At the front door Sirius turned the handle and looked out. It was dark out, which was to be expected at eleven at night. Looking up he saw that there were thick clouds in the sky, blocking out the moon and the stars. The only things that would expose him were the street lamps and car headlights.
He stepped out of the door and closed it behind him before taking a deep breath of the cool, crisp air and disapparated.
Not for a moment did it enter his head that he could possibly utilise his family's last remaining House Elf to try and get a message through to Dumbledore. But then most wizards do have the tendency to overlook House Elves and Sirius Black was no exception.
Elsewhere in the country a man staggered towards the nearby stream. His latest attempt to talk with some others of his kind had ended in disaster when Fenrir Greyback had caught him.
The fight that followed had almost cost Remus Lupin his life.
As so many werewolves were not permitted to use wands or obtain access to potions, Remus had, as a sign of respect, left his supplies at his base, well away from the feral werewolf encampment where Fenrir was the undisputed king.
An action that he had carried out in the hope of gaining the trust of other, less fortunate werewolves now appeared as though it might result in his death.
Struggling to the bank of the shallow stream he collapsed on it and pulled up the side of his shabby robes before breathing a sigh of relief. Although it hurt like hell, he had survived worse wounds in the past. Sometimes his being a werewolf did have its good points despite the curse.
Reaching down into the stream he cupped some of the cold, fresh water into his hand and gently washed the wound. It stung like a bitch but it had to be done. Although he was already a werewolf and thus could not be further harmed by lycanthropy, Fenrir Greyback seemed to think that being a werewolf also meant that you didn't have to wash. Who knew what other disease or even parasites his bites and scratches could inflict these days?
Wound as clean as he could get it for now he washed his hands off and stood up as above him two clouds parted and the light of a crescent moon shone down upon him.
Behind him he heard a shout, followed by much howling. Evidently in the glade somewhere to the north Fenrir was encouraging his followers to embrace their inner wolf. Remus wanted no part of that so decided to retreat back to the relative safety of his base for now.
That base was a long ago abandoned fox earth found beneath the roots of a large beech tree. The entrance was narrow but Remus had enlarged it slightly to allow himself to squeeze inside where he had made it quite substantially bigger. He had also installed a never-ending candle to provide a little light and its dim glow welcomed him as he entered.
Along one side several blankets were rolled out to form a bed while a small carrycase stood off to one side. Remus approached this and pulled out a bottle labelled Essence of Dittany.
Pulling out the stopper, Remus exposed the wound in his side again and applied the clear liquid.
Smoke, greenish in colour, billowed up from the wound, stinging lightly but otherwise offering little discomfort. When the smoke cleared the bleeding at stopped and the open wound has sealed over. It now looked like an injury that had been received several days ago, with new skin stretching over what had previously been open flesh.
Relieved that his wound was healed and no longer causing him any pain, Remus quickly took off his robe and cast it aside before pulling on a nightshirt and pyjama trousers. He then took out his wand and hit his robe with a few quick scouring charms to remove the blood stains followed by a stitching charm to close up the holes made by Fenrir's clawed hands.
Satisfied he sat down on his blankets and pulled his carrycase towards him. After a quick rummage through what few supplies were left to him he pulled out a can of baked beans. With little else available, he opened the can and used his wand to heat it up before settling down to consume his filling, if boring meal.
At best guess he had just enough supplies to last him another week, ten days at the most. Though, admittedly, if Fenrir Greyback attacked him again he would likely have to abort the mission completely. He had been out here for nearly two months now and had made absolutely no progress towards gaining any support within the werewolf community.
Oh, there were one or two who would listen to what he had to say but they were just being kind and humouring him. None of them really listened to what he had to say, or what Dumbledore was prepared to offer them in return for going against Fenrir's commands.
But then, they had no reason to listen. After centuries of persecution werewolves had no desire to listen to any offers made and no reason to believe any offers they heard. Remus could wax lyrical for hours about Albus Dumbledore and how the man had extended to him the chance to attend Hogwarts, gain a magical education and make friends with non-werewolves but the simple fact was that while this was the case for Remus, no other werewolf had been offered that chance either before his time at Hogwarts or after it. His story wasn't one of hope to them, instead it made them envious and Remus had learned not to talk about it within his first few days here.
Wizarding society had turned their backs on werewolves and had done for centuries. As a result, as far as the vast majority of werewolves were concerned, they were on their own. They had to look out for themselves and each other, for no one else would. But while forming groups certainly had its benefits, there was also a major flaw – under the light of the full moon werewolves would fight for dominance, to establish an alpha of the pack and that title always ended up going to the biggest, strongest and fiercest werewolf around, like Fenrir Greyback.
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