Pursuing Hunter's Moon

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Pursuing Hunter's Moon

Thursday 18 September – Wednesday 8 October 1986

Foss, Perthshire; Old Basford, Nottingham.

Rated PG for adult themes (money, industrial relations and crime).

Remus awoke abruptly. The moon had certainly set, for the ice seeping through his robes warned him that he had lost his wolf's hair. Opposite him, Connell Dewar jerked upwards against the tree to which he was still chained.

"The woluf did come," said Connell. "I almost thoucht I didna transforrum, but I hed woluf-paws."

Remus hauled himself stiffly to his feet. "Shall I unchain you?" The damp wind cutting through his cloak was thoroughly unpleasant.

"Dinna do thet! Grendma will be angry. She's not knowing that I'm not a rrreal woluf any more." Connell suddenly stood stock-still, as if he had only just heard his own words. "I'm still a woluf, but I'm not a danger. If Arrriadne gives me her medicine everrry month I winnot be hurrtin' anybody ever."

He broke into the first smile that Remus had ever seen on his face.

* * * * * * *

Connell Dewar was a Muggle, and Connell Dewar was a strikingly confused human being. It was clear that, as an objective reporter, his word would be worth even less than Remus's. "Besides," said Ariadne, "we cannot publish results on a sample of two." They could not progress any further without a larger sample, so the next day Remus owled Sturgis Podmore to ask for a copy of the Werewolf Registry.

It arrived a week later, on a lecture-free day when Remus was supposed to be writing essays. He had assumed that he and Ariadne would read the Registry together, but of course he couldn't settle to write essays when the document that had controlled his life was finally in his hands. It was a manila folder of Zerocso pages. The introduction began:

There are 67 werewolves currently living in the British Isles. Sixty-two are wizards, five are Muggles. Thirty-three are male, 34 are female...

It wasn't that Remus hadn't known what to expect. A list of names, addresses, dates... why else would a Registry be kept? But when his own name leapt out at him, the reality struck him very forcefully. His life. Chronicled, by some official who had never met him, for every eye to read.

Name: Remus John Lupin.

Born: 10 March 1959.

Pedigree: Both parents magical; all grandparents Muggles.

Bitten: 6 July 1963.

By: Fenrir Greyback.

The words leapt out and slapped him in the face. They knew who had bitten him. It was public knowledge. Yet... the Ministry official who had grilled his parents, nearly a quarter of a century earlier, had claimed that they hadn't known the identity of his assailant.

Perhaps they hadn't, at the time. But they had evidently found out since. They had written it up on the public Registry. But they had never informed him. Had they ever informed his parents? If so, why had Mum and Dad never shared the information with him? Why does the Ministry know more about my life than I know myself?

He made himself keep reading.

Last Known Address: 24, Spurge Street, Old Basford, Nottingham.

Human Connections: Married Ariadne Feiltiarna MacDougal (pure-blood) on 6 July 1985 and still legally bound.

He had been so overwhelmed by reading Mr Greyback's name that he had only half-noticed the coincidence of the date. But it struck him between the eyes now. His wedding day had been the anniversary of his biting. Everyone who ever read the Registry would know that. And it had never occurred to him. He hadn't known the date of his biting.

He tried to tell himself that he would still want to celebrate their wedding anniversary next year. But... they knew about Ariadne. He was suddenly glad that she was at work. She didn't need to know that she had fallen under suspicion, was under some kind of Ministry surveillance as a woman who had abandoned respectable society in order to "bind" herself to a monster.

Victims: None known so far.

None known? Not, "no victims," but, "none known so far."

Died:

And there was a space on the last line, waiting for some official to add the date of his final demise.

He wondered what had happened to Mr Greyback. Whose responsibility had it been to care for him during his Transformations, and by what accident had the safety measures failed on that night? Had he been carted off to Azkaban? With trial or without? They must have told the poor man that he had bitten a child. Had he been wracked with remorse? Had he tried to contact the Lupin family, expressed any apology or regret?

The questions crowded through Remus's mind so noisily that he was barely aware of how he had been flipping the pages until Mr Greyback's profile stared him in the face. It was very long.

Name: Fenrir Greyback.

Born: 21 January 1924.

Pedigree: All grandparents magical.

Bitten: 13 September 1943.

By: Shual Zev.

Last Known Address: Itinerant, presumed sylvanian.

Human Connections: Allied with Him-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

Victims:

The list of victims filled the page. Fifty people, mainly Muggles, had been savaged to death. Two hundred and seventeen children, all Muggles, had been bitten and had died during their first Transformation. And his own name was listed among the thirty-one living wizards and witches whom Greyback had reduced to lycanthropy.

Two hundred and ninety-eight victims? That was too many accidents. Did Greyback plan to bite? – or was some person using him as a tool? Yet it didn't seem that he had ever been arrested – why not?. Did "sylvanian" mean that Greyback was camping in some forest – which forest? And did such a vague address mean he was still at large, poised to attack again?

Feverishly, Remus turned to Shual Zev's page. The entry was short. Shual Zev had been a refugee from Poland. Fenrir Greyback had been his only victim. Mr Zev had died six weeks after this biting. Remus could guess the cause of death.

By the time he had read the profile of every British werewolf, a definite pattern was emerging. Thirty-one of the sixty-seven living werewolves had been bitten by Greyback. Twenty-seven were the work of his betas. All of these had been bitten when they were less than eight years old. Only nine living werewolves had a pedigree unrelated to Greyback. These nine included all five of the Muggles. All seven of their alphas had been captured. Only two had needed the silver bullet; the other five had mysteriously "died" within days of discovering their mistake.

But when it came to the Greyback victims... again and again the ledger read like this.

By: Fenrir Greyback.

Last Known Address: Itinerant, presumed sylvanian.

Human Connections: Allied with Greyback.

Was there a whole colony of werewolves somewhere out in the forests? What was this "alliance"? Was this some kind of premeditated attack against human society? If so, why were Greyback's betas never captured?

Remus began to be glad that Shual Zev had not lived to see any of this. It appeared that, before Mr Zev's arrival in Britain, the werewolf problem had been under control.

It made sense of Ariadne's assertion that "nobody had cared enough to research a cure." When there were only a few werewolves, it was easy to restrain them, therefore a waste of resources to invest in research. When there were many, people were too much afraid of them to want to give any help.

And it seemed that civilised society actually had a good reason to fear Greyback. Remus repressed the bile rising in his throat as he asked himself what might have been done to Greyback to inspire such an uncontrollable revenge against the whole world...

He tried to remind himself why he was reading the Registry. He was looking for werewolves who were interested in researching a cure for lycanthropy. Obviously none of Greyback's allies would want to support the advancement of civilised society. The werewolves to contact were the Muggles.

They all had normal addresses. Remus supposed he could buy stamps and envelopes at an ordinary Muggle post office.

* * * * * * *

"I'm not seeing any problem," repeated Ariadne when she finally came home. She was only an hour late, but she looked pale and drawn, and she didn't volunteer any information about whatever Jigger had made her do with the day. "You'll write to these people, I'll brew the Wolfsbane Potion, and if they are interested we'll take it to them. But, Remus, today I – "

"The problem is with transport," said Remus. "These people live all over the place – can you even find their homes on a map?" He opened an atlas that he had borrowed from the local library along with Experimental Design and Method and Helping the Reluctant Reader.

"Of course I can. Here is Lancashire... here is Essex... why are you laughing?"

"I'm not laughing," he fibbed hastily. "I'm wondering if you have any idea how far those places are from Nottingham. How long would it take us to travel to all of them using Muggle methods?"

She considered. "Do those Muggle trains go faster than the Hogwarts Express? Even if they do, I'm supposing it would take two or three days to round the whole country. I was not thinking we should travel like Muggles. We could take the Knight Bus, or..."

"Sweetheart, that's what I'm trying to tell you. The Knight Bus would charge us separately for each leg of the journey – that means over four Galleons a day, for eight days, for just one of us to go. And it wouldn't be for just the one week; we'd have to make some arrangement for every month. Even if we could fit a round trip into a single evening, we haven't the money to finance all that."

As he spoke, he knew how mean-spirited he sounded. Ariadne survived on astonishingly little money. She had cheerfully refused when Kingsley had invited them to join the group on last summer's camping holiday in Cornwall. She hadn't demanded home renovations or elaborate furnishings. She had had no new clothes since they were married. She grew her own Potions supplies. When she wanted books she went to the council library. And what money they had was currently being absorbed by his education. Now she wanted something that cost money, and not even something for herself, but something born of that youthful idealism that he had promised her never to crush.

And he had to tell her that they couldn't afford it.

Ariadne looked as if she might be trying to reply, but before she could say anything coherent, she was interrupted by a crackle of sparks in the fireplace. The green flares in the flames warned them that someone was trying to Floo them, and soon Sturgis Podmore's head appeared in the hearth.

"Come in, Sturgis." Remus hoped he sounded as if he meant it. "We were just about to boil the kettle." Ariadne was moving towards the kitchen before he closed his mouth. She must be aching to argue her case, to plead that the money would grow on some tree somewhere, but she simply smiled brightly at Sturgis as he stepped into their lounge then began to fill the kettle.

"Hope you're having a good day." Sturgis seemed to be speaking with an equally false heartiness. "Oh, you've been reading the Werewolf Registry. Did it tell you what you wanted to know?"

"Yes, thanks. It's been... enlightening. And how are you?"

Sturgis stretched out on the sofa and said, "Well enough. I'm planning my trip to Romania – at last."

"Sturgis," said Ariadne suddenly, "what's wrong?"

"I have a great deal of free time on my hands. So I'm looking on the bright side and thinking of it as my opportunity to visit Romania."

"Are you meaning that you've lost your job?"

"Well, yes. But I was bored with the job anyway. I – "

A horrible suspicion crept through Remus's mind. "Is that because of me? Tell the truth, Sturgis. Were you not allowed to hand the Werewolf Registry around to real werewolves?"

"What?" Sturgis looked genuinely surprised. "Oh no, it's nothing to do with you, Remus. I'm encouraged to show the Werewolf Registry to as many people as possible. No, I've been caught out in a totally illegal crime, one that I knew would be serious before I agreed to do it." He spooned three sugars into the mug of tea that Ariadne held out to him. "The person whom I was illicitly obliging was your friend Miss Webster. By the way, does she have a boyfriend?"

"Sarah always has a boyfriend," said Ariadne.

"Pity. But never mind. Miss Webster breezed into my office without an appointment two days ago, saying she urgently needed a Portkey for Ministry-disapproved business. She had written out the co-ordinates of where she was going..."

"Sarah?" asked Remus incredulously. He knew perfectly well that Sarah couldn't have calculated the co-ordinates of the next room.

"Why not? She's a clever young lady. I saw at once that the co-ordinates would take her right inside Macnair Castle, but she hadn't mentioned the address, so I didn't let on that I'd worked out her destination. I just made her the Portkey, took her money, and wrote down in the record that it was for a 'private visit'."

Ariadne was now ashen. "Sturgis... in how much trouble are you?"

Sturgis gulped at his tea. "I suppose that's what I've come to ask you. Did Miss Webster discuss her plans with you?"

"Not before she acted. Remus," Ariadne turned to him, "Sarah took me to lunch today, and she was very... pleased with herself. She told me that she went to visit Veleta yesterday. I was assuming that she'd maybe Apparated to the front gate and waited until Veleta could let her in. She did not say, Sturgis, that she had taken an illegal Portkey, or that she'd involved you in making it. Perhaps she'd learned the co-ordinates from Hestia."

Remus began to grasp what had happened. Sturgis had stuck his head into a bee-hive in order to oblige a girl with hair like honey.

"I was happy to help," said Sturgis. "I knew that Miss Webster was going visiting without an invitation, but I assumed that you or Kingsley or the Joneses were in on the plan and had considered the dangers. Obviously something backfired, because Walden Macnair Flooed the Portkey Office this morning to complain about the intrusion. I explained that Miss Webster was Muggle-born and didn't understand the rules, at which Mr Macnair transferred his complaint to the Head of Department. And of course I was in trouble for authorising a Portkey without checking whether the client had an invitation. I was sacked on the spot, but I think I managed to keep Miss Webster out of trouble."

"Sturgis, you'd better take that holiday in Romania soon," advised Ariadne. "It's very unwise to anger the Macnair family. It's... oh, Sarah was not thinking! You've maybe kept her out of trouble with the Ministry, but you cannot keep her out of trouble with the Macnairs. And she told me today that everything had gone smoothly – she has yet no idea that she's made trouble for you."

Sturgis placed his empty mug on the floor. "I did it with my eyes open," he said reasonably. "I knew it was about Miss Vablatsky, and I was glad to help. It was Miss Webster who took all the real risks."

"Sarah never worries about danger," said Ariadne. "She's feeling her visit was a grand success. She said that Veleta recognised her at once from Locospecting her. And apparently they talked for hours."

Remus groaned inwardly. Sarah had evidently stirred up a cauldron of trouble without any awareness of the consequences. Just how gargantuan would the mess turn out to be?

"And Veleta told her... all kinds of things that... that she's had no time to discuss before." Ariadne closed her eyes. "It's not that I'm so surprised... but it's all so horrible..."

"Veleta's the new Aunt Keindrech, is she?"

"Pretty well. Ever since Dragomira was married, Regelinda has not known what to do with herself. Her only entertainment is to barge into Veleta's room and use her – and the children – as target practice."

Sturgis winced. Remus felt compelled to ask, "Did Sarah achieve anything useful with her visit?"

"She did start out with a useful plan," Ariadne said carefully. "She said that Veleta should leave by Portkey and report her whole story to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Once the Aurors knew the truth, they could return for the children and arrest the Macnairs. I'm supposing that plan... would look right to Sarah."

"You needn't say," said Remus. "But Veleta refused to leave her children."

"Of course she did. She tried to explain to Sarah... Regelinda would take revenge by increasing the target practice against them. And Cousin Humphrey once threatened that if ever Veleta left Foss, he'd track her down and Obliviate her memories of her bairns, so that she'd no longer be knowing that they ever existed. Then they'd lose their mother for the rest of their lives. The Macnairs are so adept at keeping a step ahead of the law... Veleta has good reasons to believe they would win the fight."

"Do you think Sarah understands that now?"

"Better than she did. She was telling me today that we must never discuss Veleta's circumstances with anybody who might make any kind of trouble for the Macnairs because that would only result in punishments for Veleta or the children. She announced with great enthusiasm that we have to think of a plan that will remove all the children at once."

"In other words, you've made no progress in helping Miss Vablatsky," said Sturgis. "It's a pity... Miss Webster seems such a down-to-earth person."

"Actually she discovered one small thing that might be useful," said Ariadne. "Sarah did quiz Veleta quite hard about the kinds of spells that might be keeping the children in the castle. But all Veleta was seeming to know about it was that nothing was ever done to the bairns. The spells have been part of the castle for hundreds of years. So then Sarah asked if any of the ghosts could help. Veleta said that only Aunt Keindrech was her friend, but that she was quite a new ghost, she'd not know about centuries-old spells. However, Sarah made Veleta Locospect where Aunt Keindrech was and fetch her into the sitting room. And of course it took ages to make Keindrech understand what they were wanting to know. And then Aunt Keindrech only repeated what she'd told me – that she was not knowing what kind of spell it was."

Remus found it difficult to imagine that Sarah would have accepted this reply.

"While Sarah was working on Aunt Keindrech, Regelinda walked in."

"What!" interjected Sturgis. "And Miss Webster still thinks she had a successful visit?"

"To be fair, Sarah handled the situation quite efficiently. Regelinda was so furious to see Sarah – whom she recognised, although she'd forgotten her name – that she turned Veleta into a rabbit on the spot. So then Sarah tried to turn Regelinda into a carrot, but of course it did not work – not in Macnair Castle. The hex did turn Regelinda's hair green, which made her even angrier. That gave Sarah time to end the spell on Veleta, which made Regelinda angrier than ever."

Sturgis was grinning, but Remus couldn't find it funny.

"Sarah pushed Regelinda out of the room, modified her memory, and slammed the door shut before Regelinda had time to reorient herself. Then Veleta implored her to leave – she said she'd be... in trouble..." Ariadne closed her eyes for a moment and shook her head. "It was while they arguing about that that Aunt Keindrech interrupted. 'I've thought of something,' she said. 'That spell used on the Macnair prisoners – it's about blood.' But when they asked what she meant, she just repeated that she was not knowing what kind of spell it was, but that it involved the Macnair blood."

Dark Magic again.

"When it became clear that Keindrech had no more to say, and that Veleta would not touch Sarah's Portkey, Sarah really did leave. So we did learn one thing. All the same... I'm wishing Sarah had consulted the rest of us before she acted."

"Did you tell her so?" A superfluous question, he knew.

"Of course not. There was no point after the event, and she was meaning no harm. But the consequences... well, Sarah's never thinking about much beyond the immediate emergency."

"Obviously the Macnairs know that there has been an intruder," said Sturgis. "How do you think they worked it out?"

"They have their ways," Remus sighed. "If the children said anything... if Aunt Keindrech were in a talkative mood... if Veleta had to describe her day under Veritaserum... if a hair fell from Sarah's head, or if she left a fingerprint on a table... by the time Walden Macnair complained to the Portkey Office, he must have known who had intruded."

Sturgis sat up in alarm. "So Miss Webster is in trouble?"

"She should probably take a very long trip to New York," said Ariadne. "It's safe to assume that both you and she have joined the list of the Banned."

After Sturgis had left, Ariadne said, "A blood spell. That might be one clue that matters. Ghosts do not always talk sensibly, but... how can we find out about blood?"

"Nowhere respectable," Remus pointed out. "A spell that requires blood usually involves the Dark Arts. Even that Protection Charm on the Macnair descendants... it may have saved your life, but I wonder if it were the kind of spell that Professor Dumbledore would use."

Ariadne shuddered palpably beside him and drew her hand across her forehead, as if to drive away disturbing thoughts. "That's what made me think Aunt Keindrech could be right. We're knowing that the Macnairs have already used one blood-spell. What if there's another... one that keeps all Macnairs inside Macnair Castle? Veleta's children are Macnairs. It would explain why she could take a Portkey when her bairns could not."

"But it wouldn't explain more basic things. Such as – for a simple example – why Regelinda was able to go to Hogwarts. Why your grandfather was able to move out, and why you can't even enter. Various Macnairs have been leaving the castle for all kinds of reasons for centuries. There won't be a straightforward explanation for why Veleta's children can't."

Ariadne nodded unhappily. "I'll research blood-charms. But I'm not expecting to find any answers quickly."

"Sweetheart, how will you find time to do that? Your working hours aren't becoming any shorter, and we were discussing the time-shortage before Sturgis arrived."

"That's right. Before we were interrupted I was going to say: if we cannot travel to all those werewolves, we'll have to ask them to come to us."

"Here? In this house?" He was aware that she had changed the subject, but the last thing he wanted to encourage was yet another extra research project, so he was glad to bring his mind – and hers, he hoped – back to the werewolves.

"Unless you've a better idea... could we not have guests for a week?"

He doubted they would come. The werewolves who could afford the train fare were the ones who had jobs, which meant they wouldn't want to spend a whole week in a strange city. But it was the only plan they had, so he nodded and asked, "Where do you propose they sleep?"

"I'm assuming only one or two will agree to come... can you not Transfigure the attic or the garage into a suitable room? You enlarged the parlour at Kincarden."

He supposed he could; if he did it carefully, the neighbours would never notice. The real question was whether Ariadne understood the magnitude of her own generosity. "Ariadne, are you sure you're wanting strangers in your house for that long?"

She shrugged. "I'm not seeing how else we can distribute the potion. Remus, I am knowing we'll maybe meet some... uncomfortable people. Not everybody is noble like you, or innocent like Connell Dewar. But what else can we do?"

He could think of a dozen alternatives, but they all involved requesting help from the Ministry or the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers. So he nodded again. "You're right, there's no other way for now. We've left it too late to make elaborate plans for this month – perhaps we should invite only Connell to stay this time. That'll give you time to think about whether you really want to play hotels in November."

She agreed. For a second she seemed to be sitting at a great distance, although she was actually curled under his arm. She was too loyal to complain about their financial situation, but when she was so emotionally invested in this werewolf project, of course his poor providing skills must bother her.