Amid My Solitude

Each act that He would have us do
Is haloed round with strangest beauty;
Terrific deeds and cosmic tasks
Of His plainest child He asks.
-- Anna Hempstead Branch

Tonks was gone when Remus woke, the first time that had happened, and he realised he'd overslept; the house was too quiet for it to be breakfast, and there was too much sunlight for it to be early. He tumbled out of the bed and wandered his way, half-conscious, through a shower and shave, through dressing and down to the kitchen, where the remains of the breakfast dishes were sitting in the sink.

He had things to do; several people had brought reports with them to Harry's party, which he had to read and decipher into useful information. Severus, through Arthur, had mentioned that he'd narrowed the field of possibilities for Voldemort's stronghold to five or six places, and if they were going to try to find them, they'd best do it soon.

There was the morning Owl post to see to -- two belated cards and the usual yearly Hogwarts letter for Harry, and a long-past-due bill from a bookshop in Knockturn Alley for some volumes he'd purchased a few months ago. He sighed, and laid it next to the pile of reports. If he sold that essay...

No replies from the journals he'd sent it to, as of yet. He laid the cards out for Harry -- backfiring noises from behind the house would seem to indicate he was playing with the motorbike, though he'd been strictly forbidden to ride it unsupervised until he'd had some more practice.

One more envelope -- no, just a piece of folded paper -- slipped through his fingers, and he caught it before it drifted to the floor.

Remus --

Sorry I left early this morning. You need to get out of that house more.

6pm Galileo's, Sosi Alley.

Don't bring Harry. If you do, I'll hurt you.

-- "Dora"

He smiled. At least she hadn't called him Remy. On the other hand, if someone else had come in and gotten to the mail first...

Well, it wasn't as though they had to keep it a secret. It was just that people were going to raise their eyebrows, he thought. A pushing-middle-age werewolf and a just-from-training Auror. And he knew who they were going to raise their eyebrows at.

And this -- Galileo's, in Sosi Alley -- sounded suspiciously like something more than their...hobby. Their hobby wasn't something one did at Galileo's. Not unless one was at the very dimmest table, and far more adventurous than Remus Lupin would ever admit to being.

He was probably being foolish. He had been at Headquarters a lot, recently, but then he had responsibilities here, especially with Harry about. She probably just wanted him to take an evening off. She was, after all, his friend first.

The thought of what she was "second" did strange things to his body temperature.

There was another roar from the back yard, and a string of cursewords. Remus smiled to himself, and gathered up his reports, heading for the back porch. He could keep an eye on Harry, and read, and make notes, and still tell Tonks that he did indeed spend most of the day out of the house.

Harry was sitting next to the motorbike, inspecting the engine. Every so often he'd mutter a word in Latin, and it would roar.

"Troubles already?" Remus asked, and Harry looked up, a smear of grease on his forehead.

"I want to know how he enchanted it," he said.

"Why?"

"Because Sirius did it," Harry answered. Remus nodded.

"Fair enough. Mind if I keep you company?"

"Long as you don't mind hearing me swear."

"Can I look disapproving?"

"Sure," Harry said, with a smile, and turned back to his work. "You don't happen to know, do you?"

"No, Sirius never even told us he had one, until it was done," Remus said absently, riffling through the sheets of parchment. "James might have known..."

He glanced up and saw Harry watching him, a strange look in his eyes.

"Sorry," he said softly. "That was thoughtless of me."

"It's all right," Harry replied, wiping his forehead with his arm and turning back to the machine. "At least you don't walk around it like everyone else does."

"Well, I don't -- what?"

"Dumbledore does it all the time," Harry said, apparently to the fuel tank. "You watch. Whenever he talks to me. It's like he's talking to my dad, and he just doesn't want to admit it."

"He probably just sees the resemblance. So do I, if it comes to that."

"Sirius did it too. More after he came back here," Harry continued. "Even Mr. Weasley does it. Only with him it's like he's talking to me, but he's thinking about every...single...word...he says."

"I'm sure he doesn't do that, Harry," Remus said, though he was already reaching back in his memory to consider things.

"Remus...no offence..." Harry grunted, tightening a nut somewhere in the depths of the mechanism, "But you didn't even know you were leading the Order until Arthur Weasley told you."

He glanced up at Remus' stunned face. "Tonks mentioned it me," he said, and went back to the machine. "It's fine. The point is, you don't do what they do. And when I'm let into the Order people will see I'm not my dad. Or a ghost."

He started the bike up, then, and Remus couldn't even hear himself over the roar, let alone speak to Harry. So he bent to his pages, reading, taking notes, beginning to plan for the next Order mission.

It was going to be a big one, he thought. A concerted effort, something with careful planning. Small teams of two, checking in on a regular basis...he'd go out himself, he decided, and let the twins run things from the house, it'd be good experience and he wanted the older members doing the actual work. Any stronghold of Voldemort's would be heavily warded. He doubted even Dumbledore would get past them, let alone Fred and George Weasley...

But they had to try, anyway.

He looked up from the hand-drawn map that Arthur had included in his brief report, on which he was making copious notes.

He'd never realised that Harry's hair wasn't all one shade; like his own, it was shot through with lighter colours -- the roots of which were bleaching to white in the sun.

Sixteen years ago, they would have spent a day like this at the little house in Godric's Hollow, James and Lily continually fussing over Harry, while Sirius teased his friend about being a father already, and Remus and Peter regarded the boy with wary affection.

Not much change there, then. Harry was still slightly alien, never fully open to anyone, especially now that Sirius was gone. Remus knew the feeling, and knew Harry would survive it -- hadn't he survived it himself for the better part of three decades?

He wished like hell the boy didn't have to, though.

"I think I've got it," Harry announced triumphantly. "Variation on the basic Wingardium, isn't it? Much more complicated, but it's all down to the base spell...I think I could rework it if I had to."

Remus tilted his head, and smiled. "Got your father's brains," he said.

Harry gave him a solemn nod, and dusted himself off.

"You want lunch?" he asked. "I'd rather not just feed myself. I'm used to cooking for four."

***

Remus lay his papers on the table and went to the cupboard, locating plates and cups with the ease of someone well-familiar with the kitchen layout. Harry found bread and meat, lettuce and onions, and some self-slicing cheese which, when tapped with a wand, would provide perfect thin slices every time. He made sandwiches, following Remus' absent directions for his, while the older man filled the cups with ice and poured lemonade for Harry and one of the apparently random bottles of beer in the icebox for himself. Halfway to the table, Remus lifted his head, listening intently.

"Better cut some more bread," he said. "Turkey but no salami, mustard, cheese, lettuce, no onions."

"Who...?" Harry asked, confused.

"Dumbledore's coming," Remus replied, taking down a third cup. He gave Harry a sly smile. "Werewolf senses," he explained. Harry nodded, and cut two more slices of bread.

Dumbledore did arrive, not a minute later, and a warm breeze blew through the dim, chilly house when he walked through the door. Remus, mouth full of sandwich, gestured to the third plate, and Dumbledore smiled.

"You are perpetually anticipating me," he said, seating himself, and eating neatly for a man with a voluminous beard and moustache. "It's a pleasant day out -- "

"I'm calling a meeting," Remus said. Dumbledore bowed his head a little.

"Anticipatory and direct," he murmured.

"The Dark Lord's stronghold," Remus continued, unfolding the map he'd been working on, and setting it on the table. He dared Dumbledore to send Harry away.

The map was covered in concentric circles, some running off the page; Dumbledore examined it with interest.

"Mostly Severus' work, isn't it?" he asked. "Fine draftsmanship."

"Kingsley's been checking his work. It's sound."

"Eight likely spots."

"And a dozen unlikely ones. But I thought we ought to at least get a start."

Dumbledore's eyes slid to Harry again, and Remus shook his head.

"Harry and the twins can stay here and monitor things. Not taking reports, just making sure nobody gets hurt," Remus continued. "The end of the week. Nobody's working. Just a day in the countryside."

"All over the countryside," Dumbledore observed.

"Yes," Remus replied. "All over."

Dumbledore sat silently, watching Remus, and the werewolf had the eerie sensation that his thoughts were far too similar to the thoughts Remus himself had entertained, watching Harry.

Three generations of secrecy, he thought sadly. Three generations of not...quite...understanding.

Then the older man nodded, and returned to the map. "Don't choose who goes where until we know who can come. I'll put the word about."

"Have you spoken to Kingsley, recently?" Remus asked, significantly. Dumbledore nodded. "And...?"

"Severus will be there," was all the Headmaster would say. "Excellent sandwich, Harry, thank you. Remus, I'd like to speak to you alone, if I may? No, Harry, finish your lunch," he added, as the boy stood, slightly sullen, to leave. "We'll walk out, if Remus doesn't object."

Dumbledore led the way out the front door and down into the city street, and Remus heard a soft, windy noise as Headquarters vanished from view. He fell into step beside his Headmaster, the man who, if Severus Snape was right, had him by a very short leash.

"Things are changing, and quickly," Dumbledore said, as they walked. Remus nodded. "You've begun to take more of an interest in Order affairs. In putting the Order's affairs to rights, as it were."

"If I've overstepped -- "

"No, Remus. You are very careful never to overstep your bounds," Dumbledore interrupted. "I don't disapprove."

"But...?"

"But I wonder why this change," Dumbledore replied. "I wonder why you have...assumed the role you were being prepared for, so early."

"You never do anything without a reason, do you?"

"Oh, I do many things without reason," Dumbledore replied, with a sunny smile.

"Not when it comes to the Order."

That seemed to silence the Headmaster, and they walked on for a while without speaking.

"Arthur told me I was being looked to," Remus said finally. "So I thought I ought to do something worth watching."

"And you are no longer a sixteen-year-old prefect."

"No. Certainly not."

"And it has nothing to do with your new...friendship with Nymphadora?"

Remus sighed. "My personal friendships are the last thing I want people to see, when they look at me. Especially this one."

"I hear Severus Snape was fairly badly bruised."

"That was Tonks."

"Indeed."

Remus stopped walking, and crossed his arms. "You know, you did say I wasn't a Prefect anymore. You can't go through life treating everyone as if they never left school, Dumbledore."

"I find that technique works extremely well, in most cases, actually," Dumbledore replied, flashing that confident smile again. "Kingsley Shacklebolt suspects Severus of being a spy. Arthur Weasley suspects Mundungus Fletcher of being a dupe. And are you...afraid...of anyone in the Order? You said yourself you felt you ought to take the job when it was offered."

Remus thought for an instant about Tonks. About how young women did not seduce men ten years older than them without a reason, and especially prematurely-greying, borderline-alcoholic, highly nonsocial werewolves.

"No," he said slowly. "Unless we know there's a spy, it's useless to suspect anyone. Even Severus Snape."

Dumbledore nodded, eyes never leaving Remus' face.

"If you do have suspicions, I'd like to hear them," he said. "Tell Harry goodbye, would you?"

Remus nodded, and Dumbledore Disapparated, leaving him alone on the street.

***

Sosi Alley was the fashionable district of the magical quarter that Diagon Alley opened into; it was mostly brick, with iron terraces, and traditional green doors. Most of the storefronts were old converted houses; Galileo's, which dominated the street, was one of the few buildings that had obviously been meant as a restaurant. The front of the building was almost entirely glass: windows in wooden frames, which stretched from the flower-boxes on the ground to the ceiling. They were open in the summer evening, and the sound of people talking and eating drifted out.

Inside, the restaurant was...different. Out on the street the sun was still up and it washed the brick to vivid orange and reds; inside, the light was blue and silver, and it was easy to see why.

The ceiling didn't even appear to exist -- instead, like the high ceilings of the Hogwarts great hall, it was enchanted to look like a brilliant night sky, stars sparkling down on the diners. Every so often, clouds drifted across, lit by lighting, to the awe and approval of those at the small, linen-covered tables.

"You could try being late, just once," said a voice behind him, and he turned to smile at Tonks, standing in the doorway.

"I was admiring your choice of location," he said, fighting down the little voice in the back of his head which said there was no way he could afford even his own meal in a place like this.

"Kingsley recommended it," she said, taking his arm as a silent, dignified maitre'd led them to a back table. "He said it never failed."

"Never fai...oh." Remus raised his eyebrows. "Did you really have worries on that front, Tonks?"

She laughed. "I thought you'd like to go out for an evening."

"If the house burns down while I'm gone, because I left Harry with the twins, I'm telling Dumbledore to blame you," he replied.

"I'll take the fall."

He smiled, and opened his menu, and let the minutiae of ordering food and wine fill his mind, pushing his suspicions and worries away. The wine helped, and so did Tonks, who distracted him with talk of her job, and Wizarding politics, and the Prophet's latest editorials.

He couldn't recall when he had so entirely managed to avoid thinking of work, or worrying about...well, about anything.

That probably wasn't a good thing, he thought, fingers idly turning his wineglass. Tonks was saying something about proper use of the word "they're" as opposed to "there" in editorials, and he wasn't quite following it, but that was all right; it was just talk, and Tonks liked to fill the silences.

"You look like you're thinking something devious," she said, grinning at him.

"I'm not thinking at all," he replied.

"My nefarious plan succeeds!" she laughed. "Good for you, Remus."

He smiled, and drained the last of the wine. "Plotting my downfall, hm?"

"No, just a gentle slide away from round-the-clock worrying," Tonks said.

"I don't worry round the clock," he protested. She lifted an eyebrow. "I sleep at least five hours a night."

"Yes, what a wild life you lead," Tonks murmured. "Come on, let's get out of here."

"The check -- "

" -- it's taken care of," she said, standing. He got to his feet, curious. "I did a favour for the owner once."

"Should I ask?"

"Confidential."

"You didn't break the law, did you?"

She grinned. "It's a little bendy, you know, when you're an Auror. And don't..."

"...worry," he sighed. She reached up and drew her fingers through a cloud passing over the heads of the diners, sending grey wisps eddying away. When they stepped outside, she slid her arm around his waist, and leaned against him, smiling. He settled his own arm around her shoulders.

"You liked dinner, didn't you?" she asked.

"I did indeed."

"And you're glad to get out of Headquarters?"

"Tonks, are you worrying?" he asked, as they passed out of Sosi Alley and into the main street.

"Just taking a poll," she replied. "I'm free tonight, you know."

"I deduced you might be."

"We could go look in the shops, or get a drink at the Leaky Cauldron."

"Or go home," he murmured, in her ear, and felt a pleasant shiver go through her.

"Let's walk a little," she replied.

"That sounds good." He felt her arm tighten a little, and became aware of his breathing.

Shallow. She'd warned him about that.

He forced himself to breathe more deeply, and smelled the rich scent of Diagon Alley -- sun-warmed streets, chill sweetness from Florian Fortescue's ice cream parlour, dust and dry paper from Flourish & Blott's.

"I think," he said, as they passed storefronts and shop windows, "that I truly enjoy this hobby. And so far it's remarkably inexpensive."

"That's the beauty of the hobby," she replied, but he felt her tense a little.

"Cold?" he asked.

"No, not at all," Tonks said, and he nodded. He was imagining the tension in her shoulders, the slight pull of her arm.

Imagining it.

***

The meeting was called for that Friday, in the evening; at least that way they could relax while they contemplated possible doom. Tonks, on arriving, was the first to point this out, but she wasn't the last; as Mundungus Fletcher arrived (late, as usual) Bill Weasley was just saying that he felt Lupin had scheduled this on purpose, in order to get them drunk before sending them to their deaths. Remus, who was handing him a whiskey sour as he said it, merely smiled and pointed out that everyone was assuming he had their deaths all planned out.

"Makes it easier when we don't die," Bill replied.

"That's a good habit to cultivate," Moody said, in all seriousness.

"Not dying?" Bill asked.

"Lupin, why are we here?" Snape interrupted. "I'm assuming it has more import than listening to Weasley and Moody debate semantics."

"We're here because of you, Severus," Remus replied. The bruising on Snape's cheekbone had healed nicely -- more the pity, he had seen the bruises when Snape had come to work with Harry, most mornings, and he thought some of the Order would dearly like to see it too. "Your work."

He spread the map -- now annotated in several shades of ink -- on the table. "We know that the Dark Lord has a stronghold somewhere in England. He knows we have one."

"Even-hand standoff," Moody grunted. Remus nodded.

"Hopefully not for long."

"Fortunately we have no nefarious plots to carry out in the near future," Tonks put in. "So we've got the manpower to go looking, and the information on where to start."

"Right in one," Remus nodded.

"Field trip!" Bill Weasley laughed. "We going snake-hunting?"

"More or less. I want at least one older, experienced member on each team. Fletcher and Tonks, Arthur and Bill, Molly and Moody, Arabella and Kingsley, and Severus, you're with me. Dumbledore and McGonagall couldn't be here, but they've already drawn the northern area."

"What about us?" Fred asked.

"You two and Harry are to stay here and monitor. Every team checks in with Fred or George before leaving, and every two hours with one of the three. If someone finds anything, we want to know about it. That way if you do die, Bill, it won't have been in vain."

"Good to know," Bill said ruefully.

"You'll be going amongst Muggles, so remember to try and blend in. If you have questions, ask Arabella. We want to know if anything strange has been happening, any odd lights, strangely-dressed people...other than us, I suppose," he sighed, taking in Fletcher's brightly striped robes. "Any local cults or strange clubs. Anything that feels wrong. You know what to look for. Try to be aware. Try not to get murdered unnecessarily."

"You're all hope, Remus," Arthur murmured.

"This is a big operation. Our biggest so far. I want everyone reporting back here in person by Sunday evening. Otherwise, where you search is at your discretion...and luck of the draw," he added. He handed half the group small slips of parchment. "Those are the names of likely towns. If you don't find anything in town, spread out from there."

He consulted the last slip he'd saved, and looked at Snape. "We're in Little Hangleton."

"I know the place," Snape said, his voice low. The others began comparing papers, and a few, he noticed, traded them.

"I don't want anyone starting tonight. Tomorrow morning, tell someone where you're going -- both of you -- and remember to call in. Thanks to Hermione..." he said, drawing a handful of Galleons out of his pocket, "that shouldn't be hard. These'll turn warm when you're supposed to check back. Press down on it and Fred and George will know you're all right. If you have to pass information back, Apparate or Floo to the house. Don't split up," he added sternly.

Kingsley gave him a facetious salute, and he smiled.

"I boss because I don't want anyone dying," Remus said carefully. "Any questions?"

"If we do die, are you going to yell at us?" Fletcher asked, and the meeting broke up, amid laughs and good-natured claps on the back. Snape, barely stopping, hissed that he would be there at eight sharp the next morning, and he didn't want to have to wait. Remus nodded and let it pass. The man'd had enough abuse at his hands, lately.

He was pleased to see that some people stayed to drink and talk; he found he was forming very clear ideas about what the Order ought to be, and one of those ideas was that people in the Order should be...well, friends. People who spoke to each other because they wanted to. People who could complain to each other.

This leadership thing wasn't half bad, he decided.

He should have known the warm feeling of a job well done was too good to last.

"Remus, can I have a word?" Tonks asked, sidling up next to him as he tacked the map to a wall, and laid the Galleons on a table below it.

"Of course -- is something wrong?" he asked, noticing she hadn't touched the drink in her hand, and was looking rather less cheerful than usual.

"In private?"

"Right now?"

She bit her lips, and it was obvious that "yes, right now" was warring with "this is personal". He suddenly doubted that this private talk was going to be as enjoyable as some they'd had.

***