Author's Note: Obviously I own nothing. Do be gentle with me, this is my first ever story and I'm intending for it to unfold as I go. While the story will undoubtedly be quite Remus-centered, he isn't going to be the only POV. I'll be working to update as frequently as possible but life tends to get in the way. In any case, this is set at the end of Harry's third year and moving forward from there. Please enjoy!

He hadn't believed it when he saw the name on the map. Remus was used to rationalizing things - people's fear of werewolves (after all he was afraid of the one that bit him), his reluctance to talk to Harry about his parents (he didn't want to traumatize the boy further), his celibacy (it would be better if people didn't get involved, they'd just run at the first full moon). That night was no different. The name, scrawled in his own handwriting, had knocked the wind out of him when he saw it, his heart racing a million miles a minute. Peter Pettigrew.

The map was nearly twenty years old, it must be starting to malfunction, must be displaying old names. Perfect. Rationalization achieved. Problem solved. But then another name: Sirius Black. And if Peter's name had confused him, Sirius' crystallized everything. He stuffed the map into the pocket of his fraying corduroy jacket and bolted for the whomping willow. Maybe, just maybe, Sirius was innocent. Maybe he'd been wrong.

And the next thing he knew he was standing in the Shrieking Shack and Sirius was there and they fell into each other's arms as if it hadn't been thirteen years. And Sirius smelled like shit and dirt and rat and a thousand other terrible prison smells that even Remus' heightened sense of smell couldn't identify but underneath that he smelled...familiar. Like that combo of clove, firewhiskey, and warm fur that was undeniably Sirius. Remus swore his heart would explode in that instant, surely it had grown too large for his slim chest to contain it. A hundred different emotions ran through him at once, each following and reversing the last so quickly he didn't have time to even register a concrete impression of any of them. He had dreamed of holding Sirius again, but he had never imagined how much it would ache.

The embrace lasted blissful seconds but before he realized he had done it, Remus had suddenly pulled away - he hadn't wanted to smell the familiar scent of his best friend, his...oh god...he hadn't wanted to smell Sirius anymore. And he rationalized this by remembering they still had the rat to deal with, that Harry deserved an explanation for why his mentor, his professor was hugging an ex-con that had supposedly murdered his parents, that this was not the time for whatever reunion he and Sirius might have. Maybe that was how he rationalized it, but there was a part of Remus, a gnawing, terrifying part of him that smelled Sirius and thought: murderer.

Remus hadn't protested when Sirius had beat Peter to within an inch of his life, but when the fourth or fifth punch had broken Peter's nose, he had turned away from the blood and the fury in Sirius' eyes. Murderer murderer murderer.

"Stop." Harry's bright green eyes were wide, his voice quiet, but Sirius stopped instantly and some of the wild, feral animal had drained from his face. "Stop Sirius."

Hermione was crying, Ron had his arm around her comfortingly and he used her shoulders to adjust and take the weight off his broken leg.

Remus realized he should have said something. He should have been the one to tell Sirius that enough was enough. But he wanted Peter to die, didn't he? He wanted to see someone brought to justice for the murder of his friends. And now that it wasn't...now that he knew the truth, Peter deserved to die didn't he? What kind of example was he? Some professor.

"You're going to kill him Sirius." Harry spanned the difference in three steps and held his godfather's bloody fist, "It's enough now. It's enough."

Sirius let Harry pull him off Peter, looking stunned at the mess he had made of the man's face, then he looked at Harry as if he'd just seen him for the first time.

"Thank you." His voice was hoarse, Remus could hear the pain in it. He stared at the splintering floorboards beneath his feet as if memorizing each flow and branching of the grain in the wood there would inoculate him against the terror and grief that battled each other within him in equal measure.

Peter was out cold, Remus made sure before he conjured the bonds around the portly traitor all while trying to avoid looking at Sirius. He sent a Patronus to Dumbledore so they'd be expected, so that someone would intercept them before they got to the dementors.

They made it back to the castle minutes before moonrise, just in time for Remus to find Snape and down his potion in one gulp. Snape droned on a bit at him about the dangers of being so irresponsible with his "contemptible condition". Remus tried not to lose it. It wouldn't do to explode in fury or devolve into tears in front of a potion master who already considered him a weakling. He wandered back to his rooms, knowing that the wolf was coming upon him at any moment. It always made him feel queasy, cutting it this close to the moon, as if he were standing on a swaying ship. This time, it was more as if the world had decided that gravity were no longer relevant. He couldn't seem to get his footing. The last fully human thought in his head was of Sirius, who was probably still speaking with Dumbledore, and the hurt in his eyes when Remus had pulled away.

Remus had packed his bags so many times that he knew exactly what fit where. His extra pair of shoes in the front compartment, the books on herbology, magical creatures, and advanced theory of arithmancy fit on the right side between the portable wizarding wireless and a small, wooden box of letters with "P + M" stamped on them. This smaller box hadn't been unpacked in 10 years, it anchored the rest of Remus' things into their place, and he tried to ignore the glare of the initials.

"My dear Remus," Dumbledore's blue eyes had seemed too earnest as he placed a wrinkled hand on Remus' shoulder, "No one has asked you to resign. There's no need for such drastic measures."

Remus felt resentment boil up inside him, a hot, corrosive churn in his blood that tired him even more than the transformation had. He took a breath and shrugged off the hand. "I appreciate the sentiment of course, but I'm not a fool Albus. Let me lose this with some dignity."

Albus smiled sadly. Remus had the sudden urge to rip the expression from his face. What right did the old man have to pity him? "Tonight perhaps we can celebrate what you have gained, even if you are determined to leave the school."

Remus had managed a weak smile because the headmaster expected it of him. Immediately after he left the headmaster's office he cringed. He was still smiling for other people instead of for himself, he promised himself he wouldn't do this anymore. And yet, it was just easier, easier to hide his anger from Dumbledore, to simply go before the letters arrived from angry parents, easier to run from Harry who looked so much like James. When he was alone, even if it was scrounging money for a Muggle hotel or sleeping in some empty shed, he never had to smile to make someone else comfortable. He didn't even blame Snape for telling the Slytherins about Remus - he knew Snape would retaliate against Remus for Sirius' innocence. Snape always picked on him, he was the easy target. He suspected that though Snape would deny it, he was slightly afraid of Sirius. Afraid and jealous of the long family lineage, the purebloods status, and angry at the ease with which Sirius had thrown it all away. He expected that sort of behavior from Snape. He hadn't expected the damned headmaster to send Harry to convince him to stay. That was underhanded.

The boy arrived looking confused and windswept, a mixture of emotions that Remus had seen on James' face so many times it was difficult to count. Somehow those Potter genes conspired to make both father and son look perpetually like they'd just survived a hurricane. They even had similar glasses. Seeing him was a little like looking at an old photo you forgot you'd taken - as much as the warm breath of nostalgia would creep in at the sight of it there was always a bit of doubt, a feeling as if it had been another world, or another life, one that you couldn't claim, at least not anymore.

"You can't be leaving?" Harry's voice was tired, to be up this early he couldn't have gotten more than a few hours of sleep.

"I'm afraid so, Harry. There are a few particularly sharp and pointed objections I imagine parents will have when they find out about my condition." He sighed at the look of defiance that greeted this statement, "I was prepared for this eventuality. People like me...we're often quite...mobile."

"Just because you're a werewolf?"

"Well, it is contagious, they don't want to risk-" he stopped suddenly realizing that he was defending the people that would oust him, defending their bigotry. He didn't want to teach Harry that, James wouldn't have approved.

"That's completely mental. You're not going to bite anyone or...or hurt them or something!"

"Well Dumbledore has a school to run and he has already risked quite a bit on my behalf. This may be difficult to understand, Harry but trust me it is for the best."

Harry looked puzzled, but he didn't say anything else for a moment. Instead he peered around the half-packed room and his eyes lingered on a framed photograph. In it, three boys not much older than Harry were smiling furiously up at the camera from the snow-covered Hogwarts grounds, playfully punching one another and generally looking as if they were having the pink-cheeked time of their lives. Peter's eyes were shining in it as if he had never imagined life could be so full of joy and James was at the far right, one arm around a reluctantly laughing younger version of himself (he always wondered why he ever thought that haircut was a good idea). James' other arm reached out of the photo, seemingly around another boy's shoulders. You could see just the edge of his shoulders, where he would have been had the photo not been not-so-skillfully cut apart.

Harry scowled at it a bit and Remus turned his attention back to sorting through the remainder of his books. It was silent for a few moments.

"Where are you going to go?" Harry's voice was calmer, not so defiant.

"Most likely here and there." Remus tried to sound nonchalant but it came out a bit forced.

"But what about Sirius?"

Remus froze.

"What about him?" He said, perhaps too sharply.

"I mean...they're going to free him...with a full apology from the Ministry. At least that's what Dumbledore said. I thought you were friends."

Remus turned away from Harry under the pretense of folding his shirts but he gripped the edge of the wardrobe hard to keep his voice steady. "We were, yes."

"And now?"

"Now," Remus chastised him, "Now you must give your former professor space to pack, I'd like to be off the grounds before lunch today. But," he pulled the Marauder's Map from a drawer and turned to hand it to Harry, "I believe that you will make better use of this than I could."

Harry looked as if he were going to say something else, but he merely took the map.

"It has been more than a pleasure teaching you Harry, I am glad to have gotten to know you. I knew James and Lily as well as anyone and you are without a doubt, everything they would have wanted in a son."

Harry stared at the ground.

"If there is anything you need, I will always be there for you, whether I am here at Hogwarts or elsewhere. I should have been there long ago, for that I am sorry."

"I don't want you to leave." Harry muttered this to the floor.

Remus smiled, for real this time. "Hedwig will know where to find me." And he hugged Harry, ruffled his hands through that stupidly untidy hair of his, and ushered the boy out of his office.

Twenty minutes later, without another goodbye, he flew from the grounds, destination uncertain.

And Hedwig did know how to find him. Remus sighed as the great snowy owl tapped her beak insistently on one of the windows of the small cottage. He hurried to let the bird in, it wouldn't do to let his Muggle neighbors catch sight of her, even if there was a field between the two houses. Their youngest daughter was perpetually ending up at the creek that ran near the cottage and she'd surely notice the bird.

Remus had been in Iceland for almost two months. Luckily, Dumbledore had set him up with a larger-than average final paycheck. This meant that if he was frugal (and he didn't know how to be any other way) the little leaky cottage that the Muggle who rented it to him had called "unfit for winter" would be perfect. It merely took a few small construction spells to fix the rotted wood and the holes in the roof. He had sealed the hearth and now a fire was crackling happily there, filling the dwelling with the heavy smell of wet wood. He loved Iceland, if he was entirely honest. Out away from the paved roads and swarms of tourists of Reykjavik the landscape didn't pretend to be anything other than rugged, challenging, and cold. The land itself was practical, nothing grew in excess or without need, no energy went unconserved. And the people, his distant neighbors, were kind and warm. The opposite of the frozen landscape. They seemed almost happy to trudge the mile or so between them to share fresh baked sweet rolls and to receive a bottle of wine in return. They were astounded at the difference he had made in the cottage, promising him all kinds of repair work in the spring.

It would be a few months until then. The landscape was not yet covered in a permanent blanket of snow but the heavy skies threatened it with each passing day. These days of biting late-autumn cold, when the chill felt like needles on any exposed skin he was glad of apparition. He could still turn on the spot and find himself in a cozy cafe in Reykjavik, gather supplies and be home before he froze solid.

Hedwig ruffled her feathers, shaking off ice from the wind that must have settled there during her flight. Remus took the letter from Harry, and she swooped gracefully to sit next to the fire with a small contented chirp. Apparently she wasn't planning to leave until he had penned a reply.

Remus turned the letter over in his hands and broke the seal, pulling the thick heavy parchment out with a small smile. This was what he truly missed most about teaching at Hogwarts, being with Harry. It was as if some piece of James remained, like the echo of a laugh, even if he realized that in many ways Harry was nothing like his cocky trouble-making father. But then he took in the first few lines of the letter, and realized Harry hadn't written to him after all.

Dear Moony,

Hi. I waited a couple months to hear from you, but its pretty clear at this point that you're not going to make the first move. I'd make a joke here about how you always liked to be chased but I think you might not be in the mood? I bet you're looking all disapproving and Moony-ish right now. I was right, wasn't I?

Harry told me about you leaving the school, Dumbledore told me as well. He was quite put out about it, I think the old bat is just lazy, doesn't want to find a replacement. I wish you would have told me yourself. We didn't get a chance to speak at all, you were gone before I got away from Fudge. Can you believe that? A pardon from the Minister of Magic himself! My mother would be so proud. Actually I can tell you for sure she is not, Harry and I are living in Grimmauld Place again so I have to listen to her fucking portrait screaming about my traitorous nature anytime I want a bite in the kitchen. Not that I'll let anything get between me and food, but it is a bit unappetizing. It's just a temporary thing, until I can find a decent job and get us a bachelor flat somewhere less...covered in house elf heads and spiderwebs. You'd think it was the damn Taj Majal the way that Harry talks about it though. I gather those Muggles treated him like utter shit but he doesn't like to talk about it much. I'm crap at this sort of thing, mostly because I just want to rage every time I think about it, but I guess we're managing.

Where are you? Are you coming back for Worm's trial?

I don't know if I should say anything about - I am so crap with feelings Moons, just write me back okay? It has been 12 years of us not talking, now I don't even know what the fuck to say but I'm bursting to say fucking something. Anything. Where are you? Why did you go?

-Padfoot

P.S. Don't even think about not replying, Hedwig will make your life miserable.