Wolf

Wolf

Wolf-sniff and wolf-sense say wolf-not-wolf. Wolf-not-wolf knows the same of wolf-self, but wolf-not-wolf is more not-wolf than wolf-self. Wolf-not-wolf's eyes are not-wolf, are all two-legs.

Wolf-self growls, advances, lunges.

Wolf-not-wolf is tail-down head-down afraid, backs away.

Wolf-self stops. He has no pack. Wolf-not-wolf is like - not the same - but like wolf-self. He growls again.

Wolf-not-wolf submits. Two-legs eyes of wolf-not-wolf know something, but wolf-self is pack leader and wolf-self does not care. Wolf-self is not-wolf more than he is wolf-self, just like wolf-not-wolf.

This is his only chance at dominance, and he seizes it with wolf-will, and wolf-self and wolf-not-wolf become wolf-pack and run together under wolf-maker moon.

---

In the morning, they are naked, lost and entangled. Both reserved men by nature, this wild reminder of a night they cannot truly remember except as scents and thoughts and wolf-things makes them flush and hurriedly turn away from each other, each going in search of the cache where they stored their belongings before the moon's pull forced them inside out.

Strange how they both chose this town, the older man muses as he eases his aching bones into a seedy hotel bed. Strange, when he'd planned to go to California. Strange coincidence - and now he will have to overcome his embarrassment and face the other.

He considers this as his weary mind drifts into an uneasy sleep.

---

The younger man has never met another such as he. He is scared, but intrigued, and when afternoon rolls around, and the hot midday sun has cooled to a lazy heat, he goes in search of this other. He knows he cannot be far - the day after a full moon is no day to travel. And the other was not here last month...

The younger man steps, a few minutes later, into the bar-cum-reception of the only hotel in town. He scans the room briefly, but cannot spot anyone who looks anything like the tired naked man he had glimpsed so fleetingly that morning.

'Daniel Osbourne?'

A soft voice behind him makes him whip around.

'How do you...?'

He is cut off.

'Not here. Outside.'

The older man beckons him to follow, and turns to leave. Oz watches him walk for a moment, noticing the stiffness with which he moves. Anyone else would think the older man suffered from chronic arthritis, but Oz knows better.

He follows.

---

The dusty street of the tiny Mid-West town is quiet. The two men speak quietly, one's crisp English consonants contrasting against the other's Californian drawl.

'Who are you?'

'Remus - Remus Lupin.'

He holds out a hand. Oz stares and does not take it. 'You're kidding me, right?'

'No, my father was French and my mother liked Roman mythology.'

'Oh.' Oz returns the handshake.

Remus glances around the street.

'I know where you're from, what you're from - I know your name - I knew who you were last night.'

Oz takes a step back. 'Look man, you got some issues...'

Remus frowns. 'Just listen to me for a minute, all right? You're in danger, or you will be very soon, and I'm the only one who can help.'

Oz glares at him. 'Start talking.'

So Remus explains the issue. About the Wizarding world and Voldemort (he forces himself to say the name), about Death Eaters, but most of all about Voldemort's plans. When he finishes, Oz's mouth is open.

'So, you're telling me that this guy is out to get me? Look, I'm just some guy, you know? I mean, I've lived on a Hellmouth, I know an evil overlord when I see one. If he comes looking for me I'll just tell him no.'

'You can't just do that with You Know... Voldemort, I mean. He can curse you to follow him blindly, he can feed you promises of your greatest desires and make you believe him, he can make you forget who you were before you started following him. And he wants an army.'

'What am I supposed to do about it?' Oz asks cynically.

'Take this.' Remus hands him a shiny gold coin; he knows it as a Galleon, but to the younger man it looks like play money. 'Keep it with you - don't go anywhere without it. If anyone else comes here and knows you're fur and fangs one day a month, just hold the coin, say 'escape' and it will take you to a safehouse.'

Oz takes the coin, turning it over in his hand and squinting at the unfamiliar design. 'Right. Coin. Catchphrase. Got it.'

He slips it into his pocket. 'Why are you telling me all this? What's in it for you?'

Remus' face darkens. 'Voldemort killed one of my best friends and his wife, turned another traitor, and one of his followers killed the other one. I'm the only one left, so believe me when I say I will do anything to fight him.'

Oz looks away. 'Oh. Sorry.'

'Don't be. Just... be careful.'

Oz nods. 'Careful is my middle name... well, it's not, but I'll pretend it is, just for today.'

Remus smiles wearily. 'I hope you don't have to use it, but... well, good luck.'

He turns away and walks his old-man shuffle back into the hotel. Oz watches him leave, until he is alone in the dusty street.

'The same to you,' he mutters.

---

Days and weeks and months later, and Oz does not really remember the stranger's face. Sometimes he wonders if it was nothing but a dream, but then he feels the clunk of a weight in his pocket against his leg, and is reminded of the day a man called Remus Lupin tried to save his life.

Remus Lupin returns to England. He remembers it as a one-night almost-return to the days when he had a real pack, and for that he is grateful to the young American. Twice, those he gave Galleons to use the safehouse for which he is the secret keeper.

Both times he is disappointed.

---

Wolf-self sometimes remembers a night when he ran in a pack, and howls mournfully.

Some nights when Remus is Moony and curled up under the inluence of Wolfsbane, he fancies that he hears a distant wolf-cry.

One night, maybe Oz will arrive, bewildered and disorientated, at Remus' home. One night, maybe Moony will have a pack once more. One night, the wolf-call will be answered.