Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter series or any of the characters in this chapter.

Chapter 1: Veiled In Darkness

"With all due respect, Mr. Greyback, I find the prospect of someone with your, well, condition, spending so much time around my family rather difficult to imagine. I would not, of course, mind if you were to stay in, say, our fort. It looks rather childish, but I have made certain time and time again that it is suitable for living in. Our Remus and his little friends love that place so much," John Lupin chuckled slightly at the thought of his son's antics.

"That is a most unfortunate view on matter, John." Any hint of a smile left John's face when saw the look in Fenrir's eyes. "I'm afraid it's all or nothing."

The words were civil enough, but the tone of voice with which the werewolf was speaking worried John, to say the least. Perhaps it was this that led him to make what was quite possibly the biggest mistake of his life: explaining why exactly he did not want a werewolf staying in his house. "As I said before, I mean no disrespect, but it's hardly safe allowing a person who turns into a vicious monster on a regular basis stay with my family." The instant the words were out of his mouth, he regretted them. That was not at all what he had meant to say, so he backtracked, "N-not that I believe you to be a vicious monster, i-it's just that you would be rather…er…unapproachable at certain times of the month. I-I—"

His stammered apology was cut off by the slamming of the front door as Fenrir Greyback left.

John fell numbly back into a chair and felt the colour drain from his face. "Oh Jesus. Oh God. What have I done?"

It was the first time he asked that, but it definitely would not be the last.

Remus' father had been very strict about keeping him inside after dark lately, but Remus didn't understand why. Some bloke from his dad's business had come over and talked to him and since then he wasn't even allowed out with the porch lights on and him mum watching like he used to be able to.

This annoyed him because he really liked playing outside at night. Night was the best time to play tag. Night was when he could play flashlight tag with his Muggle neighbors and, as it was the only Muggle game that he really liked, he had been missing it dearly. Flashlight tag wasn't the only thing he liked about nighttime, either. He loved how different the world looked. In the day, there were loads of bright colours that positively radiated happiness, but Remus had always thought the dark shades of the night were much more interesting. He liked how if you shone light on them they would be bright colours like you could see during the day, but you couldn't tell just by looking around. It was like his daddy, he thought: pretending to be serious but really just wanting to laugh and play. He never even considered that the bright colours weren't just hiding or playing pretend. He never even considered that something might be keeping them from showing their colours, that there was a darkness enveloping them that they couldn't shake off.

He didn't realise that the flowers his mummy always kept such good care of couldn't help the fact that they looked dark, rather than vibrant yellow, in the nighttime. He never even considered that this very affliction might soon overcome him. He didn't understand why his dad shouted at him when he begged to go outside on that night. He just knew that he wanted more than anything to look at the full moon, his favourite kind of moon, to see the flowers that were pretending to be dark, to play flashlight tag with his friends. He didn't have any clue what he was getting himself into that night.

The only light was that of the moon. Remus liked it. He'd never been outside at night without at least the porch lights on. This was cool, this was exciting. He would go to one of his friends' house later to see if they wanted to play, but it had hit him that he could do whatever he wanted now. His mum wasn't there to stop him. They lived near some woods that his mum and dad had never let him explore before and this was the best chance he'd ever had to look around.

He tried to be careful about it; Dad was always telling him he should be more patient, that he'd wind up hurting himself if he didn't pay more attention to what he was doing. But he was just too excited. He took a few careful steps, watching what he was doing, but before he knew it, he was sprinting off into the woods.

There were all sorts of things to play with in there: nice long sticks he cold pretend were wands (only five more years before he'd get his own! He was more than halfway there!), hollowed out trees that could be the lairs of evil monsters, fallen trees that could be sleeping dragons.

He got so caught up in playing pretend that he lost track of how deep he'd gone into the woods and even which way he'd come from. This type of thing wasn't particularly unusual for him, but it put him into a real panic when he realised that he felt someone watching him.

At first, he felt sure it was his father, that he was going to be in deep trouble for sneaking out, but he quickly realised that this couldn't be true. His dad would have walked straight up to him, not waited and watched in silence.

He looked around, trying to see who was watching him, stepping backwards nervously. He couldn't run home because he didn't know where home was. He dropped his stick. It wasn't a real wand. It wouldn't help at all. He tried to find someone or something that could help him. He was lost. He didn't know what to do. At that moment, he wanted to cry; he could even feel the tears stinging at the corners of his eyes. He wanted his mummy and even came close to shouting that out. In fact, he definitely would have done if he'd been able to find his voice. Normally the moon would have calmed him down—it always made him feel better when he'd just had a row with one of his mates or his parents—but when he looked up at it, he couldn't help but feel that it looked menacing.

He stumbled slightly as he backed up and bumped into a tree. Overcome by fear, he slid down the trunk and curled up into a ball at its roots, trying hard not to think about whatever it was that he could still feel watching him. The tears were now sliding freely down his face and his throat had closed up completely. It didn't help that he could hear footsteps now. And those footsteps were definitely not human.

He heard the ground crunch loudly under the paws of the beast that was watching him. Just on time, he threw himself to the side, still blinded by tears and terror. The beast, whatever it was, turned, and made another leap. This time, Remus was not so lucky. He heard it moving and tried to get out of the way, but didn't move fast enough. Gigantic paws slammed into his back and crushed him into the ground. A sharp pain shot through his entire body as several of his ribs cracked under the beast's paws. He welcomed unconsciousness as a friend.

It was nine o'clock when John and Joanne realised that Remus was missing. They had gone to check up on him, as they often did when he was sleeping, only to find his bed empty.

They went into a panic. They called their families, the Ministry of Magic's missing person's sector, and even the Muggle policemen. It was only after hours of searching the town that John resigned to the fact that the only place his son could possibly have gone was into the woods. He was fully aware of the dangers that going in there alone would entail, but he felt that he was responsible for this, and no one else should be put into danger for his mistakes.

He was fortunate enough not to find himself in harm's way throughout his search, but when he finally found his son around sunrise, he thought he might have felt better if some beast had killed him. Not for the first time, he whispered, "No…no…what have I done?"

Remus' tiny body was completely and utterly broken. He was facedown in the grass, one arm sticking out at an odd angle. John could actually see that several of his ribs had been broken; one side of his body seemed to have caved in slightly. He was drenched in blood, deep bite marks cut into his neck, ripped out of his shoulder, exposed the bone in one of his arms. He was not moving at all. It did not even seem as though he was drawing breath.

Somehow, John managed to find the force of will to approach his son. He collapsed to his knees beside the little boy, praying but not believing that his little boy might still be alive. Slowly, tremulously, he reached out and put his hand on the child's uninjured shoulder. His body was still warm. Surely that meant that his blood was still circulating, that his heart was still beating, didn't it? Something remarkably close to hope welled up inside John. At that moment, as some of the shock wore off, the tears welled up in his eyes.

He blinked them back as best he could and, as carefully possible, lifted his son's body up into his arms. Holding him like this, he thought he could just feel the boy breathing. Relief flooded through him as him sobbing became uncontrollable. It felt like an age in which he knelt there, his son in his arms, weeping both for what could have happened to his baby boy and what had happened to him.

He did not remember carrying his six-year-old son back to the house, meeting back up with his wife, or arriving at St. Mungo's. But, despite the relief he felt when the Healers told them that Remus would live, a question was exploding inside him. Apparently the Healers were aware that he knew what Remus would be from now on and he was grateful that they did not feel the need to remind him.

But when they left John and Joanne in the room for some time alone with their unconscious son, John turned slowly to his wife. His eyes welled up with tears once more and his voice came out rather strangled. "Joanne…What have I done?"

A/N: I really do like to have feedback, so whether you loved it or think it was the worst thing you've ever read, please tell me what you think. Thanks :)