turn and face the strange
July 10th, 1976
“Did you have breakfast?”
It takes Remus a moment to realise his mom is talking to him. “Huh?”
“Breakfast, sweetheart.”
He shakes his head and continues to stare at himself in the mirror. “I’m not hungry.”
Her hears her sigh. His mirror self stares back at him, face pale and hollow. He is wearing a suit under his robes because his mother insisted, wizard fashion be damned, that a suit makes a good impression in court. It is one of his dads suits, too bulky on the shoulders and too short around the ankles. But the robes will cover them anyway so it doesn’t matter. None of it really does.
“You need to eat something”, his mom implores and gently lays a hand on his shoulder. He shrugs it off and starts pacing around, not able to bear her touch right now. “I really don’t want to, mom.”
He has been feeling nauseous ever since he woke up and he is pretty sure he will throw up if he eats anything.
“Just have some tea at least, then?”
He nods, mostly just to indulge her and heads down to the kitchen. His father is sitting at the table, nose deep in a book about wizarding law. He bought those in bulk last week. Remus wishes more than anything that he would just talk to him instead. Not once has he asked him how he is feeling.
The courtroom is filled to the brim and the glance he gets of it on the way to the room that he has been granted by his lawyer makes his heartbeat race. There’s people with cameras and feathers excitedly running around. He’s feeling nauseous.
“Damn spectators”, his dad growls. “Acting like we’re not people.”
They know you are, Remus thinks. They’re just not so sure about me.
The door creaks open and his lawyer - a middle-aged wizard with greying hair and tired eyes - gives a short nod. “They're ready for you.”
His mother squeezes his hand, her fingers warm against his cold skin. His father just stands and walks towards the door. Remus forces himself to follow.
The courtroom is enormous. Or at least it feels that way to him, all high ceilings and rows of stone benches filled with people. Some he recognises- classmates, their parents, professors. Dumbledore sits towards the front, hands folded neatly in his lap, his expression unreadable. Sirius is nearby too and he can feel his eyes on him, but he keeps his eyes focused on the Wizengamot. They are seated above them, their plum-coloured robes standing out starkly against the grey stone. At the centre, an empty chair with chains wrapped around the arms and legs, waiting for him.
His lawyer clears his throat. "They will ask you to sit there. Do not speak unless spoken to.”
Remus swallows hard and nods. His mother touches his shoulder and he wants to lean into it, but he breaks away from her instead and walks towards the chair.
“Please be seated”, someone instructs him. He follows the instruction, the cold metal chains wrapping around his arms and legs. He cant help but gasp for air for a moment. This feels wrong, like some nightmare that sits in your bones long after you have woken up. Then, trial begins.
A plump woman seated in the middle of the Wizengamot starts reading the charges out loud.
“Remus John Lupin, you stand accused of the unlawful killing of Severus Tobias Snape under the influence of your lycanthropy. Do you understand these charges?”
His mouth is dry. He nods.
“Speak”, his lawyer whispers.
“Yes.” His voice comes out hoarse. The murmurs in the courtroom grow louder. He does his best not to make out anything they are saying. A wizard in dark robes to his right stands up. The prosecutor, as he was told. “Let us not mistake the situation at hand for an isolated incident. This is not a case of a momentary loss of control—a young man confused by his own nature. This is the result of an ongoing, untreated condition, one that endangers not only him, but also everyone gets into contact with.”
Remus feels the blood drain from his face.
“Remus Lupin was on the grounds that night, in the midst of the full moon, with the knowledge of the danger his transformation brings. He attacked Severus Snape—an innocent life lost—simply because of his inability to control himself, despite the years of warnings, despite the interventions offered by the school.”
The prosecution pauses, allowing the words to hang heavy in the air. Remus hands clenches around his seat. The wizard looks toward the Wizengamot, as if ensuring their full attention. “The tragedy here is not just that a life was taken. It is that a creature who is so clearly incapable of living among us without consequence has been allowed to attend school with our children, trusted in the very halls where they learn and grow.”
The courtroom stirs, a few whispers floating through the air.
Remus’s throat feels dry, tight. He can"t bring himself to look up.
“But,” the prosecutor continues, “it is not simply the fact of lycanthropy itself that makes this incident tragic. It is the way that we, as a society, have failed to acknowledge the very real dangers of allowing such creatures to walk among us. And what we must ask ourselves is: how many more lives must be endangered before something is done?”
The prosecution lets the silence settle, his eyes narrowing as they fix on Remus.
“You were aware of the risks, Mr. Lupin. You were aware of the moon’s pull, and yet you chose to stay. You chose to walk among us. And that is what led to Severus Snape’s death.”
Remus swallows hard. The words sting, but they don’t surprise him. The prosecution is doing what he was paid to do—driving home the idea that Remus’ very existence is a threat to society. The whispers grow louder now, the murmuring voices growing more certain.
“You were on the Hogwarts grounds that night, were you not?”
“Yes,” he answers, his voice barely above a whisper.
“And it is true that you, in your transformed state, attacked and killed Severus Snape?”
The words feel like physical blows. He grips the arms of the chair to ground himself.
"I didn’t—“ His throat closes. He takes a slow breath, steadies himself. “I didn’t know he was there.”
The prosecutors gaze is hard and unyielding. “But you attacked him.”
Silence.
“Yes.”
The wizard nods. “Thank you.” He sits down, leaving his words hanging in the air and for a moment it feels like the whole room is holding its breath.
“That"s not fair!”, someone calls out and his head snaps up to see James standing up from where is sitting a few rows back, his parents beside him. There is fury on his face.
The head of the Wizengamot clears her throat. “Any interruption to the trial will result in exile from the courtroom.”
James hesitates for a moment, the conflicted emotions so clear on his face. Remus feels a surge of pain go through his chest as he watches James sit back down, his mother rubbing his shoulder. He wants do disappear, to shrink into the floor, to escape all their eyes and judgement. His lawyer rises from his seat. Remus has only met him a couple times before the trial, relaying to him what happened while the man quietly took notes. He’s a friend of his fathers, one of his ministry connections, and he was the only person willing to take on his case.
“Ladies and Gentlemen of the Wizengamot, while my client acknowledges that an unfortunate and tragic event occurred, we must remember the circumstances surrounding this incident.” His eyes sweep around the room. “What we have here is a young man who did not choose this condition, who has done his best to live within a world that treats him with contempt and suspicion. Remus Lupin is not some dangerous, uncontrollable beast. He is a sixteen year old boy who has been affected by circumstances far beyond his control.”
He pauses, letting the words sink in, before continuing. “We are all aware of the dangers of lycanthropy. But we must also acknowledge that the present of Remus Lupin at Hogwarts was not an oversight. The school took every precaution to ensure his safety and the safety of other students during the full moon.”
“Objection”, the prosecution lawyer calls out. Remus winces at the sound of his voice. “If there were safety measures in place, how could such a tragedy be allowed to occur under the watch of Hogwarts staff? If the school was truly taking precautions, why was Severus Snape able to wander unprotected into the Shack, knowing the dangers that awaited him? The only way that students are safe from dangers like these is if there are no dangers present. Remus Lupin should never have stepped foot onto the grounds of the school. If anything, our lycanthropy laws aren"t strong enough. We need to protect ourselves from monsters, not invite them into the places our kids live.”
A strong murmur of agreement goes through the crowd. The chains on his limbs start to feel heavier. He shouldn’t be here. This shouldn’t be happening, he cant let it happen.
“The schools involvement will be a topic later. Lets focus on the charges at hand”, the woman from the Wizengamot interrupts. “Next up in the witness stand the Wizengamot would like to invite Mr. Sirius Black.”
6th October, 1980
He dreams he is the wolf.
It is one of his most frequent nightmares, haunting the nights that he doesn’t actually transform into a monster. He is strong and tall and he is hungry. He can smell blood nearby and it is closer than usually, almost unbearably so. The wolf doesn’t think in words. It just moves with a purpose ingrained in his bones. The scents are overwhelming; damp earth, sweat, blood. Always blood.
His friends aren’t here - the deer, the dog and the little rat that have joined him on his adventures are missing. He tries to single out their scent but all he is getting is blood, getting closer and closer. He angles his head towards the door, curious. It takes a few moments, but the wolf is a hunter - he can wait. And then the door opens and in stumbles a creature: human.
He’s small, smaller than the humans he has seen but he has that same scent on him as they all do. Fear. The wolf gets to the human before he has even reached the doorknob and his instincts take over. Then comes the moment of impact. The weight of his body slamming into flesh, claws tearing through fabric, the taste of blood in his mouth, an anguished scream -
Remus wakes up gasping for air. The sheets stick to his skin, damp with sweat. His heart is racing. For a moment he is still caught in the dream, the echo of the wolfs hunger racing through his brain. It takes a moment for his senses to adjust. He shivers and scrambles out of bed, glancing at the clock above his bed. 4:40am. Looks like that is it for tonight. He never even tries to go back to sleep after one of these. It’s not worth it, he knows he wouldn't sleep. Too afraid to slip back into the wolf. These dreams are the closest thing he gets to memories of his times as the wolf and he wonders sometimes if thats what they are. He can remember a few things, mostly pain and hunger, but the details of it always slip away with the sun rising. He supposes he should be grateful.
He makes his way downstairs, avoiding the creaking stairs and putting on a pot of hot water in the kitchen. His legs pulled up onto the stool and arms wrapped around them, he sits down at the kitchen table, staring blankly at the boiling kettle.
There is a Daily Prophet on the table he hasn’t read yet, yesterdays edition, so he picks it up in lack of something better to do.
JENKINS OUT - MINISTRY TO HOLD SPECIAL ELECTIONS
Wizengamot passes Vote of No Confidence Amid Rising Attacks
He sighs, rubbing at his brow as a headache starts setting in there.
"After nearly a decade in office, Eugenia Jenkins has been officially removed from office as Minister of Magic following a vote of no confidence in the Wizengamot this morning. The decision comes after months of criticism regarding the Ministry"s failure to contain the rising number of attacks linked to the pureblood supremacist calling himself Lord Voldemort. Sources inside the ministry claim that Jenkins reluctance to implement more aggressive security measures played a major role in the decision. A special election will be held in the coming months, with several key figures already rumoured to be in consideration for candidacy. Read more on page 6…"
Remus exhales sharply, flipping to page 6 as he leans back in his chair. It isn’t surprising, not really - Jenkins has been fighting against this for months. The prophet has been after her for almost a year now, tearing apart every policy decision, every supposed misstep. He is impressed she held out this long.
He had liked her. She was younger than most candidates when she first took office, pushing for the repeal of archaic laws that targeted Muggleborns and Half-bloods. She even occasionally spoke out for the better protection of werewolves, though he supposes she never had a chance with that. But he had hoped that one day things might change under her role. Seems that day won’t come after all.
Remus turned the paper over, scanning the names being whispered as potential replacements. He felt his stomach twist the his eyes came across one name in particular.
Cassius Mulciber.
He remembers those cold blue eyes. Remembers them well enough when they stared him down when he first had to register as a werewolf at five years old, remembers the same unforgiving eyes when they met again in the Hospital wing on the worst days of Remus life and then again, in that courtroom. He swallows hard and continues to read.
One of the most prominent figures already expressing strong interest in the Ministerial election is Cassius Mulciber, current head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. A long-serving Ministry official, Mulciber has spent years as the Head of the Werewolf Registry overseeing legislation related to creature regulations and security, earning a reputation as a firm and pragmatic policy-maker. Rising through the ranks with notable efficiency, he was appointed to lead the Department five years ago, where he has been a vocal advocate for stricter oversight and enforcement regarding werewolf populations.
Known for his staunchly traditionalist views, Mulciber has long been a proponent of reinforcing wizarding law and ensuring, as he has stated in past addresses, that "our magical society remains secure and stable against growing threats." His platform is expected to center on restoring order in the Wake of Minister Jenkins removal, with particular focus on tighter security measures and a more decisive approach to what he described as "unchecked radical elements" in recent years.
While some within the Ministry view Mulciber as a strong and ambitious leader, others raise concerns about his rigid policy positions, particularly regarding Muggleborn protections and magical creatures rights. Nonetheless, with the country at a crossroads, his candidacy is one to watch out for as the election unfolds.
Remus puts the paper aside. Tighter security measures my ass, he thinks. Mulciber is as much of a blood supremacist as his friends that attack Muggleborns and instil fear in everyone, running around in their masks. He just has better suits and better connections, thats all. If there will be less attacks, the reason for that will be that the Death Eaters are his buddies in the ministry, not because he is actually doing something against him.
He reads the paragraph a few more times until his sight gets blurry and at some point he must have fallen asleep because he wakes up with his head on the kitchen table, a warm hand on his shoulder.
“Tough night?”, his mom says gently. She pushes a hot cup of tea towards him.
He winces, all his muscles hurting as he moves to sit, and blinks in her direction. “Yeah”, he says groggily, not quite awake. “Did you sleep well?”
His mom nods. “I did until I got a little visitor.”
With a small smile, she hands him an envelope that has his name on it in curvy letters. “From your friend?”
He glances at the envelope in his head. “Yep”, he says. He doesn’t like lying to her, but he would recognise James handwriting and he doesn’t want to worry his mother by telling her he is potentially joining an underground rebellion group and meeting werewolf strangers to convince them not to be evil. James has been sending him letters consistently for the last four years so it"s not too unbelievable that it is from him. They have become less over time, with Remus never writing back, but still, every few months or so, he gets a letter addressed to him.
She pulls out the Daily Prophet from under him, reading the title. “Thats not good, is it? I thought she was doing a good job. Didn't you say so?”
His mother has always adapted unbelievably well to the existence of magic and everything surrounding it, especially for someone who has a werewolf for a son. She has only gotten more into it since her divorce, researching in every way possible about Remus world, now that his dad wasn’t around to do it. She even found them a tiny flat in Hackney so he wouldn’t have to get the bus to London for every werewolf check-in at the ministry. He wasn’t allowed portkeys or access to the floo network, so then bus all the way from Nottingham where they lived with his dad took up quite some time every other week. He couldn’t love her more.
He nods. There is no point in lying to her about this. His mother has always adapted unbelievably well to the existence of magic and everything surrounding it, especially for someone who has a werewolf for a son. She has only gotten more into it since her divorce, researching in every way possible about Remus world, now that his dad wasn’t around to do it. He couldn’t love her more. "Its not great, yeah. But maybe there will be a good candidate amongst them."
He doubts his own words, having already read the list. The only person on there thats not a conservative old sack or a blood supremacist (or both) is Millicent Bagnold, a young witch from the Wizengamot with more progressive views and a record of opposing the recent decisions of the government. He actually thinks she sounds quite brilliant, but he doubts that the majority of the Wizarding World agrees.
He opens the letter when his mum leaves for work and out falls only a small note:
Meet me at 8pm at this address. Dorcas.
Below that is scribbled an address in Central London, Chelsea he thinks. The note goes up in flames the second he has finished reading it, only leaving the address. He rolls his eyes and snorts. She sure has a flair for the dramatic.
He leaves his mom a note that he might be back late, not sure which excuse he will use yet since he is pretty sure she knows he isn’t hanging out with any friends or going on dates. He’ll think of something. He gets on a bus, basking in the chaos and rush of Liverpool Street where he has to change lines. Ironically he actually enjoys the masses sometimes, the complete anonymity of Muggle London where no ones knows his face or name and no one cares to know it either.
He gets off at Notting Hill Gate and wraps his coat tighter around him. Its gotten colder these last few days, the days of summer getting left behind. It’s a bit of a walk to the address Dorcas gave him but he doesn’t get out of the house much so he enjoys looking around as he walks through the neighbourhood, watching houses and people going on about their life. A group of what seems like university students passes by him, laughing loudly with bottles of wine in their hands. He feels a pang of jealousy. He tries to not ponder on what life could’ve been too often, it just leads him down to even more depressing thoughts. But sometimes he cant help but wonder at the what if. What if Sirius never told Snape or Snape didn’t believe him. What if he got sorted into a different house and didn't become friends with the marauders. What if his father wasn’t at Greybacks trial and Greyback never had a reason to target him. What if he wasn’t even born a wizard and just went to a normal school. Would he be going to university, studying something like History or Literature or Social Sciences? Would he be part of a group like this, drunkenly walking through London with his friends and no worries on his mind? It doesn’t sound too bad.
The address appears to be a small pub, shabby but charming and clearly muggle-run. He is a few minutes early so he waits outside and sees Dorcas coming from across the street.
“You made it”, she says as a greeting. “Hey.” She seems slightly out of breath, like she was hurrying not to be late.
“How could I not with that mysterious note?”, he quips back amused.
“Precaution”, she says, “the first thing they teach you in Auror training is to not leave any trace. Sorry for the theatrics, but…constant vigilance, my friend.” Her voice takes on a grumpy deep tone like she is mimicking someone else. “Hence the muggle pub. Less ears that might care what we are saying.”
Auror training. He bites down the urge to ask her if she knows James and Lily, not sure if knowing would make him feel better or worse. “So you hunt dark wizards for a living and as a part-time gig too?”, he settles on instead.
She laughs, ushering him inside the pub. “Well, you know what they say. Pick a job you love and you won"t work a day in your life.”
“Do people actually say that?"
“You’d be surprised.”
They sit down at a table across from the bar and order a beer each.
“Right”, Dorcas says after a sip. “Are you ready for your first mission, Lupin?”
Remus nods nervously. Somehow, despite all the talk and mysterious letters he hadn't realised that he had actually agreed to this. Agreed to becoming Dumbledores werewolf messenger and meeting these people who might want to rip his head off. Maybe unemployment had gotten to him too much.
Dorcas pulls out a little notebook and flips through the pages. They’re filled with scribbles mostly and some doodles. The page she flips to only has one thing written on it and when she turns it around for him to read he recognises the name of the place written down.
“You know where this is?”
“Heard of it, yeah.”
The Green Sink is a rather infamous pub, infamous for the reason that it is the only openly werewolf-friendly place in London and probably the whole of England. He hasn”t been, too young before everything went down and after…well, he wouldn’t blame the werewolves if they would kick him out on sight after what he caused in their lives.
Dorcas plays with the string of the notebook. He notices her fingers are covered in rings and her nails are all painted a different colour. “Dumbledore needs you to go there and figure out the kind of people that meet in there. Where they stand in this war."
He nods and fidgets in his seat a bit.
“They probably won"t tell you right away, but maybe you can get them to trust you.”
The thought leaves a bad taste in his mouth. “What if they want nothing to do with this war?”
“There might not be a choice”, she replies, her tone hardened. “None of us would like to fight a war, but the Death Eaters have been recruiting werewolves for a while now. They are promising them a better future, protection and something to fight for. It’s enough for a lot of people. Doesn’t matter that it"s all empty promises. We don’t have to be their best friends, but we do have to stop Voldemort from getting to them first. Are you up for that?”
He meets her gaze. “I can try”, he says, “I can’t promise they will listen to me.”
“Try is all we can do”, she responds with a nod. “I will give you the best intel I have to make sure your mission is successful. After that it is up to you.” After that she breaks out into a smirk. “No pressure, of course.”
“Of course not”, he grumbles. Why would he feel any pressure at all?
Dorcas flips through her notebook. “You will want to talk to Brandon and Jil, they run the place and if anyone knows anything it will most likely be them. It seems to be mostly low-key werewolves gathering there, no one who has been on our radar before but we don’t know that for sure. It seems to be quite a big number of regulars though so they might already be a well-knit group. We’ve had someone watch the place for a while there, but they haven"t been able to go inside since…well, for obvious reasons.”
Not a werewolf, he completes the sentence in his head. If the place actually is what she describes it to be that would probably be a bit odd.
“Any questions?”
A thousand actually, he thinks. But most of them are something along the lines of "what if they try and kill me" which he is not sure he wants to hear the answer off. So he shakes his head. He takes a sip from his beer, his mouth suddenly feeling dry.
“Great. Just remember not to play the hero. You're worth more to us alive.”
He laughs dryly. “Trust me, you won"t have to worry about that.”
He isn’t one for hero displays. That would be more James thing. Running after someone he hated to save him from a monster. Yeah, James would excel at the hero thing. Remus can be the investigator who talks to a few people and then watches the real heroes do the rest of the work. You used to think of Sirius as one of them too, a nasty little voice in the back of his head whispers. A shining, selfless hero. But Sirius chose different, so he leaves that thought cold and buried five feet deep, where it belongs.
Dorcas leans forward. “How’s the wand?”
Remus automatically reaches for his coat pocket, where his wand is hidden, but he doesn’t take it out. “It’s…it's brilliant actually”, he confesses, “it works really well. I mean, I’m rusty, but yeah, its great.”
He cant help but smile. It took a while for him to work up the courage to even take the wand out of its package after Dorcas gave it to him. He just stared at at the thin box for a good ten minutes before carefully opening it like he was handling a bomb. Then he continued to stare at the wand the same way, memorising what Dorcas had told him. It was made of yew and slightly taller than his old one, ten inches of willow, but the core of unicorn hair stayed the same. He could feel the excitement prickling through his finger tips before he even touched it, his body eager to be reunited with that familiar rush. It took him embarrassingly long to actually pick, that what-ifs racing through his head. What if his magic wasn’t working anymore after all these years? What if someone from the Ministry would be able to tell that he was using it? He had been assured they wouldn't be able to, but the anxiety wouldn’t leave his mind. After what felt like an eternity he had finally managed to wrap his shaking fingers around it, feel the wood in his hand and exhale as he felt the magic rush through his vein. He tried a shaky Lumos and the tip of his wand lit up with a soft glow. He didn't use it much after that, too scared still, but it never left his side either. There was something comforting about knowing he would at least have this to defend himself.
Dorcas grins at him. “I knew I picked a good one.”
He nods, returning her smile. “Yeah, it works really well. Almost can"t tell the difference.”
She packs up her notebook and leans back in her chair. “I’m glad to hear. And if you ever want to learn how to do magic without it, my offer still stands.”
“I would really like to”, he says earnestly. Having a wand again is nothing short of amazing, but the magic Dorcas showed him was something he never thought to be possible.
She gives him a look he cant quite place and nods, getting up from the booth. “Good. I will see you at the next Order meeting, then? Dumbledore will send you the details.”
He pushes his hands in his coat pocket, getting up from his seat. “Right”, he answers in lack of something better to say. “I’ll see you there.”
They walk towards the door when Dorcas turns back around. “Oh, wait. I forgot one thing.”
She twists one of the silver rings off her finger and hands it to him. “Tap this three times, if you need help. I’ll be able to talk to you.”
He looks at the ring in wonder. “Magical portable phone. Cool.”
She seems to notice his hesitation to touch the ring. “Its not real silver, don’t worry.”
“Oh right. Thanks.” He takes the ring from her, trying it on. Somehow it fits his finger perfectly even though he is pretty sure he and Dorcas have different ring sizes. He loves magic. “Thank you.”
“Just don’t lose it. These are a pain in the ass to replace.”
When they leave the pub, Dorcas disappears around the corner and he hears the faint pop of apparation. He can feel the envy biting at him. He would have started apparation lessons in year six, just a few months after he got expelled. He experienced a few side-by-side apparations with his dad though and those made him nauseous for hours afterwards, so maybe that is for the best.
He takes the metro home instead, where a drunk guy sings a loud rendition of Don"t Stand So Close to Me, that new song by the Police. He hasn’t been able to afford their new album, with his moms teacher job being their only source of income save for those occasional times his moms friends would need someone to cater their event or wash their garage. But he heard it on the radio so he hums along under his breath.
9th October, 1980
He spends the next days in his room practicing spells and frankly working up his courage. Every time he starts feeling ready, some other anxiety-ridden thought enters as his brain as if to mock him. What if for some reason they are expecting him? What if Dumbledore is setting him up and this is all a big revenge plan for his four years in Azkaban?
It takes him three full days until he finally finds himself heading into the city. His mother is sitting at the kitchen table und looks up from where she is grading papers, when he comes down the stairs.
“Heading out?”
He nods. “Job centre”, he says, which isn’t technically a lie - he does plan to make a stop there, if only to feel better about lying to his mum.
Her face softens. “Don’t worry if they have nothing. I am getting a Christmas bonus soon. Might be enough for a little holiday, what do you think?”
He knows she is just trying to cheer him up so he worries less about being a useless 20-year-old living with his mom with no education and no real job experience to show for himself. Still, he nods and returns her smile. “We could go up north. Maybe see Grandma?”
He knows his mom misses Scotland, where she grew up and intended to live and his dad came into her life and changed it around. They moved to the Midlands together and only visited a couple times a year. She always said it was most important to her to be where her son was, but Remus can tell she misses home. He remembers that, even as a kid, his mom was always happiest back in her small town up in the Highlands. He always felt a bit of resentment towards his dad for taking that from her. Even her accent changed over time to match the people around her more. Remus used to sound more like her when he was younger but he lost it over the years that he was around the kids at Hogwarts.
“That sounds lovely. Take some cash from my wallet and pick up milk and some potatoes on the way home, will you?”
He nods. “Sure thing.”
He takes a bill out of her wallet, grabs his coat and heads out.
The Green Sink is located in a small alley in Shadwell. There is dim streetlights illuminating protest posters peeling off walls and the odd Indian food place.The pub sits low against the street, its windows thick with grime, as if the dirt had settled into the glass itself. The wooden sign above the door is warped and faded, its lettering barely legible under the flickering glow of a oil lamp.
Remus hesitates at the threshold, adjusting the collar of his coat. The air smells of rain and soot, thick with the lingering scent of damp stone and old magic. A group of men stands smoking by the entrance, their conversation quiet but clipped, eyes flickering towards him before losing interest.
He pushes the door open, stepping inside.
The shift is almost immediate - where the outside was cold and unwelcoming, the interior is warm and almost unexpectedly inviting. The ceiling hangs low with wooden beams and a fire crackles in the stone hearth at the far end of the room. The walls are lined with mismatched chairs and heavy oak tables. A few oil lamps cast a golden glow over the patrons, their faces half-lit, half-shadowed.
He moves towards the bar, where a slim woman in a grey tank top is polishing a glass with a rag that has seen better days. Her hair is buzzed short and dyed a vibrant pink and there is a thick scar from her ear down to her shoulder. He knows better than to stare. She glances at him once, eyes raking over his face, before nodding once.
“What will it be?”
“Butterbeer”, he says, trying to keep the anxiety out of his voice. He wonders briefly if he should’ve gone for something stronger to calm his nerves, but disregards the idea just as quickly. He doesn’t enjoy getting drunk like he used to and getting anywhere close to that would just set him off even more.
He pulls a few coins from his counter and sets them on the counter, aware of the low hum of conversation around him. The first sip of his butterbeer settles warm in his chest. He lets himself relax slightly, listening. The one advantage he has found his werewolf existence to have is that his senses are stronger than the usual persons, even when its not on the full moon. Its curse and luck at the same time. Most of the time it just overstimulates him and he isn’t able to focus on anything, but occasionally it is good for something. He used to have the best gossip in all of Hogwarts. He remembers Marys aw whenever he would tell her something before anyone else know and it turned out to be true. It was also particularly useful for the pranks they pulled when he would be able to hear Mr. Filch coming way ahead of the others. Now apparently his talent become useful as a wartime spy.
To his left, a man with greying hair is muttering about Ministry patrols in Diagon Alley. Across the room, near the fire, two women speaking in hushed tones about someone who has gone missing after the last full moon. Another group is laughing over a game of Exploding Snap, their voices easy and unguarded.
It feels strange. This place has a reputation, whispered about in certain corners of the wizarding world - a haunt for werewolves, outcasts, the kind of people respectable folk crossed the street to avoid. And yet, here, it feels like something else entirely.
He turns back to his drink when a voice cut through the hum of the conversation. “Lupin? Remus Lupin?”
The sound of his name lands like a dropped glass. He freezes, fingers tightening around the rim of his glass, before turning to the speaker. A tall man with ashy blonde hair is staring him down, eyes narrowing in recognition.
“No”, he says in a panic, “sorry, you must be confusing me with someone.” He turns to face his drink like that will stop the guy from looking at him.
“No, I’m not. You’re Lupin. The Hogwarts werewolf.”
The air in the pub shifts. Subtle, but noticeable. The conversations he was overhearing have stopped. Remus turns back to look at the guy.
“You’re the one, then. The one that killed a kid.” There is a hard edge to his voice now.
Remus feels his heart sink. Suddenly he is back in the courtroom and hundreds of unforgiving eyes are on him. Murderer.
“Archer”, the bartender says in a warning tone, but the guy doesn’t seem to pay her any mind. He is still staring at Remus.
“You’ve got some nerve walking in here. You know what your trial did to the rest of us? Those new laws? The employment bans? The fucking mark? We’re more screwed now than ever and you just-”
“Oi, watch it, Archer”, someone else cuts in sharply.
Remus turns his head slightly, his heard still racing. He catches sight of the guy speaking - a broad-shouldered man with tan, weathered skin, seated a few tables over. His voice carries easily across the pub, steady and firm. “He’s as welcome here as any of us.”
Remus watches Archers jaw tense, but the other guy continues. “You think none of us made mistakes? And you really think the Ministry needed his trial as an excuse to make our lives harder?” He snorts. “Come on. They’ve been waiting for an opportunity for years now.”
A murmur of agreement ripples through the room and Remus catches a few nods from those listening in. Archer exhales sharply and sits back down, shaking his head. “Fine”, he mutters, though his expression is still tight. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
“You don’t”, the other man says simply. “But you’ll be civil.”
Archer huffs but says nothing more. Remus gets the feeling the guy defending him is in charge. The tension in the room eases slightly and after a beat, the conversations around them resume. Remus takes a breath, releasing the knot in his chest. He turns back towards the bar, where the bartender gives him a small, approving nod. “Welcome to the Green Sink.”
Welcome. It had been a long time since he heard that word and felt like it meant something.
A man at the next table leans over slightly. “So Hogwarts, huh? What was that like?”
Remus hesitates as he notices the eyes of the people around them turn to him. He knew that most werewolves don’t get an education like him, but seeing the curiosity in everyones eyes makes him realise just how different from the rest of these people his life almost went. Yet here they are.
There are a hundred ways to answer the question the guy has asked. Brilliant, suffocating, safe, dangerous, the only place that has ever felt like home.
“Complicated”, he says finally. “I had friends, which made things easier. But…well, theres a reason I’m here and not in some cushy Ministry job.”
“Ministry wouldn’t take you even if you wanted in”, Archer mutters, taking a swig out of his drink. His tone is still sharp, but the outright hostility has faded.
Remus hums in agreement. “No, they wouldn’t.”
“Bet you had a great reason to skip classes though”, someone pipes in which earns a few laughs. He smiles fondly thinking back on all the excuses they used to make up. He was a terrible liar which led to his friends finding out about his little problem in their second year. To his credit, they were also incredibly smart. Remus would usually tell people he was visiting his sick mom, but the others had more fun with it. The more people would ask, the more outrageous the excuses they came up with would get.
“Remus is on a secret mission to Poland for Goblin business”, James would say while Sirius told others “He caught a rare case of these painful blisters in…well, I wouldn’t want to tell you where they are.” Peter was the best one of all of them. He remembers a particular one where Cynthia, Sirius girlfriend at the time, asked where Remus went all the time and he looked her dead serious in the eye and said: “Back in first year, Remus picked up an ancient amulet in a corridor and got cursed. Once a month, he turns into a puffskein and has to be kept in Madam Pomfreys office until he turns back. Poor bloke.”
Cynthia, completely horrified had run to Sirius to confirm, who told her with a straight face that yes it was only to excuse himself and come running into their dorm, laughing with tears in his eyes. The memory now feels bitter, like someone spilled poison over it. He idly wonders if he will ever be able to think about his time at Hogwarts without that painful ache threatening to take him over.
“Yeah, that wasn’t too bad”, he admits, trying to cover his bout of nostalgia with a smile.
“Its not just the Ministry that won’t give us jobs, though”, a woman across from him picks up the conversation from before. “Most places won’t. You trying to find work these days, Lupin?”
The way she said it wasn’t judgemental, just matter-of-factly. Still, Remus feels heat creeping up his neck. He doesn’t feel embarrassed, exactly. But being unemployed in a room full of people who face the same struggles…it hits differently.
“Trying, yeah”, he admits, running a hand through his hair. “Not much luck. My mums been picking up extra work, but - “ He shakes his head. “She’s a muggle. Teaches primary school. Its not exactly enough for the both of us.”
That earns a few quiet nods of understanding. A few knowing glances are exchanged. Someone murmurs something about the new regulations making everything worse.
“Shit situation”, the guy who defended him earlier says. “I was in factory work til they figured me out. Then I had to take the odd job here and there until I met Jil and we opened this sweet place.”
He points to the pink-haired bartender who waves. Jil and and Brandon, he remembers suddenly. They’re the ones you want to talk to.
“Same here”, a woman says, “bit of this, bit of that. We get by, though.”
“We help each other”, Jil adds from behind the counter, her gaze flicking to Remus.
It takes him a moment to realise what she is saying, not just about herself, but about all of them. There is something unspoken in the air, an understanding that went deeper than words. These werewolves - people he had been afraid would see him as his enemy - are looking out for each other. It is something he hasn’t seen in a long time. Maybe ever.
“You need something, you let us know”, Jil says, tipping the glass she is polishing towards him.
Remus blinks, caught off guard by the kindness extended to him by these people he just met. “I - thank you”, he says, his voice quieter than he intended.
The conversation shifts again, drifting to news of a pack somewhere up North, someone mentioning a healer who works under the table for their kind. Remus listens, absorbing as much as he can, but for the first time since he walked through the doors he isn’t just taking mental notes for the Order.
He is here. And, for the first time in a long time, he isn’t alone.
His mom is already asleep by the time he gets home so he puts the milk and potatoes away and makes his way to his room when he catches sight of a letter on the kitchen table, addressed to him. He picks it up and recognises Dumbledores handwriting. He rips the seal off, a letter falling out.
Dear Mr. Lupin,
We are pleased to invite you to an exclusive discussion on rare historical texts and their modern applications, hosted at the address on the back, on October 10th at 8pm. The evening will feature insights from esteemed scholars and an opportunity to connect with like-minded individuals interested in preserving and understanding our shared past. Your presence would be most welcome, and we encourage you to bring any notes and thoughts you might have on the subject. Should you wish to attend, simply knock three times upon arrival.
Warm Regards, A Fellow Enthusiast
Remus smirks to himself at the letter. Seems like Dorcas isn’t the only one who cares about covering her tracks. Although he wouldn’t do it any differently if he was Dumbledore, he supposes. Not with the press already trying to catch him in conspiracies. He suddenly feels a excitement rush through his body. He spent the past four years rotting away in his bedroom and now he is actually able to do something, be part of something bigger than him.
He turns the letter to read the address and when his eyes scan over it, his heart drops to his knees.
The Willows, Church Lane, Cookham, Berkshire SL6 9SP, England.
He remembers that address vividly from the first time he read it, at twelve years old, when James thrust a hastily written note in his hand and made him promise to come visit over summer. He remembers spending summer after summer at the Potters, the four of them playing makeshift Quidditch and going to the nearby lake to cool off. He remembers Fleamont, deep in some invention he was working on, and Euphemia, stern but kind and equally brilliant. He remembers their tasty chilli and their backyard, their gnomes and the corners of that house that seemed endless to four twelve year old boys.
He tries to think of ways he can be wrong. Maybe its an address nearby, maybe they moved. But the more he thinks about it, the more sense it makes. Of course the Potters would be the kind of people to join a rebellion group. And even more than them, he realises, his heart steadily sinking, so would be James.
He sinks to the floor, clutching at the hem of his jeans and breathing heavily. He hasn’t considered it, which was stupid, wasn’t it? If Dumbledore recruited him, why wouldn’t he recruit brilliant, brave, ready-to-fling-himself-into-war James? It was so obvious now.
But he couldn’t do this - he couldn’t. He picks up the envelope with shaky hands and something else falls out that he didn’t notice before. It’s a metal coin with a small note attached to it: To get there.
Of course, Dumbledore has attached a portkey for him. He tears his eyes away from the coin like even seing it will somehow transport him to the Potters house.
His eyes fall onto his own hands instead and the single silver ring on his finger. In a panic, he starts tapping it, fingers shaking. Three times.
At first, nothing happens. He almost wants to discard it, but then a small engraving appears in the ring. Are you safe?
He isn’t sure what to do at first. Hesitantly, he tries talking. “I’m safe. Can I talk to you?”
It takes another moment, longer this time. Then the writing appears again, an address this time. Hands shaking, he grabs his coat and heads out again. He gets to the metro, sparing a look at the clock. 01:15. By the time he gets to Soho, this starts feeling ridiculous. He barely even knows Dorcas, what is he doing running to tell her about his feelings? But Dumbledore is out of the question and she is the only other person he knows in the Order. So he gets out of the tube and heads to where she told him to come.
The streets of Soho are slick with rain puddles, catching the neon glow from the clubs and late-night cafes. Remus steps over the particular deep one as he approaches Golden Square where Dorcas told him to meet her. The place is wide and open, bars and restaurants lined around it. He can’t see her yet so he walks around the Square nervously, looking into the alleys. The door to a place opens and he can hear music come out of it. A group of women comes walking out, giggling and holding onto each others arms. The sign above the door glows soft pink, the name written in elegant cursive, barely visible under the condensation clouding the window. The Gateway Club.
He’s heard of this place. Similar to how the Green Sink is a safe place for werewolves, this is known to be the same for women enjoying the company of other women. Remus has been to the odd gay bar here and there - there wasn’t a lot to do after he got expelled except figure himself out so that didn’t take him very long - but he never quite found what he was looking for. Occasionally he would make out with a emo boy in his leather jacket in the bathroom or talk to an older guy with his long black hair in a bun, but most of these times he would feel a bout of nausea overcome him the more intense it got and excuse himself to go home alone.
Laughter spills out as the door opens again, and this time, Dorcas Meadowes stumbles out. She doesn’t seem to see him yet, chatting to the two girls behind her who are holding hands. She doesn’t seem overly drunk, but there is a loose, easy sway to her movements as she turns and says something over her shoulder, grinning. Then, as she turns back and spots him, her grin drops.
“Well”, she says after a beat, running a hand through the ends of her braids. “That was fast.”
“You gave me an address”, Remus says. “I assume you meant now.”
She scoffs. “You assume a lot.” She reaches onto her coat, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it with a snap of her finger. One of the girls behind her calls out to her.
“Dorcas come, we’ve got to catch the tube!” The other girl meanwhile is busy planting kisses on her, which makes them dissolve into giggles. They seem to be too drunk to even take notice of him. Remus isn’t aware he is staring until he catches Dorcas glaring eyes.
“Got something to say, Lupin?” She has her arms crossed and while her eyes are staring daggers at him, he knows this posture, this sharp defensiveness for what it really is. A trapped animal. He’s seen it in the mirror.
“No, that - “, he stutters. “I don’t, eh…me too.”
She raises her eyebrows at him. “You too? Like you’re gay too or you like women too? Cause thats a big difference.” Her voice is still on edge, but it has lost some of its sharpness.
“Bit of both, I suppose”, he mumbles.
Dorcas slowly nods, puffing out a steady stream of smoke. “Huh. Good to know.” She walks over to the two girls, talking to them in low hushed voices. They hug goodbye and walk away.
“Should they be going home alone?”, Remus asks. “They seemed pretty drunk.”
“Rose is a two-time London amateur boxing champ and Addy carries a pocketknife and knows how to use it. They can handle themselves. You’re probably in bigger danger walking around alone at night.”
He accepts the jab without protests, knowing he probably ended her night out early.
She exhales, then leans against the doorframe, crossing her arms. “So whats so bloody urgent you called me? You know, with the ring. The emergency ring.”
Remus feels hot embarrassment shoot through him, suddenly highly aware of how ridiculous this is. They’re not friends. They’re barely even allies at this point, just two people working for the same cause. Calling her was impulsive, stupid even, but in the moment, she was the only person he could think of. Which makes it depressingly real how low his number of friends is.
He exhales sharply, shaking his head. “It was nothing. I shouldn’t have - “
“Oh no, no, no, no”, she cuts in, jabbing the cigarette in his direction. “You don’t call me in the middle of my night out, show up outside of a dyke bar looking like a kicked dog, and then say its nothing.” She narrows her eyes. “Spit it out, Lupin.”
He almost doesn’t. But he can still feel the weight of the letter in his hand and he knows that if he walks away now, he won’t be able to sleep. He clears his throat. “I got a letter.”
Dorcas snorts. “Congratulations. Do you need me to read it to you or something?”
“I got the Orders meeting location”, he clarifies, “Its at the Potters.”
She raises her brows. “And?”
“And James will be there.”
Dorcas blinks. “Yeah? I should bloody hope so. He owes me five galleons.”
Remus jaw clenches. “I just - I haven’t seen him since I left school. And he was sort, eh, my best friend.”
The words hang in the air. He knows she probably knows about his trial and what happened with Snape. If he has read her right, she is the kind of person to do extensive research on a new ally before meeting up with him. And if she knows James…
Dorcas studies him for a long moment, then nods slowly. “I see.”
Remus lets out a dry laugh. “Fuck, I’m sorry about bothering you with this. That was stupid of me, but I really needed to talk so someone.”
She takes another drag, exhaling slowly, then says, “So what, you called me because you want out?”
“No”, he says immediately. Then, softer, “No. I just - “ He rubs a hand over his face. “I just wasn’t ready for it. Seeing him. Being back in all of it. I don’t even know how to talk to him.”
Dorcas doesn’t answer right away. When she does, her voice has lost its earlier bite. “Well”, she says, flicking the last of her cigarette onto the pavement and grinding it out with her boot, “you’ve got two days.” She meets his gaze. “Figure out what you want to say.”
Remus swallows, nodding.
She sighs again, stretching her arms over her head. “Merlin, you’re a pain in the ass, you know that?”
Remus blinks. “Sorry about that.”
She gives him a look. “Next time, please use that ring for an actual emergency.”
He feels the guilt creeping in once again. Seems like being a burden to people wont ever stop being what he does. “I didn’t mean to ruin your night out. I am sorry.”
Dorcas studies him, then rolls her eyes. “Yeah, well. Not like it was going anywhere, anyway.” She steps away from the door, jerking her head for him to follow. “Come on. Lets walk. Maybe if I sober up, I’ll have something useful to say.”