Thunder boomed; its echo rumbled through the ground, through the thick walls of the house, up through the floor, so that the dim lamplight flickered even dimmer. I strained my eyes, examining the small text with difficulty, until, frustrated, I turned over onto my back with a huff and set the book down.

In truth, I easily could have turned on a second light or conjured the necessary luminescence, but my wand was all the way across the room in the pocket of my trousers, and I had little desire to wake the Potters from their restful sleep after they had so gratefully taken me in, and even less desire to risk giving James, Sirius, or Peter any excuse to bother me.

The hands of my watch, as far as I could tell in the dark, were attempting to inform me that it wouldn't be long before I needn't worry about waking the others for they'd surely be up and about making breakfast before long. I'd grown accustomed to hearing the others awaken just as I drifted off, counting on Sirius to be pouncing on my bed long before troubled dreams began to stir in the back of my tired mind. He had not yet failed.

The crescent moon cloaked in clouds just outside me window should have put me at ease, but my nightmares had not waned with the moon this month. I had barely accepted James' invitation to visit his family's summer home with him and the others, only forced by Sirius' entreating pleas and, ultimately, threats.

I pulled the leather-bound tome up onto my chest, letting its reliable weight set my troubles at ease. Perhaps, if I closed my eyes for just a moment, kept my thoughts anchored to the story in my hands, my dreams wouldn't wander to the bloodshed Mr. Potter wearily recounted when he returned from the ministry each evening.

Tap tap.

The bedraggled owl hovering outside my window glared at me as only owls can. Let me in, you twat, its wide eyes blazed.

I sighed, wondering if staying in bed was worth the possible loss of finger I was likely to experience when the poor thing finally found its way inside.

He shook his inky feathers pointedly when I finally shoved the window open, as if he wanted to see just how much water he could land on my face, my jumper, my pillow, if he could freeze me out with the chilled rain. He dropped the letter with disdain, right on top of my book with a wet plop. Then, he stretched his wing out and snapped at my ear.

"Zephyr?"

He looked disappointed that it had taken me that long.

"Lily send you out in this rain?"

With one look at the letter I added, "And without a drying spell on her parchment? I thought she was brighter than that."

It occurred to me, somewhere in the back of my thoughts, as I treaded across the floor to retrieve my trousers, that perhaps it wasn't raining where Lily was.

I tapped the letter dry, hoping the ink hadn't run too much, and as a second thought tapped the owl dry as well until he hopped to the desk to gleefully preen his feathers.

"You're free to the owl treats, if you'd like," I told him. "If I'm not mistaken, the bag's still open."

That said, I turned my attention to Lily's delicate handwriting, fairly preserved all things considered.

Dear Remus,

How are you? I hope your summer's been quite well. Though I daresay if Potter is keeping you hostage at his house it isn't likely.

I snorted, involuntarily, at her contempt. Not that I didn't understand the sentiment. Sometimes, she had once told me, I think you're only friends with them to fill some sort of masochistic quota you have set for yourself.

My dear, I had responded, I believe I fill that quota easily without them.

Upstairs, a floorboard creaked.

I silently cursed Lily – my laughter must have woken someone, and all I could do was pray, pray for my life that that someone wasn't-

"'Morning, Mooney! You're up early."

"Late," I corrected him as he bounded across the floor. He didn't seem to hear.

He also didn't seem to hear my objections as he tackled me to the bed with a great leap, mussing my hair, nearly smothering me to death to stop my protestations. His bare chest was warm, almost hot, and I thought vaguely to myself that the only way I wouldn't suffocate was if my body overheated and shut down before my lungs had finally run out of oxygen.

"Sirius," I gasped, finally managing to push some of his weight off me and onto the mattress. "Get off."

"Ow. Were you reading? Just pushed me onto some great ruddy book."

"You got hair in my mouth."

"Have you been reading since we left you here last night?"

"Of course not," I lied.

"Is that Evans' owl! Have you been writing Evans! Oh, Prongs has got to hear of this. Where's the letter? Come on now, let me see it, Mooney, there's a boy."

I hadn't handed him the letter. He had pried it from my fingers.

"Give it here."

"Hostage?" His tone was one of incredulous outrage, of indignation, raising in pitch, in timbre, and in loudness just enough that he may have woken the entire house. "We're not keeping you hostage. You came willingly, for the most part."

"May I have my letter, Sirius? I haven't even read it yet."

"Fine, you great bore. Have you got anything to eat in here? I"m starving."

I set Lily's letter aside to read whenever I could find a few moments of peace, hoping it wasn't urgent because who knew when that would be. Hours, possibly days from now.

Sirius was now standing at the foot of the bed, arms over his head, stretching out his long torso with a gaping yawn, pulling the waistband of his pyjamas lower on his hips, and I threw a pillow it him and averted my eyes.

"Put some clothes on."

He smirked at me and began to rummage through my trunk, pulling out shirts and jumpers until he found one big enough for him. "Better?"

"I meant your own, but I suppose that will suffice. Are James and Peter up yet?"

"Of course not. James was muttering something to himself about gingers, and Peter's a great lump, so it's just you and me for now." He glanced out the window and continued, "I can't tell if it' sunrise yet or not with all this rain, but I think it's a bit early to wake them, don't you?"

I took a deep breath, rubbed my temple with one hand.

"You okay?"

It was just then that I realized how tired I was, how my eyes were floating closed and my head throbbed.

"Fine."

"Want I should make us some tea?"

I nodded, closing my eyes. He got up off the bed and sprung across the room to the door, and when I heard the door creak and drift shut, I retrieved Lily's letter from the desk and sat down to read it.

She was worried. More than worried, properly terrified, and ashamed if I was reading the letter correctly. Her words carved a delicate, careful mask of curiosity to cover the anxiety, the kind she only cared to craft when her fear itself frightened her more than whatever was truly troubling her. I rummaged through the mess atop the desk for a spare piece of parchment and a quill that Peter hadn't sat on, and started to write.

Dear Lily,

You'll be pleased to hear that James has finally stopped talking about you in his sleep. I can't say as much for when he is awake, but it's a start, no? I, on the other hand, am as tortured as ever. Each day is a struggle not to end my life in his presence. He and Sirius have my chained in the wine cellar and feed me scraps off the dinner table when they are feeling charitable. Save me, Lily Evans, your hexes are my only hope! By the time you read this letter, I may be dead!

In all honesty, the summer has been relatively uneventful. I'm spending what time I can reading and what time I can't praying not to be on the wrong side of whatever mischief the others plan. Mr. Potter has been keeping us filled in on everything happening at the Ministry. The poor man – I can't imagine how difficult things must be for Aurors right now. I think, were I him, I'd retire and fill a teaching position at Hogwarts or something a bit less dangerous. (On second thought, the pranks of my friends may in truth be a worser fate than anything this Lord Voldemort can muster for his enemies.)

How is Alice doing? Has Frank finally come around? I've been dying to know for months when he'd finally muster the courage... some Gryffindor, right?

Give your parents my best, and tell your owl not to bite my next time you send him!

I stopped my hand to turn and scowl at the bird, and added,

And teach him better table manners. My book is now covered in owl treats.

All my love,

Remus

P.S. You're free to come visit me, you know. I'm positive James would be fine with it, and the rest of us would love to see you.

I folded the letter, cast a few absent-minded charms, and prodded the bird, who had drifted off, with the corner of the parchment.

"Give this to Lily, Zephyr, okay?"

The bird hopped to the window and looked back at me, as if saying, Really? No, I had thought I'd fly your letter to Dumbledore.

I shut the window after the owl and stood up, stretching my legs out carefully and treading to the door.

I found Sirius at the kitchen table, a Daily Prophet in one hand and a cup of tea in the other. He looked up when he heard me on the stairs, and gestured to the tea at the seat opposite him. I sat and took a sip, waiting for him to speak.

He didn't for a long while. My tea was almost cold by the time he set aside the paper, drained the rest of his tea, and looked up at me, his eyes full of an unfamiliar sense of confusion and anxiety.

"What is it?"

"My aunt is in the paper. Arrested for killing a muggle-born witch."

"Oh God," I started, but I didn't know what to say to ease him. At that moment, I would have given anything to have him looking like mischief and joy again, as he had upstairs. I would have let him tackle me a thousand times over this odd stillness, anything but calm.

His hand trembled. I wanted to reach over and take it, stop its shaking.

Instead, I watched as he curled it into a fist.

"I'm not going back to that house. Never. Nothing anyone says can make me. I've brought all my things, my trunk, my robes. I took out what money I could last time I was at Gringotts, I've set up my own account and everything. Mr. and Mrs. Potter said I could stay here as long as I needed. They don't control me anymore."

I nodded, unable to speak. He stood, leaving his cup and the paper, and walked outside, into the rain, a soft growl making it clear that he did not want me to follow.

I finished my tea in solitary silence, sitting at the table long after the dregs in the bottom had gone cold, the storm had stopped enough to let the sun rise, and Mr. Potter had left for work. Sirius still had not returned.