Author: Linda Lupos
Rating: PG13, as usual. Not sure yet, though, it could get higher…
Disclaimers: JK Rowling´s, dûh.
Pairings: none. Nope, not one. Or, maybe… hmm, we'll see.
Spoilers: all five books, mayor for the third and fourth one, only minor for the fifth one. I won't reveal who dies…yet.
Author's note: yes, it was inevitable, a sequel to "Prisoner of the Moon"… the story continues! PotM told the third book from Remus Lupin's point of view, and this one's Goblet of Fire (and Order of the Phoenix?) from his point of view. I´ll also throw in some Sirius for good fun, but most of it is about Remus. It really helps if you've read not only PotM, but also "Remus Lupin", the original story to which Prisoner was a sequel – there are some recurring characters, so reading the original gives you come background on them. And besides, they're rather good stories, even if I do say so myself… You an find them here at fanfiction.net, just look in my profile.

Unlike I did with Prisoner, I´ll post a chapter ever two weeks. "Remus Lupin" and its sequel "Prisoner of the Moon" where already finished when I started posting it. "Wanderings of the Wolf" is a work in progress, which also means that I have NO idea what's going to happen (well, okay, I got a basic outline, but no more than that), how long the story's going to be or how long it's going to take me to reach the end of book 5. To give myself a deadline, I've decided to post every two weeks. It urges me to write on, and it gives you readers some certainty about when I´ll post again, and about whether I'm writing or not. And I believe two weeks is just long enough before your interest starts to fade… so the next chapter will be posted on September 24. Don't start complaining, I'm not changing it; it was either a long, good chapter once in two weeks, or short crappy chapters once a week. I figured you would like the first option best…

Please note that I am Dutch, English is not my first language, and I apologise in advance for any spelling/grammar mistakes I've made.
Well, that was everything I had to say so far. Onto the story, then!

Wanderings of the Wolf
The sequel to 'Prisoner of the Moon'

August 1994.
"Write to Sirius. You've got to tell him what happened. He asked you to keep him posted on everything that's going on at Hogwarts…"

Moony,

Just a few quick words now, I don't have much time or parchment. I'm perfectly fine, so don't worry about that (I know you did). I'm going as far away as I can, until I don't see any posters anymore. Blessed anonymity.
Keep in touch, please – I want to know what's going on.

Padfoot.
* * * * *
Remus ripped the seal from the single piece of parchment and hungrily devoured with his eyes the letter Sirius had written him. A letter was actually more than he had hoped for – and of course it was way too short. He read and reread it, but there were no hidden messages, no clues, nothing except that what was clearly written. He sighed and put the letter down, fighting back the urge to write back immediately – Sirius had obviously better things to do than answering an seemingly endless stream of letters.
Remus picked up his old kettle, called out "Monster!" and when he heard the sound of a fluffy tennisball bouncing down the stairs, he proceeded to make tea for himself.
The two of them were back in Remus' cottage in Derbyshire for more than a month now. It was strange being back there, after the noisy and busy life at Hogwarts. Remus' cottage had the reputation of being 'the smallest cottage in Derbyshire' (at least, according to Remus' brother Romulus), and that seemed true: Remus had the feeling that his office at Hogwarts alone had been nearly as big as the lower floor of his house. It was enough to give someone claustrophobia.
Another problem he had was the utter boredom he experienced. Last year, his days had been filled with preparing and giving lessons, grading tests and essays, dealing with students and his colleagues. Here, all he could do was read and a bit. The first few days he had been occupied enough with cleaning his home after nearly a year of neglect, but there are only so many times one can wash windows, cut grass or dust books. To tell the truth, he had no idea how he used to fill his days before he came back to Hogwarts…
The fluffy tennisball bounced from the stairs to the wall and against the door. Remus had wanted to make one of those hatches for cats in the door to the kitchen, to give Monster some more freedom, but he'd never got around to do it – ironically enough, he never seemed to have the time…Always leaving the door open gave a terrible draft, so he was forced to always open and close the door whenever his Puffskein wanted to come in.
He opened the door and waited until Monster had hopped into the kitchen, then he set down a plate with leftovers on the floor. Monster liked leftovers, especially old breadcrusts, which were just hard enough for him to nibble on, but soft enough to chew with his small teeth.
As Monster started eating his food, Remus set himself down at his kitchen table and folded his hands around his mug with tea. He mentally went over his scheme for today. It wasn't so much a scheme, more a list of things-to-do. It was a really short list. He ticked it off on his fingers.
"Do the dishes, water the plants, make my bed, sort the laundry, read a bit, write Padfoot, make dinner, do dishes, read some more, go to bed." He sighed. "Just like yesterday…"
Monster stopped eating long enough to look at Remus in an almost pitying way, as if the animal was really sorry Remus couldn't live the exciting life of a Puffskein.
Monster's life was more exciting than the life of a usual Puffskein, because he shared his house with a werewolf. Not that he cared; werewolf or not, Remus was Remus to him, he merely changed form. The only thing Remus had been worried about was if he would eat Monster; the animal was so small the werewolf could eat it in one swallow, but that problem was fixed by something that had been owled to him a week before the full moon: a flask containing a thick, greyish liquid. On a note attached to the flask had been Remus' name, written with a spiky, somewhat angry hand. Remus would never find out whether it had been Dumbledore´s idea or that Snape had done this on his own accord. Either way, he barely had words to describe his gratitude.
A distinct clatter in the mailbox in the door made Remus look up from his dreaming. "Mail's here," he told Monster. "Go get it, boy."
He wouldn't have thought it possible, but the Puffskein looked indignant. Quite impressive for a furball the size of a tennis ball. Remus grinned and went to get the mail himself.
It seemed to be pretty much the usual stuff. The Daily Prophet, with a huge article whetting everybody's appetite for the Quidditch Worldcup, and two letters. The paper ended up on the table, for later read, as Remus ripped the first letter open. It contained two sheets of paper filled with Romulus' usual babble, and more than twelve paragraphs self-debating whether he'd buy tickets to the Quidditch Worldcup, or spent his galleons on the addition to his family that was due in three months. It was quite mean actually; apart from the fact that Romulus downright admitted he'd rather spent money on Quidditch than on his own children, he kept discussing a subject that would never matter to Remus, because Remus would never have to choose between Quidditch or children: he would never have either enough money or, probably, children. But his younger brother happily chose to ignore that.
Remus put the letter down, mentally went over some answers that were so sarcastic even Snape would've been impressed (hah, like that would ever happen), and picked up the second envelope.
It looked inconspicuous enough. The envelope was white with Remus' address on the front in a neat hand, written with black ink. It could've been send by anybody, really.
Remus ripped the envelope open and took out a single sheet of parchment. In the upperleft corner, there was a picture of a wolf in front of a quarter moon, with a quill under it. The logo of the Werewolf Registry. Remus' brow furrowed. The annual update of his file at the Registry was not due in a few months, so what were they writing for? His eyes flew over the few lines of the letter, and they widened with every word. At the end of the letter, his hand was shaking and he had to sit down.
They had found his Alpha, his 'father', the werewolf who'd bitten him – and he wanted to see Remus.
~*~
"Okay, now, you stay here and I get something to eat, okay? We can't have a huge animal like you stalking about." Buckbeak ruffled his feathers and looked positively indignant. Sirius wasn't impressed.
"Oh, like I haven't told you before. We must not be seen, and people will notice it if a Hippogriff flies over. Trust me, they'll notice. Stay here and wait until I return." Buckbeak huffed and laid down on his side of the small den Sirius had made for them.
The Animagus didn't waste more words, changed into his dog-persona Padfoot, and padded down to the village half a mile away.
He and Buckbeak were on the run for a month now, flying at night and hiding at day. They were taking their time though, occasionally resting a few days. Sirius had decided to cross the border to the main continent right that same night. They'd barely made it, but as long as they were out of the United Kingdom, he thought, they'd be a little more anonymous, a little safer. Right now they'd come so far as Spain, and Sirius was playing with the idea to cross the Street of Gibraltar to Marocco, maybe pay a short visit to Egypt – he'd always wanted to see more of the world.
He reached the border of the village by the time the people were waking up. The sky was blue and cloudless and it promised to be a warm day – again. Siestas were a necessity here.
Padfoot leisurely walked down the main street to where he knew – and smelled – was a bakery. He could turn back into Sirius again, there were no 'wanted'-posters here, but he wanted to be absolutely safe. And his Spanish wasn't even rudimentary, so barking was more useful anyway.
He started wagging his tail like the loveable stray he was the minute he entered the street in which the bakery was. This was his third day here, and the baker started to know him already.
"Buenos dias, perro," he greeted Padfoot, who allowed the baker to pet his head, leaving white flour-fingers all over. Padfoot had only a vague idea of what the baker had just said – apparently some kind of greeting – and reacted accordingly. The baker continued with a long story that went right over Padfoot´s head, but he kept wagging his tail, in the hope of something to eat. The tactic always worked.
The baker raised one floured finger and said something in Spanish, then he disappeared inside. Padfoot sat down, still drumming on the floor with his tail. After a few minutes, the baker reappeared with in his hands a few French bread-like breads. Those were the failures, the few breads that didn't come out right and were not suited for sale in the bakery. Padfoot didn't mind though – bread was bread – and he carefully took the breads in his mouth, careful not to drool on them too much. He wagged his tail a few more times to say 'gracias' (one of the few Spanish words he did knew) and set off for his temporary home.
The minute he was sure nobody could see him anymore, the dog dropped the breads on the ground and changed back into Sirius. Useful as a dog-form might be, he infinitely preferred his human form. He picked up the breads and strolled back to his den.
Buckbeak had been dozing when Sirius entered their make-shift home, but immediately raised his head when the man entered. Not wanting to risk his life, Sirius bowed carefully for the Hippogriff. Technically, the animal was his now, but he didn't want to anger it; he'd rather bow one time to many than have his head bitten off.
He threw one bread towards Buckbeak, who snatched it out of mid-air and started tearing it apart with his beak. Sirius laid the other two breads on the pile of leafs and grass and his cloak he called his bed, and took out a plastic bag he'd found on a parking lot in France, near something Muggles called a 'Supermarché'. He'd filled the bag with everything he'd found and thought would come in handy, such as food he'd found on a deserted market, or an old mouldy blanket he had found in a pile of garbage. As he was rummaging through his findings, he couldn't help but grin at the thought of his mother, who would no doubt be horrified that her son had become such a vagabond.
On the other hand, he thought, his smile fading, that might be exactly what she had expected of him.
He scowled, shrugged the thought off, picked out an edible apple and plopped down on his bed. He didn't need to worry about his mother anymore. He didn't need to worry about anything right now, except where he could find food and shelter, not being caught by the English Ministry of Magic, and how he could be the best Godfather possible for a boy several thousand miles away from him.
He rubbed the apple on his sleeve until it shone, then he bit a large chunk from it with a loud snapping sound. The slightly sour juice filled his mouth, and he couldn't resist smiling around a mouthful of apple. He was relatively free, he had food, he was in Spain and planning to go further south, it was beautiful weather, he could take it easy.
There was really nothing to worry about.
* * * * *
Padfoot,

Me? Worrying about you? Never! But do make sure you eat enough, don't stay up late, and please don't stay outside when it rains…
On a more serious note: do avoid being seen. They're still looking for you, and, although I have no idea exactly where you are, I hope it's far enough. Please do this old friend a favour and stay out of trouble!
By the by, did you hear about the Quidditch World Cup? Seems like you chose the wrong summer to leave England! But I'm not rubbing salt in your wounds or anything… you know I´d never do that.

Moony, who is hoping Ireland's going to win (since England was so shamefully beaten into such tiny bits and pieces that they were barely recognisable as Quidditch players).