Remus had almost spent a full month in Greyback’s pack before he was truly given a reason to leave. He woke late one morning to find himself almost alone. Confused, he sat up, staring around - he’d grown used to having Castor and Jeremy nearby, he felt horribly exposed without their body heat.
“Father summoned them.” A voice came out of the gloom.
Remus raised his palm to create a heat-free flame for light, as Castor had taught him. It was easier than lumos , though not as bright. Gaius stepped out from the shadows of one of the chambers. He stared down at Remus. “Father came this morning. Summoned Castor and Livia. Only them. I suppose Castor is forgiven, now.”
“Will they be back soon?” Remus asked warily, drawing his cloak around his shoulders protectively.
“I don’t expect so.” Gaius mused. He was fiddling with something shiny, kept glancing down at it, “They’ve gone to meet the Dark Lord.”
“What?!”
“It’s almost the moon. He’ll have plans for the pack.”
“...plans?” Reality came clanging down on Remus’s head, like glass shattering; like a car crash.
“You know,” Gaius said, apparently uninterested in Remus’s crisis of conscience, “I always wondered why father turned three males. I thought perhaps he wished us to learn to lead together; to share the burden of responsibility. But now I realise. He means us to compete.”
“What do you want, Gaius?” Remus stood up, squaring his shoulders to remind Gaius that he was bigger, and stronger, when he wanted to be. “Want me to sing you another song?”
Gaius sneered at him, cheeks red. He backed away.
“You will not triumph.” He said. He threw the shiny object down at Remus’s feet before turning to leave, and it made a hard, metal sound. It was Remus’s pocket watch.
“Oi!” Remus yelled, stooping to grab it up. But Gaius was gone.
Remus slumped against the wall, running his fingers through his grimy hair. His heart raced, his breathing quickened, and he began to panic. Shit . Shit shit shit .
Of course they were still working with Voldemort - the war hadn’t stopped simply because Remus was there. He felt stupid and naïve - and worst of all, he felt guilty. He was supposed to be on a bloody mission! But he hadn’t been thinking of the Order, not really - he’d been more concerned about protecting the pack than getting back to his friends; his true family. All this time, Remus had thought of himself as a victim - when really he was the worst kind of traitor.
He shrugged off his fur cloak. He didn’t want to look like them.
He badly wanted to see Sirius - after weeks of suppressing it, his longing burst up like a geyser, so that he couldn’t get a grip on it and squash it back down again. Sirius would know what to do - or he’d at least make Remus feel better about everything.
Remus looked down at his watch, the only connection he still has to his friends. The gold had lost its lustre, and he rubbed it on his filthy trouser leg to see if that helped. Then he opened and closed it a few times, running the pads of his thumbs along the smooth vine leaf engraving. It had stopped working the day he used it to escape his cell; he’d squeezed all the magic out of it like a sponge. Another betrayal.
Once he had at least calmed his breathing down ( jesus christ what I wouldn’t do for a fag ), Remus tried to think rationally. His first instinct was to get out immediately; just walk into the woods and disapparate.
But then what? Explain to Moody and Ferox that while he’d had a lovely few weeks away, things had got a bit too scary so he’d turned tailed at the first opportunity? No. If Greyback was meeting with Voldemort then that had to mean an attack was coming. Remus couldn’t let that happen.
