Till Death | Remus Lupin

+Till Death | 01+

[CHAPTER ONE: THE MEETING]

Clyde Pradesh had tried.
He had spent what felt like a thousand years in his body, and he had yet to accomplish the simple task of baking cookies.
That day, he had spent three hours just attempting to perfect the actual dough.
Unfortunately, he never had a flair for cooking - unlike his late friend Markus, who had passed at the ripe old age of a hundred and ten.

It was odd to Clyde, watching all of his friends become slower and wrinkled, as he remained in the rather handsome body of an eighteen year-old.
He had taught himself to not be saddened by the deaths of his former friends, family and lovers.

As he was pondering this, he barely noticed the awful smell erupting from the oven. When he finally realised it might have something to do with the actual food, he was desperate in trying to salvage the cookies. Unfortunately, his wand had been broken for a while now - thirty years, possibly - and he couldn't undo the far-from-edible mess that was in front of him.

Turning off the oven, Clyde groaned and threw his hands up into the air.
It looked like another night was going to be wasted at the bar down the road.
Not that it mattered, Clyde thought bitterly. He had all the time in the world and more.

Turning away from the kitchen and making his way down the hallway, someone stood, watching him intently.
They glared at him as he wrestled on his coat and exited the home.
A loud cracking sound emitted from the house, but it was muffled by the walls of the dwelling.

The person had left to report their findings.

+•+

"One Daisyroot Draught please."
Slamming some money onto the counter, Clyde had gone for something stronger that evening. The bartender's eyebrows raised for a short while, surprised that he hadn't requested his usual Chocolate Liqueur.
"Well, hurry up, would you? I've got places to be and sights to see!" Clyde snapped, causing the young man to hurry and make his drink.

The bartenders, however much they always wished to tell off the man, were reluctant to do so, considering Clyde was practically keeping the bar alive, the amount of times he drank there.
Sitting on a stool at the counter, Clyde rubbed his face and sighed.

There was only one other person in the pub, a fellow well past his youth.
Clyde couldn't help but notice the amount of intensity behind the man's stare.
It burned into his back, and Clyde grew more and more uncomfortable at the feeling. Realising that he couldn't take it anymore, he approached the elderly man.

"May I help you?" He asked suspiciously. The bearded man merely shook his head, a twinkle in his bright blue eyes.
Clyde scrunched up his face in puzzlement, he swore he recognised the bespectacled man from somewhere, he just couldn't put his finger on it.

"Why were you staring at me?"
The old man heaved a great sigh, and let a smile draw his lips upwards.
"I was just observing." The man replied, tilting his head. Clyde frowned.
"Oh."

Before he could get up, the elder suddenly grabbed his hand tightly.
"You must leave with me." He muttered in a voice cracked with age. Clyde furrowed his brows further.
"I don't know who the hell you are, and I don't leave with strangers." He spat, attempting to pull his hand away. Alas, the senior had a grip of iron.

Desperately wishing his wand wasn't broken, Clyde pressed his lips together.
"What in Merlin's name do you want?" Clyde questioned uneasily.
The man thought this over for a moment, before responding.
"I want to recruit you." He said, peering at Clyde over his moon spectacles.

"For what? My bloody wand is broken, I can't do anything!" Clyde exclaimed, again trying to wrestle his hand from the death grip the elder had on it.
"I know you're immortal, Clyde. Unfortunately, I'm not the only one." He whispered, his breath tickling Clyde's ear.

Clyde inhaled sharply - how did this stranger know his name and his immortality?
Who else could possibly know?
The man glanced to the window, then back again, urgency in his eyes.

"They're coming, Clyde. We need to go."
Clyde bit his lip, and before he had time to respond, the door to the bar slammed open.