A/N: HEY DID YOU READ THE LAST CHAPTER? This is a mothafucking DOUBLE POST.

Disclaimer: I own none of this!

Source: Rowling, J. K. (1999). Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. Scholastic: New York.

April 20, 1983

Dear Remus,

How are you? It's been a while since I last wrote, though I don't suppose it really matters - it's not like you're reading this, right? Seems sort of useless, but for some reason, I just can't stop myself. And so it goes.

I've been here for over a year now. It's beginning to cool again, much to my relief. I'm no good with too much heat, as you know. I've finally gotten enough of a grasp on the language to sound decent, though my accent is still pretty terrible. The men in town like to make fun of it. They're always going on about how "twangy" it sounds and how I don't roll my r's correctly. It's a little embarrassing but also refreshing in a way. It reminds me of all the times James and Sirius would make fun of me while we were growing up. It's strange how much I miss that sort of camaraderie, even if it was at my expense.

The flowers are beginning to bloom again. They're really something to behold, even during the day. I was surprised that they've remained blooming all this time, but the locals say that the flowers die and then regrow quickly as long as it's warm, unlike most plants that have a set seasonal lifespan. Theoretically, I could keep them blooming year-round if tended to correctly. It's an incredibly convenient property, don't you think? Almost a little too good to be true, really.

I've made another discovery with the flowers. Years ago, Master Belby had noted fluctuations in the flowers' reactions to the full moon in minute ways. Sometimes they bloom a bit differently, or the magnitude of their light is greater. Sometimes they even turn a bit physically. Master Belby had just thought they were random changes, but I have a theory that there are differences between cycles depending on the position of the earth in relation to the moon and perhaps even solar position, which would also help to explain why you have a harder time during some months than others, regardless of pre-existing stress or anxiety. I think that, depending on the position of the moon and other astronomical factors, the flowers develop different chemical reactions, which can be harnessed or compensated for with other variables and ingredients. Amrit has a friend in the astronomy department at the university here whom she says can probably help me understand better. I'm nearly giddy with excitement.

But those flowers - Remus, I wish you could see the full moon solely to witness that glowing field. The flowers open as the sun sets every night and then close at dawn, but on the night of the full moon, those blossoms emit this beautiful white light. The entire field illuminates with this glow, and then it's as if all of the fireflies in the mountains appear, adding their own yellow rhythm to the night. The flowers give off this seductively sweet scent, perhaps to lure the fireflies near. The first time I experienced it, I thought of that quote from the great wizard Ptolemy: "I know that I am mortal by nature and ephemeral, but when I trace at my pleasure the windings to and fro of the heavenly bodies, I no longer touch earth with my feet. I stand in the presence of Zeus himself and take my fill of ambrosia."

It's in those moments that I feel so very small, and I bask in the comfort of insignificance. It's been therapeutic, almost. I was so afraid when I arrived here - I still am I suppose - but after all that's occurred in the past year and a half, insignificance is really what I ought to feel I think. It feels like a cheap resolution to losing James and Lily - "oh, well, none of us matter anyway" - but there's almost a sense of twisted glory in self-loathing and mourning, isn't there? We spend so much time focusing on how unfair it is, how lonely we are, when in the great scheme of things, we don't matter. It seems to come into conflict with the very nature of my work - after all, if it doesn't matter then what I'm doing really makes no difference - but somehow, it's given me a renewed enthusiasm for my goals. Strange how these things work. I'm trying not to dwell on it too much.

There's something else though. I don't really know how to say it. I'm not even sure why it's so difficult for me to admit it - it's not like you're even reading these letters - but it's still hard for me even admit to myself. Well, I've met someone. There. I don't know how significant it is. Actually, it really isn't at all. I can't say I have any feelings for him beyond the normal affection shared between friends, but he's been very direct about his intentions. I'm not sure how to react to it. It's been a very long time since anyone has shown such an interest in me, since Barty I suppose.

His name is Heinrich, another traveling researcher from Germany. He's tall and tanned and very handsome with nearly as many scars as you've got. He's here to study the Hungarian Horntails. I laughed when he first told me - I couldn't believe that I'd met an actual dragon tamer after spending so much time telling people that that's what you were. He didn't get the joke.

Anyway, I met him last month at one of the wizarding pubs in the city of Zirc while gathering supplies with Lescos. While I was waiting for him to get back from the market, Heinrich sort of came out of nowhere and insisted that he buy me a drink. It was strong and clear and tasted like gasoline. You know that I can handle my liquor, but my god - I had two shots of that and was falling over myself drunk. Lescos had to practically carry me back to Porva.

I barely remembered him the next morning through the haze of my hangover, but he showed up suddenly in the village about a week later, looking for me. I couldn't believe it. I couldn't even remember telling him that I was staying in Porva, but there he was. You should've seen my face - I'm sure I looked like a right idiot, gaping at him in the middle of the street. I brushed him off that day, but he came back again a few days later, and I felt so bad that I accepted his invitation to dinner. It was surprisingly refreshing to be able to talk to a peer again. I mean, I love being around Lescos and Amrit, but Amrit is just so much more sophisticated than I am, and Lescos is so in love with Amrit that it's hard not to feel like a third wheel nearly all the time.

But I don't know. As fun and charming as Heinrich is, I don't think I have a romantic bone in my body. I've tried - really I have - but every time I even attempt to imagine myself being with anyone, let alone Heinrich, there's that terrible nausea in the pit of my stomach that makes me want to vomit. I've been very honest with him about my situation - I told him vaguely about you - but he still seems determined. I don't really know what to make of it. It doesn't seem like he'll be discouraged any time soon, so I suppose I'll just humor him for now. Is that wrong? I feel like it is, like I'm leading him on, even though I've been very direct with him. I guess I'll have to wait and see. I'm sure he'll get bored of me eventually.

Anyway, I hope the spring treats you well. Tomorrow is some local spring festival here. The locals say it's a really big event with music and fireworks and even an entire roasted pig! I'm pretty excited about the sweets. Say hello to your dad for me.

- Rowan

Chapter 9: Boys Will Be Boys

I.

Rowan walked down the bright wintery streets of Hogsmeade. Her cheeks burned from the icy chill, but she felt warm as random witches and wizards greeted her cheerily.

"Morning, Master Delacroix!"

"I'll see you this afternoon, Miss Rowan! Get a bottle of cough tonic ready for me!"

She smiled and waved with one hand, the other holding a large pink box full of sweets. It was the first Hogsmeade trip of the new term - late January - and Rowan imagined she'd be seeing some Weasleys in one form or another. If not - well, that meant she had the cake all to herself, didn't it? She grinned greedily.

But as she arrived back at her shop, she was greeted by not red hair and gangling arms, but a small girl with frizzy hair and sad eyes. She was staring at the door's "Back in 15" sign with a conflicted look.

"Hermione?" Rowan asked, frowning. The girl jumped slightly, eyes wide with embarrassment. "What're you doing here alone? Where's Ron?"

At the mere mentioning of Ron, Hermione's lips began to tremble, eyes filling with tears. Rowan's eyes widened with shock and then assessed her quietly before giving her a reassuring smile. She reached forward and wrapped an arm around her. Hermione stiffened at the contact but then practically melted into her embrace. It seemed that she had been in desperate need of a hug.

"Come on. I just got some strawberry cake from the bakery. I'll make us some tea, and you can tell me about the new term," she offered. Hermione nodded into shoulder.

Hermione sat at the counter of Rowan's apothecary, sniffling slightly as Rowan settled back into the shop. She looked around at the small changes that had popped up since the last time she'd been there in October - there were some new bottles and shelves, but most noticeably, there was a large cauldron on the corner of the counter giving off an ominous, odorless rolling smoke. Rowan pulled out a kettle from her cupboard and set it to boil then set down the cake between them. After setting a particularly large slice in front of the girl, Rowan sat back down in her own stool and leaned forward with a warm smile.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she offered kindly.

Hermione looked hard at her slice of cake, lips trembling again. Should she tell Rowan? She was so close to the Weasleys - wouldn't she just take Ron's side? But as she looked up into the older woman's face, she felt her resolve begin to break. Rowan looked genuinely concerned for her, and she seemed so honest, so earnest. Surely, she would understand! And Hermione had barely been able to talk to anyone about it for nearly a month - only Hagrid knew about the reasons for her fight with Ron and Harry. Suddenly, she felt her tears spilling over again.

"It's Ron and Harry!" she cried. She knew it was a poor choice to speak of Harry to Rowan after finding out their relationship, but she couldn't keep it in anymore. "Harry got a Firebolt for Christmas, and I thought it was suspicious, so I told McGonagall, who thought I was right to tell her. But Harry and Ron got so mad, especially when she took it to have it jinx-proofed, and now they won't speak to me at all, and I've barely slept at all because of all my schoolwork, and then there's Buckbeak, and I've been so lonely. I don't know what to do-" she rambled.

Rowan's eyes widened with shock as the barrage of information came out of this small girl. She tried to fully absorb the story, but her head seemed to be spinning. She finally put a hand up to stop the girl's verbal onslaught.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," she halted. Hermione's mouth quickly snapped shut, eyes red with tears, nose dripping slightly. She took a heaving breath but silenced herself. Rowan smiled sympathetically and summoned a box of tissues from the shelf, offering it to the girl, who accepted it with a nod of thanks. "Start from the beginning. Slowly." Hermione nodded again.

The story eventually came out of what happened at Christmas - about the broomstick and Hermione's suspicions, then McGonagall's confiscation and Ron and Harry's subsequent anger. Rowan's frown deepened farther and farther as she took in the information until she was scowling.

"And so I've just been alone for the past month, and they still won't speak to me. And with all my courses, I'm barely sleeping at all, which is just making it worse. I just don't know what to do," she finished weakly, a fresh batch of tears on her face. A great wave of relief hit her as the burden came off her chest. Rowan glared angrily at the young girl. Hermione was afraid for a moment, but then she realized she wasn't angry at her, but for her.

"I'm sorry this has happened, Hermione. You don't deserve any of this," she said firmly. Hermione felt her lips tremble again. "You certainly did the right thing by telling McGonagall about the broom, and honestly, I think you're right about its origins. Can you think of anyone else who might've sent it?"

Hermione shook her head sadly. "Ron said Dumbledore first, but I don't think he'd spend that much on Harry. He likes him a lot, but he would never show such favoritism with gifts," she said. Rowan nodded in agreement. "And then Ron said maybe it was Professor Lupin, but if he had that much gold, he wouldn't dress so poorly."

Rowan frowned. "Is he a bad dresser?" she asked dumbly. She cocked her head with her eyebrows deeply furrowed. Hermione couldn't help but giggle.

"No, no! He's not a bad dresser. He just- well..." she stopped and thought for a moment. She blushed a bit. "His clothes are obviously very old and in poor repair, as if he hasn't bought any new ones in a very long time," she said carefully.

Rowan nodded slowly in understanding. "I see," she said quietly. She stopped to think for a moment. Hermione watched her warily.

"So I can't imagine anyone else who might've sent the Firebolt to Harry," Hermione continued slowly. She held her gaze pointedly. Rowan frowned with a guarded look. Was it you?

"Hell-o?" sang a voice. The door bell chimed in sync. Both women looked up from their staring contest to see a stocky man with a square face and a broad grin. A large milky scar ran across his cheek from the bridge of his nose to the corner of his eye. He had dark gray hair and a missing bottom tooth, which his smile seemed determined to show off.

"Stewart!" Rowan greeted happily. She all but flew around the corner to hug the man, who squeezed her tightly and lifted her off the ground with a guffaw. She laughed delightedly and beamed up at the man as he set her down. She then turned to Hermione.

"Hermione, this is Stewart, one of my favorite customers," she explained. "Stewart, this is my friend Hermione, a Third Year up at the castle." Hermione felt her stomach jump at the affectionate title. She smiled shyly, blushing with obvious pleasure at being referred to as this woman's friend.

Stewart beamed at her. Hermione felt the tension in her back release slightly at his warmth. He reminded her a bit of Hagrid. "Third Year, eh? What house?" he bellowed. His was Scottish, Hermione noted. His r's were long and dramatically drawn out, as if to emphasize the accent.

"Gryffindor," she answered politely. His grin broadened even farther, if possible.

"Excellent!" he bellowed. "Excellent, excellent! I thought ya looked like a Gryffindor! Me, I was in Gryffindor, too! Gotta stick together, we do, eh?" Rowan seemed to proudly grow a couple of inches next to him. Hermione cowered a bit under their impressive presence. Even though this man was probably three times Rowan's size, she seemed to match his fire and then some. Hermione was in awe.

Rowan then made her way back around the counter quickly to the smoking cauldron of potion and promptly began ladling some of its contents into a large glass. It was clear but diffracted the light differently than water would, almost like rubbing alcohol. The smoke never ceased to come off its surface. As she worked, Stewart turned back to Hermione.

"So Gryffindor - how's that Quidditch Cup lookin' this year?" he asked. Hermione smiled brightly.

"Good! I really think we have a good shot at winning this year! Our team is certainly the best it's been in a long time!" she answered. Stewart grinned broadly and then turned back to Rowan as she pushed the tall glass to him. He took it with grand words of thanks and then downed it in a single gulp.

"Blah, never gets better, does it?" he asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and a grimace. He took the slice of bread that Rowan had suddenly procured and shoved into his mouth ravenously. Hermione flinched as he swallowed it down, his face contorting with some pain as it forced its way down his throat hastily.

"Ah, much better," he gasped. "Ya'd think I'd be used to it by now, wouldn't ya?" he asked amusedly to Hermione. "But that taste is just as terrible as always. The bread does take a bit o' the edge off though." Hermione's eyes widened with understanding. The smoking potion, the terrible taste-

"I'm sorry, does that mean-" Hermione blurted suddenly. Her face turned bright pink before shutting her mouth quickly with horror. She couldn't believe she'd been so rude! But Stewart didn't react angrily or with embarrassment. To her surprise, he smiled graciously.

"I'm a werewolf, ya see," he explained. "Bin comin' to see Rowan fer twelve years, I have. Much more convenient now that she's set up shop here, though I woulda kep' going to London without complaint regardless. Completely changed my life, she has," he said. He beamed at Rowan, who blushed and grinned back. "Will ya be accep'in' me payment today?" he asked. Rowan shook her head and waved him away.

"You know your money is no good here," she said lightly. She then reached beneath the counter and pulled out a tall glass and a small vial of a dark green serum. Hermione frowned - she didn't recognize that one. "Drink this, too. It's something new - should give you an extra boost from the fatigue," she said. She pointed her wand into the glass and a shot of water sprayed into it, filling it quickly. She then unstopped the vial and squeezed a single drop into the water, which spread like emerald ink, slowly mixing into it until the entire glass of liquid was a pretty green. "I promise it tastes much better than the Wolfsbane."

"Whatever the Master orders," he said. He assessed the green mixture curiously before turning to Hermione with a green. He raised it. "To yer health, Miss Hermione, and a win at the Quidditch Cup!" He shot her a roguish grin before downing it as quickly as he had with the last.

"I'll be!" he gasped, setting the glass down loudly on the counter. "That's worlds better than the Wolfsbane!" he declared. He peered into the glass with some awe and smacked his lips. "I feel as if I could run a marathon now! What's that green stuff called?" he asked.

Rowan beamed. "I haven't come up with a name yet, actually. Just finished it last month," she said. Stewart grinned.

"Should call it 'Werewolf Power Juice!'" he declared. Hermione giggled a bit. Rowan laughed.

"I'll suggest it to Claire and Isaac and see what they think," she said happily. "Anything else I can get for you today?" she offered. "Stay for a slice of cake and some tea?"

Stewart shook his head. "Nah, I've put ya out enough for today as it is. Gotta get back to work anyhoo," he said, turning for the door. Rowan nodded.

"Same time tomorrow?" she asked. He grinned.

"I'll be here!" he said. He then turned to Hermione and offered a kind smile. "Good luck in classes, lassie. Maybe I'll see ya again soon." Hermione beamed and nodded eagerly. She certainly hoped so. He grinned again, and with another chime of the door, he was gone.

Rowan let out a great sigh.

"Quite a whirlwind, isn't he?" she said, smiling at Hermione. Hermione nodded.

"He's been coming to you for twelve years?" she marveled. She looked Rowan over. She knew the woman was in her mid-thirties, but it was hard to tell by her young face. Rowan smiled and nodded.

"One of my first patients," she said, cleaning up the glass Stewart left and the bit of potion she'd spilled why ladling it. "He's really an exceptional man. It's extremely hard for werewolves to get by or even find work in our society, so most try to hide it. Stewart's really an admirable individual in his openness and determination to educate people about the condition. He really saved me when I first started out on my own."

Hermione frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Well, my work isn't exactly easy, at least in regards to the politics of it all," she explained slowly. "There are many people who are very opposed to the idea of assisting lycanthropes in any way, and some of those are willing to go out of their way to obstruct people who do wish to help them." Her expression darkened slightly, and Hermione was struck by how little she understood, despite knowing much of Rowan's work and her recent essay. "At first, I tried to ignore it. I didn't want to step on people's toes or push any rhetoric down their throats, so I just kept quiet and continued my work. I avoided fights and accepted the criticisms, but it just got worse."

"Have people threatened you?" Hermione asked quietly. She was horrified at even the thought. Who in their right minds would threaten this kind woman? Rowan gave her a tight smile.

"Let's just say that after a couple of years - when I was about twenty-five or so - I was close to quitting, but Stewart and a few others were here to keep cheering me on, and I realized that if I were to stop, then the patients who needed me would lose much more than I would," she said, eyes crinkling sadly. "And wouldn't you have it - as soon as I started speaking out against those who were persecuting me and my patients, the more people started coming to me for help." She then smiled warmly. "I learned that most people are just scared, and as soon as one person shows just the slightest bit of bravery, people will follow. Funny how the world works, isn't it?" She then turned back to the cupboard and started pushing the now-clean glass back into place.

Hermione stopped to think for a moment. She thought of Professor Lupin's scarred face, of his tired eyes. If it were as hard for werewolves to find steady jobs as Rowan said, then his appointment as a professor at Hogwarts was truly a groundbreaking achievement. If she were to say something - if word were to get out - then he would surely lose his job, wouldn't he? She thought of his obvious talent in contrast to his old, tattered robes with a trembling lip. How grateful he must be to be working there! How hard it must have been for him before Dumbledore had hired him!

"Rowan," she started slowly. How could she say this? "If I were to know someone with the condition..."

Rowan's back stiffened. Hermione watched her carefully, breath shallow. "I'd keep it to myself," she finally said quietly. She then turned with a sad smile. "I'm sure he'd appreciate it." Hermione's eyes widened - did she know? - before smiling back and nodding.

"I will," she promised. Rowan beamed at her. Hermione felt the understanding shared between them warmly. Her chest swelled with pride knowing that she shared a secret with this admirable woman.

"You truly are the sharpest witch of your age," Rowan said, placing a gentle hand on her head. Hermione blushed but smiled pleasurably. "And you have a good heart. I'm eager to see what great things you accomplish," she said. "Don't lose confidence. I'm sure those two will come around soon."

Hermione looked up at her heatedly. Her lips trembled slightly, and then she nodded and smiled brightly.

"I won't. Thank you, Rowan," said Hermione with heartfelt gratitude.

"Anytime," she said warmly. Her face then took on a faux-hardness. "And if you have any troubles with Ron, you send him to me. I'll sort him out," she said fiercely. Hermione let out a bright laugh. She hadn't felt so happy in weeks.

II.

When Remus arrived at the History of Magic classroom on Thursday at 8, Harry was already there waiting for him. He looked particularly eager, fidgeting nervously and unable to sit still. Remus smiled as he hauled a large trunk into the center of the room. Harry shot it a wary look.

"What's that?" he asked.

"Another Boggart," said Lupin, stripping off his cloak with a sigh. He'd worked up a bit of a sweat in dragging the heavy thing there. He was getting out of shape. "I've been combing the castle ever since Tuesday, and very luckily, I found this one lurking inside Mr. Filch's filing cabinet." He smirked a bit as he remembered Filch's scowling face when he'd requested access to his office. The man obviously still bore a grudge against him for his friends' insults in their schooldays. "It's the nearest we'll get to a real Dementor. The Boggart will turn into a Dementor when he sees you, so we'll be able to practice on him. I can store him in my office when we're not using him; there's a cupboard under my desk he'll like."

"Okay," said Harry. He looked as if he was trying to convince himself he wasn't nervous but failing miserably. Remus smiled encouragingly.

"So..." Remus said, taking out his wand. He nodded to Harry to do the same. He rolled up his sleeve. "The spell I am going to try and teach you is highly advanced magic, Harry - well beyond O.W.L. level. It is called the Patronus Charm."

"How does it work?" said Harry nervously.

"Well, when it works correctly, It conjures up a Patronus," said Remus "which is a kind of anti-Dementor - a guardian that acts as a shield between you and the Dementor." Harry grimaced slightly. "The Patronus is a kind of positive force, a projection of the very things that the Dementor feeds upon - hope, happiness, the desire to survive - but it cannot feel despair, as real humans can, so the Dementors can't hurt it," Remus continued. He paused and shot Harry a hard look. "But I must warn you, Harry, that the charm might be too advanced for you. Many qualified wizards have difficulty with it." Harry didn't seem to even hear him, however - his mind was obviously set on learning this spell, regardless of whatever obstructions lay in front of him.

"What does a Patronus look like?" said Harry curiously.

"Each one is unique to the wizard who conjures it."

"And how do you conjure it?"

"With an incantation, which will work only if you are concentrating, with all your might, on a single, very happy memory."

"Can I see you do it?" Harry asked.

Remus' chest tightened. He'd been dreading this - he would have to mask his Patronus again, which made performing the spell even more difficult.

"All right," he said, mustering up an extra bit of energy. He stood next to Harry and faced the center of the room.

Happy thoughts - he pushed through his memories rapidly for something worthy of a Patronus. They seemed to spin and whirl around him like a reel of film, and as always, the reel halted to a stop at the image of Rowan. Her face glowed up at him through the snowy night, fourteen years ago. Her smile was teary and bright. It was hopeful.

I'd like twins, she'd whispered. I love you.

He allowed himself to close his eyes for a moment, a small smile pulling at his lips as the memory of her warm breath on his face in the cold winter night grazed over him. The warmth seeped into his arms and down to his fingers. He gripped his wand and opened his eyes. He threw out his wand arm.

"Expecto patronum!"

A burst of silver shot from his wand blindingly. Harry recoiled with shock at the sudden light, but then his eyes widened wondrously as the light solidified into a sleek wolf. A wave of warmth filled the classroom. Remus felt a small sigh of relief escape him as he noted the Patronus' small size - no werewolf in sight. The wolf made a quick lap around the room, leaving a glowing trail behind him, before slowing down to a trot as he returned back to Remus. He stopped a few feet away and sat tall and quiet before throwing its head back and releasing a silent howl. It then dissolved into a whispering smoke. The room suddenly felt much darker.

"Wow," Harry whispered. His eyes still lingered on the glowing remnants that remained in the center of the room. Remus took a deep breath and also smiled. He then turned.

"So," he said, smiling amusedly at the dumbstruck expression still on Harry's face. The boy jumped slightly and spun to face Remus. "Your turn," Remus said. Harry nodded sternly.

"A happy memory?" Harry asked. Remus nodded. Harry's mind suddenly screwed up with effort. Remus smiled faintly as he watched the boy scour his mind for something happy. He was reminded of Rowan's comical, thoughtful expression. Perhaps Harry had absorbed more from his parents and their friends as an infant without realizing it.

"What kind of memories do you usually use?" Harry asked with some frustration.

Remus frowned. This was becoming more difficult to maneuver around than he'd anticipated. He thought carefully for a moment of how to answer.

"Memories from my Hogwarts years - post-Quidditch victory parties in Gryffindor Tower, afternoons in Hogsmeade - you know," he said. He smiled faintly. He supposed those were slightly believable. Harry smiled eagerly up at Remus.

"You were a Gryffindor?" he asked excitedly. Remus gave a sheepish grin.

"Was it not obvious?" he asked. He then put on a faux-stern look. "That doesn't mean I'll show favoritism, of course. I'm supposed to be neutral, as a professor." Harry smiled and nodded but then jumped, as if remembering something.

"I've got one," he said. His face screwed up again, as if the memory might slip through his fingers at any moment. Remus nodded.

"The incantation is this," Remus said carefully, "Expecto patronum!"

"Expecto patronum," Harry repeated under his breath, "expecto patronum."

"Concentrating hard on your happy memory?" Remus asked amusedly. Harry jumped slightly.

"Oh, yeah," he said quickly - he obviously had forgotten about the memory. "Expecto patrono - no, patronum. Sorry - expecto patronum, expecto patronum"

Something silvery slipped from the tip of his wand. Harry's face lit up and turned up towards Remus.

"Did you see that?" he said. "Something happened!" Remus couldn't help but grin at his boyish reaction.

"Very good," he said. He suddenly looked much more like a thirteen year-old and not a bitter old man. "Right, then - ready to try it?"

"Yes," Harry said, gripping his wand very tightly, and moving into the middle of the deserted classroom. He gripped his wand tightly. Remus took a breath and one last look at Harry before lifting up the lid of the trunk.

Remus felt his breath go cold, whispering out of his mouth. A Dementor rose slowly from the box, its hooded face turned toward Harry, one glistening, scabbed hand gripping its cloak. The lamps around the classroom flickered and went out. The Dementor glided out from the box and started to sweep silently toward Harry, drawing a deep, rattling breath. Remus pushed the sounds of Sirius' harsh laughter from his mind and focused on Harry.

"Expecto patronum!" Harry yelled. "Expecto patronum! Expecto-"

Remus' stomach lurched as he saw the boy's stabbing arm suddenly go weak, falling to his side. His eyes then rolled into the back of his head. Remus rushed forward from the trunk and lunged to catch him just in time as his legs gave out. The Boggart snapped back into a glowing moon. Remus ignored it for a brief moment as he laid Harry down on the floor and then turned back to the Boggart.

"Riddikulus!" he shouted. The moon cracked in half and released confetti. Remus then repelled it back into the trunk. It snapped shut loudly, leaving the room to silence. He let out a deep sigh and turned back to Harry.

His face was pale with a cold sweat, still trembling slightly. Remus hurried to his side and grabbed his shoulders.

"Harry," he urged. "Harry!"

Harry's eyes suddenly snapped open again, and Remus' hands recoiled, suddenly aware of his hold on him. He leaned back to allow the boy some space. He blinked rapidly, pupils focusing back on Remus' face.

"Sorry," he muttered weakly. He sat up slowly, reaching up to feel the sweat on his forehead. He wiped some away from his upper lip.

"Are you all right?" Remus asked carefully. His stomach twisted. He shouldn't have agreed to this. He couldn't let Harry keep going. This was wrong.

But Harry pulled himself up with the desk that stood beside them, ignoring Remus' offered hand. His face took on a hard look. Remus stared with mild horror - this boy had obviously been conditioned to never look to others for assistance. It was deeply troubling on many levels. He sighed and reached into his robes as he also stood and pulled out a Chocolate Frog.

"Here," he said, offering the candy to Harry. "Eat this." Harry's brow furrowed with frustration. "It's all right. I didn't expect you to do it your first time; in fact, I would have been astounded if you had."

"It's getting worse," Harry muttered. He bit off the Frog's head angrily. "I could hear her louder that time. And him - Voldemort."

Remus' chest ached. He had to stop this.

"Harry, if you don't want to continue, I will more than understand-"

"I do!" growled Harry fiercely, stuffing the rest of the Chocolate Frog into his mouth. He turned back on Remus with a burning look. "I've got to! What if the Dementors turn up at our match against Ravenclaw? I can't afford to fall off again. If we lose this game we've lost the Quidditch Cup!"

Remus took in his ferocious expression, the hardness in his eyes. He shouldn't have to go through this. He shouldn't have to hear his parents. Why had he agreed to let Harry do this?

"Alright then," Remus said quietly. There was no way he was going to convince Harry out of this. "You might want to select another memory - a happy memory, I mean - to concentrate on. That one doesn't seem to have been strong enough."

Harry's face twisted again with effort. Remus watched him carefully. The muscle in his jaw twitched as he tore through his memories. He could see Harry's decision. He gripped his wand tightly again and took up his position in the middle of the classroom, taking on a determined stance. Remus' mouth twisted sadly, but he moved back to the trunk.

"Ready?" he asked, taking hold of the lid handle.

"Ready," Harry said loudly. He gripped his wand. Remus held his breath.

"Go!" He pulled off the lid, and the room went icily cold and dark once more. The Dementor glided forward, drawing its breath. Remus' lungs trembled with the cold. The Dementor raised a scaly hand.

"Expecto patronum!" Harry yelled. "Expecto patronum! Expecto Pat-"

Bits of silvery wisps smoked from the end of Harry's wand, but nothing more. Remus watched again as Harry's eyes rolled into the back of his head. But he didn't wait this time. He rushed forward and repelled the Boggart back into the trunk before Harry's legs even went limp. He caught him just as his head was about to hit the ground.

"Harry! Harry!" he shouted. He reached a hand up and tapped him on the face. "Harry, wake up!"

Harry's eyes opened slowly this time, eyes unfocused and rolling. Remus' chest ached as he saw a few tears roll down his face unknowingly. Finally after nearly a full minute, they focused on Remus. He blinked and another couple of tears escaped, but Harry still didn't move. He didn't even seem to realize he was still in Remus' arms. His face was directed up at the ceiling, pained.

"I heard my dad," Harry whispered. Remus' stomach lurched. "That's the first time I've ever heard him." His lips trembled and another tear fell. "He tried to take on Voldemort himself, to give my mum time to run for it."

Remus suddenly understood that longing expression with a sharp pang in his chest - he was fighting desperately to hold onto his father's voice. He sat up slowly and struggled to his feet, crouching down to hide his face. Remus looked away, his own eyes burning slightly.

"You heard James?" Remus croaked.

"Yeah," Harry said quietly. Remus saw him wipe his face one more time before standing up. Remus was relieved to see that his eyes were now dry. "Why - you didn't know my dad, did you?" he asked, a strange look of hope in his eyes. Remus' mind battled.

"I did," Remus admitted quietly. A weight suddenly lifted off his chest at even this tiny confession - had it really been so heavy keeping it from Harry? "We were friends at Hogwarts," he explained vaguely. He took a breath and straightened himself up. "Listen, Harry, perhaps we should leave it here for tonight. This charm is too advanced. I shouldn't have suggested putting you through this."

"No!" said Harry firmly. Remus frowned deeply as he watched the boy get up again. His face pulled into a hard, manic look. "I'll have one more go! I'm not thinking of happy enough things, that's what it is... Hang on..."

Remus couldn't believe he still had anything left in him. His hands were still trembling, face glistening with cold sweat, but his gaze was hotter than ever. How could he still keep going when even Remus was prepared to give up? He was suddenly ashamed at how much stronger this boy was than he. He swallowed down his fear and walked back to the trunk, gripping it with his left hand and holding his wand in his right, prepared to step in once more.

"Ready?" he asked softly. Harry nodded steadily, eyes trained on the trunk. Remus grimaced and, with a hard pull, released the Boggart.

As soon as the chill hit the room, Harry's eyes flared.

"EXPECTO PATRONUM!" Harry bellowed. "EXPECTO PATRONUM! EXPECTO PATRONUM!" His voice filled the room like a roar. His teeth were bared, arm waving like a sword. But the Dementor continued to move forward. Remus dropped the lid and moved to intercept it, but just as he raised his wand, a flash of silver erupted from Harry's wand. Remus stopped in his tracks.

A glowing barrier formed between the small boy and the hooded creature. Remus heard it screaming distantly, but although it was halted, it didn't retreat. He stared dumbstruck - he'd really done it!

But then his knees began to wobble. Remus knew it was time to finally intervene. He sprang forward.

"Riddikulus!" he roared.

There was a loud crack, and Harry's cloudy Patronus vanished along with the Dementor, as it shrieked and fell backwards into the trunk. Remus snapped the lid back on, and Harry's legs finally gave out. He sank into the chair next to him with a rattling shriek of wood, mouth agape and forehead damp with sweat. His chest heaved with effort, eyes somewhat unfocused.

"Excellent!" Remus exclaimed. He couldn't believe he'd produced a Patronus so quickly! He rushed forward to Harry. "Harry, that was truly excellent!" Harry nodded dumbly, eyes wide with shock.

"Can we have another go? Just one more go?" he asked weakly. His head hadn't moved. He didn't even seem to realize what he was asking. Remus looked at him disbelievingly.

"Certainly not," he said, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out a large bar of Honeydukes' best chocolate and handed it to Harry, who accepted it weakly with another dumb nod. "Eat the lot, or Madam Pomfrey will be after my blood," he ordered.

"Okay," said Harry vaguely. He took a bite of the chocolate quietly, and Remus nodded with approval before turning to clean up the room. He heard the quiet snaps of chocolate as he extinguished the various lamps before the chewing stopped.

"Professor Lupin?" he called. "If you knew my dad, you must've known Sirius Black as well."

Remus jerked and spun around.

"What gives you that idea?" he asked quickly. His mind suddenly screamed - You idiot!

"Nothing - I mean, I just knew they were friends at Hogwarts too," Harry rambled quickly.

Remus took a deep breath and willed the knots to unravel from his stomach.

"Yes, I knew him," he said quietly, turning to extinguish the last lamp. "Or I thought I did," he muttered, mostly to himself. Images of Sirius' manic eyes, bodies strewn around his feet came to mind. He took another deep breath and turned to Harry, who was still working on his chocolate. He still looked very pale but thoughtful. He needed to end this conversation now.

"You'd better be off, Harry, it's getting late," he said. "You should go to bed as soon as you get back to the dorms, but not until you finish that chocolate. We'll try again next week." Harry looked hard at the chocolate for a moment before nodding. He stood slowly.

"Okay," he said, turning for the door. He then stopped and turned back briefly and smiled faintly. "Thanks, Professor Lupin - for doing this, I mean. I really appreciate it."

Remus stared dumbly for a moment before smiling back warmly. He was such a good kid, a strong kid. "Of course, Harry. You're very welcome."