Author's Note: Thanks so much for all the lovely reviews! You guys are too awesome! I know my chapters aren't long…I'm hoping they'll progress as the story does. Oh, and Harry is nine, by the way. For me, Remus is a very difficult character to write…so I hope you enjoy.

Previously… There was a prolonged moment of silence before the sandy-haired man met Harry's gaze and let out a particularly strangled yelp causing Harry to jump and the cake to go flying.

Chapter Two

If it were in Harry's nature to cry at the offset of every unhappy incident, the Dursleys would have beaten the poor boy to death by now. So as the large cake plummeted towards the ground, Harry did little more than shut his eyes. He expected to hear the man before him let out a cry of rage…but the longer Harry stood there staring at the inside of his eyelids, the more the silence seemed to burn his ears.

All Harry heard was a small shuffling of feet before a warm hand came to rest upon his shoulder. The boy almost jumped back, but found he—oddly—didn't feel threatened. A few more excruciating moments passed before emerald eyes peered upwards towards his silent companion and what he found gave him a small jolt.

The man was not angry…but rather smiling at him…and, in the hand that currently wasn't lying comfortingly upon his shoulder, was the cake. Harry forgot his shyness for a moment and bluntly asked, "How…?"

The dangerously thin man chuckled a bit before finally stepping away from the small boy. "I'm sorry," he said, his eyes shining kindly. "I'm afraid we've given each other a scare. I hadn't expected anyone to be standing just outside the door." He hesitated briefly before motioning towards Mrs. Figg's abode. "Please, come in. Arabella had told me you would be coming…Harry."

Harry smiled awkwardly; still somewhat bewildered and aware his question hadn't been answered. "Pleased to meet you…er—"

"Remus Lupin," said the man, interjecting politely, gently.

Head tilted slightly, Harry stood in quiet confusion. Was this man being…kind to him? Harry had rarely met anyone who didn't treat him with unguarded hostility or blatant disinterest. Strange as it was, Harry wasn't sure how to react.

With a snuffled sneeze, Harry took a small step towards the door, and then turned to look up at Remus. "Umm. My aunt made the cake for Mrs. Figg. Thanks for catching it."

Remus smiled down at the messy-haired boy. "No problem, Harry. Now, why don't we go inside and have a seat? It's awfully cold out here."

You have no idea, sir.

Harry wasted no time darting inside—his face and hands felt numb. His oversized clothes did little to protect against the elements and his illness was doing nothing to help the situation, either. Though, he immediately wrinkled his nose when he crossed the threshold. The house's odor always set Harry a little ill at ease. Old lady and cats were definitely not his preference. The only difference Harry could note was the very slight smell of pine from the small Christmas tree in the corner of the living room.

He shivered silently while shooing a few meowing cats out of his path towards the sofa. Harry sat down tentatively, keeping one brilliant orb on the kind man named Remus who was currently walking off towards the kitchen. Harry wondered vaguely if he should follow, but decided against it when his head started to spin again. Probably from fever, Harry mused.

"Harry?" Remus's light voice came floating from the kitchen. "Would you like a cup of tea?"

Harry nodded once before he realized no one could see him. He tried to call out an affirmative answer, but his mouth felt so unbearably dry. Clearing his throat painfully, Harry managed a very croaky, "Yes, please."

Harry gazed around the familiar room silently, slightly relieved to be alone again. Mrs. Figg was nowhere in sight—how did she know this man, Remus? What had they been talking about when he first arrived? Harry couldn't remember having ever heard Mrs. Figg mention Remus…or anyone besides her cats, for that matter. Harry was stuck between weariness and happiness at the prospect of this man's presence. He seemed kind…but Harry was all too used to disappointment.

Never did Harry hope for the best.

"Harry?"

Without warning, a very irritated Mrs. Figg came barreling into the room. She was still wearing her bedclothes, but there were huge dark circles under her eyes and her hair was all disheveled. Harry blinked, confused. She stared at him for an uncomfortable moment before speaking again.

"When did you get here? Who let you in?" she asked, expression softening a bit.

Harry knitted his brows together. "I—I—"

"I let him in, Arabella," Remus stated, walking over to Harry and handing him his tea. Mrs. Figg looked slightly startled, but said nothing. "I was just on my way out when I bumped into Harry here." He gave Mrs. Figg a sideways glance, hesitated, then sat on the opposite side of the sofa from the emerald-eyed boy.

Mrs. Figg looked pleased and astonished. "So…you've decided to stay then, Remus?"

Remus looked over at Harry for only a fraction of a second, and then smiled into his teacup. "Yes, I have."

"Good," Mrs. Figg said lightly, eying Harry carefully. "I was just about to get cleaned up for the day." Harry thought that was a really great idea.

"I'll be here," Remus said, a little more forcefully. Mrs. Figg glanced at him intensely, and then moved to turn back down the hall.

By this time, Harry was utterly confused. Was this man staying here…because of him? No, but that was entirely impossible. He'd never seen this man before in his life. Besides, Harry knew what he was—a freak. A freak didn't have friends…or family. Uncle Vernon always said so. Perhaps Mrs. Figg didn't think she could handle him on her own anymore—what lies must his relatives be telling her?

Remus's voice cut through his thoughts, "…I've never really watched much television. What would you like to watch, Harry?"

Harry turned his head, startled. Unfortunately, as the boy started to form a question, he sneezed, sneezed, and sneezed again.

The man's kind eyes sharpened. He very hesitantly reached a hand out towards the boy, seemed to change his mind at the last second, and simply inched closer. "Are you ill, Harry, or are you allergic to all of these lovely creatures?" Remus asked, smiling to himself. "You do seem a bit pale…"

Expression guarded, Harry wondered briefly why this man would care. He certainly seemed to be having health issues himself; although he was obviously young, Harry noticed Remus had a tired, beaten look about him…as if he was used to disappointment, too. But still, the young boy wasn't sure about what he might say. He knew very well that he was ill…but why did that matter?

Noting Harry's confusion, Remus's face grew more somber. He shakily placed his hand upon Harry's forehead, frowning gently.

Harry didn't breathe nor dare to move an inch. The hand felt so wonderful against his blazing forehead, yet make him shiver at the same time. Harry sighed softly, forgetting he wasn't alone, and closed his eyes.

Remus swallowed hard, audibly. "Harry? How would you like some soup?" The messy-haired boy merely flinched. "Have you been feeling this way long?"

Harry nodded, yes.

Remus was glad at that moment that Harry couldn't see how white his knuckles had turned. "I'll be right back with the soup, Harry. Excuse me," he murmured, removing himself silently from the room, and Harry.

The boy sat in total silence, before reminding himself to breathe again. He really was exhausted…and frustrated. Harry had the distinct feeling that there was something he should know…something tugging at the corner of his mind…an answer…but to what? Closing his eyes again, Harry visualized another holiday…not one that had been or would be…but one that was truly impossible—one where he was happy.

-HPHPHPHP-

Harry woke up very slowly. His eyelids too heavy too open, he drifted between awareness. But he could feel someone breathing quietly above him.

A cold, clammy hand touched his face.

"Harry?"

A firm grip on his shoulder, a small shake.

"Harry?"

More voices.

"Here," said the other voice in a hushed whisper. "Put him in the other room."

Harry could feel himself being lifted. Gentle hands grasped him firmly around the legs and back. He wanted to protest, but found he couldn't speak nor open his eyes. He was eventually placed onto a bed, he noticed, and instantly curled into a ball.

"Here," the one voice said. "Drink this, Harry."

Harry felt something slimy being poured down his throat, but didn't resist. He just wanted to sleep.

"Go back to sleep now, Harry…"

Smiling, Harry managed a very drowsy, "Mmm, 'kay."

One voice let out a small chuckle before Harry knew no more.

-HPHPHPHP-

Remus wasn't sure how long he had been sitting beside the small boy, watching him sleep. Feeling as though a muggle car had hit him, he had pulled a small rocking chair in from another room and took watch in it. A loud gurgling sound had come from his stomach—he had only eaten once today—and not wanting to disturb Arabella, he had stayed still.

"Remus? Can I come in?"

Mrs. Figg entered the room slowly, and looked, if possible, worse than earlier. "Remus…Remus, dear, you must get some sleep yourself. Harry will be fine. I know everything is a bit—well, unsettling at the moment. But, Dumbledore assures me that—"

"—Yes, I am aware, Arabella," Remus cut in mildly, glancing at Harry's sleeping form. "How long will his relatives be away?"

Mrs. Figg snorted. "They claimed only a few days—but Merlin only knows. Very stubborn people, the Dursleys—refuse to believe in what is right in front of them." She smiled suddenly, "I'm glad you've finally come to your senses."

Remus chuckled sadly. "How could I not? I'm still worried about my condition—but we'll have to be quick about this. It's only a matter of time before they figure out what we're doing, too."

"Yes, it is," said Mrs. Figg, sighing thoughtfully. "Dumbledore believes we can pull it off…Now, Remus," she smiled, eyes lighting up for only a moment, "allow me to get you some food."

Remus blinked a few times, then stood and walked carefully out the door. He really was famished. "At least allow me to cook."

Mrs. Figg smiled broadly, and quietly shut the door behind her. "All right," she said, turning to follow Remus. "But you have to wear the apron."