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Lunaticus Book Two: Moonstruck	By : JBankai89 Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Remus Views: 5775 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns Harry Potter, I gain nothing from this but a way to pass the time.

Chapter List
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A/N: I'm switching my weekly updates to Sundays, because reasons. Enjoy!
Chapter 4 – Missing

Harry didn't remember calling his friends over, but he must have, because suddenly Ron and Hermione were there. What had happened must have shown on his face, if their expressions were anything to go by. Shock, anguish, empathetic heartbreak. Or perhaps that was his own feelings. Harry was having a difficult time differentiating between the two. All he knew for certain was one moment he was alone, and the next his two best friends were standing before him.

“Oh Harry,” Hermione said sadly, and rushed over to pull him into a hug. Harry clung to her, but in light of what had just happened, somehow it felt so very wrong to him. Hermione was small and soft, and smelt of roses and vanilla, where Harry desperately wanted the scent of cedar and sandalwood, and strong arms holding him. His breath caught, and Hermione pulled back, her eyes teary. Ron stood by the fireplace, looking uncertain, and he quickly bustled off to the kitchen, presumably to make tea. Harry didn't feel offended—Ron had always been a little uncomfortable around strong displays of emotion.

“I told you,” Harry said, his voice hollow as he looked away from her. “I knew it, I knew it. I knew he'd leave.” His voice caught again, and Harry took several slow breaths in an effort to keep himself calm, though it didn't help. “I—I don't know what I did wrong Hermione, I—fuck.” He hissed his anger, a hand moving up to hide his face as a single tear escaped his eye, and he rubbed it away roughly. “He promised he wouldn't...” Harry trailed off uncertain if he was making sense, but he was too distraught, too lost, to care.

“It's not your fault, Harry,” Hermione sounded so sure of herself, as she always did, but Harry wasn't certain he believed her this time. Obviously he'd done something to make Remus leave. He didn't look at her and instead fixed his gaze upon the table knocked out of place, the broken china, the brown stain on the rug. His vision warped as his eyes filled with tears again, and distantly, he realized that Hermione was still speaking. “Harry, are you listening to me? It's not.”

“What did I do wrong?” Harry asked, more to himself than anyone else, utterly ignoring Hermione's words. The low whisper didn't sound like him; Harry couldn't recall the last time he'd felt so broken and lost. Ron returned with a tea tray and adjusted the table and mended the china with a few quick flicks of his wand, then pressed a cup into Harry's hands before he sat down. Harry held onto the hot cup, but didn't drink it.

“Remus and I were talking,” Harry said; he felt incapable of speaking at a regular volume, and instead continued to whisper to his knees. “He...he asked me about what's been going on and I...I told him about my dreams.” Harry felt a hand rest on his shoulder and gave it a small squeeze, but knowing he he was being touched by anyone but Remus filled him with new anguish. It hadn't been a full hour, and already he felt as though he'd been torn apart inside. Another solitary tear escaped from the corner of his eye, and he wiped it away quickly.

“He panicked,” Harry continued after a moment, trembling in his effort to reign in his anguish, “he—he seemed convinced that I wanted to become a werewolf. Then he took off, Disapparated before I could get to him.” As Harry finished his tale, he dropped the cup, it shattering, and he buried his face in his hands. He heard a low murmur of his friends presumably cleaning up the mess while he took several slow breaths in an effort to calm himself, though like before, it did not help nearly as much as Harry hoped that it would.

“Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry,” Hermione said, and Harry looked up and to see that her eyes were glassy, and she looked positively heartbroken. She pulled him into a tight hug, so sudden that for a moment Harry froze, startled, but he soon settled into it and hugged her back, his eyes stinging again with unshed tears.

When they finally parted Harry felt no better, still consumed with grief at Remus's sudden departure, but he did feel a great deal calmer, which was at least a step in the right direction.

“Harry,” Hermione said gently, drawing his attention back to her, “Remus will come back. He loves you. You know that, right?” Harry looked away from her, his eyes falling on the glowing embers of the dying fire. How could it be true? Remus had scarpered pretty fast. If he really loved Harry, wouldn't he have stayed? If anything, the older man's sudden departure reaffirmed that Harry's near-constant worry over the last few months that Remus would leave him was not, in fact, unfounded.

“I'm not so sure about that,” he said at last, while Ron and Hermione looked on sadly. He drew his knees up to his chest and stared ahead blankly. He heard a low murmur, as though someone was speaking, but he paid it little mind, at least until Hermione spoke directly to him again.

“There has to be more to this,” Hermione said fiercely, “Harry, do you still have the invitation Greyback sent him? What did it say?”

Harry stared at her, aware that she was speaking, but it took several long moments for the words to register in his mind. She watched him while she waited patiently for Harry to respond.

“Um, no...I don't know,” Harry mumbled as he raked a shaking hand through his hair. “He—he never showed it to me. I dunno where he kept it.”

“Okay, let's start there,” Hermione said a little too brightly. Harry did not raise his eyes to look at her, but started slightly when a fresh cup of tea was pressed into his hands. “Drink this Harry, I mean it,” she said forcefully, “don't move. We'll be just upstairs. C'mon Ron.”

Harry stared down into the teacup, and tried to feel something beyond his hollow anguish. He could hear his two best friends clomping about upstairs, but it didn't really register that they were going through all of Remus's personal belongings, looking for a months-old piece of parchment. For all Harry knew, he had taken it with him when he left.

The train of thought reminded Harry once more that Remus was gone. His breath escaped him as a tremble, his eyes burned, and he strove to remain calm. He drank his cooling tea quickly to keep from making another mess.

Fifteen minutes later by Harry's estimation Hermione and Ron returned to the main level looking rather grave. Hermione held a sheet of worn parchment, and without a word she pressed it on Harry. He shifted his gaze to the letter, and felt himself go a little cold.

Lupin,

News of your transformation has reached my pack, and as one of my bloodline you have a place amongst us, should you wish to claim it.

Your mate, however, is not welcome.

I no longer accept human-werewolf pair bonds within the territory; they cause too much additional stress to pack life, and there is always the danger that the human may be killed during the full moon cycle. If you wish to bring him, you must first turn him. Whether you choose to join us or not is of little consequence. His turning is inevitable. If you do not do it in order to join us, you will have to do it regardless.

Harry Potter is a powerful wizard, and to have one such as him bound to yourself will cause Anima Conversio. You should understand the implications behind that, you are not an unintelligent man. Should you choose not to join us, I still expect you to do as you are bidden. You are my kin, whether you want to admit it or not. You will turn Harry Potter, or facing me will be the least of your worries.

F. Greyback

“Anima Conversio...” Harry repeated out loud, “what is that?”

“The literal translation is Soul Conversion,” Hermione said, sitting down next to him. “What it means....I don't know. I can look into it for you, if you like.”

Harry shrugged feebly. The concept that Greyback wanted him turned did not shock him, or frighten him, or elicit any reaction at all, for that matter. Harry felt so dead inside without Remus, Harry truly felt like nothing mattered anymore.

~*~

Three days later, by Harry's estimation, Remus still had not come home. Harry took a leave of absence from work, for once using the fact that he was Harry Freaking Potter to his advantage. He was terrified of leaving Grimmauld Place for fear of Remus coming back and he missing him. What if Remus was hurt? What if Remus needed him? No, he couldn't risk leaving when he might come back at any time.

Harry was curled up on the sofa in the sitting room, cradling a cup of strong coffee in his hands while he stared intently at the fire grate. It was extinguished at the moment, but it still captured his attention. Harry's eyes were itchy and his head was pounding; he wasn't certain when he'd last rested, but he knew that he needed to be alert in case Remus came back. Harry tried to remember when he'd last slept, but the musing made his head hurt and he felt dizzy with confusion. He'd slept the night before, hadn't he? Harry couldn't remember. All he knew for certain was that he needed to wait for Remus to come back. He had to come back; he just had to.

In that time, Harry thought he'd had visitors, but he couldn't remember. The days had all begun to bleed together, and while he could recall seeing Ron, Hermione, and Ginny, he could not for the life of him remember when he'd last seen any of them. It was Ron and Hermione's engagement announcement, the last time, wasn't it? No, because Ron and Hermione had come to see him at Grimmauld Place...Harry shook his head violently; why was he so confused?

“All right Potter, enough pining.” The sudden drawling voice cut through the fog of Harry's brain and he looked up to see Draco Malfoy standing in the middle of his sitting room, with Hermione and Ginny standing just behind him with their arms crossed. Harry blinked several times and shook his head, trying to dispel the hallucination. When it didn't fade or even warp, Harry had to assume it was probably real.

“Malfoy...? Where did you come from?”

“From your fireplace, you twat. Your mudblo—” Malfoy stopped short from the identical death glares the three Gryffindors were giving him. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Granger contacted me in a panic, something about your werewolf taking off and you not moving—or bathing, by the smell of it—in nearly a week.”

“It's only been a day or so,” Harry mumbled, looking away from the Slytherin to the threadbare carpet, still stained with the tea from the day of Remus's hasty departure.

“It's been six days, Harry,” said Ginny, “you need to do something productive other than sitting here and drinking cup after cup of coffee. When did you even last sleep?” This was Ginny, which surprised Harry, as the reprimand had a distinctive Hermione Granger ring to it.

“Come on Potter,” Malfoy stepped forward and dragged Harry to his feet, causing him to drop the cup, it smashing into a number of pieces against the carpet. The coffee stain layered over the remnants of the one left from the tea, but he didn't have a chance to clean it up or mend his cup as Malfoy dragged him from the sitting room by the collar of his shirt while he ignored Harry's sputtering protests. He only stopped when they'd reached the master bedroom, and he shoved Harry down onto the bed, his irritated expression never wavering, and entirely unsympathetic to Harry's current life situation.

“Malfoy, what—” Harry began, but Malfoy was quick to cut him off.

“—Shut up Potter,” he snapped, glaring at Harry, “the stink coming off you is an affront to my delicate Malfoy sensibilities. Scourgify.” Harry hissed in pain as the cleaning spell scrubbed roughly across him, leaving Harry feeling as though the topmost layer of his skin had been peeled off. Malfoy flicked his wand again, and he found his jeans and T-shirt transfigured into a pair of pyjamas. Before Harry could utter any word of protest, Malfoy drew a small vial from his pocket that contained a thick purple potion. Without even a moment's pause, he swept forward and grabbed Harry's jaw, digging into its hinges with his fingertips. Harry gasped in pain and reached up to try and get the Slytherin off, but Malfoy ignored the feeble attempts while he tossed the potion down Harry's throat. He choked and sputtered, and within moments he could feel the potion begin to affect him, and he was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

When Harry next woke, the sky was a the deep indigo of twilight, and while Harry felt bodily refreshed, his mind and heart still ached. Remus's side of the bed was painfully cold, and the indent that he usually left was no longer there. His pillow barely smelt of him anymore, and the lack of his presence made Harry feel sick and hollow.

Harry wanted to do nothing more than lie in bed and never move again, but the low thrum of voices coming from the main level told him that until his 'guests' left, he wouldn't be able to have any peace.

With a heavy sigh, he dragged himself from bed, grabbed Remus's red dressing gown, and pulled it on. The scent of his partner enveloped him and Harry immediately felt slightly calmer, though the smell was also a bitter reminder that Remus was gone, and Harry had no idea where he was, or how to find him, much less get him back. Swallowing a dry sob that had bubbled up in his throat, Harry reluctantly headed back down to the main level.

“...don't know what will happen if Remus actually does that. He should know better than to think anything good will come out of blocking the bond. He may as well cast the Killing Curse on Harry, that would be more merciful that letting him die slowly.” At Hermione's words Harry stopped mid-step, and sat down on the stairs to listen.

“There's no need to be so dramatic over a lovers' tiff, Granger,” Malfoy replied in his usual drawling tone.

“It's not that simple Draco,” Ginny cut in, sounding impatient and annoyed, as though it wasn't the first time they'd had this discussion. “It's a magical bond that ties them together, and it's not something that can be broken, only blocked, like Hermione said. If Remus does block it, even if he thinks it's for Harry's own good, it would be the same as killing him.”

“I don't think Remus has done that yet, though,” Hermione's thoughtful voice cut in so sharply, it sounded to Harry as though she was cutting across the start of an argument between the couple. “Harry's still pretty coherent, just...depressed, I think. He just misses Remus.”

“Those two are so right together,” Harry was rather surprised that it was Ginny who had said those words, without even a hint of bitterness in her tone. “If they could stop being so stubborn they could have a perfect relationship. It's obvious to everyone how much they care for each other. Even Mum, though she'd never admit it. She's still stuck on the age difference...thing.”

Not wanting to listen to any more—hearing about Remus and him together did little to ease the feeling like he had a gaping hole in his chest—Harry made extra noise as he descended the rest of the steps to give his friends and Malfoy a chance to compose themselves before he showed his face. This seemed to be the right move, given that when he appeared in the entryway of the sitting room Hermione was wearing a painfully forced smile, Ginny was busying herself by picking at the loose threads on the sofa, while Malfoy's arms were crossed and he was glaring at the crackling fire in the grate.

“How long was I asleep?” Harry asked, his voice a little hoarse from lack of use. He didn't particularly care how long he had been out, but he had little desire to discuss Remus with his friends. He just wanted them to leave so he could wallow in his misery in peace.

“A couple hours,” Hermione replied after a pregnant pause, watching him intently as he crossed the room and sat in the armchair closest to the fire, pulling his knees up and wrapping his arms securely around them. He stared at the crackling flames, while behind him he could hear his three house guests muttering quietly to one another, though they were not speaking loudly enough for him to hear.

“Harry...” Hermione called his name, but he ignored her. “Harry, would you look at me, please? We need to talk about this.” Harry continued to ignore her, at least until he heard her snap, “Draco, put your wand away!” Harry's head whipped around at once, eyes wide with surprise, just in time to see Malfoy tucking his wand back into his robes, looking a little sulky. He refocused his gaze on Harry, his eyes narrowed in annoyance. It was quite clear to Harry that Malfoy would rather be anywhere but here.

“Stop playing the wounded wife routine Potter,” Malfoy snapped, “it's unbecoming of you. If you want your werewolf back, go and get him. It's as simple as that.” Malfoy crossed his arms across his chest, “I've spent the last week listening to Granger witter on about your poor love life, and how tragic it all is. You want your precious werewolf? Go outside and look for him.”

“It's not that simple Malfoy,” Harry tried for the defiant snap he'd always used in the past when addressing the pompous Slytherin, but couldn't manage a tone above a mumble while he spoke to his knees. “Remus is a werewolf, if he doesn't want to be found, I won't be able to find him.”

“Since when do you talk like such a loser, a failure? The Harry Potter I knew at school was never one to roll over and take it. If you can't find your werewolf, I'm sure your bleeding owl will have no trouble in locating him.”

“Wait, what?” Harry finally looked up, staring blankly at Malfoy while he huffed and rolled his eyes.

“How you managed to pass your O.W.L.s—never mind your N.E.W.T.s—is beyond me. Severus was right—you are a dunderhead. Owl magic, you twit. When you acquire an owl, their innate magic connects with yours, and if you have a partner—husband, wife, whatever—it will, in turn, connect with them too. You don't even need to tell the owl the address, they should be able to locate them on instinct alone.”

“Draco, that's brilliant!” Hermione was practically bouncing in her chair in excitement. Ginny smiled approvingly, and Harry watched as she slipped her hand into his. The effect it had on the blond's entire demeanour was instantaneous; his facial features softened and he looked less haughty and irritated, his expression shifting into something of a neutral mask. If Harry wasn't mistaken, he was certain that he saw Malfoy squeeze her hand lightly. “Harry, just write Remus a letter and ask him to come home. At least then you two can talk face-to-face.”

Hermione's enthusiasm did little to cheer him. He knew they were trying to help (even Malfoy, in his own way), but Harry struggled to see the point in trying. Remus would come home if he wanted to, not because Harry asked him to. Hermione seemed unwilling to take no for an answer however, and flicked her wand to summon some parchment, a quill, and ink, and she pushed them on him at once. With a resigned huff, Harry balanced the ink pot on one knee, pressed the parchment against his thigh, and began to write.

Remus,

Please come home, we need to talk. I miss you.

Harry

It took several drafts and variations of the same ten words, Harry tapping the parchment with his wand to erase them over and over until he was happy with it.

“Finished,” he said to the others, while he screwed the cap back on his ink and set it on the table, but when he looked up he saw that all three were staring at him strangely. “What is it now?”

“How did you manage to not spill ink all over yourself?” Hermione spoke as though he'd turned water into wine, and Harry rolled his eyes while he folded up the letter and scrawled Remus's name on the outside of it.

“Loads of practice with the Dursleys,” he replied, clicking his tongue once to call Strax, and handed him the small letter. “Try to find Remus, all right?” Harry asked him, and the owl gave him a muffled hoot of reassurance around the parchment in his beak. He spread his wings and took off towards the kitchen and the open window there, while Harry slumped back against the armchair's cushions.

“I've been combing the Black library while you were sleeping,” Hermione continued after a moment of silence, “for that Anima Conversio thing Greyback mentioned in his letter...But I couldn't find anything. Whatever this is, it's rare magic—I don't even know if it's a human brand of magic. I'm going to try the Ministry libraries, see if I can find anything, but Harry—if it's rooted in werewolf magic there might not be anything there. Werewolves are horribly secretive when it comes to their brand of magic.”

Harry replied with a noncommittal grunt; he didn't particularly care one way or the other. This Conversio thing hadn't manifested itself in any way except some strange dreams, and thus discovering what it was wasn't exactly at the top of his to-do list.

At long last, Ginny and Hermione seemed to get the hint that he wanted to be left alone. The two gave him a hug, murmured words of hope and encouragement into his ear, though they went over his head completely. How would things ever be all right if Remus wasn't there with him? He watched his friends disappear into the Floo with Malfoy in tow, and slumped back against the sofa's cushions miserably.

~*~

Three days later, Harry had settled back into his routine of watching and waiting. He never left the main level for more than a few minutes at time, always quick to return to his silent vigil of alternating between watching the fireplace and gazing hopefully out the window at the street below.

In that time, he'd received a number of letters from both Hermione and Ginny reminding him to eat and shower, as well as Hermione reassuring him that she was still looking for information on Anima Conversio, though like before he did not particularly care to find out what it was. It was secondary to the acute loss of Remus from his life, and whether it meant Harry was going to die, or live, or something else entirely, he could not find it in himself to even try to care.

For the most part he ignored their reminders, only giving in when Kreacher threatened to contact his friends and tell on him for not properly eating or sleeping (according to Kreacher, coffee was not a food group). Harry didn't entirely understand how Kreacher could go against his orders of leave me alone that he had issued to the elf at least three times a day, though he supposed it was one of those House Elf enslavement loophole things.

On the fifth day, Strax returned looking distinctly ruffled, and Harry saw at once that the source of his indignation came from the fact that the letter he'd sent to Remus had been returned, unopened.

The sight of it burned in Harry, cutting him as deeply as a slap in the face might have. He gently took the letter from the owl, who puffed out his chest in clear frustration, and fluttered off to the kitchen to find some food.

Harry stared at the letter, slightly warped from going to and from wherever Remus happened to be. A quick test with his wand confirmed what he already suspected, and the letter had indeed not been opened. Harry wasn't sure if he wanted to be angry or hurt by this, but he settled for trying to write him again, and summoned a fresh scroll of parchment and self-inking quill to him.

Remus,

Please come home.

I dunno what I did to upset you, but I'm sorry. Please, please come home. It feels weird being here without you.

Harry

Harry had begun to doubt whether or not Remus would actually read it, but he had to try, didn't he? It was at least something productive, which felt both gratifying and exhausting all at once. He needed Remus back. It went beyond simple emotional anguish, and seemed to manifest in Harry's heart like a physical ache. He stared at the short letter for several long, silent minutes, sending up a prayer to every God and Goddess he'd ever heard of that Remus would heed his pleas and come home—or at the very least write him back.

Deciding that it would be better to send off the letter sooner, rather than later, he stood with a groan, his knees popping audibly after sitting for so long, and he ambled into the kitchen to find his owl.

Strax was back on his perch near to the back door, and sat up attentively when Harry came in. “Ready to try again?” He asked the creature as he flew down to land on Harry's shoulder lightly. The owl hooted in what Harry assumed to be reassurance as he tied the letter in place and watched as he took flight and soared out the open window into the cool spring evening. The sight of his fading to little more than a black speck on the orange sunset filled Harry with hope, and he prayed that this time, Remus would answer him.

Three days later, Strax returned with the letter unopened.

~*~

Three days turned into six weeks, and Remus still had not come home.

Harry's letters continued to be returned unopened, and eventually Strax refused to deliver them. With each letter that the owl returned to Harry, he looked progressively more and more ruffled and irritated. Harry wasn't certain whether Remus was merely shooing Strax off or doing something worse, but the idea that Remus didn't want to see him so much that he would deliberately harass or scare his owl to do so was deeply unsettling; it was wildly out of character for the older man, and it burned in Harry that Remus was that determined to not contact him. Easter had passed Harry by without him even noticing, and the chocolates that Molly had sent over lay unopened in a dusty corner of his and Remus's bedroom.

Harry sat before the fire, twirling the ring on his finger that Remus had given to him barely five months earlier. Had it really been that long? Harry looked out the window at the pounding rain that obscured the view of the street, and he felt as though the weather was mirroring his mood. “Remus,” Harry whispered miserably, “where are you?”

The weeks apart from his partner had not been kind to Harry; he had lost a dangerous amount of weight, more than he'd ever lost even while under the tyrannical rule of the Dursleys. Through his T-shirt it was possible to count his ribs, and his skin had taken on a sickly, sallow hue. Harry felt as though he was utterly incapable of leaving the house—what if Remus came back?—and as a result, his 'search' for the werewolf had been rather limited to staring despondently into the fire, and writing letters to him. With no way to send them however, Harry would read them over once before he crumpled them up and tossed them into the fire.

Harry heaved a trembling sigh and raked his hands through his greasy hair. His harried thoughts were interrupted by the soft clink of ceramic on wood, and he came back to himself long enough to see Kreacher placing a bowl of some sort of thin soup and a chunk of crusty bread before him. “Master Harry will eat,” he said firmly while he frowned at Harry. “Kreacher does not wish for Master Harry to die of starvation. Master will eat. Kreacher does not wish to have Miss Hermione force Master's hand.” The elf crossed his thin arms and did not move, and seemed to relax when Harry resignedly picked up the bowl and began to eat obediently. In truth he wasn't hungry at all, but he'd rather not have the elf call on Hermione again just to get another earful about his dietary habits, or worse—Mrs Weasley.

“Kreacher,” Harry began, looking over the rim of the bowl at the elf, who stood sentry-like, watching him consume the small meal. “When you were here alone with Remus, did he ever say anything, or—or go anywhere? He won't answer my post and I don't know if I'll ever be able to find him, and looking almost feels like a waste of time...”

“Master Remus was always thinking of Master Harry, and he worried for Master Harry often,” Kreacher began in a croaky voice after a moment of thoughtful silence. “Kreacher thinks Master Harry should start how he did with the wolf-killers,” Kreacher said, and Harry blinked once, then after a moment the gears in his brain shifted, and he understood what the elf was alluding to.

“You mean ask Greyback for help?”

“Indeed, Master. He may be able to find Master Harry's lost wolf.”
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Lunaticus Book Two: Moonstruck