The Beginning
When I was just a baby, my mama told me, “son
Always be a good boy, don’t ever play with guns”
Folsom Prison Blues -Johnny Cash
Remus Lupin was a dignified gentleman, by two standards: he made good money, and he had a great accent. Although, that depends on who’s asking, because some believed his line of work to be terribly ungentlemanly. Which was ridiculous. And no one questioned his accent.
He sighed deeply and sat a little farther back into his saddle, attempting to relieve his stiff and aching spine from his two days of traveling the countryside. It was beginning to wear on him, but he would never admit to it.
Remus tipped his head back, taking in the quick breeze to his face that instantly cooled the sweat beading along the underside of his hat.
You’ve some debts to owe, young Lupin…
The letter was still clutched in his fist, two days late and still being deciphered; put to memory. It was that letter that made him change course and take the long journey to a city he hardly ever visited, down to the outskirts of a nearby spring.
It was something he hadn’t quite heard before, which, he had to confess, had led to a bit of a lie to Kingsley.
There was one thing that could bring Remus to where he’s called, and after eleven years of waiting, it now beckoned to him like a smoke signal drifting into the clear sky.
One he didn’t think would ever happen, to be honest.
He was a bounty hunter by law, a freelance bounty hunter, better said, but with the right price…well, he knew how to make people disappear too. That was the part Remus decided was no one's business except the ones paying. For it, he moved from city to city with his scythe or his shackles, a never-ending cycle Remus followed like a sick dog on a leash.
So he wasn’t lying to Kingsley when he said he goes where he’s not wanted, there have just been some occasions where he had to take calls. In other words, Remus needed the job.
Signed, Albus Dumbledore.
Remus absently patted the side of his horse's warm coat, her gray ears flicking away the buzzing of a few flies. “Not too much longer, girl.” He murmured, shifting his thighs as they chafed against her sides. “Not too much longer now.”
They were following a common trail, the land slowly sloping into green prairie fields and the small rolling hills dotted with fences and cattle. They had stopped last night for a small rest under a cusp of a few trees, but obviously, as Mars made another flare of her nostrils, it wasn’t long enough.
There was a wagon making its way towards them from farther off, and Remus studied them from afar as he shifted again.
When the wagon drew closer, Remus pulled on the reins and nodded to the oncoming driver. Looking like a small family, Remus observed, the middle-aged man at the reins held a hand over his eyes to nod back to Remus.
“Ho! Where are you coming from?” He slowed as well as they grew closer, their horses stuttering and shuffling their feet.
Remus waved back behind him as if that would convey the two days of travel and the city he had come from to appear out of thin air. “Nothing close.”
The man smiled, showing some crooked teeth around a bit of hay he chewed on. “We’ve got some grains if you’ve got anything.”
Remus did. “I don’t. And you?”
“Nothing close.” The man mimicked, shrugging. “Take it from me when I say there’s trouble about.”
Oh, he certainly had heard. Remus played along anyway. “How so?”
“There have been raids on land out on the outskirts, pillagers and the like. The Joanne’s buried their only son, Maddox, only a few days ago.” interjected a woman stepping off the cart, eyeing Remus from where he sat high on his horse. Her gaze settled on his gun holsters, and the shotgun in his saddle bag. Remus said nothing. “And set fire to Prewitt's land.”
The man nodded, wiping sweat from his brow. “No one really knows who they are. Our town was hit last night. And there has been talk of…well.”
Remus raised a brow. “Well?”
The man squirmed, lowering his tone even though there was hardly anyone else for miles. His glance he shared with the woman was heavy and loud. “The town’s ain’t safe anymore. There’s word going ‘round that mayors are locking themselves away, in fear of stepping outside.”
“Should they not?” Remus asked, and the man scoffed.
“I ain’t never said that. That's why we’re leaving.”
“I thought bandits like the open roads,” Remus said vaguely, looking around pointedly.
“Not anymore.” The man shook his head. “Take care, young man.”
Remus watched them go, nodding towards the woman as she climbed back into their cart. She had a concentrated look in her eyes, and with the contact of her gaze, she carefully lowered a shotgun into her lap as they pulled away. A warning. Remus heard it loud and clear.
He spurred his horse forward again, mulling over what the man had said and hadn’t. With the sun now peaking in the sky, Remus decided to put a little more effort into breaking the distance. He didn’t want to get caught in the dark again.
He knew he was close when the ranchers out on their land didn’t nod when they noticed Remus passing. Nothing was welcoming in the way they stared him down. Then the houses crept up on him, and soon he was in the midst of a quaint, once bustling, town, reeling in his pace just as the sun was slipping from its highest perch. The clear sky did nothing to hide the smoke still settling in the air, or the wind from swirling it under his nose. The town was hit rather hard: he saw it in the broken glass, the shifty glances, the charred wood. It spoke of recent destruction.
There was no warning for when the streets would come upon him, where the town was tucked between a gradual hill or two before the expanse of empty land. It was called Godric’s Hollow for a reason, tucked away as it was. In the distance, a well-fed spring and running mill ever turned, past the storefronts and squat houses to the open hills beyond.
Remus slipped from his saddle, back aching, and led his horse off to the side of the tide of tense movement, working his way down into the slow-beating heart of the town. It’s usual parade of folk were only out if necessary this day.
He tied his horse off at a hitching post with the most shade, made sure she had her water,and went inside the tallest establishment, relishing the dark air with a quiet sigh. He desperately wanted to remove his hat, but it helped hide his scarred face and he thought better of it.
Remus scanned the room adorned with high arched ceilings, dark oak tables, the barrels behind the bar, and the candlewick chandelier. The woman behind the counter, a middle-aged no-nonsense woman, gazed up from where she cleaned up the wood and found Remus by the doors.
She squinted, her lips forming a comical ‘o’ as she put his face to his name. “By golly, look who's back.”
“I was never here, Rosmerta,” Remus replied, letting the doors swing close behind him. A few at the tables turned and openly stared at him, their conversations quieting to hear the stranger speak.
She waved him in further, pointing to the staircase that led to a second level. Her eyebrows were furrowed. “It’s been a long time.”
“So it has.” He nodded his thanks and made his way up the creaking staircase, hearing Rosmerta snap at a patron for spilling his drink and the noise returned.
What Remus expected to see when he opened the door was not what he got, in its place was a four-cornered cluttered attic and a long table, where a group of people sat heads together at its center.
The room had fallen silent as he let himself in, the saloon loud at his back until he shut the door. Albus, the old geyser that he was with his white beard and stiff vest, leaned back in his seat and gave him a winning smile, ignoring Remus’ obvious stony impression. “Remus! Come in, come in, seems you got here in good time.”
Remus said nothing, flicking his eyes over the people in the room. He didn’t fail to notice Kingsley, smirking quietly by one of the two dusty windows that were bringing in enough subdued light that Remus could almost make out the details of the four people gathered there. Needless to say, he was unimpressed.
Albus brought back his attention when he waved Remus to take a seat but he remained standing by the door, still considering turning around.
“Who is this boy?” Asked the older woman sitting to Albus’ left, prim with her gentle smile lines and soft hands. Remus guessed if he were a wounded bird she would wrap him in blankets and spoon-feed him honey and homemade biscuits. “Albus, surely not?”
“It is the only way, Euphemia. Remus,” Albus stood, motioning around the room. “The wife of the Mayor, Euphemia, on my left,” Remus nodded, “there’s Alastor Moody, our retired Marshall,” Alastor eyed Remus with a scarred eyelid, and Remus met it. Marred to mar. Albus gave a knowing glance. “And of course you know Mister Shacklebolt.”
Kingsley made a noise in the back of his throat, picking splinters out of the sill with the tip of a small knife. He was still in his riding clothes as well.
“Meet Remus Lupin,” Dumbledore said finally. “A bounty hunter from up north.”
“By all,” Euphemia whispered, hand to her chest. “It’s true then? It wasn’t just Hollow that was hit?”
Dumbledore was grim as settled back down. “There is a group forming out in the outskirts. Godric’s Hollow was no exception to their violence.”
Moody scoffed. “Give the bastards the name they are due.” Shaking his head ruefully, he palmed the glass drink in front of him and drank.
Albus assented with an apathetic shrug. “Bandits. There’s nothing left out past the West Plains. Five miles off Hogsmeade is raided to the bones…cattle stolen, the villages burned, and we all know roads are fair game."
All this Remus already knew or assumed, but he wasn’t daft enough not to be uneasy.
“Fleamont is still with the Prewitt’s to stop their land from burning.“ Euphemia added quietly.
“What’s the child gunman got to do with this Albus?” Moody interrupted gruffly, watching as Remus ran a finger down the fireplace mantle and rubbed the dust away on his pants. “Don’t say what I’m thinkin’ this is.”
“Albus needs chaps for an infiltration pursuit,” Kingsley supplied instead. “Kid knows what he’s doing.”
“No.” Euphemia leaned forward with her eyebrows furrowed, one ankle crossed over the other. “There are other ways to go about this. What about the sheriffs from Greenwood? Surely they can–”
“I trust no one better. Besides, Remus knows his debts.” He replied calmly, ignoring Moody’s chuckle.
“Careful,” Remus tutted quietly as he shot a hard look over his shoulder. “I haven’t even said yes.” But Remus knew he was only playing along. Of all the people to pull on his shirtsleeve for a job, it had to be Albus, who knew if he asked, Remus would have to take it regardless of the details. Questionable man as he was, Lupins held their word.
And currently, this Lupin had not a penny to his name.
“Who is it exactly that you want me to go after?”
He didn’t enjoy the satisfaction in the old man’s eyes. “There’s an outlaw whose name keeps coming around and I need you to take care of him. He’s got far too many trails towards those raiders for it to be nothing.”
Remus took that in as Moody rapped his knuckles against the table, like that was enough to wrap up the conversation. “If the boy is as good as you say he is, then he should have no trouble. Now, excuse me, I need a gin.”
“Who is it?” Remus asked again.
“Tom Riddle.”
Remus meant to say nothing despite those two words, but instead he choked on a laugh. Tom Riddle wasn’t some everyday runt of the litter, he was a hellion amongst thieves. It takes a good record to be infamous around these parts, and once even Remus would have tipped his hat to whatever poor soul went after him next. He would kick himself for the irony but the reality of what it meant now was sobering. Remus folded his arms and leaned against the wall.
Moody thought twice about his gin instantly, dropping back into his seat. “He’s in for it,” he accused Albus. He turned in his chair to stare at Remus. “You’re in for it, boy.”
Even Euphemia stood, brushing off her shirts angrily as she rounded on the old man. “No one is going off on that sort of no-good whim even if I have to go and do it myself. I reckon you think again or you stop this.”
“Euphemia, please, sit back down.” Kingsley was looking at Remus imploringly, eyes squinted in the dim light.
“No! I know the worst of Riddle. And alone, Albus? Why, I’m appalled you even suggested such a thing. Will he be alone?” Remus nearly wished he could take her side, seeing as she was determined not to let some stranger off on a wild goose chase, but he knew better. It was endearing, but it was futile. And money was money.
“No, it will only be Remus. What do you suggest then, Euphemia, if not this?”
Euphemia opened her mouth and closed it, pieces of her brown hair falling around her face as she swiveled her head. She looked to each of them in turn, a plea and a warning captured in her glare, but after a pointed silence, she muttered, “Oh on your head, Albus.”
“What do you suggest?” He persisted, adjusting his spectacles.
Euphemia pushed the strands of hair from her forehead and resignedly said: “Send James. Send him, at least.”
The room went quiet, observing each other carefully as they took that in. “Euphemia…” Kingsley began slowly. She shook her head, ready to say more, but Remus cut her short. He didn’t like the sound of a son tagging along and decided it was high time to step in, pushing away from the wall. “Good thanks to you ma’am, but I work alone.”
“He’s the Prewett's cattleman, he knows the roads. And I can see about getting you supplies.”
“I really don’t think that is necessary-” Remus tried again, shaking his head.
“They will leave in the morning,” Albus interjected, and the lot of them went silent once more.
“No.” Remus gritted his teeth, unbelieving. He wasn’t some grand mentor taking children around to admire the countryside. He was going after deep-country bandits, which was complicated enough on its own. And to suggest being a chaperone for someone when he could break distance and get in and out by himself…he can’t imagine the son of a Mayor, no matter how well he knows the roads that Remus doesn’t, could do much more than slow him down.
Euphemia nodded. “You’re not going on your own. You’re going to say yes or you can go back to wherever you came from.” Remus stared at her, where she stood hands on her hips, and bitterly swallowed his agitation. Wounded birds be damned. He’ll find another way out of this.
“Fine, send him.” Remus grabbed the door handle and let himself out. “If he doesn't show, I leave without him.”
The early morning was cool, the sun hidden from the sky besides its’ forlorn shoots of pinks and angry purples. Remus took it as a good sign for the long journey ahead as he brushed out Mars’ coat from its muck. He peered across the dirt road, where the dusty saloon sat withholding the sunrise, scarred by weather and raw wood.
He didn’t think often about how he ended up where he was, but for a moment he wondered what ditch he would be dead in, if he hadn’t, as he gently untangled the dark knots in her mane. Crawling along by his bloody fingertips for years until he had the guts to do what he had to. He sighed. When she was happy with his handiwork, he started on his weapons, sitting back on an overturned bucket. Those thoughts wouldn’t help him today.
“You Remus Lupin?”
“Depends on who's asking.” Remus squinted up from where he was cleaning his gun.
The boy had a bag slung over one shoulder, sun-browned skin under his finely stitched riding clothes. His faded red bandana was draped around his neck, like a forgotten noose, and in his hand was a rein to a brown-coated mare.
He had what one had to describe as a shit-eating grin as he took in Remus. “I’m in the right place, then. James.”
Remus took his outstretched hand and gave it a firm shake, not returning the smile. “Go home, James.” He said it condescendingly enough, but it was an effort in vain.
James just shrugged and tied his horse to the hitching post, fixing up her saddle bags. “Wish I could, friend. You’re stuck with us.”
Remus glanced at him sideways. “Us?” He asked skeptically. For an odd moment, he thought James was referring to his horse.
James shot a funny look over his horse's back as he worked on tightening up the girth straps, before coughing out a laugh. “Peter. He’s up the road.”
Remus looked on, and there coming up on them was a squat boy leading his own horse to where they packed. “Ho!” James gaily called, lifting a hand in a wave. “In good time,” he said conversationally to Remus as Peter came closer. “He likes to sleep in.”
Remus’ jaw ticked, setting aside his rifle to sharpen his knife. “I’m not taking stragglers.”
“Pete’s not a straggler, he works with me for the Prewitts. Helluva gambler, I should say. Mornin’ Pete, this here’s Remus.”
Peter had a straw hat for his matching head of straw blond hair, a good many inches shorter than him that Remus could tell. He had this watery, skittish way about his eyes, glancing his way between him and James and Remus’ well-sharpened bowie knife.
“Mornin’,” he said with an uncertain nod, and Remus flicked his knife down into the dirt by Peter’s foot in reply, noticing the way James’ smile stilled and silently appraising the way Peter hadn’t flinched.
“One chance,” Remus said, holding up a gloved finger. Despite the way both Peter and James were standing, Remus was daunting enough, even leaned back and sat on a bucket. “To get the hell out. I’m not taking this job easily; the second we catch their trail, I’m not stopping. I will leave you bleeding, I will leave you sick, and I will leave you tired or dead. Last chance.”
Peter held Remus’ hard stare, mapping the scars across his face, and the silence continued coarse and heavy, leaching out and making their horses shift uneasily.
“Well,” said James finally, going back to adjusting his saddle. “Good thing I’m not bleeding out yet or Pete keeled over from walking.” He tipped his hat when Remus raised a brow. “Also a good thing my Ma’s got your pay in her back pocket for when we return.”
Remus felt his lips quirk. True enough.
Peter nudged the knife by his boot. “I’m assuming you didn’t throw that by mischance.”
“No.” Remus got to his feet and took hold of the offered handle, flipping the knife in his hand and stowing it away. “I do nothing by accident.”
He busied himself with mounting Mars’, shifting his still aching back, and moving out onto the awakening roads, the morning breeze already doing a number on his mare’s newly brushed-out mane. He glanced over at the two boys, mounting their own, and shook his head at the sight. What the hell had he gotten himself into? This was easily the worst idea he had ever allowed to happen, and now he had to settle in for however many months with a couple of inexperienced strangers. He turned his mare and eased into a slow pace, ready to get it all over with.
“Where are we headed?” Peter asked from Remus’ left.
“Ah,” Remus felt around for his pistols, distracted. “They were last seen heading west, so that’s where we’ll start.”
James saluted him with two fingers.
Remus ignored it.
Together they strode their way to the edge of town, aiming to bypass the old running mill and into the plains where they would start their trek. Soon enough they were past the brook entirely, where each stride carried the three of them further and further away from Godric’s Hollow until it became a blink and a half away from being missed.
He could hear James and Peter talking low to each other but decided he wouldn’t wait to know what they were saying. They had a lively glow to them in the early morning light, as though the concept of a journey wasn’t haunting to them. The thrill of the hunt as hunters.
Revenge on their faces like the glint of murder in a wolf’s eyes. Remus rolled his shoulders to stop himself from snapping at the strangers; they didn’t know better.
Mars’ kept a steady gait, fresh from that morning in the shed as she waited for Remus to return from his inquiries around the town. In his pack he stuffed the most basic of his needs: food, a short knife, matches, canteen, cooking supplies, blanket, Mars’ grooming tools, and his worn down slicker. Half of his things needed restocking, and half of his information needed defining. It was a lucky guess picking the folks who would talk the most about where his targets may have fled as they handed over dried meats and a new kettle, since his last was used as target practice.
Remus gently shifted the reins, taking her off of the dirt path. If the bandits went west, then he wasn’t going to go a roundabout way of getting there.
Tom Riddle wouldn’t go to Greenwood, like Euphemia had suggested. It was too large, and guarded to the teeth. Riddle wasn’t stupid enough to make it that easy.
Which means Remus has three options: Pitch Creek, Sierramere, or Dalverine.
Between them was unoccupied land, but Remus had a feeling Riddle was a sick motherfucker.
Pitch Creek’s sheriff was a fourteen year old boy.
“Lupin? James believes he has forgotten his canteen in the Hollow.”
“He’ll survive without it.”
“But–”
“Share yours! We’re not turning back.”
James grumbled something to Peter behind him and Remus bristled. He was a bounty hunter. He had survived worse than travel companions.
The day stretched out long and thin as their horses waded through tall waving grass and past bouts of trees bowing with the weight of their branches. The game had begun.