In the soft hours between night and morning, the tree outside my front window casts a peculiar lunar shadow on my floor. The shadow reminds me of a flame; It is all smooth, unexpected curves and when the wind blows and the branches shake, the shadow flames seem to dance.

I have spent many a sleepless hour watching the shadow flames. Sleep is such a challenge these days. You can be dead on your feet, but your mind still won't let you sleep. Back in school, I slept constantly. Not often in class, the way James and Sirius did, but anywhere else. In the great hall during lunch, in the library, in the common room, even on the bleachers during one of James quiditch practices. Sense I've always been the "mature" one in my group of friends, people assume that I was always the first to rise in the morning, and the last to put away my books and go to bed at night. That's entirely untrue. I practically had to be forcibly removed from my four-poster in the morning, and was quite infamous for falling asleep the second the sun set. Being a dedicated student is tiring enough without the added fatigue of being a werewolf.

But these days, I am lucky to sleep five hours at a time. I work three nights of the week anyways, as a cab driver. The other nights are occupied by business with the order. Sometimes its meetings or planning, other times its missions and guard duty. Even if I'm not working, my thoughts are consumed by worry. Worry for my friends, worry for myself. War is a thief; it has a funny way of robbing you of your security.

Today I lay on the couch in my front room and stare at the shadow as it dances across the floor. Though I have a nice little bedroom upstairs, I often choose to sleep on the couch instead. I don't really know why. Maybe because it's closer to the fire place?

Judging by the feel of things, it can't be any later than five in the morning. Yet here I am, wide awake. I decide to get up and meander to my kitchen. I've got guard duty at eight. Might as well get up and going,

In the kitchen, I get a percolator going. Tea is good for easing the mind, but coffee is best for washing the sleep from your eyes. I take my coffee with cream, and four sugars. I've got quite the sweet tooth.

Harlequin is preening his feathers while he sits in his custamry spot; the back of the kitchen chair opposite mine. We share a compainiable silence and enjoy the hush of an easy morning. The coffee pot bubbles. I fry myself a few corn dodgers in a pan to fill my empty belly. I haven't eaten sense the last meeting, two days ago, so the dodgers smell extra delicious this morning.

By six o'clock, I'm sitting at my table and enjoying my breakfast.

"Harlequin, it must be so dreadful to be an owl sometimes. For example, you owls will never know the pure amazingness that is drinking a freshly brewed cup of coffee. I pity you and your dismal existence." I say amiably. Harlequin, of course, doesn't respond. Our conversations tend to be a little one sided.

As I sip my coffee, I lazily flip through an edition of Witch Broomstick. The sun peaks from under the horizon line, and a refreshingly orange ray of light slices through the fading night, replacing the chilling gray with a warm, glowing peach. There is a fine mist floating just above the grass, and it sparkles when the light hits it. It is a pleasant dawn

"Looks like a lovely day to me." I say aloud to my owl, who deafly ignores my insist chatter. "You know; I've never liked winter. It's cold and slushy and generally unpleasant. Summer time – now that is a season. It's warm and the nights are shorter and there are crickets chirping. Tease me as you please, but there is nothing as cheerful as a cricket. I wonder – do you eat crickets, Harlequin?"

Harlequin looks at me, and turns his head slightly, excited by the word "eat." Like Padfoot, Harlequin will do anything for food. I snort, and finish the rest of my breakfast.

The clock above my cast iron stove chimes, and it's time for me to go. I slip into my old tweed coat, and run my fingers through my hair. It's getting long, I'll need a haircut soon. I sort of like it longer, though.

Walking out of my house is like stepping into a blast cooler. The air is terribly cold, despite the inviting sun. I push my hands into my pockets, to protect my fingers from the nipping cold. When I get to my street corner, I apparate.

Apparating is an unpleasant sensation. Imagine being squeezed from a tube of toothpaste. Not a comfortable feeling.

I am in a small wizarding village named Hampton. I'm to be on guard duty from eight to ten. What am I guarding, you may ask? Us order members spend a lot of time guarding things. Sometimes we escort important political figures from place to place, but most of the time, we guard families who we presume are in immediate danger of death eaters. Most of the time, we guard wizarding families, though on the odd occasion, we are assigned to muggle families. Tonight, I'm guarding a family called the Stewarts.

They are unaware of our presence.

I am joined by Alastor Moody. Moody is an intimidating man at the best of times. He has a chisled, determined face and stingry hair. He wears a trench coat with many pockets, and he's got a mean look in his eyes. He's defense against the dark arts genious. That man is experienced. It is a privledge to work with him. As terrible as this war has been, I have learned many lessons. Moody is responsible for many of them.

"Remus." Moody says by means of a greeting as I approach a lamp post.

"Alastor." I reply. I shiver as a breeze blows.

"The Stewarts recently passed some information about the enemy on to the Ministry of Magic. The damn fools didn't think to send in the tips anonymously." Moody says. He has his wand at the ready, but he usually does. "If we don't see a siege of angry death eaters tonight, then we will before this wars ends. You don't just get away with something like that unscathed."

I nod in understanding and we stand in scilence. Moody is staring at my, and I squirm uncomfortably. I raise my eyebrows at him.

"You don't look well." Moody says bluntly.

"The full moon is three days away." I say by means of explanation.

Moody grunts. Like most wizards, he is weary of those affected by lycanthropy, and rightfully so. But unlike most wizards, he looks beyond my condition and values my strengths.

The day rolls by without event. Moody spends the day leaning against the lamp post, and I tend to my history journal, jotting down the day's insignificant headlines. Dusk starts to fall. The sky is tinged with violet.

Just as it becomes dark and the street lamps flicker on, there is a resounding pop, and three hooded figures stand a mere twenty feet from us. Instantly, all of our wands are out. The hooded man across from be shoots an unnamed spell directly at me, and I roll out of the way. Moody gives a vicious battle cry and blasts a powerful wave of magic at the other two death eaters who are rushing towards him. They block the spell.

I quickly get to my feet and pivot to face my attacker. With a delicate flick of my wand, I send a glowing ray of silver at my foe, and he shrieks as the heat of my attack burns his skin, he fires another spell at me, and I lunge behind the garden wall. There are two more pops; the Stewarts have apparated from their homes. Cowards.

I am pressed against the garden wall, trying to catch my breath. I can hear Moody dueling with the death eaters.

"What have we here?" A snide voice whispers from my left. I whip my wand to attack the man, but he disarms me before I can cast a spell.

The death eater is hooded, and I can't see his face beneath the shadow his cloak casts. I am almost positive, however, that the nasally voice belongs to my old classmate, Luscious Malfoy.

"Hiding, are we?" He hisses. "Not to worry, I'm not going to kill you. You can come with me, and tell us all we need to know." He is pressing the tip of his wand directly into my forehead.

I try to keep a level voice. "Certainly you death eaters can't be that numb-skulled? I wouldn't breathe a word of anything you want to know."

Could-Be-Malfoy laughs a sinister laugh, as if what I've said really tickled his funny bone. "It's precious how you think we will settle for your silence." He pushes his wand harder into my forehead, and I try not to flinch. "We've got ways of making people talk."

I hear Moody yell as a spell hits him. Judging by the storm of cuss words that follows said hit, I deduce that he is not severely injured. I here him scream some spell, and one the death eaters hits the pavement. The other apparates.

The man holding me against the wall looks up alarmed. He grabs my forearm and starts to apparate, but Just before he can do so, Moody blows up the garden wall.

I am sent rocketing through the air, slamming into a tree trunk. Bricks rain down and strike my skin. The death eater has been thrown onto the road. He is scrambling to his feet, Moody firing hexes every which way.

I am stunned by the impact of the blast, and my ears are ringing, but I manage to stand and wobble as quickly as I can toward Moody. He is face to face with Malfoy, there wands at each other's throats. Both are frozen. One wrong move, and either one could be killed.

"Surrender your weapons, and you'll save yourself a lot of misery." Moody whispers frighteningly. "Every wizard in a ten-mile radius has heard the ruckus you've caused. Order members will be here in minutes to turn you over to the ministry and cart you off to Azkaban.

The death eater slowly raises his hands in surrender. We take a step back. He gently begins to lower his wands to the ground, but at the last second he fires an imobulus charm at Moody so quickly that the auror can't respond. I am wandless and I brace myself for whatever is coming for me, but Malfoy being the coward I know he is, casts a spell straight at my chest and vanishes into thin air, apparating away from the scene.

The spell hits me squarely in the chest and I am overpowered by the pure agony of the curse. Time seems to slow to an unbearable crawl as I crash to the ground. I clutch at my chest and scream. My blood is on fire; I can literally feel it boiling in my veins. Moody stands helpless next to me, frozen by the imobulus charm.

I convulse on the ground, and shriek. The pain is worse than anything I've experienced before; even my transformations.

The hurt is overwhelming me, as the minute's tick by. One minute. Two minutes. Three minutes. Four. Just as the edges of my vision begin to black, order members apparate onto the scene. I scream so hard that my vocal chords feel like they might rupture.

"REMUS!" I hear Sirius scream as he runs over to me. He is sweating, and his eyes are frantic. I clutch his jacket as he bends over me. With shaking hands, he pushes my hair from my face and struggles to keep me lying down. "Somebody, help!" He yells. "He's been cursed!"

There is a rush of running members, and I slip into unconsciousness, the burning blood in my veins too much to bare.