Remus Lupin

“Of course,” Igor replied, leaning back on the rungs of the ladder. He paused, about to point the other wizard in the right direction, before remembering that he and Volkov had recently moved some of the genre sections around. The books on Dark Beasts were now located towards the back of the shop, their former place taken up by several large orders of new cursebooks that had come in recently. The books on beasts would be hard to find through the twisting aisles of bookshelves for someone who was new to the bookshop. “I will show you,” he said, resisting the urge to sigh in the face of this obligation of his job. 

Descending from the ladder, he brushed lingering dust from his hands and ran one through his hair, pushing the curls away from his brow. “What sort of books are you looking for?” he asked. He glanced around quickly just to make sure that there were no other customers in need of anything, then indicated with a tilt of his head that the newcomer should follow him. “You are looking for something about what sort of beast?”

As subjects went, books on magical creatures were a less common request than something like cursebooks or tomes of dangerous potion recipes. It wasn’t unheard of, though, with people either coming in search of a present for someone or looking to find out more about a specific creature. Or, on occasion, just someone who liked animals, like Septimus Crabbe. Who, had it not been for the Dark Beasts section in the shop, Igor would still firmly believe couldn’t actually read.

Leaving behind the open space of the front area of the bookshop, he led the way into the shadows of the shelves. All around them the books whispered, an almost-silent rustle of paper and old leather. An owl hooted from its perch atop one of the lamps high up on the wall to their left, glaring down at them with wide orange eyes. Dust motes hung in the air, as if subtly mocking Igor for the task he’d just stepped away from. 

“Be careful not to touch the books on the higher shelfs,” he warned the man walking at his side. “Some of them, they have hexes on them. The ones that are more low, they are all safe.” There were fewer truly dangerous books available on the shelves than many people might think, but in Knockturn Alley, reputation counted for a lot. And customers tended to be better about keeping their grubby hands to themselves if they thought there was a very good chance they might lose one of them by grabbing hold of the wrong book.

It had occurred to Remus that questions like this might come up, given the nature of any book keep’s job. They were there to help customer’s to narrow down to the specifics and make the transaction as seamless as possible. Especially in a shop like this where it wouldn’t be advisable to go digging around without any form of guidance. That in mind, he had prepared to be able to answer as naturally as possible, hopefully avoiding drawing attention to himself or his true interests.

“Mostly looking for something that veers a bit from the usual faire, so I didn’t have anything that specific in mind.” Only half a lie. “I tend to consume books almost as frequently as oxygen,” he jested with hint of a smirk pulling at his lips. “So, the Diagon shops aren’t really doing it for me anymore. Just the same information rehashed over and over without ever actually delving into the subject, like children’s bedtime stories.” Remus arched a brow at the other man, wondering if he could relate. He would assume that most anyone that chose to work somewhere like a bookshop could at least hold some sympathy for such a plight.

Once given warning about the books on the top shelves (that didn’t feel quite as high up to Remus as they might most), Remus glanced up and carefully tucked his hands into his back pockets. A necessary preventative measure when he knew he had a tendency to reverently run his fingers over spines, as if somehow touching them further instilled their importance and could perhaps give him some insight into their contents.

Those Castle Walls | open | Aug 14th 1980

The village was quiet today. Actually, it was always astonishingly calm whenever he visited outside of the Hogwarts’ calendar, but it never ceased to surprise him. Without the kids clamouring the streets and the rush of business owners wanting to earn their monthly wages with their help, it all felt like a different world. 

Throughout the years, Hogsmeade was a background of so many of his memories. Some fond, some a bit less, but it always carried a sense of homecoming. Hogsmeade was as much of a home to him as Hogwarts was. 

There was, however, a small influence brought on by a certain godfather - one that had threatened promised to be the first one to show Harry the school, preferably by pretending to be a well-behaved dog on his first train ride. And James was having none of that. 

Spurred on by the ancient need to be the first one to introduce Harry to the magical world and having such a debilitating feeling of dread that Sirius could ever up him in the endeavour, he did the only logical thing he could think of - he grabbed Harry and then his stroller, followed by a bunch of toys and poofed them into Hogsmeade.  

Of course, a two-week old new-born couldn’t really appreciate the effort or the views, but it was almost therapeutic for James. Being this close to Hogwarts it simply had to bring in the feeling of comfort. And frankly, he needed a space to think - something that a child’s cooing wasn’t disturbing but a house full of excited uncles (and one aunt) was. And there was a lot that he had to think through. A lot that he technically has been already trying to mull over long before Harry was even born, but he had never made any conclusive decisions. The war and their involvement in it - perhaps he should step down from the Order now that he was responsible for more people, - being only a few most important ones.

They have already made it all the way from the village back to the closed gates when he realised they weren’t alone. A person apparated nearby, perhaps someone with a business with the school, but he couldn’t really see the face of the newcomer to be able to tell who it was. And if his hand closed instinctively on his wand then it was unconsciously done. 

‘Who’s there?’

An owl had come from Dumbledore earlier that day, requesting Remus to come by and discuss something that he didn’t disclose. Not that Remus didn’t know what it wouldn’t entail. Werewolves. It always came back to werewolves lately, but who knows, maybe Dumbledore would surprise him. 

It took him some time to finish up his editing for the day, after all the bills wouldn’t pay themselves, but eventually Remus reorganized his desk just so before locking up the flat and making his way to the nearest apparition point.

He wasn’t expecting anyone to be at the gates of the school when he popped into existence just outside of the school grounds, and the voice that greeted him caused him to nearly jump out of his own skin. “Shit!” One hand to his chest and the other to his wand, Remus cast his gaze around only to land on the last thing he expected to see. James Potter pushing around a fucking pram. That was definitely something he wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to.

Knockturnal Ventures || Igor and Remus || July 12, 1980

Date: July 12th, 1980 Time: late morning Location: Volkov’s Books, Knockturn Alley @lxxnymoony

If there was one major failing on the part of magical innovation, it was the lack of perfect dusting spells. Of this, Igor Karkaroff was certain. Yes, there were plenty of Cleaning charms, many of which worked on dusty messes. But none, he thought grimly as he dragged a cloth along the top shelf of books nearest the front window, that actually kept the stupid dust away for good. Nor that got in between the books with the necessary finesse managed by a simple cloth. It was annoying to have to resort to non-magical methods, but it got the job done.

And took longer. Which was occasionally a good thing, he considered, listening with half an ear to Volkov’s accented voice patiently explaining to a customer the difference between biographies and novels for the seventh time in as many minutes from somewhere amongst the aisles of bookshelves. As long as Igor remained here on the library ladder, industriously scrubbing away at dust, he didn’t have to face the ultimate inconvenience of retail workers everywhere: dealing with customers.

Unfortunately, this plan had a flaw. While Volkov’s Books of the Dark Magics was rarely a busy shop, located as it was deep in Knockturn Alley and selling merchandise of questionable intent, the occasion did arise when more than one customer needed assistance at the same time. 

The bell above the door gave a quiet jingle as a newcomer arrived. Igor glanced down from his perch at the wizard crossing the threshold. He was a young fellow, probably a handful of years Igor’s junior. All angled cheekbones and thoughtful expression under a mop of ruffled hair. Igor contemplated ignoring him for a moment, but there was the vague air about the wizard that spoke of being new to the shop. Not only did this mean that he would likely need help finding whatever he was looking for, it also meant that he might need warning about the more dangerous of the merchandise on the shelves. Escorting customers to St Mungo’s because they’d grabbed the wrong cursed book was always a bothersome chore.

“Hello,” he called down to him. He set the cloth down on the top of the shelf and half-turned on the rungs of the ladder to regard the wizard down on the shop floor. “You are looking for something in particularly?” It was always hard to know which customer might be a headache to deal with, but this one hadn’t come in blustering or full of demands, which was a good sign.

Bibliophile that he was, by this point in his life Remus Lupin had combed the entirety of every bookshop on Diagon Alley for anything they might have pertaining to werewolves. Most of it was unreliable at best and horrifically prejudiced at worst. There were one or two decent works to be found, but even among those there were typically one or two small passages, but hardly enough to sneeze at.

It wasn’t that there was much he needed to know at this point, but with talking to Dumbledore, he knew what he really needed were first hand accounts if he could ever get his hands on them. Remus had spent most of his life sheltered to this point, at least in comparison to others of his kind, and he knew from his limited interaction that they led their lives far differently than he did. It was an entirely different culture, and one he had been trying to familiarize himself with.

It was this that had him venturing to Knockturn Alley in search of bookshops. They were known to carry things that the more commercial store fronts wouldn’t be seen with, even if they weren’t necessarily always illegal. Sometimes they were merely unsavory to the general public.

It wasn’t his first time in this seedier part of wizarding London, but it was his first time in Volkov’s books. He could sense the darkness coming off of some of the product the moment he stepped inside, but beyond this it felt much like any other bookshop he’d set foot in before. The smell of old books and the ever present curiosity that left him wanting to rummage were just as present here as they had ever been, but he kept his hands to himself this time, not knowing what he might come across.

@lxxnymoony 28 August 1980 Hog’s Head Inn, Early Evening

The plan had been a drink after a particularly trying day of work, the beverage and slight distraction of people watching serving as a way of ensuring his arrival home didn’t immediately turn into his going off about how useless his coworkers were. He wasn’t one for frequenting the Hog’s Head but the need to grab something to drink was proving to be a necessary step in getting home.

Not that Narcissa seemed to mind his getting home and whinging as it was. He simply disliked the idea of bringing work home so the slightly unnecessary detour (his going out of his way to avoid one of the more populated bars that afternoon) seemed like the best idea. At least, it had until an unfamiliar patron caught his attention. He had claimed a booth to down the drink he wanted and was quickly distracted by the arrival of Remus Lupin. Lucius didn’t move at first, opting to cock his head to the side and shift his gaze at an attempt at eavesdropping to figure out what brought him to one of the seedier parts of Hogsmeade. His own excuse was a rather week one since it had truly involved needing a drink and the other bars being too packed. The Hog’s Head would never be his first choice but he had gotten the drink and that was all that mattered.

He couldn’t catch a lot of the exchange that went on, giving up on eavesdropping to take the more obvious attempt of properly approaching Remus. There was a beat of silence where Lucius took a moment to glance him over, the slight scowl creasing over his lips the moment his gaze settled on the other man’s.

“May I ask what you are getting at?” Lucius raised an eyebrow at Remus once the younger man seemed to have stopped talking - he wasn’t even certain if he had heard right, but the bits and pieces he had caught of the conversation had seemed suspicious. As much as he wanted to keep a pleasant front, it wasn’t going to happen. The sneer and a slight shift of his head so he was looking at him through narrowed eyes had already happened. Trying to force a friendly mask over it would only make him seem less unpleasant than he already was.

It was asking quite a lot of Remus to expect him to find Fenrir Greyback. Not because it was proving to be a difficult task, especially without exposing himself and his reasons for looking. No, it was because Remus was afraid of what he would find when he was successful. Night after night since receiving the task, Remus had been plagued with nightmares, and his temper had grown shorter with those around him. He could tell his closest about the nightmares, but he couldn’t tell them why. Couldn’t tell them what he was doing, or that he feared when he accomplished it, Greyback would decide to finish what he’d started.

Hog’s Head was proving fruitless for Remus that evening. Normally he would have expected, even if he didn’t dig up anything on Greyback, then perhaps he might run into some other werewolf. So far he was having no such luck, and he was running out of subtle ways to inquire about the man’s whereabouts without drawing too much suspicion. Or at least he had thought he’d been successful in not drawing suspicion. Right up until he was approached by daunting figure with hair so blonde that it was white.

The raised eyebrow, the sneer, it was rather clear Lucius Malfoy’s impression of him, but Remus found it difficult to find it in himself to care. It was just as well known how the Malfoys supported pureblood ideology as it was that the Blacks did. Maybe it would have been easy to try to start something with the man. Satisfying to set some form of curse on him. But Remus was well practiced in refraining from those sorts of inclinations, or he liked to think himself to be. It came from so much effort of hiding so many other parts of who he was.

Nerves settled into Remus Lupin’s chest as he showed his ID to the bouncer at the door and then made his way inside. It was his first time coming to a place like this, and he was allowing preconceived notions about such establishments to color his feelings about being there. The only people that came to places like this were skeezy, party goers, or just too ugly to get these kind of views anywhere else. He was trying to come to terms with the fact that, in his mind at least, he was one of the latter, but it didn’t sit well with him.

There was nothing abnormal about Diagon Alley that day, at least not for war times. Some businesses remained open out of sheer stubbornness of both the customers and the proprietors, there would always be shopping to be done, no matter the state of the world at large. Remus himself was unable steer clear of the shops, purely out of necessity. There were potions he needed to heal himself after his monthly transformations, especially now that he no longer had the luxury of Madame Pomfrey’s care every month.

At least nothing seemed abnormal until Remus stumbled upon a gathering crowd. For a moment he felt a small sense of panic, his first assumption being that there was another attack. Already his hand was on his wand as he carefully shouldered his way through the crowd, only to be brought up short by the sight of what was drawing everyone’s attention.

There was cow in the alley. Just a normal black and white milk cow, bearing bell and all. He stood for a moment, with a baffled look on his face, before tilting his head as if trying to come to terms with the sight. 

“Evanesco,” he mused without further explanation. In truth the number of empties Sirius left lying around would likely send him off the deep end without it.

“I think it was Lily making some off hand comment about James and Sirius. I can’t even remember it now, but it had me in tears at the time.”

“Doesn’t everyone? It’s easier then when you’re shielded behind those walls. When the biggest problems in life are whatever is running through the latest gossip.”