Archive of Our Own ^beta

Remus lifted his mug, allowing the silence. He took the opportunity to study the body language of his companions at the table- rounded shoulders beneath tattered robes, exhausted eyes occasionally darting around the pub. He ran his finger along the chip in his mug, stretched to scuff his shoe on the groove of the pine table leg.

Nothing to see here, the wary expressions around him said, a feeling he was intimately familiar with. They did not want to be a part of this war, to be bandied about from one side to another.

An owl flew through an open window by the bar in a particularly strong autumn gust, shrieking as it barreled head over heels. It drew the attention of the entire pub, which fell uncharacteristically silent. The owl righted itself, and spotted Remus.

“Bugger,” Remus said into his mug, soft but with feeling.

The owl dropped its missive nearly on Remus’ head, then landed in the dead centre of the table, irritably ruffling its feathers. It squawked loudly for scraps, and Remus obliged absently with his left hand, tearing the envelope open with the other.

His companions looked not at all pleased with this development, shuffling anxiously in their chairs.

Padfoot missing, the scrap of parchment said simply, and Remus took a deep breath.

“I’m sorry,” he said with a tone of genuine regret. “I have a friend in hospital.”

Heads around the table nodded. This they could understand.

“I believe I’ve said all I can say,” he finished, tucking the letter into a pocket in his robes, wincing when his fingers found a sizeable hole. “I’ll be in touch, in the usual way.” He nodded to them, a gesture of respect, and they nodded back.

He moved to the alley to apparate; he’d drawn enough attention for one day.

*

It took ages to redo the dark creature wards on 12 Grimmauld Place. Sirius had been in favor of taking them down entirely, but Remus had told him absolutely not. They no longer shrieked at his entrance, but they did emit a moderate sound of protest in the entryway. Several pairs of eyes swiveled to his, looking equal parts concerned and guilty.

“How long?” Remus asked quickly, not bothering to remove his shoes.

“We aren’t sure,” Tonks admitted. “At least since this morning.”

It was just now dusk. “Are you sure the house hasn’t eaten him?” he asked. “I wouldn’t put it past Walburga to have hidden a hex or two for him.” It wouldn’t do to panic so early. He was frankly surprised they’d summoned him.

“I am sure,” Kingsley nodded. “He is no longer on the premises.”

The hubbub that Remus had interrupted started up again. Remus stared at the fine tapestry on the wall, emerald fading to grey.

“You had some assurance he would stay on the premises,” Remus surmised, “otherwise, you wouldn’t have called me so soon.”

Kingsley looked away, while Moody met Remus’ gaze head on.

Remus chuckled. “Really, Alastor? The man escaped from Azkaban and you think you can keep him prisoner in his own home?”

“If he did break the charm, he’s a fool to have done so,” Alastor replied moodily.

Remus nodded. “He was never one to ignore an impulse.” And never one to make his friends worry, the rising tide of anxiety in his mind countered. Never one to get caught making mischief.

Remus didn’t realize he’d zoned out again until he heard a sharp voice rise, frantic with worry. Maybe you ought to have leashed the mutt! They’ve called him here because they think Sirius has been captured by the death eaters, and is being tortured for information before they find the body on the front steps. If the Ministry had him, they would’ve heard Fudge crow over the triumph in every paper by now.

Mutt! That would drive mother mad. Remus remembered Sirius flip his hair with a bright smile.

Collar, Remus thought suddenly. “Have you checked the Muggle pound?” he raised his voice slightly.

“You can’t be serious,” Shacklebolt’s brows raised.

Remus paused. This was not the occasion, prudence told him sternly, but the imp of the perverse wriggled. This was exactly the occasion, it said. “You’re quite right,” he agreed finally. “I’m Remus."

The gathered members of the order gaped at him. He coughed. “Who found he was missing?” Remus asked.

Tonks raised her hand. “Remembered I’d left, er, something behind, couldn’t find the bloody thing anywhere.” She shrugged. “Went to find him, since he might have found it first. Couldn’t find him either.”

“He doesn’t expect anyone to be looking for him before nightfall,” Remus surmised. “Though he’d have been back by now. Unless he were trapped somewhere that required transforming to escape, and had to wait to avoid notice."

“You do know him best,” Molly sighed, and Remus smiled benevolently.

“Intimately,” he agreed, and turned back to the door.

*

The first pound was a disappointment. He’d also managed to forget he was wearing robes, a mistake he corrected. The second-

“Large, black dog? Bit scraggly looking?”

Remus bit back the urge to chuckle. Padfoot wouldn’t like that.

“Yes,” he said, as apologetic as he could be, which was quite apologetic. He winced. “I think he may have dug through the fence. He did it once before.”

Dug through the fence, indeed. This was why they’d purchased the collar in the first place, so many years ago.

“Alright,” the man stood, apparently unconcerned that Remus might have been keeping his dog outdoors. “Come on back.” He pulled the rusty, protesting hinges of the metal gate, and Remus coughed at the overwhelming smell of urine. Lovely. Padfoot would probably have fleas again.

In the far kennel Padfoot was looking quite sorry for himself indeed, huddled into a corner with his paws folded over his snout. He sniffed once, then perked up, head swiveling to Remus. He padded over softly to the door, ducking his head down to stick his wet black nose through the wire mesh and touch Remus’ fingers. He made a whining, plaintive noise.

“Hello, Pads.” Remus greeted. Padfoot huffed against his fingers. “Yes, you should be sorry. We were all very worried.” He looked up at the shelter employee. “Is that it, then?”

“Well, yes. And settling the fee,” the man said, opening the kennel, which Padfoot practically burst through.

Remus looked down at Padfoot, panting at his feet. “You owe me,” he muttered, and the muggle chuckled. When Remus didn’t answer in kind, the man cleared his throat.

“You should really think about getting him chipped, if you aren’t going to collar him,” the muggle advised.

“Chipped?” Remus asked politely.

“Microchip,” the man clarified. “Injected under the skin. That way if he turns up, we’ll be able to identify him.”

“Ah,” Remus nodded. “If he makes a habit of it, I’ll certainly consider it.” He looked down at Padfoot, who turned away.

The man pulls out a folder from a file cabinet, and passes over a slip for Remus to sign. “We spay and neuter for free with any adoption, now. ‘S the law, to keep the strays under control.”

Padfoot bumped his head under Remus’ hand, and Remus scritched under his ears absently.

“Is it, now?”

Padfoot barked once, and Remus bit back a smile. “Just the fee, ta.”

*

Padfoot paused and gave himself a good shake all over once they passed the shelter door, then trotted off toward Grimmauld Place. Remus stopped, the slip lead catching Padfoot’s neck, and Padfoot swiveled back to stare at him.

“Oh no,” Remus said firmly. “We have enough moths as is in that horrid place, we don’t need to add fleas to the linens. Besides, I think we’d better get you a new collar, hm?”

Padfoot’s tail thumped once.

*

“Good lord,” Remus said, looking at the gleaming aisle, flea shampoo clutched in the hand not holding the lead. There were nylon collars of every color, pattern, and size. Metal studs, rhinestones, demure simple navy.

“Well, what do you think?” he asked Padfoot, who was sniffing each section contemplatively. Padfoot stopped, and bumped a collar near the bottom with his nose.

“What’s that?” Remus stooped, and disentangled the collar from the heap, holding it up to the light.

It was a black leather collar, about an inch and a half in width, with silver clasps.

“Flash bastard,” he muttered, and Padfoot gave him a doggy grin. “Well, better face the music before Moody starts chasing down death eaters.”

Padfoot shuffled slowly after him, then collapsed in a delicate sprawl at the tag machine. Remus tugged, to no avail. He sighed. “You’re probably right.” He had a muggle phone, anyhow; it wasn’t uncommon for the werewolves he was in touch with to have quiet muggle jobs.

NOT A STRAY. HE KNOWS THE WAY HOME., he typed on one side, then his string of digits on the other.

“Moody cares for you, you know,” Remus remarked as the laser set to work. “Most of his trainees died, in the first war. You’re one of the last.”

Padfoot picked himself up from the ground, and they made their way to the checkout.

*

Remus rinsed the last of the shampoo from Padfoot’s coat in their bath, and threw a towel over the lip of the tub. Sirius transformed back once again; for some reason, the shampoo was never quite as effective in human form, and he couldn’t exactly bathe himself. It made going on the run hell. He could still sometimes feel the phantoms of fleas itching madly under his skin.

Sirius fluffed his hair through the towel, then wrapped it around his waist. He picked up the shining new collar next to the sink, turning it over contemplatively. "What happened to the other one?" He smiled, too casual. "Burn it in effigy?"

"That one's a story," Remus dodged. "I left it in a cave in the Himalayas, where Buddhists go to release their attachments."

Sirius shook his head. "Well, you never did do anything by halves." He held up the collar. "I like this one better, anyhow."

“It is a bit nicer. Though I did wonder why you didn’t go straight for the reds,” Remus commented wryly.

“Padfoot's colorblind,” Sirius reminded him. “You lost your chance to be possessive.”

Remus raised his eyebrows. “’Property of Remus Lupin?’ Disappointed, Pads?”

Sirius grinned, and fastened the collar around his very human neck. Remus, who had been about to say something clever, found that he had temporarily lost the ability to speak.

“What do you think Molly Weasley would say?” Sirius preened in the mirror. “I think she would frown and politely pretend not to stare, but make her disapproval known. Your bet, Moony?”

“You owe me enough,” Remus shook his head. “I know Molly is your favorite sport, but as she’s afraid of you she comes after me with potential suitors,” Remus pulls away his damp robes, and shifts pitch to his best falsetto, “who I’m sure could be understanding of your, condition."

“Fine,” Sirius huffed. “Can I wear it when she’s not around?”

Remus stooped to rest his chin on Sirius’ shoulder. “Ah, if only there were a way to wear it and still conceal it, like some form of magic-"

“Shut up,” Sirius snorted, and grabbed Remus’ wand to mutter a disillusionment charm.

“Pointing another’s wand at your neck,” Remus murmured, kissing above the concealed collar. “Bold.”

“It wouldn’t hurt me,” Sirius smiles.

“Tea,” Remus breaks the moment. “I’ve had a trying day.”

“More like, lunch and dinner,” Sirius complains.

“You’re complaining! I’ve been in the field for three days, and summoned back to have a heart attack! And really, Pads,” Remus disappears into the bedroom to throw some dry clothes into the bathroom, “we can’t protect you out there. Do you realize what could have gone wrong?”

“Yes,” Sirius says crisply, and Remus sticks his head in the door. “I don’t like you being out there on your own. You should have backup, with the types you’re around.”

“Oh?” Remus raises an eyebrow dangerously.

“You know what I mean,” Sirius mutters a protest. “They’re drug addicted, erratic. Half of them are waiting to join Voldemort when he calls.”

“Sirius,” Remus says sternly. “They’re desperate, friendless and hated, sacked from nearly every job they attempt to keep, in horrible pain-“

Sirius pauses at that. “Are you in pain?”

Remus gapes at him.

“I mean, outside the full moon, obviously.”

“Yes, the dislocation of nearly every joint in my body does no permanent damage,” Remus laughs, “and the early-onset arthritis is a tickle.”

“I didn’t know,” Sirius looks troubled.

“Oh, don’t make me comfort you,” Remus leans against the doorframe. “I was yelling at you.”

“I can’t stay in here,” Sirius looks away. “I- my head plays tricks with me. When I leave, I start to feel,” he spreads his hands helplessly. “I can’t just sit back and watch.”

Remus sighs heavily. “No, you can’t, can you. Come on,” he walks, and Sirius follows.

“What are we doing?”

“I’m telling Moody I’m taking you out to practice dueling. Somewhere remote, alternating locations.”

“Oh.”

“You will be joining the fight, sooner or later,” Remus looked tired. “And I’d rather you not run to your death because you’re so eager to prove yourself.”

“Maybe I’ll put you flat on your ass, arrogant prick,” Sirius mutters.

Remus smiles, and Sirius groans.

“What was it? Come on, I know you’ve got some horrible pun. Something to do with my ass? Remus?”