Chapter Eleven- Wolf, Rat and Dog

Harry remained within the confines of the Burrow over the next few weeks. Ron had still not said a word to him and Hermione had buried herself in a pile of books that had arrived by owl order. Ginny kept trying to entice him into playing Quidditch, so it was no surprise that he spent so much time in Lupin's company, outdoors and away from prying eyes.

When he finally managed to apparate from one end of the garden to the other, the lessons turned to defence drills. Shooting over-powered spells at a conjured target helped his accuracy and stamina, and bled off some of his frustration with his friends. He imagined Bellatrix Lestrange's face on every target.

After four days of working through the Standard Book of Spells Grade Six and hurling everything remotely useful in a fight at the dummy, the monotony was working on Harry's patience.

"I don't suppose we can have some duelling practice?" he asked hopefully, as Lupin conjured yet another straw target.

Raised eyebrows accompanied the reply. "Much as that sounds fun, I don't think you'd want to see the repercussions if I tried to turn my wand on you."

"Oh. I didn't think..." Harry's face screwed up in misery. "I'm sorry. I can't believe I didn't think of that."

"It's fine. Maybe Tonks or Kingsley will be willing to help out. But unless you goad them into attacking you for real, you won't be seeing any duelling from me."

"How did you pass your Defence OWL?"

"Dumbledore got me a medical exemption for class. I self-studied and I passed the exam fine."

This sounded a lot like Umbridge's mode of teaching and Harry couldn't believe Lupin had actually made it work. Though he supposed that no duelling practise was not the same as no practical preparation. Lupin wouldn't have entered the exam scenario having never cast the spells before.

"I hope our Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher is halfway decent this year. If another one turns out to be a Death Eater..."

When Lupin left to help Mrs Weasley at mealtimes, Harry reviewed some of his defence textbooks and noted down reference books that he wanted to look for in the library at Grimmauld Place. He hadn't figured out all the details yet, but he was considering using a library trip as an excuse to escape Mrs Weasley's custody and go to Gringotts to draw up a will. The issue weighed on his mind and he was aware that the chances of Remus outliving him were high. Voldemort was going to keep targetting the last of the Potters until the prophecy was fufilled and Harry didn't want to face another survival situation with the knowledge that Lupin's continued existence depended on his own.

Despite the problems of his will, the prophecy, and Ron and Ginny's attitudes, Harry couldn't help but relax under the feeble warmth of the July sun. Working his way through his books gave him reassurance that he was improving and that one day he might stand a chance against Voldemort. In the meantime, he was determined to enjoy his first few weeks of freedom from the Dursleys.

He would have been happier had it not been for the stories of disappearances, odd accidents, even of deaths now appearing almost daily in the Prophet. Sometimes Bill and Mr Weasley brought home news before it even reached the paper. To Mrs Weasley's displeasure, Harry's sixteenth birthday celebrations were marred by grisly tidings brought to the party by Nymphadora Tonks. She looked far from her normal self, with a pale drawn face and mousey hair, and her manner was grave as she accepted a plate of mini quiche and pigs-in-blanket.

"Karkaroff's been found dead in a shack somewhere up north. I didn't get all the details, but it looks like You-Know-Who finally caught up with him."

"He was found under the Dark Mark?" Hermione asked, clutching a paper cup so tightly that her knuckles had turned white.

Tonks nodded. "I'm surprised he lasted so long."

"Sirius' brother, Regulus, only lasted a few days, if I remember rightly," Remus said.

He leaned on a cane as he tucked into a large slice of birthday cake. An ugly cut across his forehead was crusted over with blood and he looked frail and unsteady in the aftermath of the full moon. Everyone had been pointedly ignoring these signs of lycanthropy since Harry had helped him hobble back into the Burrow at ten o'clock that morning.

"Yes, well," said Mrs Weasley, frowning, "perhaps we should talk about something different."

There was little cheerful news to discuss. Even Harry could not dredge up any happiness at being another year older. It seemed like this one was going to be no better than the last. Between Florian Fortescue and Ollivander disappearing, people going into hiding left, right and centre, and the Minister's over-zealous stance on security, it seemed like the entire Wizarding world was tearing apart at the seams. Nothing could distract him from his worry, and on top of that, the gory images that had greeted him that morning swirled round his head without pause.

He didn't know where Lupin had found the strength to pick himself up off the blood-soaked floor, never mind feign interest in dinner party conversation only hours later. Underneath his crumpled shirt, swathes of bandages covered weeping claw and bite marks, the lasting reminder of the werewolf's rage at finding itself trapped and without prey. The damage looked so bad that Harry had panicked initially but Lupin had assured him, through a haze of tiredness and blood loss, that the injuries were no worse than normal. By the time Harry apparated them back to the Burrow, the wounds had been cleaned and dressed, and no one else was any the wiser. He wondered how many times over the years Lupin had been concealing similar injuries during their conversations together.

It was, without a doubt, the gloomiest birthday celebration he had ever heard of. Half of the Order turned out but they gathered in clusters and talked in hushed tones, grim-faced. A few of them congratulated him on joining their ranks, Mad-Eye Moody offered survival advice for a solid twenty minutes and Andromeda Tonks pulled him aside to shove a book at him and give him tips about dealing with werewolves. He spent the full conversation feeling sickened by her belief that Lupin was sub-human and needed to be taught respect. It was hard to reconcile this side of her personality with the easy-going witch who popped round for dinner several times a week and charmed them all into light, entertaining conversation. If not for her occasional jibe at Lupin, he would have thought her just as fun and bubbly as her daughter. She didn't seem like the sort of person to harbour such horrible prejudices.

Everyone was starting to bid goodnight and turn in by the time Tonks properly acknowledged Remus' presence. She set her coffee mug down beside the sink as soon as her mother left and sidled over to the werewolf.

"Remus," she said, grabbing a hold of his arm. "May I speak with you? Outside?"

She was nervous, and with his senses still heightened after the transformation he could hear the overly fast beating of her heart. He squashed the thrill that rose up at the thought, even as his mouth started to water. The errant instincts of his inner wolf were always strong on the first day of the cycle and she smelled like very tempting prey.

He followed her into the garden, smelling wet grass and the breeze rolling off the moors. It helped mask the scent of her flesh and he relaxed a little as the temptation ebbed. She stopped halfway to the end of the wards but did not turn to face him, instead looking up to the patch of sky visible through the racing clouds.

He smiled at the sight of the waning moon despite his unease. There was an entire cycle until his next transformation. No matter how exhausted and injured he felt at the moment, he had a month's reprieve. All he had to do was swim through tonight's haze and then he could rest up. A sleep on the couch seemed infinitely more appealing than standing here in the dark with Andromeda Tonks' daughter.

"I've always admired you, Remus. You're so brave. I don't think I even knew how brave until this summer."

Her voice was low, soft and gentle, and a human would have had to strain his ears to hear. Remus heard her heartbeat quicken under the words. He didn't know how to reply to this confession. He didn't feel brave at all. Could your actions be brave if you had no choice? He frowned, wondering where she was going with this.

"I've never been as brave as you are. I was so scared to tell you before, but I realised when Sirius died that...we shouldn't leave things unspoken when we care about someone."

His breath caught as he grasped her meaning and a wave of panic rushed through him. "This really isn't appropriate."

Her eyes flashed and hurt spiked in her scent. "Why not? Because you're a werewolf? That's ridiculous!"

"I'm not being ridiculous," he said steadily. "It's not possible, Tonks."

"I know what you're going to say. But I don't care that you're older than me, or that you're a werewolf. I love you, and I want to be with you."

"Do you have any idea what you are saying?" he hissed.

"Of course I do, and you can forget all those convenient arguments you are lining up, just because you are too scared and too sensible to follow your heart. We are meant for each other and you can't deny it."

He hid his hands in his pockets so she wouldn't see them trembling. "Your mother would be horrified if she could hear you now."

"I don't care what she thinks! Maybe I did once, but that was before I knew how...how she really is. Don't you want me, Remus?"

She made as if to grab the front of his robes and he took a step backwards, stomach clenching in fear.

"Don't touch me!" he blurted out, panicked.

He didn't feel bad for her rejected feelings- he was still reeling from shock, fright and disgust.

"Fine. I'm willing to wait for you. When you come to your senses, let me know."

She disappeared into the night and he stared after, heart racing.

Hermione awoke abruptly from a dream of Death Eaters and walls of flame. Her sheets clung to her sweat-soaked legs and she kicked them off, heart pounding. Her hair was plastered to the back of her neck and her face burned.

It was the third time in a week.

She checked her watch. While the hour was still early, too early for any Weasleys to be up, she knew that Lupin was an early riser. He would be willing to pour her hot chocolate and help her talk out her nightmares, as he already had so often over the past weeks. He would turn down the radio until the volume was too low to be heard, though never switch it off entirely, and then he would give her his full, undivided attention.

He made her feel safe. Just sharing her worries with someone lessened the fear. The fear that Dolohov had shown her for the first time. The fear of falling at the hand of some masked Death Eater. The fear that her parents could be in the firing line simply for their connection to her. Lupin always knew just what to say to comfort her.

The stairs creaked under her footfalls as she slipped downstairs.

The kitchen lay silent. She crept in on stockinged feet and poured herself a glass of water.

Lupin lay curled up on the couch in a protective ball. He had been using his robes as a blanket and they were askew and half on the floor, revealing the upper portion of his too-skinny torso. A bandage was wrapped round his ribs and dark spots of blood were beginning to soak through the white linen. His face looked incredibly pale in the pre-dawn light filtering though the windows and his eyelids twitched restlessly.

Of course, she thought, there was a full moon the night before last.

She lowered herself into an armchair, clutching her glass close, and watched the slow rise and fall of his chest. The scars she had tried so hard not to gape at during the hair-dyeing incident were clearly visible, twisting like spider webs over every inch of bare flesh. It was impossible to distinguish one scar from another.

By the time anyone else in the Burrow stirred, the first post owl had arrived and she was reading the Daily Prophet at the kitchen table.

"Morning," Harry yawned.

She hushed him quickly. "Lupin's still asleep."

"He won't wake. He's too tired and hurt. He should have been sleeping it off yesterday but he felt he needed to keep appearances up for the Order."

"Did he tell you that?" she asked. She wouldn't have expected him to share something like that- he always seemed to value his privacy so much.

Harry slipped onto the bench and rested his elbows on the table, inspecting the werewolf's sleeping form.

"The book I got from the Ministry told me everything I need to know," he said, darkly.

"What is that meant to mean?" she said. "You sound like-"

"It's awful, Hermione. Really. You can't imagine how bad the transformations are for him, and how scared he must be of each one. There's a reason the full moon is his boggart. Didn't you think it strange that something he faces every month is the thing he fears most?"

"I hadn't thought about it," she admitted. "He told us before, didn't he? When we were in the Shrieking Shack, he said his transformations while he was at school were terrible."

"That doesn't even begin to describe it," Harry said with a haunted expression.

"What about the Wolfsbane Potion?"

"The potion has some...side-effects, and the more doses a werewolf consumes, the worse the damage. It's only recommended for use in special cases and Remus took Wolfsbane for almost an entire school year."

"What sort of damage?" Hermione said. "Professor Lupin wouldn't have taken a potion that is dangerous."

"Maybe he wasn't given any choice at first. Maybe it was part of Dumbledore's rules for him teaching at Hogwarts. It does make him safer. Then after he'd had a few doses, he felt the side-effects but he was still made to take the potion. As long as he kept taking a dose before each full moon, the symptoms were suppressed, so the problem also became a type of 'cure'."

"Addiction. You're describing a potion addiction."

"It's not as dramatic as that," Harry frowned. "There are no cravings or withdrawal symptoms. Wolfsbane's not addictive. I can't describe it any better without telling you what the negative effects are."

"Then why don't you tell me?"

He shook his head. "It's restricted information. I'd be in trouble if the Ministry found out I'd even told you this much but I wanted you to know why I won't go running to Professor Snape to buy Wolfsbane Potion."

A troop of Weasleys traipsed in, closely followed by an immaculately dressed Fleur Delacour.

"I knew I couldn't smell breakfast cooking," Mrs Weasley said, sounding strangely smug.

Her eyes fell on the werewolf curled up on her couch.

"It's not like Remus to sleep in," she frowned.

"He was exhausted yesterday. I told him to sleep as long as he liked," Harry explained.

"He doesn't look great," Fred said, buttering his roll.

"He transformed into a werewolf two nights ago," Hermione snapped. "Of course he doesn't look well."

A round of bickering kicked off as George defended his twin. Fleur rolled her eyes and helped an unappreciative Mrs Weasley with the breakfast preparations. Harry gained an insight into Hermione's reading material of the last few weeks as she gave a very detailed lecture on historical cases of werewolves being killed by muggles and wizards alike in the hours after the full moon because they were too weakened to escape.

"Here you go, dear," Mrs Weasley interrupted.

Harry hesitated as he accepted his plate of scrambled eggs on toast. Remus' warning about love potions rose to mind but the longer they stayed at the Burrow the more convinced they were becoming that there was an innocent explanation. He trusted Mrs Weasley more now than he had for weeks. Surely he could bring himself to eat food she had made for him unsupervised?

Hesitantly, he scooped up a forkful of egg and started to eat.

"I thought Professor Lupin transfigures the couch into a bed?" Ginny said. "That doesn't look very comfortable."

"He must have been too tired to do any magic," Harry realised. "I should have asked..."

Every few days, he discovered yet another little thing that he had overlooked in providing for Lupin. The werewolf rarely asked for anything but Harry felt that he had been spectacularly blind when it came to providing all of the unimportant courtesies that might make Lupin feel more comfortable. He had even started to go through the manual again with a fine-tooth comb to suss out where he was going wrong. The werewolf had seemed much happier when Harry granted him permission to apparate between Grimmauld Place and the Burrow whenever he wanted.

When breakfast was over and most of the adults had dispersed to their various places of work, Harry shrugged off Ginny's friendly advances and followed Hermione upstairs, intent on quizzing her for more knowledge on the history of werewolves. Mrs Weasley turned on the WWN and listened happily to Celestina Warbeck as she gathered up the dishes and set them to wash themselves.

Curled up on the couch, Remus Lupin twisted and turned, caught in the land of dreaming. His lips moved with silent words and his eyelids twitched as his sleep was less than restful.

After thirteen years of separation, he stood in the same room as his owner. Gone was the arrogant young wizard, handsome and vain. Gone were the designer robes, perfectly groomed hair and superior expression. Sirius Black was a broken man.

Ill-fitting prison robes hung from his emaciated frame and the smell radiating from the man was that of a wounded and trapped animal. He was unhinged, unbalanced and probably dangerous. His eyes narrowed as they fell on the werewolf.

There was dislike and relief in that gaze, and also the weight of command. For an instant, Remus froze under his owner's attention. On the way here, rushing along that hated tunnel, he had been excited about seeing Sirius again but now he remembered the last time he had seen the man, huddled in a squalid cell in Azkaban prison. Even after only a few days, the exposure to Dementors had been taking its toll. Remus' wand wavered and his eyes flickered over the squalid room. The youngest Weasley boy's leg was broken, Granger cowered near the door and Harry...Harry had his wand trained on Sirius with rage, hurt and cold determination radiating from him.

"Expelliarmus!" Remus shouted, hating himself as Harry's wand flew through the air, along with the two the Granger girl had been holding. He caught them deftly, heart heavy as horror and fear spiked in the children. He couldn't let them harm Sirius though. They needed to catch Peter before the traitor could escape again.

Voice shaking, he asked, "Where is he, Sirius?"

His master raised an arm and gestured towards the injured boy, slumped on the floor. Ron held a rat in his hands.

"But then..." Lupin muttered. He stared at Sirius, desperate for any direction in how to deal with this. He stalled for time, trying to divine how he should handle the situation. To admit that he had known of Sirius' innocence would bring up far too many questions. If the children found out that he had been present when the Potters switched Secret Keepers, he would be unable to explain why no-one had believed him when he told the aurors. They could not know that he was a werewolf. "...why hasn't he shown himself before now? Unless-" Sirius winked slightly in reassurance and he almost sighed with relief. He was on the right track. "-unless he was the one...unless you switched...without telling me?"

Very slowly, his sunken gaze never leaving Remus' face, Sirius nodded.

"Professor Lupin," Harry interrupted loudly, "what's going..."

Even as he winced inwardly at the title, Remus was lowering his wand. He knew the game he had to play now. He knew his role, knew which part to follow. He walked to Sirius' side, pulled him to his feet and embraced him like a brother. Sirius returned the hug weakly.

"I DON'T BELIEVE IT!" Granger screamed.

Remus let go of Sirius and turned to her. She screeched her accusations in a hail of fury and he struggled to refute them. He knew this looked bad and he couldn't blame anyone for thinking the worst of him. His heart twisted as Harry's eyes widened at the revelation of his lycanthropy and he wanted to prove to James' son that he wasn't a beast, he wasn't a monster and he wasn't plotting with his parents' betrayer.

When he said, "I haven't been Sirius' friend for twelve years", he silently amended the statement. He had not counted Sirius as a friend since they had both been sixteen years old. Their friendship had crumpled under the weight of betrayal, attempted murder and a brief shouting match. That didn't mean that the wizard deserved the blame of a muder he hadn't committed- a crime that had taken away his closest friends in one fell swoop.

Remus shivered. "But I won't deny that I'm a werewolf."

"Get away from me, werewolf!"

He froze at the Weasley boy's tone, before forcing himself to turn away and ask the muggleborn witch, "How long have you known?" He still had a pretence to maintain.

The answer would have made him laugh if he didn't feel icy with fear for Sirius, and even some fear of Sirius. Severus' dearest wish when he had assigned that essay was that someone would connect the dots and Hermione Granger was the smartest witch her age that Remus had ever encountered.

"I have not been helping Sirius," Remus said. "If you'll give me a chance, I'll explain."

His three students glared up at him, eyes brimming with distrust and betrayal. He couldn't blame them: they were unarmed and facing down a madman and what they knew to be a highly dangerous magical creature. He knew the stories about werewolves that witches and wizards filled their children's heads with. Lily had once said that even muggles told horror stories about his kind. Harry, Ron and Hermione probably thought that he would happily murder them.

Trying to regain some control over the situation, he threw their wands back to them and the children caught them easily. The action did not erase the fear and distrust from their eyes but they seemed more likely to listen to him. Harry looked stunned at the act of trust as Remus stuck his own wand back into his belt.

"There. You're armed, we're not. Now will you listen?"

But they didn't listen. He could smell their incredulity and suspicion. Ron shielded Peter from him but he managed to get close enough as he told his hastily improvised story. There was no doubt that the rat was Peter. Even without the Marauder's Map, Remus would have recognised that distinctive rodent scent anywhere. It was faint due to the animagus' small size but it was unmistakeable.

"He's a wizard," he told the boy, quietly.

"An Animagus by the name of Peter Pettigrew," Sirius added.

It took a few seconds for the absurdity of the statement to sink in.

"You're both mental," Ron breathed.

"Peter Pettigrew's dead!" Harry accused. "He killed him twelve years ago!"

Sirius growled, "I meant to but little Peter got the better of me...not this time though!"

Remus panicked as the wizard snarled and lunged at Peter.

"Sirius, NO!" he yelled, launching himself forwards.

He hoped the children did not hear the pleading tone in his voice as he begged, "WAIT! You can't just do it like that- they need to understand- we've got to explain!"

"We can explain afterwards," snarled Sirius, throwing Remus off and diving for the rat.

The man was crazy, certifiably mad, and Remus feared for the safety of his three pupils.

"They've – got – a – right – to – know – everything," Remus panted, making another grab for his master and trying not to crumple under the pain from the bond.

Thankfully, Sirius stopped struggling, though his hollowed eyes were still fixed on the traitorous rodent. Peter squeaked and twisted in Ron's hands, clawing and biting, desperate to get away.

"All right then. Tell them whatever you like. But make it quick, Remus. I want to commit the murder I was imprisoned for..."

His tone promised later retribution and Remus knew that it would not be pretty. He could feel the headache emerging now, approaching migraine levels as it throbbed in admonishment, and knew that it would not dissipate until Sirius disciplined him. It took all his will to concentrate on the matter at hand. His arm shook as he fixed his wand on Pettigrew.

"You're going to hear me out, Ron," he said quietly. "Just keep a tight hold on Peter while you listen."

Of course the children didn't accept his first attempt at an explanation. They thought he was out of his mind. Two of them were raised by muggles and the truth was too outlandish for the craziest of wizards. Dumbledore himself most likely wouldn't believe them. How was he meant to make them see? Hermione seemed to have a counter for every point in his argument.

"If you're going to tell them the story, get a move on, Remus," Sirius snarled. "I've waited twelve years, I'm not going to wait much longer."

"All right..but you'll need to help me, Sirius. I only know how it began..."

Context. They needed context. They needed to know how this whole saga had begun and, for Remus, it had begun with a bite on a forgotten moon-lit night. He spun a tale of his lycanthropy- the same lie he had given every single member of the Order years before, mixed with enough truth to be plausible. He admitted being bitten as a small child and told them a sanitised version of the arrangements for him to attend Hogwarts. He pretended he had a clue who his birth parents were, pretended that the Wolfsbane Potion was a miracle cure and tried not to let his preference of James over Sirius show in his voice. When he complimented Harry's father, he complimented Sirius as well. It was still hard, talking about being subhuman. Talking about his transformations still filled him with shame and embarrassment. Even as he knew that he was a stronger and better person than most humans would have him believe, it was hard to shake off the stigma associated with lycanthropy. He smelled Harry's confusion, Hermione's curiosity and Ron's dismay, and his words came haltingly. Behind his back, Sirius grew impatient.

"Hurry up, Remus," he snapped.

"I'm getting there, Sirius, I'm getting there..."

The stony glare Sirius shot at him made his knees tremble. His head throbbed. The act only extended so far and that...that had been disrespectful of him. He was in enough trouble already without throwing all caution to the wind. No matter what the outcome of this encounter, as long as Sirius did not die, they were going to have to live together again. Best not to start off on the wrong foot like they had the first time.

"...well, very exciting possibilities were open to us now we could all transform," he continued, as if being a werewolf was akin to having an animagus form.

He outlined the whole sorry tale of his moonlit adventures, hating himself for bowing to the influence of his friends and their bright enthusiasm. How could he have been so stupid? Yet despite his retrospective horror over his jaunts around Hogsmeade, he felt nostalgic about those nights. His friends had been around him and, for once, he hadn't been transforming alone, to be locked up with nowhere to go and nothing to do except knock lumps out of his own flesh. Those transformations had actually been fun and that was thanks to Sirius and James.

Harry was appalled when he admitted that he had almost killed Severus Snape.

Sirius made a derisive noise and sneered, "It served him right. Sneaking around, trying to find out what we were up to...hoping he could get us expelled..."

Remus wanted to scream at him. He wanted to hex him until he couldn't see straight.

"Severus was very interested in where I went every month," he said, levelly. How could he explain this to Harry? How could he be truthful without imparting Sirius' prejudice onto Harry and without Sirius thinking that he was taking the Slytherin's side? He tried to toe a line between the two sides but Sirius smelled increasingly sour as his account wound on.

"So that's why Snape doesn't like you," said Harry slowly, "because he thought you were in on the joke?"

Under Harry's voice, Remus heard someone speak the incantation to lift a silencing charm and he spun towards the source in time to see Severus Snape pulling off James' old Invisibility Cloak. Harry let out a squawk of indignation as Hermione screamed, and Sirius leapt to his feet.

Remus' eyes widened. Severus' wand was pointed directly at his chest, as if he was a threat, and that could only mean that the man intended to do harm to Sirius.

Severus had cast a charm to conceal his scent and Remus couldn't puzzle out what he was thinking. He sounded breathless but his expression was triumphant. His heart galloped at a rate which surely indicated unhealthily high blood pressure. The scent of adrenaline assaulted the werewolf from all sides as the tension in the room rocketed.

"Severus-" he pleaded, but Snape overrode him.

"I've told the Headmaster again and again that you've been helping your old friend Black into the castle, Lupin, and here's the proof..."

He wouldn't listen. He steamrolled on, ignoring Remus' ardent contradictions.

"...I shall be interested to see how Dumbledore takes this...he was quite convinced you were harmless, you know, Lupin...a tame werewolf..."

Remus' eyes narrowed at the allusion to his status. "You fool. Is a schoolboy grudge worth putting an innocent man back inside Azkaban?"

With a bang that made Remus raise his hands to his ears, thin cords burst from the end of Snape's wand, snaring him and bringing him crashing to the floor. The ropes held him fast, holding him immobile, and his instincts were screaming. As Sirius' roars filled his ears, he struggled against the tight bonds. Reeling from shock and unable to understand why Severus would do this, all he knew was that he must escape, must break free. The confinement made bile rise in his throat.

If he had been thinking more clearly, he would have linked the strength of those instincts to the approaching full moon and perhaps would have reasoned out the potion master's actions. He might have remembered that less than an hour remained until moon rise, he had not taken his Wolfsbane Potion that evening and that he was unsecured in the company of humans. Instead, in the thrall of a rising urge to rip the man's throat out, he desperately tried to lash out.

Hermione, brave Gryffindor that she was, took an uncertain step forwards and attempted to reason with Snape, to no avail.

"KEEP QUIET, YOU STUPID GIRL!" Snape shouted, sounding suddenly quite deranged. "DON'T TALK ABOUT WHAT YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND!"

Pain burst inside Remus' ears as the shouts met his sensitive hearing. Of course, Severus thought that he was only helping Sirius because he was his master. No wonder Severus was so angry. He obviously thought the fugitive had forced Remus to help him. He thought Remus was back in the hands of a deranged murderer and that Harry Potter's life was in danger. Of course he wouldn't listen to reason.

Sirius was going to die. Snape was going to kill him. Remus felt his rage building as the two wizards continued to trade insults. He struggled viciously as his more lupine reactions overwhelmed his fear but there was no give in the ropes. Sirius was going to die. No, worse. Snape was threatening the Dementor's Kiss. They were both going to die: Sirius' soul stolen and his magic snuffed out like a candle by an open window; and Remus with a cruel three months to die in a Ministry holding cell. All because the two idiot wizards hated each other too much to listen.

"I'll drag the werewolf. Perhaps the Dementors will have a kiss for him too-"

He spat a curse at Snape. Dementors wouldn't feed on non-humans, as the wizard knew, but he was likely hinting that Remus would die from the Kiss as surely as Sirius would. Though maybe Severus still knew kindness. Maybe Severus meant to kill him. That would be a mercy, if Sirius was left as a soulless, magicless but living husk. The Werewolf Capture Unit would not execute a werewolf for helping his owner, murderous fugitive or not, as Remus couldn't be expected to do anything else.

Harry, Ron and Hermione's voices shouted in chorus, "Expelliarmus!"

An horrendous thud came from beyond the edge of his vision. Harry gasped.

"You shouldn't have done that," Sirius said hoarsely, "You should have left him to me."

Remus finally realised what had happened. The combined force of three disarming jinxes had knocked the wizard out cold. They were saved. Sirius wasn't going to lose his soul.

He slumped with relief, his anger ebbing. Hope welled in him. The children had taken their side against Snape. Suddenly he felt sure that, to some extent, they must have believed him about Peter. There was still a chance for Sirius to kill the slippery little traitor and, with the moon's influence increasing with every passing moment, Remus would quite happily lend a hand. Vaguely, he was aware of Hermione panicking and he renewed his struggles against his bonds as his lupine claustrophobia rose again. Sirius bent down quickly and untied him.

"Thank you," Remus whispered, as he rubbed his arms where the rope had cut into them. Raising his voice, he added, "Thank you, Harry."