Remus managed to get out of the house before noon on Saturday, but it was a close thing. Sirius had argued rather vociferously that he should be involved in any hunt for Peter, even in preliminary stages like this. Remus had finally had to remind him that Mrs. Pettigrew still believed he had murdered Peter, and his presence would not be an inducement to free conversation. And when that failed to have any effect whatsoever, he was forced to simply put his foot down and say no. Sirius threatened to follow anyway, but by then, Dora had finally arrived, and backed Remus up (much to his relief).

He decided to walk to the Pettigrew home, hoping the cold air would clear his head. It wasn't any great distance, though of course the Muggle residents of Grimmauld Place could have walked for hours without finding it.

In the wake of the Blitz, there had been nearly as much magical as Muggle building, and Peter's neighborhood was one of several tiny "bubble" neighborhoods in the greater London area that had been built around that time. It was protected by many anti-Muggle Charms, but since none were foolproof, it presented a decorous Muggle facade, just in case of unexpected visitors. Remus supposed that such a visitor might find it odd at night, when he discovered that all of the light in the windows came from torches and the carefully constructed streetlamps didn't light up at all, but in the daytime, it was every bit as buttoned-up as Privet Drive.

Peter's house was at the corner of Asphodel Avenue and Flitterbloom Way, with a large willow tree in front. Remus had only visited a few times as a child--Peter hadn't liked people coming to his home--but he remembered it well enough. He'd been surprised. The state of Peter's possessions had led him to expect a more humble abode. It had become clear rather quickly, though, that Peter's mother simply spent her money elsewhere. The Pettigrews weren't rich--at least not in comparison to Sirius or James--but Mrs. Pettigrew insisted on living as though they were, even if it meant skimping a bit on school clothes and supplies.

Remus rang the bell.

A young man wearing a dark robe not unlike a school robe opened it and bowed. "May I help you?" he asked.

Remus smiled. "My name is Remus Lupin. I'm here to see Mrs. Pettigrew," he said.

"I'll see if she can take visitors."

The butler disappeared for a few minutes, leaving Remus standing in the vestibule. This room had changed a great deal since he'd last been in this house. Now, it was lined with pictures of Peter--Peter as a baby, Peter as a small, chubby boy, Peter in his Hogwarts robes. There was a picture there that included Remus and James, but it had been cut in an uneven shape on one side, where Sirius had been. All of the Peter Pettigrews smiled and waved down at Remus.

It was a far cry from his childhood, when his actual presence in the house had been largely ignored, and Mrs. Pettigrew had sighed and asked why he couldn't take care of himself as well as his new friends did.

"Mrs. Pettigrew will see you in the conservatory," the butler said, appearing silently at the door and beckoning. He led Remus through a parlor and a dining room, to a small, sunny room at the back of the house that had been filled with large, leafy plants. On the one windowless wall was a shelf with a small box on it, surrounded by more pictures of Peter and cuttings from the Daily Prophet about his death.

Mrs. Pettigrew sat in a wicker chair at the center of the room, her gray-blonde hair piled up in ringlets on her head, wearing a diaphanous pink robe. Her face, so like Peter's, was actually quite lovely on a woman. She disguised the weak chin by letting ringlets fall around it and cast shadows. "Remus," she said, holding out both hands. "How good of you to visit."

Remus shook one of the proffered hands, then sat down opposite her. "How are you, Mrs. Pettigrew?"

"As well as can be expected for a lonely old woman." She gave a dramatic sigh. "I should be surrounded by grandchildren, Remus. Little ones to listen to stories and give presents to. It's not right for a woman to live beyond her son and have nothing to show for his life."

Well, Remus thought, you should see the 'child' he managed to raise last year. He bit his tongue on it, not especially wanting to be thrown out, although if Peter had been here, Mrs. Pettigrew was a better actress than he gave her credit for. "I'm sorry," he managed to say.

She smiled in a distant way. "I read in the Daily Prophet that you're a--well, that you, er..."

"I am."

"It's horrible the way they treat your sort," she said, her tone suggesting that she didn't care much one way or the other how werewolves were treated. Remus was, nevertheless, grateful--she could as easily as not have simply thrown him out. "You were always the most considerate of Peter's little friends. I suppose the Aurors have been around you since that murdering traitor escaped?"

"I've talked to Aurors," Remus said.

Mrs. Pettigrew sniffed. "They came here quite a lot at first, to warn me that he was free. Then they didn't catch him. Then, if you please, a black fellow came and told me that Black accused Peter of having done that horrible thing. The gall of it! And the gall of even entertaining the notion! He said you'd vouched for it, but I'm sure it must have been a Confundus Charm, or perhaps the full moon made you see things or believe things. That's right, isn't it, Remus? You haven't betrayed Peter?"

"No," Remus said, "I most assuredly have not betrayed Peter."

"I knew you hadn't. I knew Peter wouldn't have chosen all of his friends so badly. Even if you are a... a..."

"Werewolf."

"Yes, that." She sat back in her chair. "The Aurors," she muttered. "They come and insult my son, but they can't seem to bother themselves to actually catch the man who killed him."

Remus struggled not to stand up and yell, not to take the complacent woman in the wicker chair and shake her until she saw sense. "I'm sure they're looking very hard," he said.

"Hmph. I don't trust them any further than I can throw them," she said. "Imagine, suspecting the murder victim of a murder!"

"They need to examine all the possibilities, Mrs. Pettigrew."

Her eyes narrowed. "Do you see that box on the shelf, Remus? That's all that's left of my son. Don't discuss 'possibilities' with me." She tightened her lips, as if preparing to spit. "I won't deal with them anymore. I just won't. That awful man is out there, and I don't believe they'll do a thing about it. Why, I didn't even--" She stopped.

"Didn't what?" Remus prodded.

"Nothing."

"Was there something you didn't tell the Aurors?"

Mrs. Pettigrew looked furtively around the conservatory, then leaned forward in a conspiratorial way. "Black sent me something," she said.

"You didn't tell the Aurors that a wanted fugitive sent you something?"

"They'd just send that black man again, and he'd ask questions about Peter instead of... him. I don't like that man."

Remus frowned. He hadn't realized that any of the Aurors had followed up on the testimony he'd offered, but of course, Kingsley would have. He just wouldn't have found any evidence. Clever Peter. "What did Sirius Black send you?" he asked.

Mrs. Pettigrew looked at him slyly, then pulled a plain envelope out from under her chair. She handed it to Remus. "This," she said. "It came on Halloween."

Remus lifted the flap on the envelope. Inside, there was a brittle lock of hair, forced into an even curl. It was blonde for most of its length, but near one end, it was a medium, mousy brown. "What is it?" he asked.

"There were rumors. About my late husband and his chippie of an assistant. All untrue, of course."

"Of course."

"She disappeared. That's her hair. She used that awful cheap dyeing Potion, and let the brown show under it as often as not." She reached under her chair again and pulled out something smaller. "This was in the envelope with the hair," she said. "My husband's wedding ring." She handed it to Remus. "I don't know if you remember when Mr. Pettigrew died..."

"Of course I do. Peter was beside himself." Remus examined the ring, a nasty idea forming in his mind. "That was in seventy-eight, wasn't it?"

"Yes. They said it was a Potion-brewing accident. But if it was an accident, then why would someone take his ring? When would someone have done it?" She reached for the ring and took it back, and twisted it convulsively around her little finger. "I think Peter must have defied that man somehow, and it was revenge, killing his father. Was he always vengeful, Remus?"

The simple answer, of course, was yes, but while Remus couldn't antagonize Mrs. Pettigrew, he also found himself incapable of giving her any information that would confirm her view of events. "Why would he take vengeance to your husband's assistant?" he asked. "Peter didn't care for her much, as I recall."

"Who knows why a madman does something?" Mrs. Pettigrew said breezily. "Perhaps he was trying to set Peter up even then."

"And he sent it to you now..."

"Clearly, he thought I would give it to the Aurors and they would start thinking it was Peter." She pursed her mouth, vaguely troubled, and Remus wondered exactly how many lies she was telling herself unconsciously to support this... and how many she was telling consciously. She smiled vaguely. "Oh, dear," she said. "I've gone on and I haven't even offered you a bite to eat. Would you like something, dear?"

"Oh, no, really I'm--"

But she had already rung a small silver bell, and a moment later, her butler appeared. "Please bring some fruit salad for Mr. Lupin and myself," she said.

"Right away, Madam," he said.

"He's only a day-hire," she said disdainfully when he left. "But a widow by herself can't afford a house elf to do these sorts of things."

Remus forced a smile. He ate a tasteless fruit salad with her and they shared memories of Peter, Remus just letting his mind adopt the position that they boy they were talking about was long dead and properly mourned. When they finished, he asked if he might take the hair along with him.

"Whatever for?"

"To, er... " Remus thought about it. "To see if I can use it to trace the murderer."

"How?"

By showing it to Dora and Sirius and seeing if they think it says anything about Peter's whereabouts.

"I'm not sure," he said.

"Can you smell it and track him? Is it a... werewolf sort of thing?"

"That would be a useful side effect," Remus said. "Unfortunately, it's not the case. I'll have to use more mundane methods."

She nodded, her eyes wide.

She didn't stand to see Remus out when he left. When he looked over his shoulder, she was staring across the leaves of her plants with a vacant look on her face, twisting her late and less-than-faithful husband's wedding band around one finger after another.

"Why would he send her hair?" Dora asked, frowning at the contents of the envelope after dinner on Monday night. She shook her head and handed it over to Sirius. "After all this time?"

Sirius tossed the envelope aside casually. "Bragging. Telling his mum he solved her problem."

"Trying to tell her where he is," Remus suggested.

Sirius raised his eyebrows. "Why would he want to do that?"

"Peter. His mother."

"Right."

"I'm not sure," Dora said. "I don't like it. It smells wrong."

"You didn't know Peter and his mother," Sirius said.

"No. But I've spent a lot of time with the pair of you this year. Tossing ideas around, coming up with answers."

"Or more questions," Remus said.

"Yes, well, here's a question: What if Mr. Pettigrew knew that sooner or later, you would say, 'Peter. His mother. Right.' What if he's telling you where he is?"

"He's stupid," Sirius said. "Not mad. He knows I'll kill him."

"Does he know Remus would?"

Remus frowned at her. "I'd think so. I was right there in the Shack with Sirius, ready to do it."

"And then you lost your job--a job everyone knew you loved--and any chance you had of getting another. Dumbledore didn't refuse your resignation or do anything to hinder it. He stood up for Hagrid the next year when his secret came out, and his record is considerably more blemished than yours. Could make a man bitter." She shrugged. "I'm just saying, standing on the outside of this, that it looks a bit off to me."

Remus considered it, started to reject it, re-considered. "I'm not sure," he said. "Although if he is trying to reach me, I might be able to get close enough to capture him."

"Not by yourself, you're not," Sirius said.

"I'm neither stupid nor mad," Remus told him. "Dora, are the Aurors still investigating what happened down on the scene?"

She nodded. "It turns out that the fellow whose garden we found the last wolf in--the former boss--hasn't been seen or heard from where he's meant to be."

"Another missing person," Remus mused.

"Yes. And of course, they're not treating any of it as linked." Dora shook her head. "I'm assigned to be there tomorrow evening with a team. Why?"

Remus nodded. "I'll send you a signal if I see anything suspicious."

"I'll be with my team."

"And it will be a genuine call for help from Aurors. Which will give you a good pretext to come and find whatever there is to find."

Sirius was less than happy--he had no role to play--but in the end, it was decided. Remus had to supervise a history club after school (Sirius rolled his eyes fondly), then he would go to Biddenden.

School was uneventful. Alan asked what he and Dora were doing for the holidays, and gave him a book for Dora that Anna had chosen for the ladies' book group. Daniel Morse had moved on from the Black Death, and spent Remus's office hour working on a presentation on smallpox for the club. Remus talked him out of demonstrating the method of vaccination that had been devised, which involved cutting the skin and sewing a piece of infected thread back in. Daniel was disappointed to give it up, but did a perfectly gruesome history of the disease without benefit of visual aids. Stephen Wells was disappointed to report that Catherine the Great had apparently not died in the stables, as he'd heard, but promised to be on the lookout for other good stories. By the time they finished, it was dark outside, and Remus didn't have to walk far into the small wooded area before he could break his appearance Charms and Apparate safely away.

He found himself on a quiet, well-kept road, with screens of trees between it and the houses. It was obviously a wealthy neighborhood, and Remus wondered how a secretary had been able to afford a home here before realizing that the question had no meaning. She had lived here, and it was here that Peter's father had come for his trysts, until she disappeared. He'd died a week later. The Order had investigated her disappearance, and Remus remembered Peter going through her things with disdain, although he'd been distraught when he'd heard.

She was his first kill. Of course he was distraught.

Remus wasn't sure. It didn't feel right. Peter was the sort to build up to things, not to start big and then back off. So what had happened?

A wish made near the wrong person? A request he never imagined would be answered? And then he'd be in. Oh, yes. One didn't take favors from Voldemort or his Death Eaters without paying for them.

That felt more right, felt more like the Peter he remembered, but it was something he would probably never know. It could as easily have been an act that he was forced to perform to prove his loyalty. Or a whim. The Peter he remembered, after all, would not have done the things that Peter incontrovertibly did.

Remus slipped through the gate and onto the property. There was nothing obviously magical about it--not here among the Muggle houses; like Ted and Andromeda's home, this one had begun its life as a perfectly Muggle home and what magic touches there were had been inside, out of sight of the neighbors. The front garden was empty. A large oak tree, bare in the winter, reached its stark arms into the sky. An ornate swing, no doubt once used on lazy, romantic afternoons, hung askew from a frame hidden among the branches. A slight breeze blew through the garden, and the swing creaked.

He almost passed the tree with nothing but the maudlin observation of its loneliness, but the clouds parted, and the still large moon lit the garden. In the bark of the oak, black in this light, there were four fresh marks dragged across it, shining in the moonlight.

Claw-marks. Remus would know them anywhere.

Whatever else was here, this was part of Dora's search. He sent the signal.

From the front, the house seemed to be completely deserted, but Remus didn't believe it. He eschewed the front door and slipped around to the back.

About halfway down the house, he saw a small square of flickering torchlight, just above his eye level. As he got closer to the window, he could hear muted voices inside.

"...the matter?" one of them said when he got close enough to hear more than a mutter. He could see that the window was open a crack, probably for air. "Don't you like what we're feeding you? Don't you like being pried and prodded?"

A weak, pining sound answered, but Remus couldn't make it out.

"Personally," another voice said, "I can't wait until the first couple of twists at full moon. I'm going to stay out of the moonlight long enough to watch that."

The weak voice spoke again. Remus caught only, "...please..."

"I wonder if he's been gone long enough to lose his job yet," the first voice said, and there was a plopping sound. "Of course, even if he hasn't, he'll lose it when they find out why he's been gone."

Remus sighed. Well, here it was, the great goal he had once joked with Elizabeth about--werewolf solidarity. How else would it be?

There was no back door (or, rather, where there had been one, the arch had been filled with brick-work for some reason), and Remus didn't trust that suspiciously deserted-looking front door. Carefully--he was about twenty years older than he should be for this--he wrapped his fingers around a stone on the wall and pulled himself up, finding a foothold on another stone. He could see through the window now. Two burly men had their backs to him. One had a small cauldron of something red, and as Remus watched he flung a bit of it at a naked man lying on a dirty mattress on the floor. The man put up his hand in a warding gesture, but it didn't have any impact. He was obviously very ill. Remus could see an angry red infection on his leg. He wasn't close enough to see what had caused it, but he didn't need to see it to know that it was a bite.

The man holding the cauldron flung more of its contents at the mattress, and Remus realized with distaste that it was raw meat.

Wonderful, he thought. Simply brilliant. What an ingenious way to convince the magical world that we're trustworthy.

He pulled himself up a bit further, trying to get a better idea of--

"Well," someone said behind him, in a high, cheerful tone of voice. "I was beginning to wonder if I'd have to resort to just sending you an invitation by owl."

Remus let go of the window ledge and dropped to the ground, ignoring the pain in his knees and ankles when he landed. He reached for his wand, but he knew it was too late.

"Expelliarmus!"

His wand flew away from his grasping fingertips, and into a small, dark shadow in the garden, just outside the sphere of light from the window.

"Hello, Peter," he said.

Peter Pettigrew stepped forward, smiling eagerly, silver hand outstretched. Remus looked at it in disbelief, and Peter shrugged sheepishly and put the hand down. "Good to see you," he said. "I hoped you'd come."

"Who do you have in there?"

"I don't know. He wasn't my choice. Some anti-werewolf type as I understand it. I imagine there are a few of those you might like to get hold of by full moon." He smiled in the wavery, self-deprecating way he had when they'd all been children together and he'd done something especially to please one of the others. Despite his gray and thinning hair, he managed to look boyish... except for his eyes. His eyes darted around in their sockets like rats in round cages.

"Nervous about something, Peter?" Remus asked.

Peter tapped his upper lip with the tip of his tongue. "Nothing to be nervous about. Old friends and all."

Remus estimated the amount of time it would take Dora and her team to respond to the signal he'd sent (he really hoped that she hadn't run into another emergency), and how long it had been since he'd sent it. He didn't think he'd need to keep Peter talking for too long. "Then give me back my wand," he suggested.

Peter held the wand up, looked at it, then shook his head apologetically. "No," he said, lowering it. "No, I don't think I can do that. Not until we talk a bit, at any rate."

"What's Voldemort planning?" Remus asked.

Peter jumped as though someone had pinched him. "What do you mean?"

"I know this business with the werewolves isn't important to him. He has other Death Eaters back to handle his important business."

Peter bristled. "I'm offering to help you."

"The only help you can give me is the help I just asked for. Or hasn't Voldemort even told you what he's planning?"

"Stop saying his name," Peter hissed.

"All of that caretaking last year, and all you're really privy to now is an errand make false promises to dark creatures."

"They aren't false. Werewolves will be free to exercise their natures." Peter smiled in an unpleasant way. "Yes, Remus. Even your nature."

"So what you're offering, even presuming its truth, is the opportunity for us to live down to our worst elements."

"I'm offering a chance to justice out of those idiots at the Ministry. Or I could tell you who organized most of the raids against werewolves last time. I'd wager you'd enjoy taking a bite from him." He laughed nervously. "Then again, who'd want a mouthful of Snivellus Snape?"

Remus tensed, wanting to throw back another casual insult, to wrong-foot Peter again, but this time, Peter's aim had been true. Werewolves had been suspected of collusion in the last war, and Remus had no doubt that some had gone along with it. But for those who hadn't, there was a very quick reminder about Voldemort's views of mixed blood and mongrels. There'd been torture, both physical and emotional, and there had been murders. Several murders. Remus had not elected to talk about these things, even with his friends, but of course they'd noticed that he was upset by it.

And now, here was Peter, bringing it up, and telling him what he supposed he should have known all along, after what had happened at the Whomping Willow.

It had been Snape--Snape who still looked down his nose at Remus, who had cost Remus his job, who had been willing to send both Remus and Sirius to Azkaban because he was unwilling to listen. And that had all been after he'd presumably joined Dumbledore's side.

Peter's unpleasant smile widened. "Yes," he said. "I thought that would get your attention."

"It's ancient history," Remus muttered.

"Is it? He was one of the Dark Lord's. He tortured and murdered and... well, other things you might expect him to do. Dumbledore keeps him on year after year, no matter how badly he teaches or how cruel he is to his students. The things I heard Harry and Ron say in the dormitory!" He sighed dramatically. "You forgot your Potion once, and it's on the street with you. That has to bother you."

There was a very distant set of pops. Peter didn't appear to notice them. Remus looked at his own wand, now tucked into the sash that cinched Peter's robe at the waist. He thought about trying wandless magic--a simple Summoning Charm, perhaps--but it would take too much concentration. Peter would notice long before he was able to do anything, and would either transform (taking the wand with him, as it was part of the clothing he was wearing), or simply raise his own wand and send a Death Curse in Remus's direction.

Better to keep him talking, try to get close. He took a few casual steps forward, his arms crossed, looking vaguely at the sky. "Even if it does bother me," Remus said, "this business here is no solution. I've no interest in being a wolf all the time, and Voldemort won't have any use for a poor half-blood otherwise."

"The Dark Lord always has uses for those Dumbledore trusts."

"Yes, you'd know that, wouldn't you?" Another step. He was an arm's length away now. "Uses. A handy tool to be picked up when he needs you and discarded when a better tool comes along."

"You don't--"

Remus moved quickly, hopefully not giving Peter time to realize what was happening. He threw all of his weight sideways, toppling Peter to the ground and knocking his wand away, then planting his knee on Peter's chest and ripping his own wand from under the sash. He pointed it at Peter's throat. "How dare you?" he spat. "How dare you even ask me?"

"Remus, Remus," Peter said, his voice weak and trembling again. "I've tried to be a friend, I've tried to help you, and all of the others..."

"We both know you don't believe--"

Pain, as sharp and clear as shattered crystal, ripped through his left arm.

He looked down. Peter's silver hand was clasped around his elbow, pushing the joint inward, crushing the bones. A wave of faintness washed over him, and Peter shoved him down, scrambling to his feet and grabbing for his fallen wand.

"How dare I?" he asked, picking it up as he dropped back into the shadows. Remus could no longer make out his face. "I gave you a chance." He raised the wand. "Ava--"

A spell came out of the darkness, knocking Peter's aim off and distracting him from the task at hand. He looked up, then tucked his own wand into his sash and transformed. Remus heard him scurrying into the underbrush.

A moment later, Dora ran into the small area of light and knelt down beside him. "Are you all right?" she asked brusquely.

"Except for my arm."

She winced when she looked at it. "Splint it for now," she said. "I'm sure Sirius and I can sort it out better at home. Right now, my partner's inside."

"There are at least two men in there, keeping another one captive. That one's been bitten."

She nodded in a distracted way. "There are three of them. We don't go in without having a good idea what we're facing."

"Do you need help?"

"I'm on duty," she said firmly. "Come in, but don't help unless it's an emergency."

Without further discussion, she went to the bricked off doorway at the back of the house, raised her wand, and used a Reductor Curse to blast it away. Remus followed her inside.

Her partner (at least for tonight; the Aurors didn't team up on any regular basis) was a young man with a long ponytail. He had already subdued the man who Remus had seen with the cauldron of raw meat, and was trading spells with the other one. Dora didn't pause at the room where the sick man was being held captive, instead storming to the kitchen. Remus had barely had time to register what she was doing when he heard a loud bang, and then the futile cursing of a third man. When he got in, the man had been bound in tight, thin ropes. Dora levitated him and pushed him into the other room, where her partner had the others under similar control.

"That's all of them?" he asked her.

"The one in back got away," she said.

"Who was it?"

Dora bit her lip. "I didn't see him. He was in the damned shadows, and I couldn't see him."

"It was Peter Pettigrew," Remus said.

Dora's partner narrowed his eyes. "And who are you?"

"This is Remus Lupin," Dora said. "He's the one who called us. Remus, this is Dennis Scrimgeour."

Scrimgeour looked at him distastefully. "I'd heard this Pettigrew nonsense before."

"Watch it," Dora said.

"Did anyone else see it?" Scrimgeour asked.

Dora looked like she was about to lose her temper--she was quite keyed up--so Remus touched her shoulder lightly and shook his head. As usual, there was no proof, and Dora would only call attention to herself by picking this fight.

"It was a short, heavyset man," Remus said. "Balding, blue-eyed. One hand appears to have been magically replaced. And he bears a striking resemblance to Peter Pettigrew. Is that a more acceptable report?"

Scrimgeour still looked hostile, but stopped arguing.

There was a weak moan, and all three of them turned to the figure on the dirty mattress. The bite on his leg was deep and had torn through some major muscles, but of course that wasn't the real problem.

Dora went to him. "We're going to get you to St. Mungo's," she said. "And they'll get you fixed right up."

"No... cure..." he said.

There was no answer for that, so Dora just gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder, then Scrimgeour Conjured a stretcher and took him away.

Dora balled her hands on her hips. "Sick bastards," she said.

"No arguments here."

"I'm sorry about Scrimgeour. He's all right about most things, but at the moment, I could cheerfully wring his stubborn neck. Why can't they believe what's right in front of them?" She took a few deep breaths. "Go home, Remus. Sirius should be able to fix your elbow. I'll come by later. I have to make a damned report. I wish I'd seen him. I should have lied."

"No, you shouldn't have."

She nodded. "I know that. I really do. I'm just... never mind. Go home."

He went.