The sun is barely kissing the horizon as Remus jogs down the street, clutching his canvas duffle bag to his side. It's cold this morning, his cheeks rosy, fingers going a little numb. The rusted blue Volkswagen Camper in front of him honks encouragingly as he hears the side door banging open.
"You're late!" a voice shouts, echoing in the empty street, scaring the pigeons.
Remus huffs the last few feet to the car, grabbing the roof and swinging himself inside. "I'm-not-late," he manages between breaths, sliding into his seat. Someone else shuts the door. Remus flashes his watch at the driver with a grin. "See, six AM, on the dot. I'm very literally on time."
The old man rolls his eyes, turning back to face the road. He's balding on the top of his head, with a thick auburn beard covering his face. "Cheeky," he mutters, eyes finding Remus in the rearview mirror, unable to hide his amusement as he pulls away from the curb.
Remus settles, nodding at the other six passengers in the camper. He's seen a few of them on his other visits but there's at least two of them that are new faces—new to him anyway. None of them talk, it's too early, Remus turning his head towards the window and watching the sky light up as the day slowly creeps in and they leave the city behind. Buildings and cars turn into fields and endless motorways, the early morning sun sparkling against the asphalt.
The first time he'd come up, he'd done it on his own. He had to take a train and then a bus, and then walk for about two miles. By the time he saw the sign his feet were killing him.
"Looks like you're planing to stay a while."
It takes Remus a moment to realize Arnold—the driver—is talking to him. He blinks, still half-asleep, looking down at the bag in his lap. After a few seconds he shrugs.
"Might be, never know, wanted to...keep my options open I suppose," he tries to give the old man a smile that doesn't betray any of the feelings swirling around inside of him.
"Options huh?" Arnold asks, nodding. "Well, I know plenty of the folks up there will be happy to hear that."
"I'm not promising anything though, so don't go gossiping," Remus says, only half joking.
Arnold laughs, it's a deep noise, coming right from his belly. Like Santa Clause. "No, you don't strike me as the type who makes many promises."
Remus chews on the inside of his lip to stop himself from grimacing, turning back towards the window. Little does Arnold know, Remus actually makes promises all the time, he just isn't particularly good at keeping them.
On his first visit things went wrong almost immediately. After the two mile walk he came to a painted wooden sign that read "Lupercal" at the top of a dirt road, bordered on either side by thick woods. Somewhere, at the end of this road, there was supposedly an old farm house that Remus was meant to find.
Moody had specifically told him not to make first contact on the full moon, he figured it would be safer, and Remus couldn't say that he disagreed. See, Lupercal is the largest group of werewolves all living in one place that the Ministry has ever been aware of. Moody refers to them as the "Pack" but Remus can't quite get over the discomfort that leaves him with. It makes it feel too much like they're discussing animals.
"Sandwich?"
Remus turns to see the man next to him, who'd been asleep the last time Remus checked, offering him a Tupperware full of what appear to be ham and cheese sandwiches. Remus is going to refuse but he didn't have time to eat before he left and even just the mention of food has his stomach grumbling.
"Thanks," he gives in, reaching out and taking a quarter.
The man smiles. He's one of the people Remus doesn't recognize. He looks like he might be close to thirty, with freckles speckling his face.
