AN: What can I say? To those readers who are waiting for "Its Like That (VIIII)" I apologize, but this seemed to want to be written. It didn't behave either; it was supposed to be Sirius in place of Remus, but it didn't seem to fit him. Sirius didn't seem to want to be written up. (Bad Sirius) Hopefully you'll like this. Thank you everyone for the reviews; I always like reading a review. Please review again. Oh, one last thing; this fic is placed in the timeframe of "Its Like That", the parts where Draco is still with Ginny and hasn't - oh, but if you haven't read it, I'm not going to spoil it.

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Disclaimer : All characters and settings belong to JK Rowling. I own the assumptions I make on the life of Remus Lupin, werewolf extraordinaire.

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It was a sunny day, unusually warm for England, but I shivered anyway and pulled my coat closer around me. I looked up at Hogwarts and smiled; somewhat grimly, it must be confessed. It had been quite a while since I had been at Hogwarts. I'd met Dumbledore earlier in the day, and we'd discussed what my role was to be during the coming summer. It didn't seem like I have the time to meet Harry, or even Sirius. A pity, I had been looking forward to seeing them. It was always nice to see Harry and see both Lily and James looking back at me. As for Sirius - well, Sirius was the only one left of our old group. I involuntarily smiled as fragmented memories came back to me. I couldn't remember them wholly when I tried, but past emotions filtered through me.

I walked a little faster, trying to shake off the cold that was in my bones. I had been left somewhat weakened after the last full moon. It didn't worry me overly much, I was always left drained after one of my - shall we say - episodes. That sounded much better than "mutating into a werewolf" did. However, the spell of weakness had always left far sooner than this.

I walked slowly around the school. A bunch of first and second years stared at me; a few of my former students smiled and waved. I caught sight of a familiar head. You didn't often forget a head like that. In all my life I'd only met another person with that almost white head, and it had been his father.

Draco Malfoy.

By his side was a little redhead, and I drew in my breath sharply. Surely it wasn't her, it couldn't be her -

Then I laughed weakly at myself. Of course it wasn't her. What was I thinking? She was my age now, or slightly younger, but certainly not as young as that. I counted in my head painstakingly, as if it were the most important thing in the world, to distract me from the bittersweet pain that had pulsed over me when I had imagined it was her. Thirty three, thirty four. Yes, she was thirty four now.

It must be her daughter then. Yes, I thought I had heard of her, Gina - no, Ginny Weasley. I was almost certain it was Ginny Weasley. I couldn't be absolutely certain, because like all the other details I heard about the Weasley family, I pushed it back until I forgot. Or thought I forgot. It was almost the same.

Almost the same - except in moments like these.

I watched her daughter move, with the same awkward grace that she had had. Now that I knew it wasn't her, it was easier to discern the little details that differentiated them. It always was. Molly - I gave a sweet shudder at the name, so long had I forbidden it to rise - had been slightly plumper, a pretty little thing, and Ginny - if that was her name - was quieter, I could see that from the proud, subdued way she held her head and the slight, soft movements of her arms, as if they were being whispered on by the wind. Molly had never been quiet, Molly had always been a bouncy little thing, as if she was so happy that she couldn't help smiling and laughing and stealing your arms to dance around you. I had loved that about her. I had always had to be reserved, for fear someone would discover my secret. Reserved, that is, except around James and Sirius and - at that time - Peter. Yes, I had always retained my dignity, and it had been painful at times, especially when I was so enchanted - my older thirty five year old self laughed ironically at boy of seventeen - with Molly that I wanted to fling my arms around her with all the youthful exuberance I had had and dance along with her.

Yes, I had always retained my dignity.

Except that one night.

A sweet balmy night, with just a hint of a cold wind, only cold enough to prompt you to give your lover your cloak, and no colder. I had been standing out in the Hogwarts garden, near the Herbology greenhouses, and looking up at cold, wintry stars that twinkled austerely in the night. I hadn't been expecting anyone, I had just been savouring the feel of the night air I so rarely felt, especially in the sometimes stuffy dorms.

Then she had come.

I thrilled at the romance of it all, my lover - I allowed myself to pretend for one delicious moment - coming to me under the concealing lashes of the night. She looked sweet and almost ethereal. Almost. There was something about Molly that was unchangeably earthy. She belonged to the softly swaying grasses and the steadfast oak trees, not the regal, starlike beauty of Lily. I loved that about Molly - that is, I loved everything about Molly, but I think I loved that very much. I suppose the werewolf in me responded to it, to the pleasures of the earth that Molly belonged to. Someone like Lily could never have understood that, but - even though I never spoke of it to Molly - I think Molly would have.

I asked her what she was doing. She responded with a gay laugh that was quiet enough not to break the stillness of the night - the Venus flytraps were all sleeping - but vibrant enough to stand out in stark contrast to it. "Don't ask, Remus." She said, gently merry. "Tonight is our night, a secret we can keep for the rest of our lives, even if we never meet again."

And what a night it was. I remember every detail in a way that I never remember my escapades with James, Sirius and Peter. It was a starlight night, full of soft laughter and the touch of the girl I loved. Even then I knew I loved her. I know it now. I dropped all my reserve that night, and forgot to guard my words and actions, and became her gay companion in dancing in a ring of moonlight and singing old songs.

And at the end of it all, a sweet kiss, a gentle, tender kiss. Only on her cheek, for even then she was pledged to Arthur Weasley. I don't think she ever suspected anything from me, for I guarded my secret jealously. No, not the secret of my monthly - er, episodes, but my love for her. Yet on my side; a bittersweet shiver still runs through me when I recall it. I put all my feelings, all the love I had for her, into that single kiss.

It still means more to me than all the more experienced kisses I have had since.

I loved her enough not to fight for her.

She was worth so much, my Molly, mine only in my mind, and nobody else's.

She didn't deserve a man who turned into a salivating mongrel every full moon.

She deserved a man who could look at the moon with her.

So I turned away, and wished her the best in everything she did, and never told her -

I sometimes think I made a mistake.

But when I hear how happy she is - seven children aren't born of an unhappy marriage - and what a useful life she is living, giving her love to everyone she meets, I know I made the right decision.

I could never have given her that.

No matter how much I wanted to.

I watched her daughter, and smiled wistfully at the looks she was attracting, and I sighed at the look in the Malfoy boy's eyes when he looked at her. There was no bridge separating them. I wished them well.

I took one last look at her daughter before I turned away, my Molly's daughter and hoped she wouldn't steal a man's heart like her mother had stolen mine.

Like I had given mine to her mother.