Chapter Ten
Harry Potter stared down at the locket in his hands. It was heavy, as large as a chicken’s egg, an ornate letter S, inlaid with numerous small green emeralds, glinted dully in the diffused sunset light shining through the tent’s canvas roof.
Sudden awareness of what he was holding, of what lived behind the little golden doors within the locket hit Harry almost like a Bludger. He felt a violent urge to fling the locket from himself.
“Can you feel it?” Ron asked in a hushed voice.
Harry nodded mutely. It didn’t whisper to him as Remus had sensed in Regulus’ bedroom…perhaps that was Remus’ werewolf magic…but was it Harry’s own blood pulsing through his veins that he could feel, or was it something beating inside the locket, like a tiny cold metal heart?
“We’ll keep it safe till we work out how to destroy it,” Harry said, and despite the bile rising in his throat at the idea, Harry hung the chain around his own neck, dropping the locket out of sight beneath his robes.
“We should take turns to keep watch outside the tent,” Hermione said, looking nervously out the canvas flaps as she set out the Sneakoscope she had given Harry for his birthday on the table in the tent.
Hermione and Ron boldly made efforts to prepare supper while Harry sat outside the tent, enjoying the feel of the setting sun’s rays on his face. It had been a month, since Bill and Fleur’s wedding, that Harry had been outside, and not just sitting beneath a cracked window at 12 Grimmauld Place. A breeze stirred the leaves in the trees overhead, birds chirped in the branches, and squirrels scurried over the soil, but there were no other sounds—and the Sneakoscope stayed quiet. Harry thought he rather liked Hermione’s choice of the sheltered wood where the Quidditch World Cup Final had been held all those summers ago.
Seeing the Quidditch World Cup felt like another lifetime. But Harry smiled as he remembered the green and gold face paint Sirius had covered their faces in, the way Arthur had bounced as he walked up the stadium, how fast the players flew on their brooms, the roar of the crowd…such nice things would happen again someday. They just had too.
As evening drew in, Hermione and Ron proudly presented their supper of spaghetti and tomato sauce—their stores of food provided from Headquarters would last a few weeks at least, Remus had assured them.
At ten o’clock, Harry took over from Hermione outside the tent once more.
Bats now fluttered high over the treetops across the single patch of starry sky visible from their protected clearing. Harry smiled, recognizing the Dog Star.
Harry lit his wand. He thought he would feel….exhilarated, perhaps…now that they had left Headquarters and begun their quest, but Harry found himself ill at ease.
He missed Teddy. The toddler’s bright turquoise curls always lit up the dreary rooms of Grimmauld, as did his ringing bell-like giggles, and his cheeky new faces and imitations.
He missed Sirius and Remus. Their presence was like…shelter. It was comfort and warmth and familiarity. It was home.
For the first time since Harry had left the Dursley’s, he felt that old feeling from his childhood. An adriftness; the lack of an anchor. The fact that they still hadn’t found a way to destroy the Horcrux didn’t help. And then there were the other Horcruxes…
Nameless forebodings crept upon Harry as he sat there in the dark; he tried to resist them, push them away, yet they came at him relentlessly.
He hadn’t said goodbye to his family—he had said so aloud, No good-byes.
Sirius and Remus had hugged him tightly, Teddy squeezing Harry’s neck and clinging to him until Remus had to pull him gently away.
And then there was the Prophecy. Neither can live while the other survives.
It seemed to Harry, as he sat there trying to master his fear, that the Horcrux against his chest was ticking away the time he had left. Don’t think that, Harry chided himself, I have to do my part. I have to make things right, better. I can’t run away.
Inside the tent, Harry heard Ron snore and Hermione shift under her blankets. He smiled, shaking his head. When had he become so maudlin? He had the two best mates in the world with him, walking this road beside him. He had the mirror. Harry reminded himself that he was the farthest thing from alone.
But still… no one else had to do what Harry knew he must. No one else carried his particular burdens…
Harry’s scar prickled.
There was so much they didn’t know. Why hadn’t Dumbledore explained more?
Harry’s scar burned now—
“Give it to me, Gregorovitch.”
Harry’s voice was high, clear, and cold, his wand held in front of him by a long-fingered white hand. The man at whom he was pointing was suspended upside down mid-air, though there were no ropes holding him; he swung there, invisibly and eerily bound, his limbs wrapped around him, his terrified face was ruddy due to the blood rushing to his head. He had pure white hair and a thick bushy beard.
“I have it not, I have it no more! It was, many years ago, stolen from me!”
“Do not lie to Lord Voldemort, Gregorovitch. He knows…he always knows.”
The hanging man’s pupils were wide, dilated with fear, and they seemed to swell, bigger and bigger until their blackness swallowed Harry whole—
And now Harry was hurrying down a dark corridor in Gregorovitch’s wake as he held a lantern aloft; Gregorovitch burst into the room at the end of the passage and his lantern illuminated what looked like a workshop. And there on the window ledge sat perched, like a giant bird, a young man with golden hair. In the split second that the lantern light illuminated him, Harry saw the delight upon the young man’s handsome face, then the intruder shot a Stunning Spell from his wand and jumped neatly backward out of the window with a crow of laughter.
And Harry was hurtling back out of those wide, tunnellike pupuls and Gregorovitch’s face was striken with terror.
“Who was the thief, Gregorovitch?” said a high, cold voice.
“I do not know, I never knew, a young man—no—please—PLEASE!”
A scream that went on and one and then a burst of green light—
“Harry!”
He opened his eyes, panting, his forehead throbbing. He had passed out on the side of the tent, had slid sideways down the canvas, and was now sprawled on the ground.
Harry looked up at Hermione.
“I know it was your scar!” Hermione said at once, “I can tell by the look on your face!”
Ron stumbled out of the tent, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and looking at Harry in concern.
“I didn’t mean for it to happen!” Harry cried, “But he’s found Gregorovitch!” Harry had told his friends, as well as Sirius and Remus, of his visions before they had left Headquarters that morning, “And I think he’s killed him, and before he killed him, he read Gregorovitch’s mind …he wanted something from Gregorovitch, he asked him to hand it over, but Gregorovitch said that it had been stolen from him…and then he read his mind, and I saw this young bloke perched on a windowsill…he stole it.”
Ron and Hermione frowned, at a loss.
“Go and lie down,” Hermione said at last.
Harry obeyed, going back inside the tent behind Ron, mostly because he felt quite sick now and a little feverish. What was Voldemort trying to find? Why, with the Ministry of Magic and the British Wizarding World at his feet, was Voldemort far away, intent on the pursuit of an object that Gregorovitch had once owned, and which had been stolen by the unknown thief?
They left the next morning, following Sirius’ advice from his time on the run as Padfoot not to stay in any one place too long. Harry had only ever considered becoming an Animagus in relation to how it would serve to help Remus; Harry had never spoken of it, but often in his fourth year, after coming under Sirius and Remus’ care, he had laid awake around Full Moons and thought of completing the transformation…joining the wolf and Padfoot on their adventures. He wondered if he’d be a stag too, like James, considering Harry’s own Patronus.
But only now did he realize how truly bloody useful an unregistered Animagus form could really be considering that he was out in the open with Voldemort and his hoard of followers looking for him. But at least he had the Invisibility Cloak for them all to use.
They Apparated to the outskirts of a small market town in the midlands where they pitched the tent in a copse of trees and surrounded it with freshly cast defensive enchantments.
The days wore on this way. They shared who wore the Horcrux just as they shared keeping watch, and Harry and Hermione spent fruitless hours trying to decide where they might find the other Horcruxes and how to destroy the one they already had, but their conversations became increasingly repetitive as they had no new information.
They used the mirror to talk to Sirius, Remus, and Teddy. But still, these conversations grew repetitive too. Sirius and Remus always asked if Harry was safe, if they were moving constantly, if they had enough food. Sirius and Remus still had no luck finding a basilisk fang, their faces sketched in their own disappointment. And Teddy always asked Harry, when are you coming home? And Harry always replied, soon.
Soon became an empty word to Harry. A non-word. As finnicky and in-descript as the smoke around the small campfire stove they used to cook in the tent.
Sure, they had a few ideas. Dumbledore had told Harry that he believed Voldemort had hidden Horcruxes in places important to him. Harry and Hermione kept reciting, in a sort of dreary litany, those locations they knew Voldemort had lived or visited. The orphanage where he had been born and raised; Hogwarts, where he had been educated; Borgin and Burkes, where he had worked after completing school; then Albania, where he had spent his years of exile.
“Yeah, let’s go to Albania. Shouldn’t take more than an afternoon to search an entire country,” Ron huffed.
“It wouldn’t be an entire country, it’d be a Dark forest,” Hermione snapped, “but there can’t be anything there, since he’d already made five of his Horcruxes before he went into exile, and Dumbledore was certain the snake was the sixth. And the snake’s usually with him.”
“I can’t see him hiding anything at Borgin and Burkes,” Harry sighed, “Borgin and Burkes were experts at Dark objects, they would’ve recognized a Horcrux right away.”
Ron yawned and Harry suppressed the urge to throw something at him.
“I still reckon he might have hidden something at Hogwarts,” Harry plowed on, “Dumbledore said in front of me that he never assumed he knew all of Hogwart’s secrets. If there was one place important to him, it was Hogwarts. It was his first real home, the place that meant he was special, it meant everything to him and after he left—”
“This is You-Know-Who we’re talking about, right? Not you?” Ron asked, tugging at the chain of the Horcrux around his neck. Ron had taken to insisting they call Voldemort ‘You-Know-Who’ despite Harry’s chaffing at that.
Harry crossed his arms and looked away from Ron, stifling the urge to throttle him.
Unable to convince Ron that Hogwarts might be an option, they traveled back into London under the Invisibility Cloak in search of the orphanage. Harry kept steeling glances up and down the pavement, looking for Sirius and Remus, while Hermione snuck into a library near St. Paul’s. They discovered from the records Hermione gathered that the orphanage had been demolished. They visited its site in Brixton and found a tower block of offices.
“We could try digging in the foundations?” Hermione said wearily.
“He wouldn’t have hid a Horcrux here,” Harry sighed. He had known it all along. The orphanage had been the place Voldemort had been determined to escape, to leave behind, and forget. Voldemort would never have hidden a part of his soul there. Dumbledore had shown Harry that Voldemort sought grandeur and mystique in his hiding places; this dismal grey corner of London was as far removed as you could imagine from Hogwarts or the Ministry or a building like Gringotts, with its golden doors and marble floors.
And if it had been Harry…pieces of his soul he’d sheltered…he’d never put part of himself back in his old cupboard under the stairs at Number 4 Privet Drive.
And so September passed, and Harry, Ron, and Hermione continued to move throughout the British countryside, pitching the tent in a different place each night for security and then setting off in the morning for another secluded and lonely spot, traveling by Apparition to more woods, to the shadowy crevices of cliffs, to purple moors, gorse-covered mountainsides, and once a sheltered and pebbly cove. Sirius spoke in the mirror of the beauty and freedom of their travel, and even Harry could join him every now and then in marveling in the wilderness around him. It made him feel like a Marauder, if only for a moment or two.
Ron insisted on being present for each time Harry used the mirror, asking again and again for news of his family. They’re alright, Remus would say, Bill’s still away trying to work with the goblins. The twins are at the Burrow, operating their joke shop underground. Arthur is still at work. Your mother is well. No news.
Sirius had recognized the growling voice of Yaxley as the Death Eater shouted the spell after sensing the breaking of the secret store-room’s wards, “Petrificus Totalus!”
That had been an easy dodge. Yaxley needed to learn to close his wicked mouth, but non-verbal spells had never been his specialty. Sirius dove behind the shelves, firing out from behind them at the stores of potion-making materials on the walls around Yaxley; the jars and vials exploded above Yaxley’s head. Sirius ran forward just as Tonks appeared, engaging Yaxley in a duel while Sirius aimed to hit him with the very same Body-Bind Curse Yaxley had tried on him, but before he’d even lifted his wand, Yaxley bellowed his rage and with a crack was gone.
Sirius abruptly halted, staring at the spot where a moment before Yaxley had stood. Sirius muttered a string of swear words low under his breath.
Tonks moved to the walls of the room, cataloguing all of the potion-making materials that had been in the Death Eater’s stores—both destroyed and not. Sirius turned, looking beside her. There were jars of Gillyweed, all the ingredients needed for Polyjuice of course, and vial after vial of Veritaserum, but laying on the stone floor beside the upturned table in the far-corner, leaking black smoke into the air, was a now-broken cauldron that had been brewing Draught of Living Death. Sirius saw Tonks fight back a shiver just as he did the same. But the potion was destroyed; no one would ever feel this batch’s comatose effect.
Sirius’ eyes moved hungrily along the shelves among the scattered debris. But of course there were no basilisk fangs, and nothing near as strong as them either. He frowned, turning back to Tonks, seeing her waiting for his order, her face set.
“Alright, the usual,” Sirius said.
Tonks nodded in agreement, and they went quickly about the ruined storeroom, stuffing unbroken jars and vials into their robes’ pockets.
Sirius waited for her by the doorway, “Will you do the honors?” He asked gruffly.
She nodded and pressed her wand-tip to the wooden shelves and muttered the curse.
A minute later they Apparated to Headquarters, the flames of the fire still warm on their cheeks.
Sirius placed the contents of his robes, all of the unspoilt potions and ingredients, on the table in the study room of 12 Grimmauld Place, adding to the Order’s considerable collection. Tonks did the same.
“Fucking hell,” Sirius said, casting a cleaning spell over himself and Tonks, “Smelled rank in there, didn’t it?”
His second-cousin startled a laugh, “Their new Potion Maker isn’t nearly up to Snape’s caliber.”
Sirius scowled, “Whoever they’ve got now, it’s not Yaxley. He was just there for a pick-up, I’m sure.”
“Reckon it's Wormtail?”
Sirius had to grip the table as his jaw locked and his blood ran cold. He schooled his face carefully, but knew that Tonks caught the dark flash in his eyes; the flash that betrayed the urge for vengeance that he held himself back from, but that still made him bite his tongue until it bled.
No one in the Order had yet encountered Peter Pettigrew since his escape from Azkaban two years ago. Sirius (and Moony) was certain that Voldemort kept the traitor close; Peter’s insights into how the Order may carry out its plans, and his useful Animagus form, were too valuable to risk losing him in a skirmish.
Sirius shook his head. He reached a hand up to his face, steeling himself, and felt the stubble there. Merlin, he needed a proper shave.
“No, Wormtail was always rubbish at Potions,” Sirius made himself say, made himself focus, “Arthur sent word that he thinks they’ve recruited someone from the Ministry. There’s a whole Department of potion-makers that Voldemort can take his pick from now.”
Tonks nodded slowly, dismally, “Well…at least we have a few consolation prizes.”
Sirius grunted in agreement, and he flashed her a tight smile, but even he knew it was a sorry imitation. Why she’d have to mention Peter? Especially tonight?
He took a steadying breath and pushed himself away from the table, “Staying for dinner?” Sirius asked her as he waved his wand, covering the vials and jars in a series of protection charms.
Tonks smiled, but her hazel eyes continued to scrutinize him, “Sure.”
Tonks joined them for dinner, along with Fleur. Fleur had come to Headquarters that morning to watch Teddy since Bill had been gone from he and Fleur’s home—Shell’s Cottage, they called it—for the last week, immersed in his work trying to sway the goblins, and he wouldn’t return for another two days. Remus had just returned from his own mission later that day.
Sirius raised an inquiring brow at Moony as he stepped into the kitchen. Remus shook his head slightly, his lips a hard line. No luck then trying to track down his pack mates. So the Full Moon would be the last and more important play then.
Dinner was stilted. Fleur kept asking Sirius about the potions’ raid but he couldn’t get himself to engage, and found himself only grunting and shrugging. He knew he looked broody and preoccupied—not only because Moony kept pressing his thigh against his under the table but also from Tonks’ inquisitive stare as Sirius left it to her to describe what they had managed to collect and destroy. Remus listened politely but didn’t speak much, his eyes glancing over to Sirius again and again. Sirius purposefully didn’t meet Moony's eyes.
Finally, Tonks gave up her staring at him and busied herself with making faces with Teddy. Fleur departed early, saying she was going to spend the night at the Burrow to see Molly and Arthur, but would return the next day to watch Teddy once more.
Sirius watched Teddy imitating faces with Tonks until the child’s eyes starting drooping closed as he was imitating Father Christmas, and Sirius had gladly pounced on the excuse to take the toddler up to bed.
“Story?” Teddy asked as Sirius tucked the child into his bed.
“Not tonight, tyke,” Sirius said, kneeling beside the bed and resting his chin on the blankets, looking up at the sweet child upon the pillows. Sirius found himself smiling; that was the magic of children, wasn’t it? Harry had been like that, as a baby. Sirius remembered how he could step in James and Lily’s home during the heart of the first war, and see Harry’s cherub face, and how he would forget that life wasn’t all laughter and games and simple pleasures.
Teddy pouted, his bottom lip sticking out just so. Sirius patted the toddler’s arm, “Alright. How about a poem?”
Teddy frowned, “Po-em?”
Sirius nodded, “Yeah. It’s like a short story. Or more like a song, but with no music.”
Teddy beamed, “I like music.”
Sirius beamed back, “You’re Moony and I’s boy. O’ ‘course you like music.”
Teddy reached for his stuffed wolf, snuggling with it deeper under his blankets before turning back to Sirius, “Okay.”
Sirius pushed himself off his knees and scrambled up onto the end of Teddy’s bed, clearing his throat a little dramatically like he used to do as a lad before laying out his Next Grand Prank, “This poem is about children. It’s about how your dad and I feel about you, Teddy.”
Teddy smiled, his eyes half-open with drowsiness behind the stuffed wolf, “Okay.”
Sirius prepared his softest voice, and then recited—
“You may give your children your love, but not your thoughts.
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the House of Tomorrow, which you cannot visit, even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.
You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.”
Sirius lingered in the shadows on the last stair before entering the kitchen. Tonks and Remus were washing the dishes, and Moony was humming low under his breath, too low even for Sirius to catch which song.
Tonks finished hand-toweling her plate and set it on the dish rack to dry and Sirius saw her steel a glance up at the man beside her. Sirius knew what she was looking for.
Tomorrow the September Full Moon would rise, and Remus was going to spend the Full in search of his former pack members. Tonks was no fool; Sirius knew that she had realized who Remus had gone in search of that day, where he had been going any chance he had between Order missions.
Moony hummed, a sad smile on his lips, his warm brown eyes glazed slightly, and Sirius knew that Moony did not really see the soap suds and the pots and pans he was scrubbing with those beautiful long, scarred hands. Remus was pale already, and he leaned one hip against the counter for support as he scrubbed; every now and then he would set aside the sponge to let a slight tremor shake his limbs before returning to the washing.
“Sirius?” Remus said, not glancing away from the sink.
Tonks looked around in surprise and Sirius stepped off that last stair into the kitchen. So, the game was up.
Remus turned away from the sink, leaning against it as a shiver shook him slightly, “Bedtime went alright?”
Sirius nodded, squaring his shoulders.
Moony sighed, “There’s no need for that, Sirius.”
Tonks’ eyes darted between the two of them, her face clouded with confusion, “No need for what?”
Teddy was upstairs, sound asleep now, and yes, Tonks was there, but she was family, and she could handle seeing Sirius’ temper flaring, and so Sirius did not hold himself back as he bristled and raised a finger, pointing at Moony, “There most certainly is! I know what you’re going to say—”
“I want you to come with me tomorrow night, Sirius,” Remus said, taking all of the air out of Sirius’ lungs, “I need you to help me.”
Tonks’ mouth fell open just as Sirius’ did.
“W-what?” Sirius stammered.
Moony smiled, his eyes lit with that mischief of old, of years long ago, as he continued, “You heard me. I shan’t repeat it.”
Sirius stepped forward, his heart fluttering, “You…want me to help?”
Remus lifted his slightly tremoring left hand, his thumb moving to twist the ring there on his fourth finger, “You don’t have to look too shocked, love. I know this is new for me…for us…but we’re married now. I never wanted to run in the forest alone. And wasn’t I always meant to be one of a set, if the Seer spoke true? Tomorrow night, the wolf will search for what is left of his pack. But the search would never be complete. Not without Padfoot.”
Sirius stared at Remus; beside the tall man, Tonks gaped up at him. But Moony just smiled that soft smile of his, those brown eyes flecked with green were dancing, and oh…they were so warm.
“Yes,” Sirius said, “Yes.”
It had been many moons since Sirius had seen the transformation first-hand. And he had not yet seen the Alpha’s magic in Remus’ wolf form either; but even with the pack broken and dismantled, the Alpha’s magic returned to the wolf on the Full Moon. It knew that the pack was in danger; that the mantle of Alpha had not been rightfully taken.
The magic was not as strong, for it was not as set in stone, but it was there all the same.
Sirius Apparated them to the outskirts of the forest in the Scottish Highlands where the pack had been attacked by Greyback and his followers. Where Padfoot had rescued Remus. It was where Remus insisted they begin the search—wolves could not Apparate, and so Greyback’s ilk must have taken Remus' pack members on foot. Though Remus' human form had failed to yet find them, Sirius was certain the wolf could.
Sirius helped prop Remus up against the base of a tree as the sun’s dying rays sank below the horizon. Remus shook and shivered, but his eyes were clear and determined, and then he had taken Sirius’ hand.
“If the wolf howls the order at Padfoot, sending him away…you must go,” Remus breathed.
Sirius scowled and opened his mouth to protest.
“For Teddy,” Remus said, his eyes intent on Sirius’ own.
Sirius swallowed, “You said you need my help—”
“And I do,” Remus said through gritted teeth as his body convulsed, arching his back, “But Teddy needs you more.”
Sirius’ heart thudded—No, no, I’m not leaving you—but he made himself think of Teddy, “Alright, I promise. Padfoot will leave if the wolf decides so.”
Remus smiled up at him and then reached out and put a hand on Sirius’ bare shoulder, Sirius had worn only trousers, considering he’d be Padfoot all night, and Remus’ trembling and over-warm fingers pressed into his skin, straining…
Sirius leaned in at once to Remus' pulling touch, kissing Moony deeply on the mouth, feeling the tremors as the Full Moon began to rise…
“I love you,” Remus whispered on his lips, “I love you, I love you, I love you...”
“As I love you,” Sirius whispered back, “Everything'll be alright. Padfoot’s going to be there. Padfoot will help.”
Sirius felt Moony smile against his lips, and then Moony pulled back, and his body locked, and then he screamed.
And screamed and screamed.
The Silencing Charms Sirius cast only worked outside the bounds of the clearing in which they had arrived in, and so after Sirius transformed, Padfoot heard each shriek, each snap of bone and tendon, and the sound of Remus’ body as it contorted atop fallen twigs and leaves…
And then the wolf emerged before Padfoot. And the magic of the Alpha rippled in the air off the wolf’s thunder-cloud grey pelt—so rich and intoxicating was the Alpha's albeit-faint magic that it made Padfoot’s heart thrill. Such magnificence, such raw power, even in its muted state, and the wolf’s brilliant yellow eyes met his, and Padfoot reveled in the overflowing joy and triumph of throwing his head back and howling up at the Full Moon, signaling to the mighty wolf—I am your pack. I will help you find the others.
They ran through the forest, stride-for-stride, side-by-side. Nothing was as exciting as racing beside the wolf under the Full Moon’s bright pearly light, over hills and through the woodlands, chasing scents, howling and snapping at one another in the chase.
They reached the crest of a wooded hill and the wolf slowed, its hackles raised, its teeth flashing. Padfoot slowed, falling slightly behind the wolf as the remnants of its golden-grey Alpha magic swirled in the air around them.
The wolf growled low, a warning and a signal. Padfoot stepped slowly, copying the wolf’s careful paw-steps as they prowled toward the ravine ahead, toward that thick scent of blood and Dark canine magic that Padfoot recognized.
They reached the cliff edge of the rocky ravine, and looked down through the darkness. Below them were three enormous wolves, tightly encircling a huddle of five other wolves. The largest of the three domineering wolves had a pelt of mottled black and grey fur, so shaggy and dirty with mulch and bracken that it made Padfoot want to roll in a clear stream to clean his own fur off. This largest of the dominating wolves had salvia dripping from its jaws, its eyes were dominated by its pupils—all black. Its paws were gigantic, and lined with six-inch claws that scrapped against the stones it tred upon, making sparks.
Greyback’s wolf. From Padfoot’s vantage point, he could smell the rippling Darkness off of Greyback. His tongue curled on instinct, his jaws snapping.
Greyback snarled and the wolves in the huddle shrank back, bowing their heads, looking away. The blood in the air came from them—their snouts and flanks were a patch-work of bleeding wounds, their paws were a mess of chewed flesh. Their claws were gone.
Padfoot’s attention snapped back to Moony; his wolf was looking at him, the yellow eyes brighter than the Full Moon. Moony nudged Padfoot’s shoulder, signaling him to go forward along the ravine. Moony then jerked his head backward, signaling that he would stalk them from behind. Padfoot growled a nearly-silent consent, and then pressed his muzzle against the wolf’s, inhaling that sweetest and most wonderful of magic that came from both the wolf and from Remus. The wolf pressed his muzzle back against Padfoot, and Padfoot swore he felt some of the remnants of the Alpha’s magic seep under his fur, giving him a shock of energy and more of that deepest of fondness; of love.
They separated, and Padfoot dared one parting glance to the wolf as it disappeared under shadows. Then Padfoot stalked his way forward along the edge of the ravine, until he found a path down that would not betray his arrival, that was not strewn with pebbles or weak earth that would crumble loudly underpaw.
Padfoot utilized all the stealth he had learned during his escape from Azkaban to crawl silently down into ravine, to stalk forward unnoticed behind boulders toward the huddle of wolves before him.
Greyback’s wolf was snarling to his followers, urging them to pounce forward and strike at the wounded wolves huddled in the center circle. Howls of pain reached Padfoot’s ears, along with Greyback’s growls of pleasure.
There was no boundary between Greyback and his wolf, Padfoot knew, but he also knew that wolves were like humans, in that they were both animals, driven by bonds and wills to survive. Padfoot knew that Greyback had fallen into Darkness and depravity, just as the worst of humans may do. Just as Remus’ wolf never would, no matter its inherent nature to attack humans. Some humans, and some wolves, fall far, far below the evil that is inherent…
Padfoot leapt over the last of the boulders shielding him from the wolves. That enormous black and grey wolf that was Greyback lifted its head, its black eyes boring into Padfoot’s. He could have sworn Greyback’s wolf smiled as it howled.
But its howl was cut short by another.
Behind him, Moony emerged from the shadows at last. The faint magic of the Alpha filtered off his thunder-cloud grey pelt in waves, but it was his stance, his howl that spilt apart the night, that made the clouds part over the Full Moon and send down clear shafts of white light upon the ravine, that made the cowering, wounded wolves in the center circle raise their heads, their ears perk upwards, that made Padfoot’s blood sing—
Greyback turned in one swift stroke, and dove toward Moony.
And Padfoot launched himself into the fray, at Greyback’s two enormous followers.
The wolves in the center circle attacked, but not Padfoot. They attacked their captors. They fought tooth and claw beside the dog.
Snarls of pain tore the night, but Padfoot did not hear Moony’s among them as he tore into the wolves that had captured and tortured Moony’s pack. Those pack members fought at his side, and it was at their teeth that those wolves died, one by one. Padfoot stepped back, allowing the tortured wolves the killing blow, allowing them their deserved vengeance.
Only once those two wolves of Greyback’s were dead did Padfoot turn to look down the ravine—for he would allow Moony that same fight; that same deliverance of the final end to his enemy.
Greyback and Moony, blood seeping from their snouts and their sides, their fur congealed with it, circled one another. Teeth bared, hackles raised, claws drawn.
Padfoot waited, poised to attack. The other wolves, the rescued members of Remus’ pack, did the same. Their pack magic licked and called in the air—Pack, pack, pack. Alpha. Alpha. Alpha.
Yet, they too, did not act. They would give their Alpha his chance.
Greyback shook his shaggy shoulders, as if a fly pestered him, and launched himself forward.
Moony met him in mid-air.
They fought on their hind legs, forelegs pressed against the other’s chest, claws digging, and Moony dodged Greyback’s jaws, their howls making the strewn pebbles along the ravine floor tremble…
But Padfoot realized he knew that howl. It wasn’t the one that the wolf would use to send him away; to go back to Teddy. It wasn’t a howl of vengeful fury, or one of bloodlust. No...this was one he had not heard before, but that he knew all the same. It was a cry for help.
Padfoot took one second to snap his jaws menacingly at the wolves beside him conveying, Not you! Wait here! And then Padfoot ran.
Padfoot hit Greyback in the flank, his teeth sinking into coarse fur and thick, thick muscle. Greyback fell off Moony as Padfoot dove upon him, and Moony howled in pure elation as he fell back onto his four paws, launching himself anew toward Greyback—
Greyback scrambled and ran, running along the ravine, back the way Moony had stalked him from, away from the other wolves and Moony and Padfoot—
Moony’s howl was a call now, a Summons. His pack members fell in line at once and they were at Padfoot’s flank a moment later, all of them pelting after Greyback, Moony at the head—
Greyback was scrambling up the ravine, his desperation making his heart pound hot in the air and even Padfoot heard it and smelled it as he clawed up over the rocks after Moony. The other wolves whined and brayed behind him and Padfoot ached, remembering their shredded paws, their stolen claws.
Greyback reached the top of the ravine, and as he scrambled over the edge, Moony launched himself upon Greyback one last time, his forepaws digging into Greyback’s haunches, Greyback howled, turning, throwing Moony off him with one violent twist...
Padfoot would have screamed if he’d had the vocal cords. As it was, it came out as a long baying cry. Moony was falling, falling...falling down toward the jagged rock floor of the ravine—
And he landed upon those gathered bodies of the wolves below. They caught him on their backs, and then slowly parted, letting him rest softly upon the pebbles.
Padfoot caught the fleeting glimpse of Greyback’s fleeing pelt as he streaked off into the night before Padfoot twisted and dove back down into the ravine, back to Moony.
Moony was already trying to lift himself up, one leg buckling beneath him as he growled in frustration. The other wolves circled him now, heads low, muzzles sweeping the stony ground, but Moony clamped down on the wrath in his throat, his Alpha’s magic swelling in the night air around them as he limped forward, licking the wolves’ wounds one by one, his tongue rasping over their ravaged paws, their bleeding snouts…
And then Moony came to stand in front of Padfoot.
Padfoot wasted no time, he bent his forelegs at once, and knelt before Moony.
He heard Moony’s soft hum, emanating from deep within his throat, and felt the magic embalming the air around him; imbuing itself into Padfoot’s black fur. And then the wolf’s breath was warm near Padfoot's ear, and Moony licked his snout, slowly and softly.
A thanks and more...so much more...
The Alpha leaned back and howled.
His pack answered in turn.
Padfoot sat restlessly among the boulders, and among the groans of pain, as the sky lightened. The wolves slouched against boulders and upon the stony ravine floor, their bones snapping, their skin shifting—but Padfoot only had eyes for one wolf. Only ever had eyes for one wolf.
As the sun’s first rays pierced their way through the forest canopy overhead, Remus lay naked upon the rocks. Sirius transformed immediately, and was at Remus’ side a moment later.
“He escaped,” was the first thing Remus murmured as Sirius helped him sit upright.
“I should have gone after him,” Sirius said, “I should have—”
Remus pressed a shaking hand to Sirius’ chest, and Sirius found all words had vacated him. He just stared at Moony, at those wells of brown eyes, flecked with green, that reflected the forest so.
“I couldn’t have saved them without you,” Remus said.
For a moment, Greyback was just a passing thought. A nightmare that vanished with morning’s light. At least he was to Sirius, in that moment. Because all he thought and saw was Remus—the humans now emerging from their wolf forms that were Remus’ pack would be allies Sirius would get to know and more fully appreciate later, but for now there was just him and Moony, and the fact that Remus had needed him; and that he, Sirius and Padfoot, had helped.
Sirius leaned forward and kissed Remus in a single breath. The Alpha’s now fully renewed magic swam around them but that wasn’t what made Sirius feel invincible, that wasn't what made him feel like no matter the threat, that they’d overcome it all...that no matter all the times he’d doubted, or been defeated, or all the times he’d thwarted, or the years he’d spent imprisoned, or even that brief and harrowing time he had dueled with Bellatrix in the Death Chamber…that none of it could not touch him; touch them.
It was all just brushstrokes upon the piece of art. The artwork that was him and Moony. Together, until the end.
But if you love and must needs have desires, let these be your desires:
To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night.
To know the pain of too much tenderness…
And to bleed willingly and joyfully.
To wake at dawn with a winged heart
And give thanks to another day of loving.