Marauders - Always - Part One

CLXIV: The Summit

At the top of the hill that loomed over the picturesque Icelandic town, there stood a large church with a big red door and high, arched windows. The windows were stained glass, a myriad of colors, which when the sun shone through them painted everything inside in their colorful light.

It was mid-morning on 3 November and the sun was shining brilliantly through the windows. In one of the windows sat Remus Lupin, high up from the ground, back against the frame of the window, staring through one of the red panes at a rose-colored town far below, spreading away to the crystal bay, visible over the colorful rooftops. He hugged his knees. Balanced on top of his knees were several parchments, unrolled and pressed flat by his palms. He stared over the multitude of sheets filled with the tight scrawl of Albus Dumbledore's handwriting, and flurried through the pages, hopeful a forwarded letter might be tucked in between, but there was nothing, and Remus sighed, letting Dumbledore's pages slip to one side, staring away out the window.

He'd hoped that there would be maybe at least just one letter - just one - and his stomach and heart ached with worry. Was there none because Sirius had been captured? None because his husband was angry with him? Either option made Remus's heart beat faster and a wave of longing tore over him, a tremor in his resolve... How was he supposed to be strong when half his heart was screaming?

He had no choice, though.

The huge doors to the back of the sanctuary creaked loudly and Remus steeled himself, his fingers lacing together tighter and his foot jigging some of the anxiety out of him as he kept his eyes resolutely glued to the view of the bay.

Footsteps echoed through the high rafters, all the way to the front of the room, where Remus had made his perch. Spencer Stewart's voice carried up to him from below. "The meeting's ready to begin, Remus," he called. "They're all here. Well. Nearly all. Blackburn refused, as we expected, I'm afraid."

Remus sighed, scooping Dumbledore's letters in his fist, and he pushed himself up carefully, aware of the ledge. Below, Spencer stared up at him from beneath the shaggy mop of hair, the style of which he had never updates from the 70-80s rocker look he had always worn. He had a smattering of facial hair, but not much, and his frame was smaller than ever, his clothing hanging loose.

Every one of the werewolves Remus had seen had a shallow, underfed look to them - just as they had before, the first time he'd come to them. It was just another instance of history repeating itself, of the Ministry failing to do what it was supposed to do.

A flick of his wand and the stones of the sanctuary wall had formed a stair for Remus to climb down from the high window arch where he sat. He walked down carefully but with an authoritative air growing with each step, mustering courage and confidence that he didn't truly possess. He balled his one hand into a tight fist and shook his wand into the cane he used, leaning upon it as he stepped off the final brick and the wall returned to being nothing but a wall.

Spencer watched it with awe - he had never gotten over the wonder of magic, even in all the years that had passed. He looked at Remus with a certain amount of reverence - and he nodded, leading the way across the quiet sanctuary, Remus in tow. The main antechamber had been prepared as the meeting hall, and even from this side of the door, Remus could hear the quiet rumbling of tense small talk.

He stopped at the door and turned to Spencer. "All of them but the one came?"

"Yes," Spencer nodded.

Remus drew a deep breath. "And we kept Gerry and Verna separated?"

"By the length of the table, but that's never stopped them."

Remus nodded.

"There were a few changes of leadership since you left, also... Old Carl passed last year; a bloke called Storm's took his place," Spencer said. Something about his voice was wary and Remus paused while shrugging on his shabby suit jacket. He raised an eyebrow at Spencer, who hesitated, scratching behind his ear in a way that Remus remembered doing all his childhood until Lyall had finally broken him of the wolfish habit. He reached up and stilled Spencer's wrist mid-scratch and Spencer flushed, having not realized he was doing it, and paused.