Paper Wings

Moments Matter

Back at the cottage, Remus spread a detailed map of Britain on the wooden table. He carefully smoothed out its creases and rested his wand on the lower right-hand corner. "Ostendo Peter Pettigrew," he enunciated. His wand did not move. After placing an old map of the world on top, he repeated the simple Locator Spell. Again nothing happened. The spell was weak, Remus reminded himself, and it might not detect a wizard in Animagus form.

Thoughtfully, he munched on a leftover sandwich from the fridge, then remembered another spell he and his friends had practiced while at Hogwarts. They'd used it first to find one another on the large school grounds. Later, James had modified it to find many people all at once. Remus had devised a way to link it to the surveillance charms in the castle, and Sirius had woven the spell into the parchment on which Peter had drafted a map of Hogwarts. Closing his eyes, Remus saw the silhouettes of four boys gathered around a desk late at night, the colourful charms they cast flashing like fairy lights in the dark dormitory. He recalled the brief moments of illumination, and the joy reflected in wide eyes and merry smiles.

These were memories of a different life, one that had since been shattered. To the best of Remus' knowledge, their combined magic was still happily locating everyone on the school grounds, though the map had been confiscated years ago. Nevertheless, the spell was useful, and recalling James' absurd incantation, Remus now cast it upon the map in front of him: "Crinkled map you Magic whiz, Show me where Peter Pettigrew is!" The page glowed golden for a moment, then faded. No trace remained. Apparently this spell could not find Peter, either.

Perhaps, because there is no Peter to find.

Remus resolutely silenced his doubts. He had made the decision to heed the note scrawled on the worn bit of parchment. Peter could very well be alive and in desperate straights; Remus simply could not cast a strong enough spell alone to find him. Last time it had taken the four of them nearly a month to perfect the Locator charms, and two of those four had been the brightest students in the school. They had also been able to tap into the ancient spells of the castle itself, and hadn't been trying to search the entire world, or any area larger than Hogwarts and its grounds.

Remus tapped his fingers on the table. He had to find a more appropriate spell, something designed to cover a larger region. He began to pull books from his shelves and pile them on the floor of the sitting room, ready for a long night of reading.

Hours later, his painstaking research had yielded few ideas. He found a Searching Spell that helped the caster locate lost items such as house keys or wedding rings, and there was a potion that made the drinker blind to everything but that which he was seeking. But good sense reminded Remus that there were likely many obstacles -- such as tables, train tracks, cliffs, and cars -- between himself and Peter that he would rather see. An old Defence book made reference to a Search and Destroy Curse, and although this would traverse the globe for its target, Remus did not pursue it.

His tea had long since gone cold, and the waning moon was setting. He shivered in the chill hours before dawn, but did not stop reading. Open books covered every inch of floor in the little room, and over those lay another layer of parchments and bindings. Periodically, Remus would dig through the mess to find a passage he'd seen hours before. There were some promising spells within his abilities, but the recurring problem was that they required a "strong and current" link to the subject being sought. Remus spun a quill between his fingers as he read the words again. The spell books did not have much to say on a search for a man who may or may not be alive.

A strong and current link... Suddenly, Remus remembered the Remembrall. Ironic, he thought as he rummaged through the pockets of his cloak, that he'd forgotten the Remembrall of all things. He noticed with more than a little curiosity, that it wasn't glowing red any more. Spinning the Remembrall in his fingers, Remus decided that he would allow himself a few hours of sleep before wading back through the sea of literature to select the most promising spell.

A soft tapping on the glass panes of his window roused Remus sometime after noon. He stepped gingerly through the maze of books, careful not to tread on a single jacket or bend a single leaf. A great eagle owl was hooting impatiently outside. Remus opened the window, and the bird swept in, barely able to spread its enormous wings in the small sitting room. It perched on the back of Remus' chair and held out its leg importantly. Remus wondered who on earth would have sent such a creature to deliver a letter to him; he was certain he'd never seen this particular owl before. He quickly untied the envelope, offered the owl a bit of that morning's stale bun, which it haughtily rejected before it taking off through the open window without waiting for a reply.

The letter was addressed in a fancy and flowing script to Mr. Remus J. Lupin, Sitting Room, Tremble Farm, Little Malvern, Worcestershire. Remus turned the letter over. The lavender wax seal was emblazoned with a giraffe holding an open book across his chest. Remus knit his eyebrows. This was not something he had been expecting.

He broke the seal and unfolded the note:

Dear Mr. Lupin,

Your application for the post of private archivist was received on 14 December 1981. After careful consideration of the applicants, you have been chosen to fill the position. You will be personally and solely responsible for the organization of the Davenshirt Library. The job will require no more or less than two years, during which time you will inhabit a small residence on the property.

You will report to Davenshirt Manor, Aylesford, Kent, at Eleven o'clock, 10 February 1982, to commence work. Please accept this offer by return owl no later than 30 January so that the residence may be prepared for you. Failure to respond by the aforementioned date will constitute a rejection of the offer.

You come with the highest recommendations of Albus Dumbledore, whose assurances that your condition will not impede your work in any way are fully documented. All necessary precautions will be taken.

We look forward to beginning a great and profitable relationship,

Sincerely,

Lady Alexandra Lane Jasmine Davenshirt

Remus read the letter again to convince himself that it was real. The Davenshirt Library was simply and completely perfect. The last members of an old and very wealthy family, Lord and Lady Davenshirt had always been avid collectors of rare books from around the world. Their library was famed for its extensive contents - both Magic and Muggle - as well as its propensity to loose visitors within its walls for months at a time. Remus had heard that the library was becoming exceptionally fractious of late, ensnaring more and more visitors within its maze of corridors -- one Henry S. Wimple had wandered its halls six months before finding the exit and book on orchids for which he'd been searching -- and he had always longed to see it with his own eyes. The chance to personally archive every volume, to wander the winding halls and passages, to map each twist and turn, to lay his hands on each and every volume, to begin at the beginning and work through to the end, occasionally jumping to the middle when he found something of special note -- it was a bookworm's dearest dream.

Remus found himself truly smiling for the first time in weeks. Lady Davenshirt was reputed to be a tough but fair employer since her husband's passing, and she didn't seem to have any objections to employing a werewolf. Remus reminded himself to thank Dumbledore for once again trusting him. A job in which there would be no hiding or lies, in which Remus could be himself; he could immerse himself in one of the greatest literary collections in the world for two whole years! The possibility of contentment opened before him like a clear blue sky. He nearly whooped with joy and eagerly turned to find parchment and a quill to pen his reply.

As he scanned the cluttered room, his smile faded. He had to find Peter before accepting the post. Remus swallowed around the tight knot forming in his throat and considered just giving up. Peter was dead. Why can't I bloody accept that?

Then he saw the scrap of parchment on the arm of his most comfortable chair. He thought of the words desperately scratched onto it. He could wait a little longer to send his answer to Lady Davenshirt, he decided. He still had seven days before a reply was due. He had promised to search for Peter, fool's errand or no. James's twelve-year-old voice echoed in his memory, "A Marauder's word is as good as his life." Remus was a Marauder, though their number had dwindled to one. With a sigh, he dropped the Davenshirt offer and returned to his search for the perfect Locator Spell.

The Remembrall. He had to find a way to use the Remembrall. The little marble was a link to Peter Pettigrew and no one else. It saw Peter's mind, knew what he'd done and what he had failed to do, and Remus needed only to take advantage of that connection. For the second night in a row, he read until his eyes burned.

As the sun peeked over the eastern horizon, he finally collapsed. With his head cradled in the pages he'd been staring at fruitlessly for the last hour, Remus fell fast asleep.

***

"You believe me, then?"

"I'm trying."

"Will you succeed?"

"Do you have to ask me that?"

"I need you to succeed."

"Of course I will." Remus' pale fingertips brushed a soiled and tearstained cheek. "I will find him."

***

Remus woke in the afternoon, refreshed from his kip and smiling as he passed from the land of dreams. Still holding the book on whose pages he had slept, Remus entered his kitchen and searched through his cupboards until he found stale biscuits, a jar of Marmite, and a hard hunk of bread. Chewing absently, he reread the pages in front of him.

And he saw it. It was there all along, between a Stalking Charm and a Reel Conjuration, the perfect Hounding Spell. It was simple transmogrification, if transmogrification could ever be considered simple, and well within his abilities. The magic was strong. If Peter was still alive, rat or human, this spell would find him. It involved turning the Remembrall into a tracking beacon that, when queried, would cast a beam of light from anywhere Peter had been toward the next place he had gone. The light would grow brighter the fresher Peter's trail. Remus' mind started whirring. He could modify the spell to show only Peter's path from November first, to begin with Peter's last known location and track him from there. He felt a little thrill; if Peter was alive, Remus would find him.

He began to tidy the mess in his sitting room, and his hand fell upon the Davenshirt letter. With a half-smile he read it again. As his eyes scanned the page, his smile faded. The twentieth of January, according to the Prophet on his kitchen floor, was in six days. He would have to find Peter quickly.

***

Remus began to work the spell at sunset. His cottage smelt of the burning sage he'd lit to cover the sulphurous odour of the smouldering Remembrall. He cleared his mind, focused on the glass marble, and began the complicated series of incantations. By morning, he held a warm glass marble, formerly Peter's Remembrall, in his hands. It glowed with a soft golden light. For the final step, he levelled his wand at the orb and said, "Brjotanan." Holding his breath, he lifted it, and dropped it once to the floor. The Unbreakable Charm held, and the Remembrall bounced back into his hand. Remus smiled.

"Was he here?" Remus asked. The Remembrall was unchanged. "I suppose that means no," Remus asked aloud. He would have been very surprised if the orb had acted any differently, as Peter had never set foot in this house. Remus shrugged, proud of his creation, and tucked it safely into his pocket.

The following morning, he closed up the old cottage, packed a spare set of robes, shirt and trousers, the parchment (still tucked into A Prankster's Guide), his toothbrush and razor into a small, worn travelling case, and locked the door behind him. He took a deep breath and Disapparated with a loud crack

His first stop was Lingonberry Lane, the unremarkable street where so many lives had been lost not three months before. The cracks in the pavement were repaired, and Le Petite Pan, the café across the street was doing a busy trade, sending aromas of warm bread and brewing coffee out into the cold winter air. The glass windows were clean and new, and only a small plaque memorialized those lost in the "gas explosion".

Remus watched the pedestrians on Lingonbury Lane and the customers inside Le Petit Pan, wondering how many of them remembered that night and whether they knew any victims of the supposed explosion. Several of the dead were children; perhaps the woman sitting alone in the café window had lost a son or daughter. Perhaps she came here every morning, sipping her coffee and looking wistfully out the window. Perhaps she was still looking for something she'd lost that night. His blood boiled at the thought of the families ripped apart their tragedy reduced to no more than a list of names on a dull little plaque. How could you have done that, Sirius?

"Sir? Are you hurt?"

Breathing heavily, he looked around. A young woman was holding his bag and looking at him from several feet away, her eyes full of concern. Remus composed himself quickly.

"Strong wind today. Must keep better hold of my bag. Ta," he stammered as she handed it to him, and slowly backed away.

When she was gone, Remus willed away the blush high on his cheekbones and removed the old Remembrall from his pocket. "Was he here?" he asked softly, thankful that any light it gave would not be visible to the surrounding Muggles. The orb glowed soft and golden, diffuse at first, then focusing into a dim beam pointing into the gutter. A little farther down the street, it surfaced once more.

Remus' breath caught.

Peter had left this place after November first. Peter had survived the attack, and left this place.

Remus quickly followed the direction of the beam, checking it every few hundred yards to make sure he hadn't gone off course. As walking proved to be quite slow and frequent Apparation would attract too much attention, he conjured himself a rickety (but unnaturally fast) bicycle. He followed the trail and, several hours later, coasted right into Dover.

Standing atop the white cliffs overlooking the harbour, Remus inhaled the salty air. "Was he here?" The pale beam shone out over the channel to Calais.

For love of the - Peter crossed over to the continent. Remus almost grumbled out loud. Then a frightening thought occurred to him. What if Peter didn't escape? What if he'd been abducted by Death Eaters? They'd been active since Hallowe'en: Remus thought with a pang about Frank and Alice Longbottom. With the Ministry's renewed efforts to find Voldemort's remaining followers, many Death Eaters had fled the country. Perhaps they had Peter held captive somewhere, and Remus was the only person who even knew to look for him.

Remus needed to make plans before leaving the country, and moments later he was off, as though chased by a horde of angry Death Eaters himself.

He vanished his bicycle and Apparated immediately to the Leaky Cauldron.

Tom, the innkeeper, looked mournfully at him when he appeared, reminding Remus why he avoided public places these days, especially the ones he had once frequented with Sirius, James, and Peter. Every pitying glance was a token of the life that had ended on Hallowe'en. Tom -- who just months ago would have clapped him heartily on the back, led him to a table for four, and set a pitcher of Butterbeer in front of him -- simply gazed at Remus with dark, sombre eyes and seemed at a loss for words. Remus took another great breath and smiled, wishing Tom a good afternoon. Hurriedly he passed through the bar and reached the wall separating it from Diagon Alley.

He tapped the bricks and watched as they rolled apart to reveal the bustling street. Witches and wizards in long, flowing robes walked in and out of the myriad shops, going about their business wholly oblivious to Remus. Their bags rustled, heavy with purchases; they greeted friends and argued over prices; children dragged tired parents from the toy shops and candy stores; and lovers walked shoulder to shoulder, pointing at window displays. Remus stepped around and between the milling shoppers, anonymous in the crowd and content to be so.

He went first to a small shop with green and gold lettering on the windows: "Wizarding Luggage and Travel Supplies: What you need to get where you're going. All measurements by the elephant." A bell over the door rang as Remus entered.

"I don't understand why you insist on measuring by the elephant," asked a high-pitched nasal voice -- a witch in front of the counter was complaining loudly.

"Well, you ken how big an elephant is, ma'am?" replied a shopkeeper with very blue hair.

"Yes. Very large."

"Aye, that's why we use them to measure - more intuitive than meters, and about as arbitrary as feet."

"Very well," the woman sighed. "I'd like my trunk to hold three elephants."

"Right. It'll be ready by Tuesday."

The nasal-voiced witch spun on her heel and left the shop, and the shopkeeper turned towards Remus.

"Afternoon, gov'. What size would you like?" she asked, smiling. Remus placed his bag on the counter.

"What size do you recommend?"

"Well, a bag this small will be difficult to Inbiggen much more than one elephant's worth."

"Oh, I shouldn't need to fit an entire elephant in there, I just need a bit more space than I have now. Perhaps the size of a standard trunk?"

"Hmmm, the trunks are awfully long and narrow, better for storing large rolls of parchment."

"Oh, I didn't mean--"

"Perhaps I could make it a head and ears? Yes, that should do nicely." She bustled into the back of the shop. Remus heard a loud bang and worried for the safety of his bag. When the witch returned, however, his fears were relieved; there was plenty of space inside for a full grown elephant's head complete with floppy ears, although its trunk, he supposed, would be a bit squashed. She had even repaired the broken zipper.

"That'll be fourteen sickles please."

Remus paid, thanked the blue-haired witch, and made his way to Gringotts Wizarding Bank.

He entered the imposing lobby, carefully avoiding the waist-high goblins that wandered about. He walked up to the counter and asked to be escorted to vault number Nine Hundred Twelve, then reluctantly followed a surly goblin to the old carts. Sirius had loved the carts at Gringotts. Sometimes, on lazy afternoons, they would visit the Black family vault in the deepest tunnels of the bank, just to ride the carts down there. Remus suspected that the goblins knew they only visited for fun, but if they minded, they never said a thing. Sirius would whoop and call as the cart pelted madly down its tracks, shouting insults at the dragons that guarded the deepest tunnels. He would let go of the sides and pull Remus' hand into the air with his. When they reached the bottom, his hair was always windswept and his cheeks flushed. "So," he would ask, "want to do it again?"

Remus would shake his head, laughing. "And what happens if, next time, you fall out?" he would tease.

"You'll catch me, Moony," was always Sirius' glib reply. They would open the vault and glance around it so as not to disappoint the goblin who'd escorted them, and then return to the surface, Remus' head resting on Sirius' shoulder.

Remus silenced the memories. The ride to his own vault was not nearly so long, so thrilling, so frightening, or so fun. He quickly emptied its contents into his travelling case and returned to the surface.

He emerged from Gringotts and turned left, silently reviewing the list of items he needed to procure. At the entrance to Knockturn Alley, Remus did not pause. He had been here before, and his feet led the way to the places he needed to go. Sunlight never quite reached the dim, mysterious shopfronts in this crooked street. Wizards huddled in groups of two or three, spoke in harsh whispers and rarely laughed. Most shoulders were hunched in deference, though a few wizards strode regally in and out of the shops. The shops themselves had intimidating names such as Poisonwood Reading and Maleficent's Magical Supplies, and shamelessly displayed contraband in their dingy windows. Many in the Ministry would gladly condemn one to Azkaban simply for setting foot in Knockturn Alley.

Inside Luguer's Legerdemain, Remus stood across the counter from an old wizard whose hands trembled with every movement. He huffed through his long crooked nose when Remus made his request and quickly fetched the item from the back room.

"Mmm," he smiled sourly. "A man after my own heart. I began to collect these when they fell out of favour at the Ministry."

"Did you?" Remus' skin crawled at the thought.

"Oh, yes. I have... other useful tidbits, if you're interested. Liquid Silver Nitrate perhaps? Powdered monkshood?"

"Not today, I think. Thank you. Although, there is one, nameless, potion that perhaps you have?" He tried to look conspiratorial.

The other wizard winked at him, a gesture that was far from reassuring, and stooped down to unlock a safe under the counter. "Always have this one on hand," the shopkeeper said. "Always"

Remus hurriedly paid for both of his purchases and left.

He visited the apothecary in Diagon Alley for several strong healing salves and returned to the Leaky Cauldron. Remus didn't see Tom, who must have been upstairs in the boarding rooms. It was just as well; it was one more awkward silence that he could avoid.

Next, Remus paid a visit to the Werewolf Registry Office. He walked calmly up to the secretary, a middle-aged witch wearing triangular green spectacles and sporting an excessive number of freckles. She was chatting animatedly with someone in her watch face. Remus quietly "ahem"-ed once or twice before he caught her attention. She glared at him disapprovingly, and he smiled amicably in return.

"Pardon me, but may I please speak to Mr. Whirling?"

"Mr. Whirling!" she called into the watch. A male face filled the oval.

"Yes, Peacock?"

Peacock - what a name, Remus thought - turned back to face him. "'oom should I tell 'im is calling?"

"Remus Lupin," Remus replied.

"Remus Lupin," she repeated.

"Ah, Lupin!" Whirling exclaimed. "Send him in. Send him in!"

Peacock led the way to the older man's office, looking very ruffled. Remus thanked her, and she promptly returned to her desk and previous conversation.

"Remus Lupin, you aren't due for a visit yet. Nothing wrong I hope?" asked the large, jovial man sitting behind his desk. Chester Whirling had the impressive build of a world-class beater, though he had never played Quiddich professionally. He seemed to fill the room, dwarfing furniture as well as visitors, and would have been quite imposing if his clear blue eyes weren't so open and affable. "It seemed to me as though you were doing well considering... Well, considering. Nasty business last fall, so glad that's all behind us. Tell me, what can I do for you today?"

As Remus explained his plans to Chester Whirling, a frown deepened in the older man's features.

"Not certain even what continent you'll be on? Never in one place very long? No set travel plans, Porkeys, tickets? I don't like this, Lupin. No, I don't like it at all." He paused in order to let Remus consider his next words.

Remus simply looked at him, expression calm and resolute.

Whirling spoke again, "Now, I've known you since you were just a little nipper. I've watched you grow, almost like my own boys, and I've never known you to be rash, not at all. What sort of provisions have you made?"

Remus had expected the question; though he did not expect to be gone long enough to use it, a bit of insurance was always wise, especially when dealing with the International Werewolf Code of Conduct. He drew his first purchase from Knockturn Alley out of its case, and presented it to Whirling. A pentagram of heavy silver chains ending in cruel-looking manacles sat on the desk between the two men.

Whirling recoiled slightly. Remus almost smiled at his obvious discomfort; for a man whose job it was to manage werewolves, his reaction to this rather barbaric means of control was reassuring.

"Hmm." Whirling stared dubiously at the chains. "We haven't had to use those, even for the... intractable ... cases in years."

"Yes. Well, other nations' ministries aren't quite so progressive," Remus responded evenly.

"And you're willing to use those? Every month abroad?"

Remus nodded directly meeting the clear blue eyes of a man he considered something of a friend. Though Whirling had been a caseworker for the Registry most of his life, and had dealt with the worst 'cases' in England, he remained remarkably un-jaded. Remus knew the man had always dealt with him fairly.

Whirling sighed. "I can't dissuade you?" he asked, his tone already admitting defeat.

Remus shook his head. "No."

"Very well," he said. "You know I don't wish those on you, but I'll put word out to all the embassies that you're safe to travel." He drew the necessary documents in the air, surveyed his work, and nodded. The sheaf of parchment abruptly rolled shut, and with a wave of his wand, Whirling floated the chains and travelling documents over to Remus, who tucked them into his case. "Remus, one last thing."

"Yes?"

"You aren't planning to go to Cairo are you?"

"No," Remus said slowly.

"Madagascar?"

"I shouldn't think so."

"Manaus?"

Remus shook his head. Brazil was the last place he expected to be. "Why?"

"No reason. The Ministry's just been tracking some troubles globally. Wailing violins, tongue-biting biscuits, levitating lemurs and such. Between the two of us, the Minister is worried that these are new havens for Dark wizards -- you know who I mean. Anyway, it wouldn't do for you to be caught there. I have your word?"

"Of course."

Remus thanked Whirling sincerely for everything, and nodded politely to Peacock as he left the building. He had been prepared to leave Britain illegally, and was relieved not to have to. He rather preferred travelling without the threat of the Werewolf Capture Unit following him. Taking a deep breath, he walked into Muggle London ready to begin his journey to find Peter Pettigrew.