Wolf Love

Wolf Love

(A Vignette)

The sky was fading from blue to a grey that was just as bright, just as clear, as its daytime colour had been. The few clouds in the west, small and fluffy, were turning from pink to lavender. A bird flitted across the sky, tiny dark wings beating swiftly. Another called softly from the hedgerow, where firefly signals winked on and off and the songs of other insects rose in high summer chorus. The air was cool, but the doorstep was warm beneath bare feet. Through the open door came the muted clatter of crockery and cutlery from beyond the sitting room, and the sound of voices--a young child's treble laugh, a baby's gurgling chuckle, two young women's softer responses, the words muffled.

Remus stood on the step, listening to the sounds within and without, watching the sky darken as the sun set. He held a mug in one hand, and occasionally took a sip of its contents, from which smoke drifted up, trailing away on the breeze that stirred his hair and moved the hem of his robes gently about his bare ankles.

On any other night, he thought, on many another night, I'd be told to come back indoors and put on some shoes.

But not tonight.

He smiled; and then took another sip from his mug, and grimaced as he choked down the contents. He shuddered; and then started as he felt a hand touch his shoulder.

"All gone, darling?" asked a voice at his elbow.

He shook his head, and sighed.

The hand moved from his shoulder to the mug, tilting it a little towards him. "Only a few more sips, love. Two, if you make them big gulps."

He could not help laughing, despite the aftertaste that twisted his lips. "I wish it were pumpkin juice," he said--and took a huge, horrible gulp--and tried not to gag.

"Well, you're very good with pumpkin juice, sweetheart. Silvia is convinced it's your favourite drink in all the world, so of course she thinks it's the best drink in all the world. I just wish you could chase this with a nice cold glass of it."

"So do I." Remus put his free arm around his wife's shoulders and hugged her to his side. She leaned comfortably against him, and put her hand over his holding the mug. "You did say Harry makes this taste less vile than Severus used to."

"Only because Harry dislikes me less than Severus does." Remus started to lift the mug to his lips again, but the hand on his stopped him.

"Harry doesn't dislike you at all. He just . . ." her voice trailed away in a sigh.

"He's just not convinced all this isn't having a bad effect on you." Remus lifted his hand from her shoulder and gestured, not at the house, but at the hedge, at the songs of the hidden night creatures, at the now-darkening sky.

"Oh, he just wants to still think of me as the girl he knew at Hogwarts." Her low laugh vibrated against Remus's ribcage. "He doesn't have a problem with all this--" she took her hand from the mug and waved it towards the house-- "and he's thrilled about being Sirius's godfather. He wants it to last, Remus. And he just can't see me doing anything at night but sitting by the fire with my nose in a book or writing up reports on the Relocation of House-Elves."

"Yet he books the Ministry's potions room once a month to brew this muck for me." Remus put the mug to his lips and drained it. He snorted, and shuddered again; and felt her hand gently rubbing his back, through his robes.

"Yes," she said. "And he Apparates to bring it to you--and you know he hates Apparating."

"Yeah--he never has got over Arthur's story of that couple who splinched themselves."

"Well, it did take a long course of treatments before they were able to have children.

"Come on, darling. We'd better go in. The moon will be up any minute."

And it will be full, Remus thought . . .

They turned, and stepped through the doorway into the house. Beyond the sitting room, which was cluttered with picture books, Ministry reports, and toys, the dining table was just as cluttered with the remains of supper. A teenaged girl was lifting a toddler out of his highchair, the tray of which was awash in pumpkin juice, which dripped from an overturned cup onto the floor. An orange kitten, with a bottlebrush tail, was crouched on the floor beneath the tray, batting at the falling drops with a fat, furry paw. Up on the table itself, another kitten, the twin of the one on the floor, was stalking a toy wand, which was being guided across the tabletop by a little girl, whose brown hair was as bushy as her mother's.

The teenager froze, staring at Remus, her lips smiling, her eyes wary.

He forced his own lips to curve into an answering smile.

"I'll just take them upstairs--" the girl began--

"Good idea," Remus said grimly.

The little girl continued moving the wand in front of the kitten.

"Silvia," said Remus, "time for bed, love. Go with Catriona."

Silvia looked up. "When will you and Mummy be home?" she asked.

"When you wake up tomorrow morning, darling," replied her mother. "Come and say goodnight. And then run upstairs. It's late, and you haven't had your bath."

Silvia laid down the wand, snatched up the kitten, scrambled down from her chair and came across to her parents. Remus bent and picked her up, and a round of hugs and kisses followed, the kitten receiving his share with more resignation than enthusiasm. Then, as he and Silvia started up the stairs, Catriona came carrying the little boy and the other kitten. More hugs and kisses, these leaving everyone a bit sticky with pumpkin juice; and then, still watching Remus warily, Catriona said, "Come on, Sirius! Let's go get you bathed and ready for bed!" And she took the child--and the kitten--and hurried up the stairs towards the sounds of running water and Silvia singing.

Remus let out a sigh, realising as he did so that he had been holding his breath. He set his mug down on the table in front of the sofa, and turned to his wife. "Oh, Hermione . . ."

"Shh." She took his hand and, sitting down on the sofa, drew him down beside her. "Come here, darling."

He sat down and she put her arms around him and held him close, stroking his hair. He heard her laugh softly. "You've got pumpkin juice--"

He thought her fingers started to part the sticky strands of hair above his ear. But he couldn't be sure. Through the open doorway the dark sky began to brighten, not with the red glow of sunrise but with a pale, cold wash that spread, slowly but unrelentingly, creeping towards him, reaching out to him, touching him, silently and lethally as a lethifold; making his hair stand on end, his hands clench into fists . . . into paws . . . making his fur . . .

He shuddered, and clamped his lips over his teeth, suppressing a moan . . . but heard, or thought he heard, a murmur gentle as a breeze in a hedgerow, and felt a warm, solid form snuggling close to him, and a heart beating that was not his own . . .

Moony, said a soft voice, in his ears. In his mind. A silent voice.

He lifted his head from his paws and looked at the wolf standing before him, beside the sofa. The moonlight pouring into the room through the open doorway shone upon her eyes, and upon her plumed tail, which she waved gently. She smiled at him. Come on, darling. The night is young and the world is bright. Let's go see what's out there.

She turned towards the doorway. Moony slipped down off the sofa, and stretched, and followed her out of the house. Together, they trotted along the hedgerow to the lane, and then set off at a run into the night.