To Face the Wolf

Severus Snape

Much to his chagrin, Snape was unable to find any lingering traces of dark or illegal magic - such as would be perceptible after the use of a Portkey - in his supply dungeon. Perhaps Dumbledore would be able to discover something, but as it was obvious that Dumbledore wasn't interested in trying, Snape could just as well clean up the mess left by the bleeding stranger. So he scourgified the dungeon floor and returned to his rooms, making a mental list of things to do.

The next morning after breakfast, he braced himself and cornered Lupin outside the Great Hall. It was a Saturday, so the werewolf would be unable to come up with the excuse that he had to teach classes.

'Can I help you, Severus?' Lupin asked pleasantly, as if he didn't notice that Snape was blocking his path.

'Help? I doubt it.' Snape drew himself up to accentuate the fact that he was the taller of the two, be it only by an inch or so. He fixed his gaze on Lupin's forehead instead of looking straight into his eyes. 'But you do have a chance to make yourself useful, and I wouldn't pass it up if I were you.'

'Yes?' was all Lupin said - but he did look over his shoulder to see if anyone was within earshot. The corridor was empty, though. Most students were still at breakfast, except the usual lazybones who overslept.

'As we both know, there's a murderer at large threatening the life of Potter Jr.,' Snape said. 'Then, suddenly, a mysterious, wounded stranger appears at Hogwarts -'

Surprisingly, Lupin cut in: '- bitten by a werewolf.'

Was Lupin changing tactics in the face of incriminating evidence? 'What's this, a confession?' The Potions master would have smiled, except that with this opponent he had better remain cautious.

'Nothing of the kind,' the werewolf replied, seemingly unperturbed. 'But much as I 'd like to deny it, the creature who bit Mr. Felagund was a werewolf. He told me as much. On the other hand, I can't for the life of me remember biting him, and as I'm supposed to keep my mind while under the influence of your Wolfsbane, it seems highly unlikely that I did. Unless there was something wrong with the potion?'

The accursed wolf was trying to regain control again. He despises me, Snape thought. I won't be deceived by his generally pleasant behaviour. 'I - do- not - make - mistakes,' he said through gritted teeth. 'And you changed the subject, Lupin; we were discussing the mysterious stranger, not my potion making.'

A bunch of merry Hufflepuffs erupted from the Great Hall, and for a few moments both teachers were subjected to curious glances and muffled whispers. Snape's glare blew them onwards in a flurry of robes, like leaves before the storm.

'You were discussing him,' the werewolf countered when the students were swept away by one of the moving stairs. 'But go ahead.'

'One wonders,' Snape murmured suggestively, 'how the man was able to enter the castle. Could it be by Portkey - and if so, who provided him with this illegal means of transportation? Or could it have been... Black, who let him in? We still don't know how that murderous traitor managed to gain access to Hogwarts.' He observed the other carefully for any signs of discomfort.

Lupin's face closed and his mind went suspiciously blank. 'What are you getting at, Severus?' he asked calmly.

'What I'm getting at, Lupin,' Snape said, unable to suppress his irritation, 'is that this newly made werewolf of yours could be a dangerous Dark Wizard. In that case it is in everyone's best interest to keep him from wreaking havoc in Hogwarts.' He softened his voice. 'I'm sure you don't want anything bad to happen to the student population in general, and Potter Jr in particular? I thought not. We have the Dementors watching the grounds, but obviously the danger is already in our midst.'

He could see that Lupin got both messages. Helping to unmask a Dark Wizard would greatly add to the werewolf's survival chances - for who cared if an agent of evil was bitten if he was to be Demented or otherwise eliminated before the bite could take effect? And the second message, of course, was that if Lupin was in league with Black, Severus Snape was going to find them out.

The werewolf shook his head. 'I'm afraid the memory of our guest was affected somehow, for he can't remember at all how he ended up here. Maybe someone obliviated him?'

The Potions Master shook his head, annoyed. 'Are all werewolves as gullible as you are? Come on!' He took a deep breath and stepped forward until his nose hovered about an inch from the other's snout; he hoped that Lupin could not hear his heart rate go up. 'You seem to have been... consorting with this stranger. Just keep up the good work. Who knows what you'll find?'

With that, he left, charming his robes into billowing mode. His approach had to be effective, he told himself. Self-preservation, the seed of suspicion, the fear of being caught out, one of these had to affect the werewolf, eventually. Wasn't this what Muggles called psychic warfare, or something?

***

Remus Lupin

The Headmaster had no inkling of where Beleriand could be. Nor did he know precisely what to make of Finrod's claim to immortality, but he thought it was something that had better remain between the two - or rather, three - of them. Being mortals, they had no way of finding out if it was true, but in case it was, knowledge of this could become dangerous if it reached the ears of people who once hearkened to the name of Death-eaters. To which Remus agreed wholeheartedly.

Their guest's ability to probe minds - concerning which Severus Snape had already informed him - seemed most intriguing to Dumbledore, and he promised to have a personal conversation with Finrod, one of these days. This could also serve to determine whether the man was an unusual type of wizard, an abnormal Muggle, or something of a freak. However, Dumbledore's attention focused on the werewolf issue.

'So you want to tell him about the possible consequences of his injuries, Remus?' he asked.

Remus swallowed the remains of his chocolate frog. There were a few unpleasant things he could hide from, but the full moon and her powers, hated and dreaded, were not among them. Sooner or later, Finrod would have to hear the truth about werewolves and the horrors of having been bitten by one. And will he demand my head, if I infected his blood?

'I don't think we can afford to wait,' he replied. 'His presence at Hogwarts remains an unexplained mystery. What if he disappears just as mysteriously, without knowing he may have - how I hate this! - a bloodthirsty monster lurking inside him that will emerge when the next moon is full, and possibly make new victims?'

'The responsible thing to do, Remus,' said Dumbledore.

His former pupil met the blue gaze without flinching, doing his best not to suppress his memories of a huge, black dog with shining blue eyes. For more than a semester, he had postponed telling the truth because of the bad light it would shed on his own foolhardy behaviour as a student. He had convinced himself that he would be able to summon the courage yet. And he still hadn't said a word to the Headmaster, despite the fact that the danger had crept into the bowels of Hogwarts. Oh yes, he was very responsible. It was really sickening how responsible he was. Fortunately, the Headmaster did not propose to add any points to Griffyndor...

'But maybe he is more aware of the situation than you think?' Dumbledore went on after a pause. Did he look disappointed? Must be imagination.

Remus shook his head. 'He knew it was a werewolf who caused his injuries. When he told me so I was too upset to notice, but later it struck me how calmly he seemed to take it. Too calmly, I'm inclined to say. So I don't think he's aware of the danger, which means he has to be told as soon as possible. It's not something I'm looking forward to, but it has to be done, and I'm the obvious person to do it.' If I can summon the courage.

'Very well then. Tell him also that I will ask Severus to prepare a double dose of the Wolfsbane potion next month, just in case.'

'Thank you.' Remus rose to go.

'One more moment please,' said Dumbledore.

'Yes, Headmaster?' Remus heard himself say, not knowing what to expect and bracing himself for the worst.

'What is your assessment of our mysterious guest. Do you trust him?'

Yet another assault upon his conscience - how much more would it be able to take before it broke down? 'Once upon a time, let's say, a dozen years ago,' Remus replied slowly, 'I would have said yes to that question. Since then, one of the persons I trusted most in this world turned out to be a traitor. People on whose tolerance I thought I could depend turned their backs on me when they found out what I am. I'm afraid my capacity for trust is at a rather low ebb. So maybe I'm not the most obvious person to answer your question.'

The Headmaster did not comment on this; instead he asked: 'But do you like him?'

That was a question Remus had not expected, but as it was much easier than the previous one he answered it promptly. 'I do.'

At that, Dumbledore's eyes twinkled.

After lunch, Remus went directly to the hospital wing, where Madam Pomfrey was examining a fluffy bunny tail sprouting from the bottom of an attractive fifth year. Briefly, Remus wondered who had cast the hex, how many students were familiar with that particular Muggle magazine, and if it was circulating here at Hogwarts. But as it was none of his business he duly proceeded toward the staff sickroom.

Finrod was sitting cross-legged on his blanket, wrapped in a dressing gown and looking out of place in a hospital bed. He had an opened book in his lap but when Remus entered he gazed up, fixing him with those fiery eyes of his. 'Good morning, Remus.'

'Good afternoon, Finrod,' Remus replied with a smile.

'Ah, yes, please correct my errors,' Finrod said gravely.

'How are you?'

'Better. Thank you.'

'Trying to kill your time?'

Finrod looked puzzled. 'Kill time?'

Remus indicated the book. 'Reading. I didn't know you could read English.'

'I tried, but I cannot... Teach me the signs?'

The signs - was he unable to read the Latin script? 'You mean the letters?'

Finrod nodded. 'Teach me, please?' He was good at making puppy eyes, Remus noticed. Like -

Wrong thought. 'With pleasure,' he said, though he wondered where to fit this into his schedule. 'By the way, what book is this?' Come on, Remus. You were going to tell him something. Don't procrastinate. 'I see. Bathilda Bagshot's History of Magic.' He grinned. 'Not the most fascinating book ever, but if you want we could use it as course material. I'll try to be here every day for a lesson.'

'I can leave, says Madam Poppy.' Finrod told him. 'I am mostly whole now.' He flipped open the dressing gown to show his long legs, and Remus was astonished to see how well they looked. His own, self-inflicted bites and cuts after full moon nights had never closed half as fast. He could see scabs in some places, and the pink tissue of newly healed skin in others, but nothing to indicate that Finrod's injuries had been serious enough to be fatal if Snape had not discovered him. And somehow, Remus suspected that this accelerated healing wasn't merely the result of Poppy's skills or Snape's potions. Maybe he is immortal, after all.

'But I do not know where to go,' Finrod added. 'Do you know a place, Remus?'

Remus thought of the conversation outside the Great Hall, that morning - in the most general of terms, in case his mind was still being read. Not that he was going to admit it to Snape's face, but in his own, twisted way the Potions Master did have a point. 'You can share my apartment, if you want,' he offered. The other matter could wait until tonight, he decided, shamefully relieved.

***

Hermione Granger

'Studying again?' Parvati Patil wanted to know. When Hermione failed to reply she bent forward to take a closer look at the title of the book. 'The Sil-marillion,' she read, frowning. 'What's that?'

'A book about silmarils,' Hermione muttered helpfully. She hated to be disturbed while reading, especially this year. The use of the time-turner left her more tired each day, often causing her to fall asleep over her books. More than half a dozen pages at a time counted as a minor miracle. Fortunately, though demanding enough to make reading it worthwhile, this text wasn't part of her curriculum: she wasn't sure she could have memorised the entire index of names even with the help of a Remembrall.

Parvati didn't give up yet. 'Is it for Ancient Runes?'

Hermione pulled a face. 'Ancient Tengwar.' Then she relented. 'It's a story about three shining jewels made by a brilliant Elven smith and stolen by an Evil Overlord.'

'You mean, He-who-must-not-be-named?' whispered Lavender Brown from her bed.

'Elves don't practise smithcraft,' objected Parvati.

'The Elves in this book do.'

Parvati laughed indulgently. 'Must be a Muggle novel then.' Lavender giggled.

Hermione nodded and noisily turned the page to indicate the conversation was over. Maybe she should be reviewing another Ancient Runes chapter or sneak up the Astronomy Tower to watch the stars, instead of trying to finish the tale of Beren and Lúthien. The chances that it would have a happy ending were small anyway.

She had almost given up on the book, two nights ago, when Finrod died in Sauron's dungeon. He was her favourite character, so when Lúthien and Huan arrived to rescue Beren Hermione hoped fervently that her Elvenking would turn out to be still alive and that Lúthien would be able to heal his wounds. She wanted it so badly that she had the weirdest of dreams after she had fallen asleep face down on the page - the tear-stained page, as Finrod was truly dead - in a very uncomfortable position. She was Lúthien, but she had her own wand, which she used to revive Finrod chanting a spell in an Elvish language amidst the ruin and carnage of Tol-in-Gaurhoth. The dream, beautiful and terrible at the same time, had ended in Hogwarts, but that part had been much less vivid and the memory of it eluded her.

Last night, she had been mostly unable to read on and tonight wasn't going to be much better, as Hermione discovered when she found herself reading the passage about Carcharoth for the third time. She had better stop, but as she'd been wasting precious time there was no way she could go to sleep yet. Suppressing a yawn she decided to study some more first. It was Saturday night, so she could afford to make it a little later, despite her fatigue. One had to make sacrifices to grow knowledgeable and wise.

She closed The Silmarillion. When she did so Crookshanks, who had been dozing at the foot of the bed, woke up. The ginger cat rose, yawned and stretched and then jumped to the floor to trot towards the dormitory door, tail in the air, a cat ready for his nightly endeavours.

Hermione put down the book and rose to let him out. 'I hope you aren't planning to do anything dubious,' she muttered, her eyes suddenly filling with tears. Ron accused her cat of wanting to eat his rat Scabbers, and sometimes it was hard to maintain Crookshank's innocence in the face of an endangered friendship.

'All right then,' Hermione sighed when the animal fixed her with its unyielding eyes. 'I guess you know what you're doing.'

***

Finrod Felagund

They ascended the tower built for stargazing - the Astronomy Tower, as Remus called it. Finrod had moved to the wizard's quarters in the hour before midnight, following him through the almost empty maze that was Hogwarts castle. At one point, they had seen the ghost of a mortal lady float by without. When Finrod asked why the dead woman had not left the world of the living Remus had replied that she was probably afraid to do so or else had some unfinished business to attend to, but that asking her was useless because she never spoke.

Finrod would have liked to ask more questions about the lingering presence of dead mortals, if only he had known exactly how to word them.

In Remus's quarters, a set of blue robes had been waiting, provided by the Hogwarts Headmaster, and while Finrod put them on Remus transformed the sofa in his sitting room into a bed, ignoring Finrod's remark that the couch would be good enough. The robes fitted exactly, and Remus had smiled. 'Few things escape the attention of Albus Dumbledore...' Then his face had closed. The change was subtle - but not much escaped the attention of Finrod Felagund either.

Resisting the temptation to pry into the other's mind again he had decided to abandon the subject, and thanking Remus once more for his hospitality he had asked if they could go to a place where he could gaze at the stars. If this request surprised the wizard he did not show it; he merely said: 'Well, I suppose the chance of encountering any students is small enough at this hour,' and soon they were on their way.

It was very cold on top of the tower - it was the winter season - but the night was clear. The stars wheeled across the heavens in all their blazing glory. The moon, waning but still large, hung low in the sky, almost touched by the gently swaying treetops of a nearby forest. Remus stared at the pale orb for a few moments before his gaze shifted toward a different part of the great vault. He seemed to cling to the parapet, looking tired. Finrod tilted his head to observe the constellations overhead.

He went very still.

There it was: the Valacirca, the Sickle, cutting its sparkling swath through the heart of the night. And there was Wilwarin, too, the Butterfly. These were the very stars of Varda that adorned the wintry sky above Beleriand, while the moon was the same Isil at whose first rising the Noldor, newly arrived in Middle-earth, had blown their silver trumpets. There was nothing strange about these stars. This was not another world. It was Arda. And yet, how could it be?

Turning, Finrod saw the Remmirath in the Northeast, and then, following Remus's stare, his eyes came to rest on a bright blue radiance shining amidst a crowd of lesser lights. Helluin. He realised that he must have said the name aloud when Remus said, shivering a little: 'We call it Sirius. The Dogstar.'

'Helluin consists of two stars,' Finrod heard himself reply.

Remus cast him a glance. 'So you know about that?'

'Know?' What did he mean? 'I see it.'

'The bare eye is unable to see Sirius B,' objected the wizard. 'Sirius A outshines it.'

Finrod shook his head. Apparently, for all their powers, the eyesight of wizards was the same as that of other mortals. 'Then how do you know...?'

'Muggle technology. Muggles may lack our wizarding abilities, but they're not without resources.' Remus cast Finrod a curious glance. 'Can you really see the second star?'

'I can.'

'Amazing...' Remus murmured. 'Would you mind very much if I left, Finrod?' he went on after a moment, his tone apologising. 'I'm freezing. I'll wait for you at the foot of the stairs.'

'I'll come along,' said Finrod, though he did not mind the cold too much. He had seen more than enough to know that he was further from home, further from Beren son of Barahir in his dungeon on Tol-in-Gaurhoth, than he could ever have imagined.

Then a thought struck him, and now he did shiver. If this was Arda, in a way he was not yet able to fathom, it was indeed tainted by Morgoth. Could it be that these wizards were less benevolent than they seemed - that they were behind his displacement? How powerful were they? And what was possible here if even non-magical mortals invented devices to see a star that their eyes could not discern?

Before he turned to leave Finrod cast another glance at the dimly lit lawn sloping down towards the lake and at the line of trees where the forest began. Even his keen Elven-sight was not enough to penetrate very far into the darkness beneath the trees. But he did see the orange cat slip into the woods to join the huge black dog that lay watching the castle with eyes as blue as Helluin. Sirius.

(TBC)