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Remus was crouched by the stream, filling the water bottles, when an owl glided through the forest and settled on a log that had fallen across the water. He saw the scroll tied to the owl's leg and raised his eyebrows. Americans rarely used owls for post; they favoured falcons and hawks, the flashier raptors.
"You must be here for me, then," Remus said. He capped the water bottle and set it aside, then held out his hand toward the bird.
The owl blinked; its great golden eyes seemed to glow in the twilight shadows. It spread its wings and fluttered over to him.
"What do you have here?" Remus asked quietly. When he untied the scroll, the owl returned to the fallen log and waiting, blinking. "Waiting for an answer or for a treat? I'm terribly sorry, I haven't got a treat. You'll have to head over to the campfire for that. They're gutting the fish as we speak. If you hurry, you might get some entrails."
As he spoke, Remus unrolled the message, smoothing the parchment on the river-polished stone at his feet, and his breath caught in his throat. The parchment was covered was several lines of spindly, elegant handwriting he hadn't seen in years but recognized immediately. There was folded bit of newspaper tucked in with the letter. Remus set it aside and began to read the letter.
Remus,
I hope this letter finds you well. As you can see, recent events have been quite disturbing...
Frowning, Remus unfolded the newspaper clipping.
He saw the face first.
Wide eyes. Mouth open in silent shouts. Bound hands. Twisting, struggling, fighting.
It was the same photograph the Prophet had run on its cover for weeks, a dozen years ago. The Prophet and every other newspaper and magazine in the wizarding world, filling the newsstands and shops, everywhere he walked, everywhere he looked.
He saw the face, flinched, looked away, then looked back and saw the words.
The article was long, but it contained little information. The Ministry was baffled. The Azkaban guards were furious. The Aurors were working day and night.
Black is the first to escape from Azkaban since the fortress was first made into a prison.
Nobody knew it was possible.
An inside source at the Ministry claims that the Department of Magical Law Enforcement is convinced that Black used Dark Magic to accomplish his escape. "There's no other way he could have done it," the source confided. "No other way."
Nobody knew where he was headed.
Black is considered to be armed with a stolen wand and highly dangerous. The Ministry advises all wizards against confronting Black themselves should they encounter him.
With trembling hands, Remus set the newspaper clipping aside. The face in the photograph contorted and screamed, shouting silently. He had tried, years ago, to decipher and understand those words, touching the snarling lips with his fingertips, meeting the mad gaze steadily. Years ago, he had tried.
He turned the newspaper over to hide the face and picked up the letter.
I thought it best that you learn the news as soon as possible
Dumbledore had written very little; he knew no more than the Prophet reported.
Your father told me that you were travelling in the American wilderness. I apologise for interrupting your work, but I have a request to make of you.
Remus glanced at the owl, still waiting patiently on the fallen log. In the rapidly fading light, its feathers were dark, almost black, an immobile statue against the gentler shadows of the forest. The evening was cool and quiet. The tops of the spruces and firs swayed high above, but on the forest floor, beside the burbling creek, the air was still.
With a sigh, Remus ran his hand over his face and read the rest of the letter.
I find myself yet again in need of a Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts.
Behind him, he could hear the voices and laughter of the others, preparing dinner over the campfire. The cold alpine lake they'd hiked past earlier in the day had been rich with trout, and they had returned to camp pleased with the day's work, though there had been no sign of the creature they sought.
I hope that you will consider my offer.
Thirty days now, they'd been searching. The American Muggles had endless stories about the creature, but that didn't make him any easier to find. Bigfoot, the American wizards claimed, was smarter than most humans. If he would only stop pestering campers, they would be perfectly happy to leave him alone in the Bitterroot Mountains, foraging for berries and leaving his trademark footprints. If only he would leave the Muggles alone.
I do not doubt that you are well-qualified for the position. You were one of the best Defence students of your year.
It was late in the summer. Autumn would soon arrive, turning the larches and scrub oak red and gold, dropping a chill over the night and a frost over the last summer flowers. Remus had been planning to accept the invitation to go south with the others -- magical monkey-wrenchers, they called themselves, a joke he had abashedly been forced to admit he didn't understand -- when the first snow fell.
It would also be a comfort to me to have you present until he is caught again.
They were headed down to New Mexico, where there were reports of invasive Southeastern nogtails wreaking havoc amongst the livestock on Muggle ranches. That was what he had been planning. He liked these Yanks, with their easygoing manner and mad schemes. He liked their ridiculous insistence upon travelling in magically-enahced automobiles when Apparition would have sufficed. He liked the empty spaces and big skies and starlit nights.
You are the last among us who knew him well.
"No," Remus muttered, shaking his head. "I didn't."
"Hey, Lupin. You get lost?"
Startled, Remus dropped the letter and looked around. Ethan, one of the Americans, was walking toward him through the trees, his yellow t-shirt strangely bright against the darkening forest. The campfire glowed in the distance. Remus could see the shadows of the others moving around it, graceful silhouettes flickering between the trees.
"No," Remus said quickly. He folded the parchment and stood up; his legs protested, stiff from crouching for so long. He motioned toward the owl. "News from home."
Ethan raised an eyebrow. "Bad news?"
Remus hesitated. "Yes. Quite bad. Is supper ready?"
Acknowledging the change in subject with a shrug, Ethan replied, "We need water to boil the pasta."
"Oh. Right. Here, take this one." Remus handed over one of the water bottles. "I'll fill up the others."
"Sure...you okay?"
"Yes. Yes, of course. I'll be right there."
"Right, man." Ethan went back to the campfire, his boots crunching on the fallen pine needles.
Remus turned back toward the stream and knelt down. The owl waited, its golden eyes watching him steadily. When the bottles were full, Remus set them aside, dried his hands on his trousers, and unfolded the parchment again and read the rest of the letter, squinting to make out the words in the falling darkness.
I look forward to seeing you at the start of the term.
Dumbledore's signature was scrawled across the bottom. There were small dark splotches of ink, as though he had dashed the letter off in a hurry.
Remus folded the parchment and tucked it into his pocket. He still held the newspaper, running his thumb over the rough newsprint.
To the owl, he said, "Can you wait for the night? I...I'll decide in the morning," Remus said.
The owl blinked and stretched its wings.
"Very good. In the morning, I promise."
Finally, he unfolded the newspaper again, but did not look down at it at first. Instead, he turned his face upward, inhaling the crisp mountain air deeply. The forest was dark, and overhead stars were filling the sky, countless specks of light between the pointed tops of the pines and the jagged mountain peaks.
Shivering, Remus looked down. The small print of the article was no longer readable, but the headline was. Black Escapes From Azkaban! The photograph -- the face -- was a pale, angular shape with dark eyes and a dark mouth, struggling to wrench free of the paper and ink.
"Damn you, Sirius," Remus whispered.
He crumpled the newspaper into a ball and shoved it into his pocket, then picked up the bottles and walked back to the camp, toward the fire, through the cool, dark woods.