McKay (scribbulus_ink) wrote in time_of_storms, @ 2006-01-31 11:06:00 |
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Entry tags: | chronological, lupin |
Remus: September 25, 1997
Original poster: werwolfoflondon
Music: Darkness at Collinwood, by the Robert Corbert Orchestra
The ancient, gnarled trees overshadowed the narrow path, creating a pervasive gloom, and Remus sat back against the plush seat of the carriage, peering out at the dense forest beyond. He expected the carriage to stop at any moment and the driver to tell him to get out, but the wheels continued to creak and turn, and the carriage jostled on its way without any signs of slowing.
Ivan had loaned him the use of one of the school's carriages to take him to the nearest werewolf pack, and Remus had accepted gratefully. He had directions, but he was unfamiliar with the countryside, and he wasn't certain whether the paths that looked safe on the map weren't actually will-o-wisp infested bogs.
The road ahead grew wider, and the enveloping darkness of the forest began to lighten. Remus leaned forward, frowning when he realized the trees were thinning, a sign that they were coming out of the woods. Was this some kind of trick? he wondered. If so, who was playing it - Voldemort or Ivan?
He leaned back again when he felt the change in the path; there were cobblestones mixed with the dirt and crushed grass now, heralding their approach to a village. The stones grew more prevalent, the clop of the horses' hooves ringing rather than plodding dully with each step, and Remus expected them to drive straight through. He glanced idly at the buildings as they passed by, noting the stained glass windows of a church. But no sooner had they passed the church when the carriage began to slow down, and then it came to a full stop.
Remus sat up straight, alert, his hand straying to his wand as he waited to find out what was going on. He heard the thud of the driver's boots as he jumped down, followed by footsteps, and then the carriage door opened, and the driver peered inside.
"We are here," he announced brusquely.
Remus picked up his bag and climbed down, glancing around at what appeared to be a nondescript - and very quiet - village like any other.
"Where is here, exactly?"
"You wanted to be taken to the werewolves closest to Durmstrang." The driver hooked his thumbs in his belt and spat. "Here they are."
With that, the driver climbed back up into his seat, grabbed the reins, and with a flick of his whip, he was off, leaving Remus to stare after him, dumbfounded.
"But..." he said to no one in particular, trailing off before someone could catch him talking to himself.
Shouldering his bag, he looked around for any sign of activity, but he supposed most people were at work at this time of day. It seemed he had two options if he wanted to find another living soul: the pub or the church. He could hear muffled sounds from within the pub that suggested activity, and the church door stood open as if in invitation. Not quite willing to barge into a room of strangers, especially if some of them happened to be werewolves who might not take kindly to outsiders intruding on their territory, he headed for the church instead.
The muffled quiet that seemed to fill all churches, especially those as old as this one, surrounded him as soon as he walked in. Even the sunlight was dulled, filtered through the heavy stained glass windows, casting multi-hued light on the tombs lining the walls of the sanctuary.
At the altar, he saw a man - a priest, by the look of his clothes - kneeling in front of a table covered in candles, some lit and some unlit, and even though Remus' footsteps were muffled by a narrow carpet worn thin by the tread of countless feet down the aisle, the man rose and turned as if sensing his approach. The thick scent of incense and candles filled Remus' nose, but not so much that he didn't catch the wild tang emanating from the priest as he drew nearer.
The priest spoke, but Remus shook his head. "I'm sorry, I speak English."
"Ah." The priest nodded and stepped forward, extending his hand. "I said welcome, brother. I recognize you as you have recognized me."
"Yes." Remus smiled and shook the priest's offered hand. "My name is Remus Lupin. A pleasure to meet you."
"Father Henri Manette. You are a long way from home, Mssr. Lupin," he remarked.
"I could say the same of you," Remus replied, raising a questioning eyebrow. "Manette isn't exactly a local surname."
"No." Father Manette chuckled. "Beauxbatons, 1984. My home is - was - near Lourdes."
"Hogwarts, 1978." Remus lowered his bag to the floor and sat down in the front row of pews. "How did you end up here, may I ask?"
"I was led," Father Manette replied, lifting both hands and turning his face upward for a moment; when he looked at Remus again, his expression was shrewd. "You were not led. You were sent. My next question, naturally, is by whom? Which side seeks us out?"
Remus couldn't hide his surprise, and Father Manette smiled gently.
"Yes, I have heard of your war."
"Well, then I see no reason not to come straight to the point." Remus shrugged and spread his hands. "I was sent by Lord Voldemort, but I haven't come on his behalf. I come on behalf of the Order of the Phoenix, those who oppose him."
Manette's eyebrows climbed nearly to his hairline. "You walk a dangerous path."
"Indeed." Remus' smile turned rueful. "If I could speak to the alpha-"
"You are speaking to the alpha." Manette clasped his hands behind his back, the glint in his eyes belying the ease of his stance. "This is my village, and these are my people, Mssr. Lupin. If you wish to negotiate, you will do so with me."
Remus inclined his head in a respectful, but not submissive acknowledgment. "My apologies, Father. I didn't realize."
"Why should you?" Manette smiled broadly and took a seat beside Remus. "The role of an alpha and the role of a priest would seem to be at odds, but I was a man of God before I was ever a slave of the moon. I still turn the other cheek when I can." He smiled again, and it was far more feral than friendly this time. "Although sometimes taking guidance from the Old Testament is far more effective."
Like Remus, Manette's light brown hair was turning grey, although his face was unlined, and his cheeks held a flush of pink that spoke of youth, as if he were fresh out of the seminary. The austere black cassock hid his strength, but Remus didn't doubt he would find Father Manette a formidable opponent should they fight. Brawn wasn't everything, after all.
"So." Father Manette's pale eyes searched Remus' face. "What did you come all this way to ask of me and mine?"
"Assistance," Remus said simply. "Or neutrality. Voldemort wants more werewolves on his side. I'm trying to convince those at home to stay out of it. The Order has lost its leader, and we're still reeling from the blow. If you won't help us, then I ask that you don't harm us either."
"Why not? From what I hear, our kind do not fare well in England." He raked his gaze up and down Remus. "What I see only supports that rumor."
Remus felt heat rising in his face at Father Minette's assessing once-over. "No," he admitted. "But knowing what I do of Voldemort, I fear we will fare worse under him. Moreover, if he wins this war, he won't be content for long. He will turn his eye to the Continent, wanting to expand his rule. It may take a while for him to reach Bulgaria, but he will try if he isn't stopped. He's greedy and power hungry. The Ministry may not treat us well, but it isn't concerned with conquest or expansion."
Manette leaned back and stroked his chin. "You do not think Voldemort will honor alliances if we assist him?"
"He kills his own people - his most loyal supporters - without remorse," Remus said flatly. "He'll conveniently forget alliances if it doesn't suit his purposes to remember."
"But your Ministry will?"
Remus didn't miss the sardonic note in Manette's voice. "The Ministry has its faults, but I would still choose it over Voldemort. The lesser of two evils, perhaps," he said with a rueful sigh, raking his fingers through his hair. "There are problems, but we still have freedom. We still have choices. I have faith things could change for the better, even for our kind if we don't fight for him. I have no hope of convincing the others to fight against him, but even neutrality is better for us in the long run."
"I mean no offense, Mssr. Lupin, but it looks as if something needs to change." He reached out and fingered the worn, threadbare cuff of Remus' shirt.
"It does. I won't deny it." Remus glanced down, embarrassed that even his best clothes were now fit for the bin. "But Voldemort is not the change we need."
"And you are convinced of this?" At Remus' firm, decisive nod, Manette studied him in silence for a long moment. "You are honest. I will give what you say some thought. In the meantime, you will be my guest. If you wish to meet with the other packs, I can take you to them."
"I would appreciate that," Remus replied, relieved that he wouldn't have to track them down by himself on foot.
As they rose and he followed Manette out of the church, a hundred questions crowded in his mind. How did a priest come to be the alpha of a pack? And not just any pack, but one which seemed to have made a comfortable home for itself in this village among humans. He wanted to ask about the laws and conditions for werewolves in Bulgaria, but he held his tongue for now. It seemed he would be spending a great deal of time with Father Manette while he was carrying out his mission, and there would be time enough to get the answers to his questions later.
Patience, Remus, he thought. With any luck, he might return home not only with new allies for the Order, but also with new ideas about how to change things for the better for his kind at home. If he did, he would gladly bear whatever punishment Voldemort meted out for his failure. In his eyes, the mission would be an unqualified success.