"There are no accidental meetings between souls." - Sheila Burke
On the second of June 1977, Isabeau Dunn shot her future husband, Remus Lupin.
Of course, at the time, she was not aware that she was indeed shooting her husband-to-be, or that she was even interacting with a human being at all. It was a full moon on that particular night, and as everyone knows, a werewolf is hardly the chatting sort...
Their story began in Bibury, a picturesque little town in the Cotswolds where nothing ever happened and whose residents were content to keep it that way. It was just after four in the morning, an hour in which most things were quite still, save for the one-eared tabby named Baxter, who hissed at the window in such a vile manner that it roused young Isabeau from sleep.
She glared at him with one eye over the edge of her pillow, mentally willing the tiny beast to calm down. When he did not, she took said pillow and tossed it at him. Baxter hissed louder, beating the thing into submission before fleeing from her nightstand into the closet.
"Ruddy cat," Isabeau groaned before turning over, already missing her pillow, but completely unwilling to retrieve it.
It was as her consciousness was beginning to slip that Isabeau heard a curious noise outside. The sound of something large scraping against the house, grinding against the rock that served as their walls.
Now, the Dunns had lived and worked the land of Bibury for the last one hundred years. They were sheepherders – damn good ones too – coming to regard their flocks as more precious than their very lives. As such, every member of the Dunn family tended to be overly curious and underly cautious, a trait Isabeau was the proud recipient of.
Had she thought better of it, Isabeau would have left well enough alone – their lands were at the edge of a thick spot of trees and all sorts of horrid noises lurked there – and nothing would have come of the creature stalking about outside. But then, she would not have been a Dunn, and there would be no story.
Instead, she rolled out of bed with a sigh and grabbed her coat strewn haphazardly across her desk.
Half awake, Isabeau shuffled across the cottage, utterly silent next to the sound of her father's snores from the other room. She briefly considered enlisting his aid, but decided against it. He would have to be up soon enough, and she wanted him to get some rest.
"C'mon, Major," Isabeau mumbled, nudging the large pile of fur on the ground. "Time to patrol the perimeter."
The mass, fully named The Major, was a wolfhound, and as proud a one as the name implied. He came up to Isabeau's chest, a gray behemoth that no other creature dared to cross, not the local dogs nor the ram of the flock, having learned a hard lesson two summers ago. So, the hound's pride, frustrating as it was, was warranted.
The Major huffed, stretching his long legs before joining Isabeau by the doorway as she threw her boots on.
Isabeau reached into the closet by the door, grabbing her father's double-barreled shotgun – resting between the broom and mop naturally – and tucking it under her arm. She took two shells from the shelf above and loaded them, grabbing a handful more for her jacket pockets.
Throwing caution to the wind may have been a trait of the Dunns, but they weren't complete fools.
A mist blanketed the ground that morning, burying her ankles in a shroud as she stepped into the yard. Though the sun was still well below the horizon, there was the barest hint of light covering the land, turning it from an inky black to various shades of gray and other dull hues.
The gently rolling Cotswold Hills greeted her, still and unchanging. Distant dots on the horizon informed her that the flock hadn't moved, so whatever stalked their property hadn't bothered with them.
Yet.
That motivation alone had Isabeau tightening her grip on the shotgun and turning to the backside of the house, where the local woods loomed over their property. She paused beside her bedroom window, examining the stones beneath it. Fresh dust covered the grass, scraped off by something. She felt claw marks embedded deep in the rock.
I owe Baxter an apology, she thought.
The Major sniffed at the spot, his ears quickly flattening against his head as a deep growl emanated from his throat. He turned toward the low wall that separated the house from the woods, pointing.
Made of solid stone, the wall probably once came to her height, but had fallen into disrepair and lost much of it, more than half in some places. Isabeau made for the barrier, her shotgun at the ready, while The Major stayed at her heels.
Staring down the sights, Isabeau inspected the area, though there wasn't much to see. Despite the imminent sunrise, the light had yet to penetrate the densely wooded area, making it feel darker than even the night had been. Though her eyes were still well-adjusted to the dark, she couldn't make out much past the first couple rows of trees.
So, she listened, resting the barrel on the top of the wall, waiting for something to happen. She heard a bird singing its first notes of the day, the wind as it drifted through the branches, stirring the leaves, and still The Major's low growling as he sensed something she could not. It put her on edge, watching the unchanging scenery, but soon the adrenaline began to wear off, and Isabeau felt her eyelids growing heavy once again.
She might have even slept briefly, because where once there was nothing but darkness in the trees ahead of her, there was suddenly a pair of eyes, brightly shining at the edge of the forest, attached to a formless void. They gripped her, those eyes, watching with a curiosity and intelligence that she did not expect. Perhaps that was why she did not pull the trigger as it stepped out of its sanctuary, or perhaps it was still the sleep that clung to her body.
It was a wolf, or so she thought. Certainly no dog was the size of this beast, not even The Major. She didn't even think the pitiful creatures at the zoo were quite so large. And the eyes...
No, nothing had eyes like that.
Her musing was cut short when the creature suddenly bounded towards her. One moment, half a field stood between them, and in the next, she could almost touch the thing as it leapt toward her.
Isabeau instantly dropped, taking the shotgun with her as she ducked behind the wall.
The wolf cleared it easily, landing on the other side just short of slamming into the house. It turned to face her, all signs of intelligence gone, replaced by a ferocity that bordered madness. Snarling and frothing at the mouth, the creature barked once, baring teeth nearly the size of her hand.
In a heartbeat, The Major rammed into the creature, sending it sliding down the dew-covered grass. It recovered quickly, squaring up with the wolfhound before charging. The two collided, a mess of fur and teeth and snarls, moving so fast and violently that Isabeau could hardly make out where one ended and the other began.
Snapping from her stupor, Isabeau scrambled off the ground and brought her father's shotgun back up. She steadied herself, whistling once.
The Major dropped his attack, quickly jumping out of the way, leaving the wolf alone in her sights.
She fired.
Buckshot caught the wolf in the right shoulder, tearing off fur and flesh, leaving a red spray on the stones beneath her window.
Yelping in pain, the creature ran off, limping, but still clearing the wall as if it was nothing. Isabeau followed, aiming the shotgun in the direction it had fled. The wolf had already put significant distance between them, however, and her second shot did little more than clear some bark from the closest tree and scare a bird from its perch.
Still, she quickly reached into her jacket pocket, digging out two more shells and reloading. Injured and scared it may have been, but animals did funny things when put in that situation.
She stared into the forest, straining her eyes as she searched for any evidence of its return. But the light was growing stronger, the outlines of the forest thicker, and nothing in the trees dared to move. Even the birds had grown quiet.
A window flew open behind her, causing Isabeau to jump and nearly pull the trigger.
"What the devil is going on out here?!" her father shouted, hanging out the window with his own jacket half on. "Good God, girl, thought I was back in France for half a minute. Imagine my relief when it was just my daughter shooting things."
Despite everything, Isabeau couldn't help but smile, turning from the wall. "So, you heard then?"
He pointed to the hearing aid in his right ear, thoroughly unamused. "I don't need these bloody things to hear a gunshot in my own backyard."
Sixty years old and the only thing wrong with Michael Dunn was his hearing. He claimed the Nazis took it, which was fine and dandy because he got their lives in exchange. Her father still had a full head of peppered hair, could move as well as any man half his age, and had a spark in his bright blue eyes that spoke of laughter and mischief. He'd taught her how to shoot at the ripe old age of ten and hadn't looked back since; he expected her to take the farm off his hands one day, since he no longer had Nicky.
"What'd you see?" he asked.
Isabeau turned back to the forest, scanning the area once more, but there was no sign of the beast. "I thought it was a wolf."
"A wolf? There hasn't been a wolf in these parts since...since well before you or I."
"I know that," she replied, bringing the shotgun off the wall and unloading it. "But you didn't see it, Dad. It was bigger than The Major."
At the sound of his name, the wolfhound trotted by, completely unaffected by his latest row. He stuck his head in her father's window for a well-deserved round of scratches.
"And I'm betting that didn't faze our boy in the slightest," her father said, obliging the hound. While The Major listened to her, no one made that wolfhound happier than her father did. "Bo needn't have bothered, isn't that right, old boy? You'd have driven off that creature yourself."
The Major barked.
Isabeau affectionately rolled her eyes. "Well, if it was just a dog, it's the biggest one I've ever seen, and feral to boot."
Her father sobered then. "Did you hit it?"
"Clipped its shoulder. Thing still managed to clear the wall."
"Best skip breakfast then. If there's a rabid dog out here, the flock'll be in danger," he replied with a nod. "Bo, I want you to phone the Mayfields and the Wrights. Tell them to keep an eye out. You think you can track it?"
Her smile was prideful. "Better than you at any rate."
"That's my girl."
Briar had been Nicky's horse, a black gelding that still had an attitude and a tendency to drop a rider if it struck his fancy, but ever since her brother passed away, the beast had been gentler. If anyone doubted that animals mourned, Isabeau could quiet them with their story. But it wasn't something she spoke of often, out of preference.
Isabeau rode him through the forest, slowly covering the ground that the wolf had trekked across. She kept the shotgun at the ready, nudging Briar left and right with her boots whenever they needed to change their course. Ahead of them, The Major stalked across pine needles, pawing at the ground on occasion. Every time they hit a thick spot of blood, he would growl, and the time between those moments were growing shorter. They'd be on it soon enough.
She hadn't needed to bring Briar, but Isabeau had an inkling that she was right about the beast that attacked her. A wolf in England was something that would be of interest to everyone in the area. It would be best if she brought the proof back with her, and she wasn't about to drag the corpse through the trees on her own.
The little patch of woods had been rumored to be haunted for years, but of course, the Dunns had never believed such nonsense. If they'd been haunted, they would have seen something, but now Isabeau could not help but think of all the little stories told in the dead of night to little children who had no interest in sleep. She thought of those creatures they'd gone on about, snatching up souls who strayed too far.
She clutched the gun tighter and pressed forward.
Eventually, The Major halted in his tracks, lowering to the ground. They were at a clearing caused by a small creek that bisected the woods, the light of the morning sun finally penetrating the trees as they thinned.
Isabeau dismounted, tying Briar's reins to a low-lying branch. She inched forward slowly with The Major, ready for anything to jump out at them. Although she did not plan on the wolf being able to fight back, she hadn't planned on dealing with a wolf period, so she had to be prepared for any possibility.
Of course, what she did find was most certainly not amongst the numerous things she had braced herself for.
The sight was so shocking, that it didn't register in Isabeau's mind. There she stood, at the edge of the trees, pointing her shotgun at a form lying in the creek bed. The blood trail they'd been following led directly to it, to include a small pool of it forming around the body, yet that was not a wolf she was staring at.
It was a man.
"Oh Christ," Isabeau whispered, lowering her shotgun. "Oh Christ. Oh Christ. Oh Christ."
The more she swore, the more real it all became as Isabeau stumbled into the creek bed, little stones and water flying up around her as she ran toward the man.
"Good Lord, why are you naked!?" Isabeau exclaimed as she skidded to a halt beside the motionless man, not that he could have heard a word she said. He was unconscious, raggedly breathing as his arm slowly bled out into the creek, a victim of a very obvious gunshot wound to the shoulder. "I've gone and shot a bloody hippie!"
Averting her eyes, Isabeau leaned the shotgun on a nearby rock and quickly took off her jacket, lying it across the more offensive parts of his body. Only then did she kneel down to get a good look at him.
He was young, her age if she had to guess, but didn't resemble any of the teenagers from around the area, and she knew them all. There weren't many of them to begin with. Who was he then? If he really was a hippie, he'd come to the wrong area. This wasn't the city, and no one in town had time for hooligans of his nature.
Well, clearly, she'd shot him after all.
Oh god, she'd shot him.
How could she have shot him? No one was there!
Isabeau smacked herself. "Get it together, Bo. One crisis at a time."
She placed a hand on the side of his face, gently shaking it, hoping to stir him. "Hey, can you hear me? Please tell me you can. I can't leave you here and I can't very well drag you out of this place on my own."
Blue eyes opened, confused and scared, but very much alive. Isabeau's relief was short-lived, however, as the man bolted upright, slamming his head into hers. She fell over with a shout, gripping her forehead in pain as she rolled around on the rocks.
"Alright," she hissed. "Maybe I deserved that."
When she opened her eyes again, the boy was scrambling to his feet, desperately clinging to her jacket so he wouldn't be completely exposed to her. His eyes kept darting between her and The Major, who had since jumped between the two of them, his teeth bared, one bad move away from attacking.
"Down, Major! You ruddy dog, he's not what we're after!" Isabeau shouted, sitting up and grabbing the wolfhound. He wasn't quite content with obeying however, dragging her across the rocks a few steps before she finally put all her weight into him and kept him still. "There we go."
The stranger was still staring at her, one arm barely keeping her jacket in place, the other still very much bleeding. He was trembling and pale, and looked ready to fall over with the slightest breeze.
And Isabeau did not know what to say to him.
What does one say to a naked, bleeding man covering up his nethers with their jacket?
She decided to start with the basics.
"Um...hi."
There was a pregnant pause, the two left sitting in awkward silence. The Major huffed and walked out of Isabeau's grip, leaving her back on the rocks. Even he'd had enough of their ridiculousness.
"Hello," was his eventual shaky reply. He sounded like he'd never had a drink in his life.
It was a start.
"Do you, uh, wander the forest naked often?"
Not a fine start, clearly. She'd have smacked herself if she wasn't worried the sound alone would send him bolting through the trees.
"Not if I can help it, no."
They stopped talking again, gaping at one another, never mind that the stranger was slowly bleeding out from his shoulder.
Isabeau stood then, dusting herself off. She was wet on one whole side, but that hardly mattered. Rare was the day that went by where she remained clean.
The stranger stepped back. "I should...I should leave, yes, I shouldn't...shouldn't stay..."
"And go where? It's forest for acres, and you're not exactly dressed for the walk," Isabeau replied, gesturing to his...well, everything. The man looked down at himself, frowning and turning a very bright shade of red. "Just...stay there a minute. Please. You're hurt."
"I'll be fine."
"My arse, you will. You've got buckshot in your shoulder. Stay."
She pointed a menacing finger at him - a gesture her father insisted the devil himself could not withstand - and then turned to crawl back up the embankment. Briar still stood at the top, watching the forest with complete disinterest. If he'd heard any of the commotion below, he clearly did not care.
Slowly, she led the gelding down to the creek bed, where the stranger still stood, eying The Major. The wolfhound had yet to take his eyes off him.
Isabeau quickly unclasped Briar's saddle, gently lowering it to the ground and removing the blanket from underneath. She stepped forward slowly, half expecting the stranger to flee as she did so, not unlike many animals she had dealt with, holding out the blanket as an offering.
"Here, wrap yourself up in this. You'll smell like a horse, but you won't be quite so...exposed."
He looked between her and the blanket. "Um...do you mind if..."
"Oh!" she started, blushing herself and quickly closing her eyes, covering them with her free hand just in case. Of course, the poor boy wouldn't have been able to grab the blanket, not without dropping his other covering. His right arm was all but useless to him. She waited until the weight of it left her grasp, then turned away.
"Alright, you can look."
Isabeau turned back to see the stranger wrapped in the blanket, uncomfortable still but far less wary. Her jacket had been left on a rock.
He was watching her carefully, gauging her, those blue eyes studious and intelligent. She felt as if she was the one in the wrong place and not the other way round.
"We should, uh...we should get you to a doctor. Can't leave an injury like that untreated."
"No, no doctor," he replied, shaking his head fervently. "I just need to get home."
"And where's home?"
"Barnsley."
Isabeau scoffed. "Well, you're a little far off there. Bibury's a bit out of the way for wandering after hitting the pub too hard. How'd you get here?"
He grew quiet then and she could see the boy retreating into himself. Standing naked save for a blanket was probably not the best time to be questioned by a stranger who may or may not have shot you.
"Right, sorry, this morning is just...hang on," Isabeau stammered, retreating to Briar's side. She quickly cinched the saddle back on and tucked her jacket into one of the packs. With a soft click and a nudge from her boot, she got the gelding to lie down on the rocks. "Alright, get on."
The stranger blinked. "What?"
"You can't expect me to make you walk through the woods barefoot, do you? That shoulder won't be the only thing bleeding by the time we get back."
"No, I can't possibly-"
Isabeau whistled. On cue, The Major shoved into the stranger, making him stumble forward.
"I'm not asking."
The return journey was utterly silent.
Not one to ride with half-naked men, Isabeau took to leading Briar through the forest, making their exit far slower than their entry. She didn't mind too much. It gave her time to mull over the utter insanity that had just taken place moments before.
She knew she hadn't shot the man. There was no way that she would have missed a naked person glowing in the early daylight as she went to shoot the wolf. This left her with two other options. One, he'd been shot already and had stumbled into the creekbed, which was a whole other mystery in and of itself.
The other...well, that was just pure fantasy, but the more she thought on the situation, the harder it became to escape the possibility that the man and the wolf were connected in some way. He was shot in the exact spot that she'd hit the wolf, and moreover, didn't carry any marks from a man left wandering the woods overnight. She'd noticed his feet, how they were clean and bloodless, not even covered in mud. Unless he'd magically dropped from the sky, there should have been some indication that he'd been walking barefoot around the area.
But it was all just silly, there was no relation between the two. Perhaps it was the most extraordinary example of coincidence that she'd ever witnessed. Stranger things had happened during the course of history.
Besides, there were other things to worry about. Like the fact that he was shot and she owned a shotgun. If he didn't want to see a doctor, perhaps he didn't want to see the police either, but there was no telling what his parents would think.
Being arrested for attempted murder would certainly put a damper on her summer plans.
They emerged from the forest perhaps half an hour later, with the sun slowly making its journey to midday. The truck was still gone from the drive, meaning her father was still with the flock, which was a relief. More terrifying than the prospect of police was the thought of confronting her father with a naked young man accompanying her.
She wouldn't have to worry about attempted murder if her father flat out killed the boy.
After an awkward affair of trial and error when it came to getting the stranger off Briar, Isabeau led him inside, leaving the poor boy to stand awkwardly in the bathroom with a towel pressed to his shoulder while she rummaged through the attic. It gave her a wonderful respite from the constant sensation of his gaze.
They still had trunks full of Nicky's old clothes, surely something would fit the stranger. He was a bit taller than her brother, but anything was better than nothing at this point.
"What's your name?" she shouted suddenly, realizing that perhaps she ought to know it given her rather...extensive knowledge of the rest of him.
The house was silent for a long time. Isabeau had just started to believe that he would not answer her, until she heard his voice drifting through the rafters.
"Remus," he called. "Remus Lupin."
"Well, that's...quite the name," she replied, coughing as she shook out one of her brother's old dress shirts. "Mine's Isabeau Dunn. I can spell it out for you if you want it for the police report."
Perhaps it was just the distance messing with her hearing, but she thought he actually chuckled. "No, that's quite alright. I won't be filing anything."
"I can't say I'm not relieved," she said, climbing back down from the attic, and quickly tossing a pair of pants his way. "They're a bit short, but you're skinny enough to fit in them."
She returned to the hallway as he changed, opening the linen closet and sifting through the first aid supplies they had. Being a farmer meant the constant possibility of being hurt, and while most of the time it did not warrant a trip to the doctor – even if it did, one was loath to go – it usually required some form of treatment. Everyone in the household learned how to take care of themselves in some capacity.
Isabeau returned to find Remus standing in her brother's definitely short pants, causing her to giggle slightly as they stopped mid-shin.
Placing her supplies on the counter, she gestured for Remus to sit.
"I'd rather just go home, if that's alright."
She sighed. "Look, Remus, if you don't want to see a doctor, the least you can let me do is take the buckshot out. I promise, I know what I'm doing. My uncle Terry caught some in the foot last spring, and he's still kicking."
He was staring at her again; he always seemed to be debating something on the scale of life and death to her. Every decision he made had to be weighed for a considerable amount of time.
"Alright."
Awkwardly, he sat on the toilet, allowing her to properly look at the wound. Not only was he taller than her brother, he was much taller than her.
Applying some rubbing alcohol to a rag, she frowned at Remus. "This is going to hurt."
"I'm used to it."
His statement gave her pause, but Isabeau quickly shook it off and got to work, cleaning and disinfecting his shoulder. True to his word, Remus was used to the pain, unflinching at the contact, as if she was only applying water. She would have questioned if she actually was if it weren't for the strong odor.
Almost an hour later, she was still picking out bits of buckshot, slowly combing over the entirety of the wound to make sure she hadn't missed anything, and doing her damnedest to ignore the body of the man beside her. It wasn't an attraction, just a curiosity. She'd slowly, then very quickly, began to notice scars. First it was one here and there, which was nothing, but then her eyes began to pick out two or three at a time. Very few were deep, but all were noticeable, little white lines criss crossing in unending patterns.
This led her, of course, to the very obvious scars across his face. They were old scars, faded on the edges, but still prevalent on his skin. He'd been attacked by some sort of animal – or several if his abdomen was any indication – which clearly explained why he was so used to the pain. He'd probably had much worse.
"Did you...um..." Isabeau started, unsure if she wanted to ask. His blue eyes turned to her. "Did you happen to see a wolf by any chance? Large, gray, very violent."
He watched her for half a moment before shaking his head. "Just that hound of yours."
The Major, who'd been keeping watch from the doorway, snorted.
"Right, of course. It's just that...you see...I shot a wolf, and now you're shot, which I'm sure has nothing to do with anything, but I find the timing of it odd and...oh never mind," she said, shaking her head. She grabbed the bandages off the counter and began to wrap the wound. "I'm talking nonsense. It was early and I wasn't seeing things clearly. I'm sorry that this happened."
"It's not your fault," Remus replied, his voice strong and firm. It was the most solid statement he'd ever given her, prompting her to look down at him.
She was caught up in those eyes again, and as she watched him, Isabeau was suddenly struck by why she was so fixated on him.
Those were the same eyes that had stared at her from the forest.
"What do you mean 'you lost him?!'" Sirius' image shouted from the fireplace. Both James and Peter physically recoiled from their friend's anger. They weren't normally the targets of his fury, but losing their werewolf pal in the middle of muggle territory certainly qualified them to be on the receiving end of it.
"Lost? No, I didn't mean lost. I meant, uh...temporarily misplaced and will recover shortly!" James replied unconvincingly. Peter snorted. He smacked him.
"It's not that we meant to," Peter said, staring at his feet. He never could look anyone in the eye, especially when he was guilty. "There were complications."
"An owl snatched Peter, stuck him up a tree," James continued, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Then he fell from said tree and knocked himself unconscious."
Normally, that would have made Sirius laugh, but mostly he was staring at them through the flames like he was witness to two of the greatest idiots of their time. That look was usually reserved for Lily.
"I'm coming down," he said eventually.
"No, no, no, we're going to find him. His parents are already out looking," James said as Peter stepped away from the fireplace.
"That's reassuring," Sirius replied, sarcastic as ever. "Did they decide to leave before or after throttling the two of you?"
"Hey, James."
"You know, they were actually nice about it. They like me."
"No one likes you, James. They just pity you."
"James..."
"Low blow, Padfoot."
"Prongs!" Peter shouted, finally getting his friend's attention. "Moony's outside in a car."
"He's what?"
Leaving the conversation behind, James looked out the window of the Lupins' new home, and there it was. A small, green, banged up car was idling in the street, with none other than Remus staring at the house from the small window.
"Bugger me, it really is him."
There was a proper woosh from behind as Sirius made his way into the house via the floo network, promptly scattering ashes across the living room floor.
"Didn't I say not to come?" James asked as they rounded for the entryway.
"Since when do I listen to you?" Sirius countered, throwing the door open and bounding into the street.
Remus had gotten out of the car already, cradling his right arm. He was wearing a loosely buttoned shirt, but it was clear the arm was bandaged underneath. Still, that didn't stop the three Marauders from practically tackling their friend, ignoring the groans of pain emanating from him.
"Where've you been, Remus? And what happened to your arm?" James asked, stepping back to take a good look at his friend.
"I did," a feminine voice called from inside the car.
In unison, the three boys looked at one another, then ducked down.
There was, in fact, a girl inside, and a pretty one at that. Blonde hair, green eyes, and a lopsided grin at the three idiots gaping at her from outside the car. Remus could have done far worse for a night on his own during the full moon.
Her gaze narrowed as she looked to Sirius. "Are you...covered in ashes?"
"Fireplace incident. Nothing to worry yourself over," he replied with a wink, quickly standing up to waggle his eyebrows at Remus. "I knew you had it in you."
"What? No, I...why would you..."
James leaned further into the car. "What's your name?"
The girl tightened her hands on the steering wheel. "I'm not sure I want to give it to you."
"Oh, she's smart too," he said, standing up as well. "I like her."
"She isn't-"
Peter grinned up at him. "Here we were out all night worried and you were cozying up to that?"
"WILL YOU ALL SHUT UP!"
Though it managed to quiet the group, it didn't wipe the smirks from their faces. Remus sighed, shutting the door to the car, just short of catching Peter's nose.
"Thank you for the lift," he said calmly, looking through the window. "Sorry again about...everything."
"I think I should be the one apologizing," she said with a soft smile, putting the car into gear. "But you're welcome."
"Come back soon!" James shouted, pressing his face into the window.
"Don't be a stranger!" Sirius called, following suit.
Remus batted his friends away, allowing the car to safely pull onto the road and out of the area. He watched the road for a while, choosing to focus on it rather than turn around and face his friends. Hopefully nothing would come of the day's events. The last thing he needed was her finding out the truth. He hated when the Ministry had to interfere with the lives of muggles.
And he hated to have to move again. They'd only just arrived.
"So," James started, interrupting his thoughts. "How'd you meet her?"
The young man shrugged, finally turning to face them again. "She took a shotgun to me."
They were silent for an unusually long time. Peter was the first to break it.
"What's a shotgun?"