Remus turned over, his face, once illuminated by the light of a taunting moon; in shadow as clouds rolled across the sky. An arm, seemingly sensing that he had moved, tugged him closer.

Rain pattered against the window and the tree that grew next to their room rapped its branches sharply against the side of the house. The wind started to pick up strength, whistling around their small cottage.

His eyes shot open. Something was off.

Remus closed his eyes and focused only on what his nose was telling him. Damp moss outside, its scent washed clean. The heaviness of the air. Clean washing hung up on the small landing outside their room. Sirius - warm and tangy with a slight hint of that smell that was inexplicably dog. He appeared to be dreaming about something nice, his scent satisfied and happy. Remus sought out their young charge; a mix of damp grass and fresh air, tinged with slight fear.

He slipped his feet out from under the covers and sat up; Sirius' arm sliding back onto the bed. The carpeted floor was soft under his feet. His hand was on the doorknob when Sirius' voice came from the bed, thick with sleep.

"Remus?"

Dark hair, usually perfectly arranged was doing an impersonation of his godsons - partially obscuring his vision.

"It's Harry, something's wrong,"

Sirius shook his head slightly before rolling onto his front and morphing into Padfoot. Thickly furred paws hit the carpet. Padfoot sniffed slightly (and sneezed) before padding across the room.

His eyes were wide with concern as they both made the short trip across the landing to Harry's room. A quiet sniffing sound came from the crack between the door and the frame. The salty smell of tears quickly followed. He pushed past a hesitating Moony and pawed open the door. Harry's eyes glinted in the light coming from the nightlight on the landing.

"Lumos," Remus intoned quietly, entering the room behind him.

Thunder rumbled overhead sending the scent of pure fear into Padfoot's nose as Harry trembled under the covers. The dog was up on the bed in an instant, nudging the 2-year-old over a little bit.

Harry's arms crept out from under the duvet and clenched in Padfoot's fur, holding him like a giant teddy bear. His eyes were wide, and his shoulders tense; Harry's small frame trembled as the storm raged outside.

Remus sat on the other side of the small boy and simply held him.

It seemed to work, for a few minutes later the tension seemed to bleed out of his body as the claps of thunder became less frequent. His tight hold on Padfoot's fur loosened (much to the dog's relief).

"Why Dadda and Mumma make scary?" Harry asked, his eyes wide and tearful.

Remus briefly closed his eyes, fighting back the lump at the back of his throat that seemed to appear whenever James and Lily were mentioned. A rough, slightly wet object ran across his knuckles drawing him out of the endless pit of memories associated. He glanced down into Padfoot's eyes, taking comfort from the identical heartbreak he found within and sighed.

It took a moment to understand where Harry was coming from but it was so obvious when he thought about it. When they had succeeded in retrieving Harry from Dumbledore (amid his protests that the small boy should go to the safety of his Aunt), they had been faced with the daunting task of explaining to the two-year-old where his parents were and why they weren't coming back. In the end, after many tears, they had succeeded in telling him that his parents had gone on the journey to the stars and as it wasn't his time to go on that journey yet, they'd been left here.

"It wasn't Mummy and Daddy who were making the scary noises, Harry. It was everyone else up there cheering them on," he said, hugging the small boy close and hoping more than anything that something along those lines was occurring.

"But scary, Moony. Why scary?" Harry asked, squirming slightly until he could see Remus' face from his position in his lap.

"They don't mean to be scary, Harry. It just sounds different because of the clouds." Remus said, trying to look as confident in what he was saying as he could so the young boy would believe his words. Two was far to young an age to know the truth. Especially about people the two-year-old knew and loved.

It was only later when Harry had gone back to sleep and as both himself and Sirius stood in front of the window wrapped in each others embrace, watching the rain come down, that he let himself go.