Amid My Solitude

For ye do bear a shape, and so
Though ye were made by man, I know
An inner Spirit also made,
And ye his breathings have obeyed.
-- Anna Hempstead Branch

"I'm trusting your eyes, Moody," Remus said, as they walked along the graveyard path towards the Riddle house. "I'd like very much not to die today."

"Aye, I know," Moody said, with a sideways grin. He looked up at the house, and nodded to himself. "May as well get started. We'll clean as we go?"

"More or less." Remus pushed the front door in, and led the older man to the kitchen. Moody tsked to himself as they stepped inside.

"A right mess been made here," he said. "And a smell."

"I wonder whose blood it is," Remus murmured. "I'll clear the counters."

He raised his wand and managed to get out "Scourgi -- " before Moody clapped a hand over his mouth.

"Just a moment, there," he said sternly. "I wasn't done looking yet."

Remus nodded, and watched as Moody picked up a long-handled wooden spoon, one of the few that wasn't too dirty. Poking with the broad end, he pushed some of the plates into the sink at the end, and shoved others away from or around a series of glass jars and bowls. Finally, he stepped back.

An array of potions ingredients now sat on the counter before them, previously hidden by the mess of rotting food and filthy plates. Remus reached out and picked up a pestle, resting in a large wooden bowl. He took a pinch of the powder in the bowl and sniffed it.

"Hypericum," he said.

"Aye. And Valerian," Moody agreed, picking up another jar. "And Bezoar, and nettles...and..."

He picked up a jar, lifting the lid slightly. Remus felt his chest seize up, his throat close off. He choked and stumbled backwards, mouth working, until Moody slid the lid back on, and waved a filthy towel to clear the air of the scent.

"Aconite," Remus gasped, muscles relaxing again. "It's Aconite."

"Is it now," Moody replied.

"Merlin," Remus breathed, clutching his chest. "You could have checked another way than trying to kill me, you know."

"Keeps you on your toes," Moody said, with a grim smile. "It's toxic to you in powdered form."

"Causes an allergic reaction in all werewolves."

"And yet...with proper preparation..."

Remus' eyes widened as he examined the jars again. "Hypericum, Valerian, Bezoar, nettles, Aconite, and Lycium."

Moody reached into the cupboard above the jars, and took down a stoppered bottle. "Bone infusion," he read. The liquid inside the bottle was a cloudy beige colour. He hefted the only other thing in the cupboard, a sealed canister. "And finally we have...horseradish. Hm. What's 'kosher' mean?"

"They're very simple ingredients," Remus muttered, ignoring the question. "It's the measurement and the infusions you've got to get right. That's the really tricky bit."

"And what potion does this make?" Moody asked, as if he were teaching a private lecture.

"Wolfsbane potion," Remus replied.

"The common name for Aconite."

"They wouldn't need to take the ingredients along with them. They're not expensive, by and large."

"So why do you think," Moody asked slowly, "The Dark Lord has need of a potion to keep werewolves under control?"

***

By the time they returned to Headquarters -- gritty, dusty, and exhausted from the effort of defusing half a dozen traps and cleaning the refuse out of several rooms -- the sun had already set, and most of the Order had checked in and gone home for the evening.

"That's everyone but Kingsley, and Arabella said he was going straight home, so he's off," George said. "Am I glad you're back. Snape's been insufferable all afternoon."

"Up and about then, is he? Ta, Molly," Remus said, accepting a damp cloth from Molly Weasley and cleaning his face with it.

"Up, anyway. Was making us wait on him hand and foot," Fred said, wrinkling his nose. "Finally George cast a silencing spell outside his room, so he couldn't yell for us anymore."

"I fear for your future wives," Remus said, through the cloth. "What're you going to tell him when he asks?"

"That we put it there so that our footsteps outside his door wouldn't bother him," George replied with a grin. Remus sighed.

"I'll wait until morning to talk to him, then," he said. "How's Tonks?"

The boys shrugged. "She went upstairs a while ago, said she was going to Owl the Ministry about taking a few days off. And not to bother her. Harry checked on her -- didn't you, Harry?"

Harry, emerging from the kitchen with a sandwich, nodded. "No answer when I knocked, but she did say she was going to try to sleep. Mrs. Weasley gave her a potion."

"Just to get her to sleep," Molly added. "You look like you could use one, too. Find anything else at the Riddle house?"

"Lots of traps. Moody's eye came in very handy, in that respect. We got rid of anything that might look suspicious."

Moody, tromping in the doorway with a crate under one arm, gave them all a nod, and vanished into the back of the house.

"Molly, I think I need to talk to you and Arthur privately," Remus said quietly. "We found some...disturbing evidence."

"Evidence of wh -- oh. Of course," Molly said, as Remus gave Harry and the twins a significant look. "We can talk in the kitchen...ARTHUR!"

"YES, DEAR?" Arthur's voice drifted through a window. Molly leaned through it.

"Arthur, stop fiddling with Harry's motorbike and come in here," she scolded. "I swear," she added, to Remus, "that man's more excited about it than Harry is."

"I don't think anyone could be more excited about it than Harry is," Remus replied. Arthur walked inside, wiping his fingers on a greasy rag, and smiled.

"Remus needed to talk to us," Molly said. "About what they found at the Riddle house."

"Hope it was more than the absolute zero we found," Arthur said cheerfully. Remus leaned against the wall, and shook his head.

"We found potions ingredients," he said. "Left behind. Measures for a Wolfsbane potion."

Arthur blinked. "A wolfsbane potion? But..."

"...I know."

"The whole thing doesn't make sense," Molly said. "Why would they leave? And even if they left, why wouldn't they come back for the things they left behind?"

"Possibly they thought we were watching the place. I think they must have gone after...after the trouble at the Ministry..." Remus said slowly. "They took nearly everything."

"Except the skeleton," Molly said, with a shiver.

"And the potion ingredients," Remus sighed. "I can't imagine the Dark Lord would allow werewolves in his inner circle..."

"Arcadia fears me and Asgard hates me," Arthur murmured, looking sympathetically at Remus. "Why else would he have it?"

"I don't know. Those were the only ingredients...there's not much else can be made with them, as far as I know, though I'll check with Severus when he's...feeling better."

"They wouldn't let werewolves in," Molly said thoughtfully. "Not as conspirators, I mean. But demented animals would make good foot soldiers. Good cannon fodder," she added. "And if you had to have them about -- as bodyguards, maybe -- well, you'd have to keep them tame somehow."

Remus felt a dim horror creep over him, not so much for the idea of Death Eaters using werewolves, but for the idea of the werewolves, drugged into submission by wolfsbane...

"Feral werewolves can shift anytime they like, can't they?" she asked, not meeting his eyes. "I'm sure I heard that somewhere."

"If he was planning to recruit feral werewolves...like he did the giants..." Remus said, the disgust mounting. "He'd want to be able to...to offer it to them? Or slip it to them in order to keep them under control..."

"Either way, we'd better find out if they're still going to try for it, and fast," Arthur said. Remus was still awash in horror at the idea, and didn't respond.

"Remus...?" Molly asked. He shook his head, to clear it.

"I'll deal with it," he said.

"I could ask in the Ministry -- "

"No, Arthur," Remus said. He gave them a tired smile. "I know what to do. I'll start work on it tomorrow."

Arthur gave him an uncertain look, but smiled and clapped him on the arm, anyway.

"Get some rest, then. I'm going to make Harry show me how the petrol tank works again," he added, passing into the living room. Remus walked to the window, over the sink, and stared out at the motorbike.

"You should eat, too," Molly said. "You're far too thin."

"I was hungry until about ten seconds ago," he said, fingers curling around the smooth white porcelain rim of the sink. "Now I think I'm just going to sleep for a while. Are you staying here tonight, you and Arthur?"

"I think so. In case there's trouble at all. I have a feeling Severus will need more looking-after than Ron and Ginny would."

Remus smiled. "I have a feeling you're right, Molly." He turned away from the window. "I'll be in my room. Going to try to sleep. Wake me if Severus gets troublesome, or if Tonks needs anything."

"Of course," Molly said reassuringly, and he left her in the kitchen, walking slowly up the stairs to his rooms. He stopped outside the door, and listened intently; then, smiling, he pushed it open, and locked it behind him. The door between the study and the bedroom was open, and he could see his bed, an unexpected red blanket on the top of it, and an only-slightly-unexpected figure curled up underneath it.

He sat on the edge of the bed and felt the top of the blanket; as he'd expected, it had a warming charm on it. At least she wouldn't be too stiff tomorrow.

"Din't want to sleep in my bed," she mumbled, into the pillow. "Din't smell right."

"Smell right?" he asked, brushing a corner of the blanket away from her face.

"Smelled musty," she said. "Wanted your bed."

"That's fine. I'll sleep on the couch, I do that often enough. Do you want anything? Another sleeping potion?"

"Stay," she ordered, shifting a little. A wince crossed her face. "Sleep here."

"I don't want to hurt you."

"M'fine."

"You had a nasty fall."

"Don't make me wake up," she said drowsily. "I'll yell at you if I do."

"All right," he said, loosening his collar. He undressed, finding a crumpled pair of pyjama bottoms near the foot of the bed. She didn't make it easy on him; he had to slide past her on the small bed, and slip awkwardly under the blanket.

She sighed a little as he curled carefully against her, and wrapped one arm around her waist.

"How did it go with Moody?" she asked.

"I'll tell you in the morning."

"He didn't get fresh, did he?"

Remus laughed. "No, my dear Dora, unless you count giving me a heart attack in the name of 'eternal vigilance'."

"Mm?"

"We found some ingredients for a Wolfsbane potion. The Death Eaters might be using werewolves..."

"Awful."

"I agree. I'm going to send Moody back tomorrow to look around the village. I have a suspicion that I'd like verified."

"You going with him?"

"No, I have other things to attend to. If you're feeling all right in the morning, you might go."

She shifted again, and her hand touched his, thumb rubbing the sensitive skin on his knuckles.

"You're in no shape for our hobby tonight," he said, into her hair -- shorter than it had been earlier, but still bright red.

"It wasn't that far," she muttered. "Ten feet at most."

"You fell through a ceiling."

"Flesh wound."

"Dora, you need to sleep," he whispered.

"I know," she sighed. "Remus..."

"Mmm?"

"Do you like it when I touch you?"

He laughed. "Very much. You know that."

"Do you miss me when I'm not here?"

"Of...of course. Why?"

He heard warm satisfaction in her voice. "Just wondering," she replied.

***

Remus Lupin did not need to be told about feral werewolves by anyone.

By the age of ten he was well-versed in what little was published on the subject, not to mention being more knowledgeable about communicable diseases of the blood than most medical students. His father had taken him to countless conferences, universities, and hospitals in his quest for a cure; it always amused Remus, and honed his sense of irony to a fine point, to see his tall, burly father, a rural farmer in patched corduroys and a broad-brimmed leather hat, talking hematopathology with learned doctors and scientists.

He'd studied the feral werewolves, as he grew up; men and women who ran in packs and lived like wild animals even during the days they weren't wolves -- they were rumoured to be able to Change at will and far less painfully, but he felt that this was farfetched. Once in a while he considered joining them, but he'd never been one for camping, really.

There were two packs in Britain -- at least, two that anyone knew about. There had been three, once.

He considered the bag before him. It was just big enough to suit his needs, but small enough to be easily carried. This did not leave a lot of room for things like changes of trousers, books, and food. Perhaps a second bag for food.

He wouldn't need too many clothes; he didn't plan on dressing to impress. He picked up a roll of parchment, quill and ink, and put them in the side pocket; in the main compartment he neatly and efficiently packed a few items of clothing, and after some deliberation, one of the books on ferals, from his vast library on lycanthropy. He also decanted a month's worth of Wolfsbane potion into a vial and added it, wrapped in a worn, threadbare shirt, to the bag.

He surveyed the desk, and his fingers drifted across a small leather case.

It had been a gift from Dumbledore, on his birthday one year; it wasn't a wallet so much as a place to keep things he valued. There was a photo of himself and Sirius and James, taken by Peter their final year at Hogwarts; one of Harry, taken last summer, and one of Dumbledore, Arthur, and Tonks, also from last summer. Various others. A punched ticket from the Hogwarts Express. A rusty key that had once fit a lock in the Shrieking Shack.

He reached over to another pile and dug through it deftly, coming up with a small stack of photos that Arthur had passed on to him just two days ago, of Harry's birthday party. There he was with Tonks, Harry beaming in front of them, over his first ever real, proper birthday cake.

They could be a family, he thought, with a small smile. If one of them wasn't a werewolf, and one of them wasn't an orphan, and one of them wasn't going to rend him limb from limb if she found out where he was going.

He stuffed the photo into an empty pocket in the case, and tossed it into the open bag.

There was a stirring in the other room, and he pulled the blanket on the couch over, covering the bag. Tonks was sliding out of the bed, carefully, rubbing her left shoulder.

"Sore this morning?" he asked, leaning in the doorway. She smiled and walked forward, wrapping her arms around his neck. His hands went automatically -- almost instinctively -- to her waist.

"Not as much as I thought I'd be," she said. "I feel fine. Must have been a good potion Molly gave me."

"Glad to hear it," he replied, moving with her as she stepped forward into the sunny study. He would not look at the bag, hidden under a blanket on the couch. He would not tip her off...

"How are you feeling this morning?" she asked, kissing his jaw. He felt a twinge of guilt.

"I'm...well," he replied.

"You were right about last night," she said, pulling him a little closer. "I wasn't in any shape to do much of anything. But I've the next few days off, courtesy of falling through a ceiling..."

He let her kiss him, let her tongue slide against his lips and even kissed back, as her hands rubbed the sensitive parts of his neck and her body pressed so...close...

"Tonks, I really don't know if this is the ideal -- unh..." He grunted as she pushed him gently onto the couch. "Not that I don't -- oh..."

She really could do the most amazing things with her tongue.

Then she shifted, slightly, and he heard the papers in his bag rattle as her hip bumped against it. She paused, and leaned back.

"What on earth..." she asked, flipping the blanket back before he could stop her. "Why do you..."

She took in the clothing, the few toiletries and the careful packing, and turned back to him. "I didn't know you were going traveling," she said, almost laughingly. "Are you eloping?"

"No...no..." he said, not meeting her eyes. "There's some...business for the Order I have to see to."

"You're not taking much," she said, pulling out the book. He winced as she read the title, then looked up at him. He knew he looked guilty. He knew she understood.

"Ferals," she whispered. "You're going to find the ferals, aren't you?" she asked, looking down again at the book.

"Yesterday in the Riddle house..." he said, trying to focus on this and not the feeling of her straddling his lap. "If they're trying to recruit the ferals..."

"Who's going with you?" she asked.

"No one. They'd attack a human, Tonks, you ought to know that."

"You're going alone. To talk to a pack of feral werewolves," she said, her voice growing more dangerous by the second.

"Someone has to," he said helplessly. She leaned back and slid off the couch, rising to pace in the room. "I'm the only qualified -- "

"I don't believe you. If Death Eaters can talk to them, we can," she snapped. "Were you leaving this morning?"

"I planned on it. I was going to tell Fred and George -- "

"Fred and George?"

"Yes, so they'd know where I'd gone. You see, this is exactly why I didn't want anyone else to see me leaving," he said, standing and running a hand through his hair.

"Because you knew we'd try to talk some sense into you? At least take someone along with you!"

"They won't trust me -- "

"They won't KILL YOU either!"

He scowled. "Keep your voice down, do you want to wake the whole house?"

"As a matter of fact, that's not a bad idea!"

"Listen to me. Tonks. Dora. Listen to me," he said, grabbing her wrist. She looked down at it, and then back at him. He let go, slowly.

"Someone has to go now and there isn't enough time to argue this out with the whole Order. I have the right to do this," he said. "And much as I would like to make you happy by dragging some other poor sod along with me, I can't. This is something I have to do alone if it's going to end well."

"And what if it doesn't end well?" she demanded.

"Then the Order goes on," he said grimly. She stared at him.

"You are the biggest...fool...idiot..." she managed. "If you were Severus Snape I'd slap you."

"Well, I'm not. I'm Remus Lupin. I'm a werewolf, do you get that? I am not a human. I am a werewolf," he snarled. "And I have lived around people who are just like me and yet completely alien for my entire life. So even if I didn't have to be the one to go, I would still be the one, because they are my kin, no matter how much I dislike them. No matter how violent or primitive they are. They are my blood."

"And what about us? We're just humans, is that it? We don't matter?"

"Don't put those words in my mouth, Tonks. Not in mine. You don't get to tell me that I hate anyone, because I've been hated and reviled by humans for longer than you've been alive."

She stared at him, open mouthed.

"So yes. I am going to the ferals. I am going to try to stop them from becoming what Molly so charmingly referred to as 'cannon fodder' for the Death Eaters. You don't have to like it but you do have to accept it. I'll pull rank on you if I have to, Tonks. I will be Remus Lupin for the Order and give you your marching papers."

He stopped, and took a deep breath. She was still staring.

"And what about Remus Lupin who went out and got so drunk he couldn't stand," she said slowly, "And begged me...begged me not to stop touching him? What about Remus Lupin who has shared my bed almost every night for the past two weeks?"

He reached over and closed the bag with a snap. "Don't make me remind you, Tonks, that you called all that a hobby."

"Fuck you," she growled. "It was more than that and you know it."

"Was it?" he asked.

"I don't know where you've been the past two weeks, but in case you hadn't noticed, I am falling in love with you, Remus. In case your mind has been on Order business," she said, sharply, "You have been falling in love with me, too. And you know it."

"Don't tell me who I love," he replied. "It's been two weeks, Tonks. Two weeks is barely enough time to know a person -- "

"How long have we known each other? A year? A year and a half? You don't think that part of it counts for anything?"

"I am not going to yell about this with you," he said calmly. "I have a train to catch."

"They'll kill you!"

"They won't kill me," he said, tightening the reins on his temper. "They didn't last time."

"Last time?" she demanded.

"When they made me what I am," he said, quietly. He picked up the bag and slung it over his shoulder. He wondered idly if he should kiss her, and almost moved to do it, but at the last minute he saw her preparing to step away, and he shook his head. "Tell the Order where I've gone."

"I could call the others and we'd stop you."

"Or you could be an adult," he said reasonably, "and let me go."

He didn't turn to see her face -- he couldn't have, even if he wanted to. He let the door swing shut behind him, and heard a noise that sounded vaguely like someone catching their breath.

It might even have been him.

***