Remus Lupin awoke with a start.

He was covered in sweat, his hair pressed to his forehead, his heart thudding in his ears.

Why he had just dreamed of her was beyond him. He hadn't seen her in what, sixteen years? Not since the funeral.

Not since he'd seen her cry like that, when she'd told him goodbye at the gravesite, and told him to be strong…

Remus's eyes closed tightly, and he put his head in his hands. Some memories would be better off forgotten.

She hadn't spoken to any of them since that day, and even when Sirius had been on the loose no one had heard from her. In a sense of guilt, he wondered how she had felt when the truth had come out, how Sirius hadn't been a murderer after all, and wondered if she had housed some of the same guilt he had.

Of course, that was a long, long time ago. Surely she had moved on. She was a strong soul- had to be, to stand up to what she had. Betrayal had become a part of her life, and nothing as simple as an old boyfriend turning out to be right could sway her.

His eyes opened, fixating on the dark.

Who was he trying to convince? Sirius had been much, much more than that.

And why was he thinking of her now?

Tonks had insisted on staying with him that night, and he had turned her down, said he actually needed to sleep tonight, and now he wished he had given in to her offer. So much had been going on- Dumbledore's death, Hogwarts on the verge of shutdown, and, most unnerving of all, the act of betrayal that he just couldn't for the life of him fathom.

Snape wasn't evil. He had his moments, just like everyone else, but he wasn't evil. He could have wiped all of them out at one point or another, especially the werewolf he was preparing Wolfsbane for, but he never did. And yes, he had hated Sirius, but in no way did Remus believe that he would have hurt him. Not too badly, anyway.

But when Harry had seen with his own eyes, and had confirmed over and over, even with Veritaserum, there was no denying.

Severus Snape had killed Albus Dumbledore.

He took a swig of firewhiskey form the table beside his bed, then stood and staggered through the darkness of the room. His house wasn't much, a tiny shack on the end of town right under a Muggle rail, but tonight it seemed like a prison. And he felt totally alone, and helpless, and as though the weight of the world had crashed on him so many times he would never get off his knees ever again.

His eyes adjusted and he stared out one tainted window into the night.

Something had changed. Something was coming.

And he wondered if the world could handle it.


Harry would have loved to have gone straight to the Burrow, would have loved to have seen Arthur, and Molly, and Ginny- yes, Ginny, and everyone else he had missed so badly, even though it had been only a couple of days since he had seen them. It was funny, how loss could make you appreciate all you had. But Godric Hollow was right in their sight, and he wanted to see.

Hagrid had joined them, and Harry noticed how peaked the giant was looking. He didn't smile a lot like he used to, and he seemed to be on the verge of tears every time he spoke. But he had been good enough to show up, and he knew exactly where Lily and James lay.

The gates were rusted, despite the seemingly immaculate upkeep of neighborhood, and Harry wondered if this was in his own perception, matching his soul's vision of the place where his parents perished and died.

He asked Hermione and Ron and even Hagrid to remain behind as he approached the headstones, side by side, in the mist of the dwindling day.

POTTER was carved into the black stone, large and pronounced even in the dusk. Underneath, smaller but just as noticeable, were the names JAMES and LILY. The dates were there, and Harry's eyes filled as he thought of that night in question, wondering how much different his life would be if Voldemort had chosen Neville instead of him, that maybe his parents would still be here, with him, and he wouldn't be there looking down on their grave.

A pang of guilt stunned his thoughts. How could he say a thing like that? Neville's parents weren't much better off, in St. Mungo's with no hope of ever being normal again. And after all Neville, no matter how clumsy of foolish he seemed, had done to help Harry he had no right to wish for a reversal.

Besides, it fed him.

Deep inside, the pain and anger intensified to the burning point that he had grown to adore over the last few weeks. It was so easy to hate when you felt this way. You didn't care as much about the pain as you did doing something to get revenge for it.

And that revenge laid in killing Severus Snape.

He dropped to his knees, his fingers tracing the letters of their names, smiling but to his shock not feeling anything other than purpose.

"I swear to you, here on your graves, that I will make you proud," he whispered. "I swear. I swear that I will avenge you both. And nothing will stop me. Nothing. You just watch and see."

He didn't know how long he sat there, speaking to them, before the tears hit. This was the closest he had ever been to them in sixteen years. They were there, only about six feet under him, and yet so far away. A sob escaped his lips, and the three figures near the gate all snapped to attention.

Hermione tried to go to him, but Ron stopped her. "No," he said softly, "he told us to stay."

Harry composed himself as best he could, and he asked them the questions he wanted to know, how they fell in love, how did they feel when he came into the world, what did Sirius and Lupin say when they found out, what was Mum's favorite color, what was Dad's favorite Quidditch team. Then he told them about Hermione and Ron and Neville and Dumbledore and Ginny; oh, he'd found a girl named Ginny and he just knew they would love her as much as he did. On and on he went, until he finally caught his breath and remembered his purpose.

It took a few moments to steady his breathing, then he leaned forward. He pressed his lips to the headstone, bestowing a kiss upon his own surname.

"I love you," he whispered. "I barely know you, but I love you. And I know you loved me. And I will never forget that. And I promise, I'll make you proud."

He stood, dusting off his knees, and then he saw it.

There, against the side of the headstone, was a flower of some sort. He had never seen one like it, actually. It had one tulip-like blossom, a deep rich blue in color with highlights of purple. Its leaves were undeniably tiger-striped, the black a sharp contrast against a pale green. It had obviously been placed there recently, as it was fresh and moist and not shriveled at all. He reached down and picked it up.

As he approached the others, he saw that Hagrid and Hermione were red-faced and tearstained, and Ron looked more somber than Harry thought he ever had. The redhead smiled a little. "Okay, mate?"

Harry nodded. Hermione hugged him, and then Ron, and the Hagrid joined in a raised them all off the ground. When they had been replaced, Hermione noticed the flower in Harry's hand.

"Oh, Harry, it's gorgeous! Wherever did you find it?" She took it in her fingers and began to marvel the colors that seemed to have been painted on.

Harry swallowed hard. "It was there. On the… the headstone. Someone must have left it for them. I thought you could tell me what it is."

Hermione frowned apologetically. "Sorry. I've never seen one before."

Ron was studying it now, shaking his head. "Me, neither," he said.

Harry looked at Hagrid, who shrugged. "Never seen one a' those, Harry. Too beau'iful to be from these here parts."

Harry frowned. He would have liked to have known who had visited so shortly ago, maybe pay them a visit, ask some questions about his parents. But that didn't seem to be happening in the near future, and Hagrid's hurried consultation of his pocket watch confirmed that.

"Alright, we should be off," the giant said, then looking at Harry added, "Tha' is, if you're finished here."

Harry gave a nod, and they started back up the alleyway where they would once again catch the Knight Bus, and from there go to the Burrow. But he couldn't drive form his mind the one place he was dreading even thinking about, but that had haunted his dreams for the past few days- Number Twelve Grimmauld Place.

To remember poor Sirius, there all alone for that whole year, stuck there with no one but that filthy house elf, was almost too much. And along with that came the memory of Snape, taunting Sirius, calling it his hidey-hole

The rage quickened in him, and he felt as though he might explode. Thankfully Hermione was suggesting a whole range of books that might come in handy to identify the flower, and it at least it gave Harry a barrier to block the sometimes overwhelmingly violent thoughts in his mind.


Tonks was talking a mile a minute as she paced around the sitting room waving the parchment around, and Remus's head was starting to pound. He hadn't gone back to sleep last night, and now something itched in his mind so badly that he almost wished for the full moon, so he could lose his current memory and bound around in another for a few precious hours. Realizing just how desperate his discomfort was making him, he was sending an owl to Harry, asking him to meet at Grimmauld Place. Something was drawing him there, something unnerving, and he felt if he didn't get there soon, time would be run out.

Tonks kept coming up for a million reasons why he was probably feeling so odd ("You can't tell me you're going to do this… It's obviously a trap, you can't pull Harry into it") but Remus was ignoring her. Not because he was trying to, but because of the nagging feeling he had that he shouldn't dismiss the letter.

It had arrived on his doorstep that very morning, in the grasp of a dirty barn owl, one that seemed to push him to open the envelope; pecked at him and screeched until he did so. And the letters had come together in sentences, almost too unbelievable for him to understand.

Remus had immediately sent a letter back, cursing whoever it was for such a cruel and evil prank, but when the owl had returned, this time carrying a lock of dark curly hair, which had caused Remus's heart to soar into his throat. He had summoned Tonks, and together they would travel to Number Twelve Grimmauld Place by Floo Powder.

That is, if he could convince her to be as sure as he was.

He knew, deep in his heart, that no matter what happened there, he had no right keeping Harry away.


The house was dark.

The smell was impossibly overpowering- without Kreacher there it obviously had been left to its own demise.

But Remus didn't notice all this as Tonks did. He was there for one thing and one thing only.

His footsteps echoed on the wood floor as he approached the kitchen. He pushed the door open a bit, and looked in, then stepped inside.

It was totally deserted. Dark stains of water covered the table, and the sink dripped every few seconds, the minute noise overpowering in the still of the house. Remus straightened, a hint of disappointment clouding his once hopeful heart. He cursed himself for being a fool, and turned to leave.

The form flew from the pantry so fast it caught him totally off guard. He crashed into the table, fighting against the mass flailing against him, and felt his wand being pulled from his pocket. Panic flooded him, but before he could shout to her, Tonks was in the doorway, wand pointed, but obviously afraid of hitting Remus should the spell go wrong.

"TONKS! DO IT!" Remus yelled, finally wrestling the figure off of him and into an even darker corner of the kitchen. A hand reached out and grabbed him, pulling him into the shadows along with it. Tonks screamed his name.

"NYMPHADORA, NOW! DO IT!"

But before she could, her wand flew from her grasp and went sliding under the cabinets. Her heart pounded, and she stood frozen in complete fear.

Summoning all the strength the animal in him housed, Remus put his hand against what he could only deduce was the thing's face and shoved hard. His other hand made contact in a fist, and a howl of pain cut through the kitchen, and Remus took full advantage of the lack of retaliation and grabbed the throat, forcing it to the table and slamming it down, taking his wand from it and pointing it into its face.

Tonks had scrambled for her wand, and now held it up. "Lumos!"

Light fell across the room, lighting up a mop of dark curly hair that curtained a face that was pale and corpselike. Remus stopped struggling against the man and looked at him squarely in disbelief.

Sirius Black lay before them, his whole body vibrating as if powered by some electrical source, his eyes clamped shut. Remus lowered his wand, his breath catching in his throat, unable to speak.

The bleak grey eyes opened, and as the man saw his friend staring down at him in shock, and a little suspicion, he began to shudder violently, a weak smile trying to cross his lips, making him look more maniacal than he did when Remus saw him after escaping Azkaban three years before.

A stunned Tonks took a step back, her mouth wide open and her eyes unblinking. It couldn't be... it absolutely couldn't be...

Short bursts of breath escaped him, and he rose from the table as Remus backed up a step. "R-R- Remus…," Sirius steadied himself, and attempted to take a step towards him.

Remus held up a hand, his eyes widening more with every second. "Stay there," he said sternly.

But Sirius stepped towards him again, and this time tears trailed down his cheeks. "…I never… I never thought I… I didn't think I'd get out of there… ever… It was so awful… the voices… the dark… I….Remus, is it really you? Is it not a dream? Are you really there?"

Tonks was in shock against the door, her eyes still wide and staring. Remus could feel his heart hammering in his ears, but still tried to remain composed.

"Why did you attack me?" His wand was up again.

Sirius didn't seem to care. "I thought perhaps the Ministry might have intercepted the letters… I didn't know it was you…" He swallowed hard, his voice becoming a plea. "They'd try to keep me there, they've done it before, the voices there told me… they said some of them had escaped but the Ministry always found them and sent them back…" His eyes became wilder, more desperate. "Remus, please, you won't let them send me back, please, it's worse than Azkaban, Remus, please…" A choked sob escaped him, and he fell to his knees, suddenly appearing weak and broken. He crawled forward, circling Remus's legs with his arms, as a scared child might have done. "Please," he whispered, tears soaking Remus's pants, "please help me..."

And in that second, Remus Lupin knew that something, somewhere, had changed life as he knew it forever.


A large, pale hand being placed on his head awoke Draco Malfoy. He stirred, then saw that he apparently had not been having a nightmare.

He really was in this place, this God-forsaken dump that looked as though it should have been burned many years ago before its floor had become blackened and its roof sagged with rot. He sat up and turned to see Severus Snape stirring a cup of that filth he kept serving up to him.

"I don't want any more of that," Draco said defiantly. "And don't think you can make me take it, either."

Snape turned and shoved the cup in the boy's hand. "Take it."

Draco had learned not to question Snape's orders. And after seeing him do away with Dumbledore, he was a little afraid of him, to tell the truth.

No. Not a little. A lot.

After the fight at Hogwarts, Snape had apparated them not to the Dark Lord's hideaway as planned, but to this shack. Draco didn't recognize it, and wasn't awake enough to explore, for Snape had kept him nice and drugged. That had been weeks ago, he was sure of it. And Snape, though always morbid and snappy, had been almost tyrannical in that time. He barely talked, and when he did, he was barking at no one in particular, practically thin air, and that increased Draco's discomfort. The man had gone completely mental.

He sniffed the potion, and jerked back. This was different. It smelled strongly acidic, and Draco hesitated out of fear for his life.

"It's a reviving concoction. It will ward off the effects of the others."

Snape's voice was calm, and Draco noticed that he was waving his wand around, causing all the bottles to fly into a dilapidated carpet bag lying on the floor.

"What are you doing?" Draco asked, sipping the steamy liquid. He swallowed. It didn't taste as bad as it smelled.

Snape didn't answer for a few moments. He continued to pack, then turned. "We must leave this place. It will not be long until they find us."

Draco felt his breath catch in his throat. The usually calm exterior of Severus Snape was now broken, in a sense- his eyes seemed to be heavier and his face more pallid. The potion was working, for Draco already felt his usual cockiness shining through.

"Let the filthy traitors come. The Dark Lord will take care of them. And surely they won't mess with you, since you blasted that old mental case Dumbledore straight to hell..."

Draco dove for cover as his cup shattered, along with the grimy windows and a mirror above the fireplace. He dared to open his eyes just in time to see Snape lowering his wand. After a few quiet moments, he lifted it again, sweeping it around the room and muttering, "Reparo."

Shards of glass skidded back to their panes, and the teacup clattered back to its original state. Draco rose slowly, his knees a bit weak and his eyes fixated on the man in front of him.

"I… what…?"

Snape didn't answer, just glared at him. "You have to swear to stay with me, no matter what you see or hear or think. Do you understand?"

Draco couldn't respond vocally, so he just nodded. Snape glowered, taking a step closer.

"Hear me, Malfoy," he growled. "If for a second I believe you are trying to escape me, I will have no regrets- now, how did you put it? Oh, yes- blasting you straight to hell."

Draco's face could be read like an open book, and he knew it. He nodded again, more assuredly this time, and met Snape's eyes fully. After a few seconds Snape turned away, and only then did Draco believe his heart began beating again. He mustered enough courage to step towards the older man. "Exactly where are we going?" He watched Snape turn to him again, and quickly added, "Sir?"

Snape stared at the boy again, and Draco couldn't help but feel that there was more to this scrutiny than met the eye. After an eternity, he simply said, "Hunting."