Amid My Solitude

With glint of iron in his eyes,
But never doubt, nor yet surprise,
Appeared, and stayed, and held his head
As one by kings accredited.
-- Edwin Arlington Robinson

The journey wasn't too trying; he could have Apparated, but he needed the travel time to get his thoughts in order, and plan how he would speak to the pack when he arrived. He'd rarely met other werewolves, and never dealt with more than one at a time; he knew a little about how the pack worked, but not nearly enough to be confident he wouldn't offend.

They lived in the few wild places left in Britain, migrating like gypsies when the seasons changed, moving to caves in the winter, forests in the summer. How they maintained their packs was a mystery, but people had theorised about willing members, who would either bear werewolf children or become werewolves themselves...

A werewolf had a one in four chance of their child being a lycanthrope, if the other parent was human. It was a recessive gene, in humans, and the old 'pureblood' wizarding families, the Blacks and Malfoys and the like, made sure that nobody marrying into the family carried it. A child of two carriers could be human; a child of two werewolves hadn't a chance in the world.

Ilyssa -- the woman he'd wanted to marry, ten years past -- Ilyssa had been from an old pureblood family, a distant cousin of Lucius Malfoy. He'd known that her family would not want her marrying a carrier, especially an active one, but he hadn't thought she would feel so violently about it herself. He'd thought they could hide it from her family together...

But that rejection was more than ten years past, and the memory barely stung. Ilyssa had at least promised to keep his secret.

Not that it mattered, now. Everyone knew now.

He turned back to his notes, ignoring his memories.

Feral werewolves didn't usually come near humans; they didn't have to. They had a pack, and they were wolfborn -- wolfborns had more control than those who'd been bitten. They were said to be able to change seamlessly, any time they liked. The idea had appealed to him as a young man, but he hadn't thought either of the packs would even want him, and a feral had done this to him -- a wild feral from a pack had bitten him...

He rubbed the outside of his left thigh, where he still carried a dark scar from the bite. Werewolves healed quickly...unless the injury was inflicted by another werewolf.

The scenery flew by, outside the window; fields and towns, highways, rivers. Inhabited by Muggles, mostly; the Wizarding population of the world was really quite small, comparatively. A world hidden within a world. And his world hidden within that one. Two degrees separate from the life that happened on the other side of the train window.

He had lived apart for so long. By choice, because it was too hard, facing the constant fear of being discovered. By necessity, because he was what he was.

And then blasted Tonks came along and didn't get offended when he didn't react to her and didn't stop trying to kiss him and didn't run away...

Well.

That was probably over now, all things considered.

Loved him. Ridiculous. She was young, that was some explanation. Didn't know her own heart.

He'd been about that age when Ilyssa --

He slammed his hand down on the table, startling himself.

And then there was the possibility that what she wanted wasn't even remotely close to what he thought, that she'd been manipulating him -- he wouldn't be the first to be taken in by a young, pretty woman...

This was getting him nowhere.

He'd speak to the ferals and he'd ensure that they knew what the Dark Lord meant, and then he'd come back to Headquarters and sort things out.

He was exceptionally good at sorting things out.

Tonks was Auror trained. She was a professional, she'd take his orders no matter what she thought of him. She wouldn't make trouble.

He'd been alone for a long time. The yawning pit in his stomach would close up, he was sure, once he got used to the idea again.

***

It would have defeated the purpose of having summer grounds, if they were easy to get to.

It took him most of the day just to get to the small, rural town that, by the smell of it, was probably raided by the pack on a regular basis. He could see their marks everywhere. He paid a few Muggle pounds for a small room on the second floor of the only pub he could find, and struck up a conversation with the barman over dinner, which consisted mainly of pushing food around on a plate and trying to convince himself he'd eaten anything.

"Don't get many strangers passing through round now," the barman said, sliding a glass of beer down the counter to him. He sipped, and gestured with his fork.

"Seems like you'd get a lot of campers."

"Nah, not in these parts. Woods're too rough. Bit wild. Locals don't go into 'em."

"I'm not surprised," Remus murmured.

"Get a bunch round Christmas holiday. Got a holiday fair. Yule festival."

Remus nodded. All sorts of strange Muggle interpretations of old Wizarding holidays cropped up in the little towns like this one. Rolling flaming wheels down hills and whatnot. There was probably a paper in that somewhere.

"What's your business in town?" the man asked, leaning on the bar. Remus shrugged.

"Looking for some family of mine," he said quietly, sipping the beer.

"Got kin around here?"

"I think so."

The man cocked his head, and looked at him closely. "Don't look like any of my regulars," he said with a grin. "Got a name?"

"Mine?"

"Nah. Of your kin."

"Oh. No...not a name. Just a trail to follow."

"Good luck in that, mate."

Remus tapped his fingers on the bar, thoughtfully. "Tell me...do you get much trouble with the wildlife around here?"

"No more than normal, I reckon. Keep chains on the rubbish cans, stay in town after dark. Get some big predators this time of the year. Nother reason we don't get many campers," the man added, with a toothy grin. Remus, making an effort, smiled back over the rim of his glass.

"Thanks for the food," he said. "Put it on my room."

"Hardly ate nothin."

"Wasn't very hungry," he said.

"Listen, you look like a man needs a hand. If I can help you find your kin at all, you let me know."

Remus shook his head. "You already have," he said quietly.

It was early evening still, but there wasn't anything to do in town and the barman had made it very clear that going walking alone in the woods at night was a bad idea. Perhaps not for him -- a werewolf wouldn't attack him, even if he looked human, of that he was sure -- but all the same, better to be wise...

There was a small desk and a rickety chair in the room, and he wished that he'd brought more books; anything to distract him from the darkening sky outside and his own thoughts. He slept early, and even in his dreams he couldn't escape.

***

Remus woke to the sensation that someone was attempting to murder him with an extremely heavy feather duster.

The scent of owl invaded his nostrils, and he raised an arm, batting the large snowy bird away from his face. It nipped his wrist and clubbed him across the ear with a wing.

"Geroff already, I'm awake!" he cried, and the bird settled onto his chest, claws gripping the fabric of his pyjama shirt. It gave him an innocently inquiring look, but didn't move, when he pushed himself onto his elbows.

"Hedwig, what on Earth..." he muttered, rubbing a hand across his face. She must have picked the latch on the window. She hooted and picked up a piece of folded parchment that she'd apparently dropped on his blanket, placing it in his hand.

"All right, all right -- I haven't got any food," he said, grouchily, laying the letter on the table. "There's bound to be mice around."

She hooted disdainfully, and picked up the letter again, urging it into his palm. He sighed, and sat up, unfolding it.

Dear Remus,

I hope you're well wherever you are. They're saying you've gone off to do some work for the Order, but nobody seems very happy about it. Dumbledore says as long as you're being stupid about things you "might as well try to recruit them for our side." Well, he says the second part. Tonks mostly says the first part. He didn't say to me who They are but I hope you're being careful, They don't sound very nice. He asked me to write to you.

If you need help, send a message back with Hedwig. I think I've really got the hang of the motorbike now. Dumbledore also says to read the other page. He says Do It.

Come back safe, I've had just about enough of people not.

Harry

Remus rubbed his fingers on the parchment, and a second page peeled off the first. It was older, but well-preserved; Sirius' scrawling, untidy handwriting. It wasn't that Sirius didn't know how to use punctuation, he thought with a small smile, it was just that he couldn't be bothered if he knew that anyone reading it would understand it anyhow.

Dear Moony

Things are wicked here got the bike fixed next time dont shift so hard eh? Think youre making a mistake me lad about going off to see That Git. I dont trust that hes really on our side and I think hes trying to recruit you so keep a level head about yourself. Last thing Our People need is two spies. I tell you fair theres suspicion about so just watch yourself Moony. I dont like it either but we cant be too careful and Id hate to have to kill you cos you know too much hahahaha.

Got to trust people anyhow sometime eh? But remember were family and we fight like it too. I mean were family and look at mine. I mean itll all turn out right in the end wont it?

yr
Pads

He furrowed his brow. What on earth was Dumbledore on about, sending him some idiot letter from years and years ago -- the first inkling he'd had that anyone thought he might be the spy. Because he was working too closely with their mole in the Death Eaters -- Dumbledore'd made him do it, since he had a soft touch and you needed that when working with Severus Snape, who in those days was a bundle of nerves and suspicious of everyone. At least this time around Snape had his precious martyrdom to keep him calm.

Remember we're family and we fight like it too...

He wished, just once, that Albus Dumbledore could say a thing outright.

He stuffed the letters into the bag, adding the book and the wolfsbane potion. He wouldn't need to bring his clothing; he didn't suspect he'd be invited to stay overnight with the pack, if he could even find them. He tossed his wand into the bag, too.

Hedwig nipped his fingers as he did up the clasps on the bag, and he sighed. "Fine, all right," he said, tearing off a corner of the parchment on the desk, and scribbling a quick note.

Harry, I'm fine. I'll take care. Tell

He paused.

Harry, I'm fine. I'll take care. Tell Dumbledore I'll do as he says.

He folded it, tucked the end under, and handed it to Hedwig, who bobbed her head, satisfied.

"Harry or Dumbledore, Hedwig. Take it to Harry or Dumbledore," he said, and she fluttered away.

He bought breakfast from a bakery that was just opening as he stepped into the street; he wasn't particularly hungry, but he would be, by afternoon. Especially if the pack's grounds were as far back in the wild as he suspected they would be.

He had no inkling of how to track them, only what he'd picked up in books and could see with his own eyes -- what he could smell, if he stood still long enough. He could smell and hear better than most humans, though normally in cities there was enough...enough background smells, and sights, and sounds, that it didn't matter.

He walked out of town in a vaguely southward direction, on the main road, which ran parallel to the train tracks, a series of small hills on his right. When the road turned west into the hills, so did he; bag bumping against his back, shoes crunching on the gravel by the side of the road, hair ruffled by the wind. It was not quite high summer, and the day was warm. On any other day, he might have enjoyed this walk.

Remember we're family and we fight like it too...

But in the end, in the last days before Voldemort's fall, even Sirius had suspected him. Because he wasn't family. He was an outsider. Nothing -- not being Harry's guardian-in-name, not being Tonks'...not being whatever he was to Tonks, not being Arthur's friend or Dumbledore's protege, was going to change that. Which was fine. After all, in the end he'd suspected Sirius, too. And he was suspecting Tonks even now.

What had he said to Tonks...you pretend things are all right. And sooner or later you get really good at pretending.

He reached a river around two in the afternoon, and stopped to wash some of the road dust from his hands and face. The pack would probably keep to the river; he couldn't smell them above the water, but he could see animal tracks on the far side.

The river ran north-south, and he was heading west; on either side were muddy banks and long stretches of high-grown grass, and southward, he could see the smudge of trees where the forest began near the base of the hills.

Towards the trees, then.

He'd been walking for perhaps half an hour, still in the tall grass though the other side had long since given way to the trees, when he stopped, and felt eyes on him.

Standing across the river, staring at him from behind a tree trunk, was a woman. She ducked back when he turned, but he saw her hand slide around the trunk. He let the bag fall from his shoulder, and crouched in the tall grass.

After a moment, she peered out again. He tilted his head, let her get his scent across the rushing water, if she could. She mouthed a word he couldn't hear.

He left his bag under a nearby shrub, and stood, slowly taking off his shoes. He'd have to leave his wand behind; they mightn't trust him otherwise.

The woman vanished, but he continued to methodically roll up his trouser legs. The water was chilly when he stepped into it, but shallow enough that he could get across on submerged rocks and gravelly banks, if he was careful.

Two different women had appeared in the space of time it took him to reach the middle. They were watching his progress in amusement. It took him a moment to realise that they were, for the most part, naked.

When he smiled at them, careful not to bare his teeth, there were two loud cracks -- someone had taught them to Disapparate.

The current of the river pulled a little to the southwest, and he realised that it curved, not far away, and vanished into the trees. They'd made camp at a bend in the river -- defended on two sides by that and a third by the mountains. At least they had some sense.

His bare feet sank into the earth on the far bank, and he turned to look back.

Well. Into the forest, then.

As he walked, slowly, he found his eyes adjusting to the way things were, here; to seeing the little paths that animals made, the crushed grass where some large creature had slept the night before. Twigs cut into his legs, but the cuts healed almost instantly. Leaf-cover scratched the soles of his feet.

He sniffed again. Far enough from the water to smell it. And someone was close by -- on his right. Tracking him. He stopped.

"Let's not play games," he said quietly. There was the crack of a Disapparation, and then a second crack on his left. "I'm not here to be hunted."

"Why are you here?" asked a voice.

"I've come to speak with the pack."

"What, all of them?" asked another voice, amused. He rubbed his jaw.

"Or your Alpha, if you have one."

There was a snarl, hastily cut off, and one of the women from before stepped out from the darkness. She wore a strip of fabric tied around her waist, mainly preserving her dignity, and a cord around her neck. And that was all.

"You may call me Mother," she said. He raised an eyebrow.

"Thank you, Mother," he replied. "My name is -- "

She held a finger to her lips, and shook her head. "Tell the Alpha," she said. "I don't care."

Well, at least they were honest.

He followed her across another animal-track, weaving through the trees. She made less noise than he, but then she would be used to this land. He trailed her, occasionally wondering just how far their territory extended -- certainly not beyond one side of the river -- when they emerged into another meadow.

His eyes widened, and he drew a sharp breath.

***