Resurrection

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. All recognisable characters, content, or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

Chapter Nine: The Indecision

July 11th, 1994

By morning, nothing had changed. Remus had been plagued by a restless night of sleep, his mind a mess of thoughts and possibilities, and he was tired. Even as a part of him wished it was all a bad dream, he could admit to himself that his life hadn't been so interesting since the war, wherein he'd been entrenched in the rogue packs, hunting foreign, unwitting vampires on their territory, spying on Greyback, subtly, secretly turning his fellow werewolves against Voldemort's campaign. He'd spent most of those long months watching his back, perpetually on his toes and changing his plans on the fly, and perhaps there was something wrong with him, but it had been fun in ways he'd rarely experienced since.

Remus rarely indicated it, but it was more than just a shared dormitory, a shared intellect, and a mutual appreciation for mischief that had Sirius, James, and Remus gravitate to each other. They'd helped, yes, but the three of them had never been destined for the quiet life. They enjoyed the rush of adrenaline too much, enjoyed life on (or over) the edge of safety and societal conventions, and in the war, they'd thrived.

Until, of course, everything changed. Harry's arrival had impacted them all, had made them more cautious, considerate of their actions and the potential repercussions thus, but none more so than James. It wasn't a development any of them regretted. In fact, Harry's birth gave them a reason to ensure they made it out of their next skirmish, raid, mission alive, if not exactly whole. They'd been entrenched in the war for years by that point, and when hope had begun to wane, Harry - otherwise known as Fawn, Pup, or Cub, depending on whom you asked - offered them a reason to not give up the fight for a better, brighter world.

But then, those days were long gone. James and Lily were dead, Sirius was a darker, stoic effigy of the lively, gregarious young man Remus remembered from 1981, and Peter?

Well, Wormtail was another matter entirely.

Remus shook himself out of his reverie before he could work himself into a rage, proceeded through his morning ablutions, and left his tent as the sun rose over the eastern horizon. The Colony was stirring around him, but as he approached Astrid's tent, he paid them no heed.

Before he seriously considered the possibility of binding himself to Astrid, he needed to know if it was a compromise the female alpha was willing to accept. It would be a moot point, otherwise, because he certainly wasn't about to force a mating bond - and all it's connotations - on someone who didn't want one.

Gods, Remus wasn't even sure why it was an issue. Most of the werewolves in the Colony either despised him, or were at best ambivalent to his very existence, and he was sure there would be a mutiny as soon as he was recognised as alpha. There was a small minority, like Lawrence, who respected the fact Fenrir had wanted Remus to succeed him, but those people were few and far between, and Remus was content to pretend he didn't know they existed at all.

Why had Greyback, depraved, disturbed, deceased, believed Remus would be an appropriate successor to his blood-drenched legacy, and for Merlin's sake, why hadn't Remus just left already? He owed Fenrir Greyback nothing, and yet, he was still there, more involved with every moment that passed him by..

Still pondering both questions, Remus knocked on the (charmed) entrance to Astrid's tent, and waited for the woman to let him in. It didn't take her long, and when he entered, he was unsurprised to find she appeared as rested as Remus felt.

That was to say, she didn't look rested at all.

"What do you want?" Astrid demanded. She was hostile, her entire posture tense, and inside his cage, Moony bristled.

Remus raised his hands in supplication. "Just to talk, all right?"

"What could you possibly have to say?"

"Quite a lot, actually. Will you listen?"

Astrid exhaled shortly, her nostrils flaring, but she offered him a terse nod and gestured wordlessly for Remus to take a seat. She didn't offer him any of the social niceties, though he hadn't expected anything else. Instead, the younger woman crossed her arms over her chest, impatient and expectant.

It didn't bode well for their impending conversation, and briefly, Remus wondered if he ought to cut his losses before he wasted both of their time. He steeled himself quickly, however, disinclined to run away from a problem he was mostly at fault for, particularly when it was nowhere near close to any semblance of resolution. In fact, it was probably the only reason he hadn't already run for the hills.

"I spoke with Lawrence last night," Remus began, "He offered up a suggestion that could resolve our err… leadership issue."

Astrid's only acknowledgement was a quirk of an eyebrow. Remus wasn't sure of her relationship with Lawrence, if they were on good terms or not, but she seemed open to suggestions, and Remus just hoped she wouldn't fly off the handle when she actually heard what he had to say. He hadn't known her particularly well in the early 80's, and that had certainly not changed in the decade since. As such, he didn't know her well enough to predict her response, but given her personal history, Remus struggled to imagine she'd be particularly inclined towards a bond with a wizard, fellow werewolf or no.

With that in mind, however, perhaps obligation, or ambition - or whatever it was that pushed her to take on the COlony's leadership - would ensure she at least considered the possibility. Despite his own misgivings, his hesitation and indecision, it was all he could ask of her.

Merlin, he wasn't even sure what he wanted, from her, or from himself, and still he fretted.

"He suggested we bond."

Short and succinct, and straight to the point. He doubted she had the patience for his usual nervous ramble, and self-preservation had him itching to leave the Colony and never look back. No doubt, it was only shear bullheadedness that kept him in his seat, but as Astrid continued to stare blankly at him, the tent exit appeared exceedingly more tempting.

Astrid cleared her throat. Her gaze, a steely, blue-flecked grey, was inscrutable, her expression more so, and this woman was a terrifying quandary. "I'll think about it."

-!- -#-

That afternoon, Lawrence sought Remus out upon the latter's return from the woods, burdened by a hare for himself, and some others for the remnants of Grant's pack. He'd learned, earlier, that they'd been left floundering in the wake of Whitcomb's death, and although they hadn't given any indication that they had accepted - or would even welcome - him as their alpha, Remus almost felt obligated to help them.

It was perhaps irrational, and maybe even dangerous, but Remus had never been able to turn away from what he considered his duty.

"Woodridge," Remus greeted, "I feel as though this is becoming a regular occurrence. What can I do for you?"

"What are you doing?"

"Whitcomb's pack has small children, doesn't it? I doubt anyone will be making any effort to feed them while they quarrel over who decides who is in charge."

Remus couldn't decide whether or not it was absurdly hysterical that Whitcomb's death created the exact same issue as Fenrir's, if only on a smaller scale. Moreover, he was uncertain of whether or not he wanted to laugh or cry over the fact he was involved in both problems, and he privately blamed Sirius.

Certainly, Remus' life hadn't been so dramatic before Padfoot's escape from Azkaban. Not since 1981, at any rate.

"You actually care?" Lawrence sounded genuinely baffled.

Remus scowled. "I'm not going to let children starve. Give me some credit."

On the edge of what had been Grant's 'territory' (a few tents clustered around a small campfire), Remus levitated the conjured hunting pack to the unlit brazier, and then made his way back to his own lodgings. He had no desire to make a scene, and they would never have to know it was he who had provided for them.

Lawrence, predictably, followed.

"How did your talk with Astrid go?"

"It went." Remus was noncommittal, mostly because he didn't have much to say. Astrid hadn't yet gotten back to him, and although he was somewhat anxious, he wasn't about to rush her choice, more so given the fact he hadn't decided what he wanted, himself.

He'd thought about it, certainly, had turned it over and over until he was sick with it, and his circulating thoughts had gotten him nowhere but stressed. "She said she'd think about it."

"That sounds… promising."

Remus was privately skeptical, but he didn't disagree. Instead, he flopped gracelessly onto the couch in his borrowed tent, and waited eagerly for his day to be over. It wasn't yet evening, and he was exhausted.

Author's Note: What, an update?

Honestly, I'm truly sorry. I blame the inconsistencies and potholes throughout the series. THey're a blight on the muse, I guess. I am trying.

Also avoiding university enrolment for the sake of my anxiety levels, but I doubt you want to hear about that. As such, I'll sign off here. Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed, and I also hope Remus doesn't come off as too complainy in this one. Until next time, however long that takes. -t.