought morosely. Two burly employees raced to separate the pair and Lupin watched with mild disappointment as they were dragged off in opposite directions, tusselling to get back at each other when a dark voice drawled:

"What would Dumbledore say if he knew his favourite werewolf caroused in a hellhole with common criminals?"

Despite the fingernails upon a blackboard effect the cheeky words had on Lupin's insides, the werewolf outwardly smiled as if greeting a long lost lover.

"Severus! How good to see you!"

"Let's be truthfull, shall we, Lupin? It isn't me you wish to see but the poison in my pocket."

Lupin raised an eyebrow as Snape sat across from him.

"Do you have it?"

"I didn't agree to meet you here for tea and scones."

Lupin watched with sweaty palms as Snape reached into his robes and sneaked the gift to him beneath the table. The werewolf was amused by this action since the majority of people inside the rathskeller were there for more dubious reasons than sharing an opium laced cigarette with an old....what? Acquaintance? Colleague? Lupin wasn't about to waste time pondering what Snape was in relation to him. Placing the brown bag on the table top, he eagerly opened it and removed one of six opium rollies inside.

"Pace yourself, Lupin," Snape advised, "that has to last."

"I'll try, Severus, but it isn't easy when it feels like I've got something inside me trying to claw its way out."

Snape gave a cruel half-smile that reminded Lupin of a more sinister version of Sirius' mischievous half-grin.

"Don't you?" he remarked and it was like an icicle piercing the werewolf's heart.

"Only once a month," he retorted, lighting the fag with the candle in front of him.

He ignored the look Snape flashed as he inhaled deeply, savouring the effect of the opium as it drew into his lungs.

"I don't expect Dumbledore would be pleased if he learns what you've been doing since your resignation," drawled Snape. "You must be of some use to him."

"I wouldn't imagine that he would take pleasure in my unlucky state but I'm certain he would understand that I need this because the pain is so great. Besides, Dumbledore couldn't babysit me even if I was still there. I had to leave. You were only looking after the well-being of the children when you reported me. I agreed and complied with your actions. In the chaos of that night I neglected to take my potion. I am only human, however debatable the Werewolf Registry considers that. If I hadn't resigned and it happened again I don't want to imagine the consequences that might have come about, not to mention I'd never be able to live with myself if someone was bitten."

He extended the opium cigarette to Snape who frowned upon the gesture as if he didn't wish to touch something used by a werewolf. Lupin shrugged and retracted. More for him.

"When I first added the opium to your Wolfsbane Potion I was attempting to alleviate your pain. I did not intend for you to grow dependent upon it."

"You are seeing to my best interests, I know. This is to alleviate my pain; I assure you it is not a dependency."

"You are intelligent enough to not only be aware of your own limitations but to identify the warning signs of addiction. Needing this every few days is unhealthy. Being a werewolf, you are already a liability to us."

"I will be fine, Severus, stop worrying. I will do nothing more to put any one at risk. That is why I left."

"Did you ever think that returning to this purlieu you favour so much does not help?"

"What are you saying?"

"Leave here tonight and do not return. Leave London entirely, for that matter; it only worsens your circumstances."

"Where do you suggest I go? Shall I return to the Devon moors where I was bitten? Will it be better to recollect the strain I placed upon my parents: my mother who wept for me every night and my father who loved me but once beat me while in a drunken rage brought on by the fact that his only child became the very monster he hunted and destroyed in Rumania? Perhaps I will return to the myriad places we relocated to, where every friend I had turned against and abused me, bruised my flesh and broke my bones? I have it! Why not Scotland? Hogwarts, specifically, where I can eventually murder a child because my increasingly dimmed mind cannot recall whether or not I've taken my potion!"

"There is no need to grow agitated, Lupin. You can drown yourself in the ocean for all I care. Your mind is unclear because this poisonous substance clouds your judgement. It is a side effect of opium. With all of your rambling about responsibility you should take the initiative and check into a rehabilitation unit at St. Mungo's. Instead, you prefer to live out your abysmal existence wandering the street doing the gods know what for money, food and shelter. Where have you been sleeping, Lupin? You look like shit."

Lupin smiled gently while the opium worked to dull the gnawing inside him. He took another drag on the cigarette before he spoke.

"Why, Severus, I didn't know you cared."

"I don't. I worry that you will be a liability. We cannot..."

Lupin waved a hand in dismissal. "Have no fear, I will not be a liability. If I am then I shall remove myself from those I care about."

A long pause ensued and Lupin felt Snape's cold eyes inspect him.

"Have you eaten?" the Potions Master questioned. "Or slept? Don't reply with self-effacing comments, tell the truth."

Lupin gazed at Snape with surprise that softened into warmth, a sign of himself resurfacing.

"No," he answered. "I haven't eaten or slept in a few days."

To Lupin's dismay, Snape flagged over the serving wench and ordered a plate of food. The werewolf grumbled and rolled his eyes. He did not want Snape to mollycoddle him and was upset that the Slytherin would make such a gesture. But Lupin kept silent and continued smoking the opium.

"Your fallacious behaviour won't go undetected for long, Lupin," imparted Snape. "You are unravelling at the seams so that you resemble the tatty rags you wear. You're a horrid mess, an abomination of a man who looks like the very thing he complains others view him as. You want to be treated like a human, then stop living like a beast. You are everything they say you are and you may have Dumbledore blinded by your wolven wiles but I see through you, Lupin. The accolades Dumbledore flourishes upon you are empty when you repeatedly prove the Ministry correct regarding your kind. You are a disgrace to life and a danger to everyone, yourself included. You prefer opium over food and shelter. What will you do, I wonder, should I refuse to supply your precious drug? What price will you pay? Filthy, disgusting cur. You should be put out of your misery."

Lupin met Snape's abusive diatribe with the disarming serenity he was renowned for. It got Snape's goat every time.

"In spite of other pressing matters at hand, my lycanthropy rather than my so-called opium dependency is the biggest issue I must contend with. In either world I am always a werewolf first, if not to the Muggles then to myself because it's something I cannot escape. Opium is a necessary evil because it allays my hurt. It's no secret you find me repugnant, Severus, which is why I find your generosity admirable."

"Make no mistake regarding my motives, Lupin." The invective comment was ignored again.

"Yet you continue to provide me with what I need. I believe, in spite of your justifiable prejudice toward werewolves, you have some concern for me or you would not be here."

The rivals grew quiet as Lupin's maudlin demeanour was heightened by the absinthe/opium combination. It was evident he'd had too much when he found himself looking beyond Snape's greasy hair, sallow pallor and scent of the musty dungeon where he was confined on a daily basis. Sirius and James belittled Snape about everything, particularly the aquiline nose adorning the Potions Master with a haughty refinement, especially while angry, but Lupin was fascinated with him.

"You besotted fool," scolded Snape. "I recommend that you admit yourself to St. Mungo's immediately."

Lupin's meal was placed before him, detracting his attention from Snape's scowl. Finishing his fag, the werewolf tucked in without further hesitation. They fell silent once more as Lupin ate greedily, all gentility forsaken by the werewolf's voracious appetite. To no surprise, the meal was eaten within minutes of its arrival.

"Finished wolfing everything down?" Snape, never one to miss an opportunity, chivvied snidely.

Lupin belched softly into his palm, blushed with humility then thanked his companion who gave no recognition.

"You'll get indigestion behaving like an animal," Snape lectured with an emphasis on the last word. "What will you do now?"

Lupin sighed.

"You are correct, Severus, I'm no commodity to this impending war, only a hindrance that will worsen matters. Perhaps I will leave the Wizarding world and make my way among the Muggles. It might be best."

He tried to ignore the calculated smirk on Snape's face for it all too well reiterated the words I told you so. Snape never concealled his contempt for the beast who nearly killed him and that hate was always taken out on the diminutive boy who became that beast once a month. Nor did time relinquish that abhorrence in adulthood and Lupin knew that the buffer between them always was Albus Dumbledore.

"What of them?" taunted Snape. "There is no remedy for your disease and the susceptible Muggles won't survive the first transformation."

"I won't infect any one. If I place myself in complete seclusion during the full moon every one shall be safe."

"You won't have the Wolfsbane Potion. Do you think it wise for the uncontrollable, infectious wolf to wander amongst the unprotected lambs?"

"I've lived among them before and no-one was killed."

"Nevertheless, I have a solution, should you wish to eliminate the problem altogether, Number 21607."

Lupin stiffened at Snape's recital of his Registry number, the very number embossed on the dog tags hanging around his neck. Mention of it was Snape's reminder to him of a reality he wanted desperately to forget.

"What sort of...solution?"

Lupin's throat tightened and he didn't like the sound of his voice as it squeaked out. Those dog tags felt like an anchor weighing him down to his grave and the clinking they made as he leaned over to accept the second plain-wrapped package Snape handed him sounded like a threnody at his own funeral.

* * * *

Out on the street once more, Lupin cradled the box Snape had passed to him only moments ago. Still at the Dragon's Breath and seconds after sending Snape off with precatory wishes of well-being, the werewolf peeked inside that box, discovering the awful and suggestive cold, gleaming steel within.

The Potions Master was correct; the opium rendered Lupin maladroit. His capacity to think waned and although he was skilful in the simple magic used on the Covent Garden sidewalk, he knew that too was lessening. As much as it saved him, the opium was killing him quicker than the lycanthropy, which brought about the tragic paradox.

In days of old opium was used to "cure" advanced lycanthropy; now it was the bane of many an addicted werewolves' existence. The anodyne relief the drug offered was a necessary evil and, like Adam, most suppliers was willing to work with them to obtain it. With no cure for his disease all he could do was numb the pain. There were few things in existence that palliated the violent, capricious symptoms of lycanthropy. One was the Wolfsbane Potion which, due to the high price set by the Ministry, he could not afford. This forced him to resort to opium, the secondary means to cope with the infection.

Lupin's intense lucubration of Defence Against the Dark Arts had always been an effort to learn more about his condition, to defeat the beast that tore at his insides every month and to help prevent the infection of others. As a child and a young man, he nursed faith that top Medi-wizards and Potions Masters worked diligently on a cure and that by the time he reached the age he was now he would be healled. Time wore on and nobody seemed to care what circumstances a werewolf lived under, making it seem hopeless that he would be normal again. Werewolves were wrecked with despair for being cast off as not worth the time and effort. Feral werewolves who lived outside of Wizarding society didn't mind and further indulged in their unruliness out of spite. Tension mounted and those who wanted their humanity recognised decried that they grew weary of the neglect they suffered.

Then Damocles Belby became an angel of mercy by introducing his Wolfsbane Potion and the werewolf community took a breath of fresh air. That was untill Ministry bureaucrats purchased the rights to the potion and raised prices, making it impossible for impoverished werewolves to buy. Creating more problems, the RCMC, in all of its stringent self-righteous glory, required any one making the potion to obtain a licence so all activity could be closely monitored in case there were unregistered werewolves attempting to remain undetected. The proverbial dog-catchers brought their trammels down on the werewolves once more, dashing their hopes for any optimistic relief.

Lupin was thankfull for Snape's discretion while secretly making the potion during his employment at Hogwarts. He detested the Ministry knowing his personal affairs; if there was a way to keep their noses out of his business then he would find it. He refused to let them control him any more than they already did.

Much in his life was out of his control. Birth gave him a familial legacy to hunt monsters in Rumania. His parents sojourned on an exodus to escape Fenrir Greyback's wrath but the beast with a lust for child-flesh stalked them to Devon and got what he wanted any way. He couldn't control the mistreatment he received from government or society, or that he had to check in with the Werewolf Registry every month to answer ridiculous and personal questions, or that he was forced to wear those goddamned dog tags around his neck. There was no control over the job situation: risk telling an employer beforehand and not get the job at all or risk not telling and being discharged later because he was either too sick to show up after a full moon or have the boss discover things himself and sack him any way, only to then face Ministry reprimand. He couldn't control the fate of his cherished friends lost to war. No control over the hunger that struck him or the weather that pelted him. There was definitely no control over the wolf lurking inside him so close to the surface, ready to rip him to shreds and perform other unspeakable acts.

By giving him this box, Snape returned to him a fraction of that lost control. The contents inside gave him a protesting voice, in spite of how appalling the notion was.

He slumped to the pavement, his back against the building he stopped alongside of then opened that box and looked inside, deep in thought. Should he take Snape up on his morbid offer? Inside, the gun with a single silver bullet gleamed temptingly not as a weapon of self-immolation but as a rude gesture to the Werewolf Registry.