Disclaimer: I neither own the intellectual property of the Harry Potter universe, nor do profit from this work produced here.

Warnings: a very graphic transformation scene at the end, including a naked werewolf and lots of blood and the like.

"Oh, Harry, you didn't."

Harry grimaced and shrugged, slowly turning red. He knew he deserved Hermione's chastisement; frankly, he felt awful, and he hadn't the faintest idea how to fix it.

The Great Hall was noisy and full of excitement, for the whole castle had awoken to find that the first heavy snowfall of the season was drifting down in thick, fluffy white flakes over the Scottish countryside, covering the castle like thick, white icing on a gingerbread house. The noise was such that the trio of students could speak to each other quietly at the end of their table, far from their classmates both in distance and in mood. None of them had gotten a lot of sleep; Hermione and Ginny had been up all night tossing and turning in worry, and Harry had awoken at any slight noise, anxiously waiting for his best mate to return to the dormitory. No such luck; he hadn't the slightest idea of where Ron had spent the night or where he was now, but when he'd awoken that morning after finally having drifted off to sleep just mere hours before, the redhead's bed was still cold and neatly made.

After spending several fruitless minutes discussing where their brother, friend and boyfriend could possibly be, the three had given up, and the conversation had turned to other troublesome matters. Among these, much to Harry's embarrassment, had been Professor Lupin's departure, and despite his best efforts his guilt had eventually propelled him to tell the whole story as he knew it, including his last conversation with the professor. Hermione was now shaking her head and tsking her tongue. "Don't give me that," Harry said irritably. "I feel bad enough as it is…"

"You need to apologize," Ginny said practically, peeling the wrapper off of a blueberry muffin. "Remus knows you didn't mean it…"

"How? I don't know where he's gone; I can't even send a letter…"

"McGonagall might know," Hermione pointed out. "You could ask her."

"Yeah, maybe," Harry muttered. The truth was, he wasn't sure he wanted to apologize; not for a lack of guilt, but quite the opposite: he knew– indeed, he had intended it– how deeply his words must have cut, and he wasn't sure he could face the man after what he'd said.

The three fell into a brooding silence, each lost in their own thoughts. It was only when Ginny tugged on his arm and said, "Harry, that's the bell," that the young wizard realized that the school clock was tolling quarter to eight, and mechanically he rose and made his way with them to the Defense classroom.

The room was empty when they arrived, except for Professor McGonagall, who was covering the blackboard with several complicated-looking charts. Harry took his seat glumly, not bothering to pull out his book.

"Ron!" He started and looked up at Hermione's voice, only to find that the aforementioned Head Boy was approaching them awkwardly, his shirt rumpled and book-bag slung haphazardly over his shoulder.

"Um, hey," Ron said sheepishly, coming to a stop before them. Hermione and Harry glanced at each other, uncertain what to say, but Ginny didn't waste a moment; she leapt to her feet and threw her arms around her brother. Ron blinked. "Gin–"

"You stupid prat," she said furiously, and the trio realized that there were tears in her eyes. "Do you have any idea how worried we were about you?" She pulled back and punched her brother in the arm.

"Ow!"

"Oh, toughen up!" She glared at him fiercely, her hands on her hips and all the Weasley fire burning in her face. "You bloody idiot! Did you really think you'd stop being my brother because of something this stupid?"

Ron blushed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I… okay, I know I've been a bit of an idiot…"

"Oh, you think so, do you?!"

"Gin," Ron pleaded. His sister pursed her lips, and then sighed.

"Oh, alright… but Ron, you know I don't care. And mum and dad won't, either, if…"

"Yeah. If." Ron swallowed and looked to his two friends. "Um, hi, guys…"

"Hey," Harry said quietly. Ron swallowed and shuffled his feet. For a moment there was tense silence, and then Harry snorted. "Oh, c'mon, don't tell me you're that daft."

Ron blinked, startled. "What?"

"You're my best mate, Ron," the bespectacled wizard said firmly, rising to his feet. "And nothing's going to change that. And even if tonight ends up being, y'know… well, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

Ron stared for a moment, and then slowly he started to smile. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." The two grinned at each other and embraced as brothers, clapping each other on the back. A moment later they stepped apart, each looking a little abashed, and then Harry moved back, leaving a clear space between the last two members of the group.

Ron's face fell as he looked to Hermione, and his gaze dropped to the floor, looking supremely ashamed of himself. For a long moment there was silence; Harry and Ginny looked to each other nervously, uncertain what was going to happen.

Then, a choked sob burst from Hermione's mouth, and she stood and pulled the man into a hug. Ron stood there in shock for a second, and then let out a low sigh and enfolded her in his arms, holding her tightly. "Don't you ever do that to me again, you prat," the witch mumbled stuffily.

"I won't. It's been hell on me, too." They parted, Ron holding her at arm's length, and he said seriously, "But I've got to talk to you, 'Mione. Before tonight, okay?" She nodded tearfully and wiped her eyes.

A soft clearing of the throat drew their attention, and the four looked over, startled. Professor McGonagall nodded to the door. "I imagine your fellow students will be in in a moment," she said tactfully, as if she hadn't witnessed the whole event, but there was a slight smile on her mouth that told them she was pleased. "I would suggest you all take your seats."

"Er – right, yeah." All four flushing red, they took their seats, though Ron and Hermione made a point to sit next to each other in the bench-desks.

As predicted, within a minute or so the classroom door opened and other students began to pour in. Parvati and Padma Patil hurried up to the desk, explaining that Lavender wouldn't be in class that day, and McGonagall thanked them before sending them to their seats. Soon enough the school bells were tolling eight, and the students quieted down expectantly. As McGonagall called for them to open their books to the animagancy chapter, Harry glanced over to see his two best friends sitting closely side-by-side, their clasped hands resting on the desk and Ron's thumb absently tracing random patterns on Hermione's knuckles. Harry grinned to himself, and then looked over to Ginny, who smiled back and laced her fingers through his.

"Remus, love, are you sure you're okay with apparating? You know I can do it just as well, or help you side-along…"

"I'm sure, Dora," Remus reassured her, shrugging on his winter cloak. The pair were standing outside of the door of the clergy-house, Dora fussing over the state of his health and fixing his hair. "I got more rest than usual last night; besides, at this point I've practically got magic spilling out of my ears…"

"Well… if you're sure," she sighed, reaching up to brush his hair. "I'll be at the office today if you need me."

"And I'll be here with Teddy. Everything's going to be fine, Dora; I've been handling this since I was four, I think I can manage a short trip to Mungo's. Besides," he added with a quirked smiled, "if anything goes wrong, no better place to be than a hospital, eh?"

She scowled. "That doesn't make me feel any better." Remus chuckled, and Dora stood on tiptoe to give him a kiss. "See you tonight, love."

He pecked her back, and then stepped outside the apparition wards and disappeared with a crack!

St. Mungo's was fairly busy with people sniffling and coughing by the time he got into the waiting room; there was one man who expelled purple bubbles out of his ears every time he sneezed, and a frazzled-looking young mother with two children in tow and a baby in her arms, the last of which was squalling angrily and seemed to be doing his best to levitate out of his mothers arms. Remus approached the reception desk and cleared his throat to get the attention of the witch behind, who was reading a paperback novel. "Hello; I believe I have an appointment with Sr. Anne Perrault, of the St. Kigwe ward?"

"Name?" the witch said, not bothering to look up from her novel. Remus caught a glimpse of the front and felt his cheeks color; a rather dashing young warlock who, it seemed, had never been taught how to properly button his shirt was embracing a very busty young witch.

"Remus Lupin XIII."

The witch glanced up, surprised, and then her eyes narrowed. Remus schooled his features to be perfectly nonchalant. "St. Kigwe ward, eh?" the welcome witch said suspiciously. "You'd best clear out; no adult check-ins until two hours before moonrise."

"I'm not here to check in. As I said, I have a meeting with Sr. Anne Perrault. It is of paramount importance."

Still eyeing him dubiously, the witch sat down her novel and checked her roster. "Well. It seems Sr. Perrault was expecting you after all. Lowest basement; password is Monkshood."

"Thank you. Have a good day."

The witch snorted and went back to her novel. Remus sighed to himself and made his way over to the doors leading to the rickety old staircase. He waited to make sure no one else was following him and then walked straight through the wall of the first landing.

Not many people knew that St. Mungo's had basements; indeed, it was a fact kept deliberately hidden from the wizarding population at large, for their own protection. Remus passed two levels with locked doors; the first was painted red and emblazoned with a sign reading, EMERGENCY ROOM – NO UNAUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ALLOWED; the second was white, reading a similar warning but this time for the hospital's private laboratories, and had a square window beyond which he could see healers in pristine robes working away at lab tables and boiling cauldrons.

The third basement and the lowest was guarded by a thick iron door, studded with bolts the size of his fist and with only the smallest window near the top through which to see, the glass double-plated and these separated with thin silver mesh. Remus pressed his palm to the door handle and said clearly, "Monkshood!" The handle glowed blue, and he stepped inside.

The St. Kigwe ward was busier than usual, though, Remus knew, not half so busy as it would be that evening. Despite it being one of the oldest wards in the hospital, the room was well-kept: the walls were painted a cheerful pale blue, and a few false windows let in the bright November sunlight, showing scenes of rolling, snow-dusted moors beyond. Despite the attempt at cheerful decoration, however, there was no ignoring the second iron door at the far end of the ward, this one with three locks, beyond which he knew lay the ward's containment cells. On either side of the door were two enchanted icons, one of St. Ailbhe of Ireland, the other of St. Kigwe of Wales. Wolves dashed around their feet, leaping out of one icon into the next as the holy figures looked down upon the patients with benevolent eyes.

"Mummy, I don't want it!" a voice wailed to his right, and Remus looked over, startled. In the nearest bed a young, sickly-looking boy was refusing the potion that one of the sisters was gently trying to coax into him. He couldn't have been more than six.

"Adam, sweetheart, listen to me, you have to take your potion," his mother pleaded, looking exhausted and overwhelmed. "It's for your own good…"

"No! I hate it! I hate it and I hate you!"

Remus forced himself to continue walking, pretending he hadn't seen a thing. About half of the beds in the ward were filled, nearly all with children under the age of ten. The one exception was a young man of about twenty, who, by the advanced geology book he was studying, Remus realized was most likely a muggle university student. He gave him a wry grin when the man glanced up, and the younger werewolf returned it.

"Remus!"

He turned and smiled. Sr. Anne Perrault was walking towards him quickly, a few vials of Wolfsbane in hand. "Thank goodness you came," the nun said with a sigh, setting the vials down on a nearby medical cart. "We were beginning to worry…"

"I apologize for being late; my wife was a bit anxious about me traveling alone today."

"I understand. Well, right this way…"

She led him, much to Remus's surprise, over to the muggle student. "Remus, I'd like you to meet Jerome Clark; Mr. Clark, this is Remus Lupin."

"Are you a werewolf too?" the young man inquired.

"Er– yes, I am."

"Oh. Sorry, maybe that was rude? I don't know; I'm a still new to all of this."

"Mr. Clark is a muggle; he was bitten last month while taking a walk through Hyde Park."

"Hyde Park?" Remus said, surprised. "You mean you were bitten here in London?" The boy nodded. "Oh dear… I don't suppose you could tell me the color of the wolf that bit you?"

Jerome shook his head. "It was pretty dark; I only just saw the shadow before the wolf– well, guy, I suppose– before he jumped me. After that I don't remember a thing. I guess it was pretty lucky I didn't bite anyone else, huh?"

"Yes, it was. Well, St. Mungo's has the means to keep you contained, but I'm sure they'll be able to tell you where to buy Wolfsbane from now on, which will make things easier for you in the future."

"Well you see, Remus, that's just the problem," Sr. Anne cut in. "Mr. Clark's been having a bad reaction to the magic in the potion; we think that adding a bit of chamomile should be able to sort it out, but until next month I'm afraid we're out of options, unless…"

"Ah." Remus understood; he glanced around, and then gave Sr. Anne a nod. The nun pulled the privacy curtains shut around the bed and cast a silencing charm. Jerome looked on in interest. "Mr. Clark," he began, "–er, may I call you Jerome?"

"Sure."

"Jerome… are you able to keep a secret?"

The young man blinked, and then nodded. "Sure thing." He watched as the older werewolf reached inside his cloak and drew something from within. When he held out his hand, Jerome could see that it was a small golden ring on a chain, very old, with a ruby set in one side and a diamond in the other. His hand instinctively reached out to touch it, but when he realized what he was doing he drew back, startled. "That's magic, isn't it?" he questioned. At Mr. Lupin's surprised look, he added, "I can feel it. Like a tug in the back of my mind…" He cocked his head and, without knowing exactly why but still quite sure that it was the right question to ask, inquired curiously: "Who are you?"

Mr. Lupin hesitated, and then replied vaguely, "A benefactor." He pressed the ring into the boy's hand. "This will allow you to keep your human mind tonight; I'll return to collect it tomorrow. But you must vow to me that you will never tell anyone that you had it. Do I have your word, Jerome?"

The young man studied him for a moment, and then nodded. "Yes, Sir. I promise, I won't tell a soul."

Remus smiled slightly. "Good lad." He turned to Sr. Anne as the younger werewolf studied the Ring closely. "I suppose I'd best be going. I'll be back tomorrow, as soon as I'm able."

"Of course. Be safe, Remus."

"And you, Sister." The two embraced momentarily, and then he pushed aside the curtain and disappeared.

Jerome turned the small golden circlet over and over in his hands, studying it curiously. He held it up to the light of the window, and realized with surprise that at the right angle, the light cut straight through both the diamond and the ruby at once. Closing one eye and peering through the stones at the window, he realized with surprise that he could see some sort of blurred writing within, as if inscribed inside the jewels themselves. "Hey, Sister!" he said with surprise. "There's something written in here, it–"

But when he looked around, it seemed that the nun had left. Shrugging to himself, Jerome slipped the ring into his pocket. Whatever it was, if it was important, he was sure Mr. Lupin already knew all about it.

Transfiguration let out with swarm of Gryffindor students heading for the green, pulling on hats and gloves as they went in anticipation of spending their study break playing in the snow. Four alone made their way silently through the hallways and up to Gryffindor tower. Hermione's hand was still clutched tightly around Ron's, and it seemed that the redhead was growing more and more nervous with every step.

The common room was empty when they arrived, and Harry broke pace with Ginny to go put another log on the fire. When he turned around, Ron had his hands stuffed in his pockets and was no longer looking to any of them, but rather staring down at his shoes again.

"Look, um… no offense, Harry, Ginny, but I think… I think I need to talk to 'Mione first. Is that okay, or…?"

"'Course it is," Harry said sincerely, casting a sideways look to his fiancé. "Besides, um, Gin and I need to talk too, so…"

"Right. Okay."

The two best friends stared at each other for a moment, before Ginny huffed and grabbed her boyfriend's hand, dragging him up the stairs to the girl's dorm room. Ron watched them go, his face going a bit tight, and Hermione snorted. "Honestly, Ron, they're not going to do anything. Don't you trust Harry?"

"I don't trust any bloke with my sister," the Head Boy said darkly, crossing his arms. "But… I'd rather him than someone else, you know?"

"Mm."

They fell silent for a long moment. Eventually Hermione sighed and nodded to the armchairs in front of the fire. "Shall we sit down?"

"Yeah, alright."

They each walked over and took a seat, sitting opposite each other. Hermione waited for Ron to compose himself, growing more unsettled herself with each moment; her boyfriend's face was one of grim determination, the sort he wore whenever he had to complete a particularly difficult essay– or, as it were, tame a skrewt.

"…Hermione, before I say anything, I want you to know that this– it's got nothing to do with how I feel," Ron said at last, not meeting her eyes. "If it were my choice, I'd never… look, I want to be with you more than anything, but…"

Ice filled her veins. "Are you breaking up with me?" Hermione said softly, and was surprised by how calm she sounded. Inside, she was crumbling away.

Ron shrugged hopelessly. "I'd rather get it over with now than…"

"Ron, you know it doesn't matter to me if you're– I mean, if Remus and Tonks can–"

"But I'm not Remus, and you're not Tonks," the Head Boy said tiredly. "Hermione, if it turns out I'm still– still normal, and all that, then it's fine. But if I'm not… if I'm a…"

"Werewolf," she cut in harshly. He closed his eyes and nodded. "Ron, why? Why do you care so much? Because I don't!"

"Well you should!" he said angrily, looking up; she fell silent, stunned by the pain and anger in his cerulean eyes. "You should, Hermione! Look, you– you don't know the Wizarding World the way I do, okay, you don't–"

"Excuse me–?"

"You're a muggle-born!" he cried, standing to his feet. "You don't– you've got no idea how most the world views people like them! The way that I… Hermione, you were there! You saw how I reacted to Lupin, back in third year– and I liked him! He'd already been my teacher for nine bloody months and I was still terrified of him!"

Hermione's voice faltered. "Ron…"

"And it's not like I want to be prejudiced against him, and I'm not, but it's– it's a natural reaction, okay? I dunno, it's…" He groaned and sat back down again, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You don't understand…"

"Then help me understand!" she insisted, moving forward in her chair and reaching across to touch his shoulder; he flinched away. "Ron!"

"…You'll hate me," he muttered, shaking his head. "You'll think I'm…"

"I won't. Honestly, Ron, I won't." She knelt down and took his hands in hers. "Please," Hermione begged. "Please, just talk to me."

There was a long silence. Then, at last, Ron sighed and stood, breaking her grip and walking a few paces away. When he turned back, he didn't meet her eyes.

"Look, it's not against any of them in particular," he admitted, shame-faced. "Like– Lupin, and Lavender, I don't mind them. And I know, I know it doesn't make sense, but– look, you grow up hearing the stories, you know? Of some poor little kid getting bitten, or some family who was mauled to death and the muggle police can't figure it out, but you know, you always know. And that… eventually that becomes the image in your mind, Hermione. Of these folks living in the wild, like animals, or… or wolves tearing people to shreds." He looked up guiltily, gesturing futilely with his hands. "And of course it's not right, that that's the first thing we think of, but it is."

"Ron, it's not just you," Hermione replied, standing. "You think I'm so open-minded, but even I was wary about him! You saw how I was when I thought he was working with Sirius…"

"Then you know," he said thickly, "you know, Hermione, you know what people are bound to think of someone who marries a werewolf. All of your dreams, being Minister of Magic, changing the world– all of them, gone. No one would ever respect you if you stayed with me; everywhere you went, they'd be wondering what's wrong with you. It would be the end of everything for you."

Hermione stared at him, wide-eyed, and for a moment he thought he'd finally gotten through to her. But what she said next completely floored him:

"M-Marriage?"

Ron stammered wordlessly for a few moments, and then looked away. "Well… yeah," he mumbled, turning beetroot red. "I mean, not right now, obviously– I think Harry and Ginny are a bit mental, to be honest, but… yeah. Someday, I guess, I was hoping that…"

But now her eyes were glittering with tears. "Oh, Ron," she whispered, and then she was kissing him, fervently, and Ron couldn't help but kiss her back, even though he knew it was useless, knew that he should really be more practical about this…

When they parted, both red in the face, Ron had to swallow hard to stop the lump from rising in his throat. "You shouldn't have done that," he said hoarsely. "'Mione, listen to me–"

"No, I won't!" she said stubbornly. "I won't, Ronald Weasley! Don't you think you matter more to me than some– some silly dream, some idea of–"

"It's not some silly dream. You could do it, Hermione, I know you could–"

"And what if I could!" she demanded. "What kind of example would I be, Ron, fighting for change when I would leave someone I love so much, just to pursue my own selfish wishes?" She touched his freckled cheek and said firmly, "I love you, Ron Weasley, and I will mean it just as much tomorrow as I do today, no matter how tonight turns out. And if you can't accept that, well, I suppose I'll just have to convince you."

Ron stared at her, stunned. "You would give all that up… for me?"

"Of course I would."

The young man gaped at her for a long moment, unable to believe it. Then, with a noise that sounded suspiciously like a sob, Hermione found herself gripped in a desperate, bone-crushing hug. "Thank you," Ron mumbled into her hair, "Thank you so much, Hermione, thank you…"

"Of course," she repeated softly. "Of course, Ron. I love you."

For a few seconds they remained there, holding each other tightly, and then at last Ron pulled away, laughing and wiping his eyes. "Well… I guess I've been a bloody idiot then, huh?"

"Oh, now he realizes," she teased. Ron chuckled, and then suddenly looked distrustfully up at the door.

"They've been up there a while," he said, immediately all business again. Hermione shook her head and snorted, but merely followed her boyfriend up the stairs, happy that things were now at least a bit back to normal.

Thankfully, the most scandalous thing they encountered was Harry and Ginny locked in their own embrace, both smiling. Hermione noticed that Ginny's left ring finger was distinctly bare, and there was a glint of gold peeking out of Harry's fist, but decided not to mention it.

Ron cleared his throat loudly, and the two immediately broke apart, each blushing. "Oh, um, hey," Harry said, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "So, um, you're all sorted, then?"

"Yep." Ron glanced to Ginny and said bluntly, "So the wedding's off?"

The two glanced at each other and smiled, embarrassed. "Yes, we decided it might be better to wait a bit," Ginny admitted.

"We're still together, though," Harry added. Ron nodded.

"Good." Then, he grinned. "'Cause if not, I might have to hex you, mate."

His friend chuckled and nodded. The four glanced round at each other, and then– for no apparent reason at all– they all burst out laughing: great, bubbling laughter of relief and the pure joy of friendship.

When at last their mirth had settled into contented peace, Ginny volunteered the obvious question: "So. What now?"

Ron raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean, 'what now?'" At the others' obvious confusion, he exclaimed, "Blimey, what's the matter with you people? It's lunchtime!"

Much to his chagrin, the other three dissolved into laughter once again.

The setting sun had cast the castle as a silhouette against the red sky as the four made their way across the grounds to the Whomping Willow. There, a shadow in black against the white of the snow, a striped gray tabby sat at the base of the tree.

Professor McGonagall transformed back as the quartet approached. "Evening, Mr. Potter, Misses Weasley and Granger. I see you have decided to accompany your friend?"

"He did his best to put us off it, Professor," Harry said with a grin, "But we got our way in the end."

"I see." She turned her gaze to Ron and said, "You are very lucky, Mr. Weasley, to have such good friends."

The redhead smiled and glanced over at them. "I know, Professor."

"Well, moonrise is nearly upon is," McGonagall said, checking her watch. "You three," she nodded to Harry, Ginny and Hermione, "will have to wait back here. You are welcome to remain as long as you wish, but if Mr. Weasley and I do not return within ten minutes after moonrise I'm afraid it won't be of much use. Mr. Weasley, I think it'd be best if we were on our way."

"Right," Ron replied nervously. He turned to his friends, suddenly uncertain what to say. They could see the fear in his blue eyes, but he seemed to draw upon his Gryffindor courage and took a deep breath. "Well. I guess this is it, then."

As before, Ginny was the first to react. She gave her brother a quick hug without a word, and then moved aside so that Harry could clap his friend on the back. "Stay safe, mate," he said seriously, pulling away. Ron offered a grim smile, and then turned to Hermione.

The witch stepped forward and embraced him tightly. "I'll be waiting right here when– well, whenever you come back," she promised, drawing back.

He nodded, as if he'd suddenly become unable to speak. McGonagall seemed to understand and took it upon herself to end the situation. Drawing her wand, she sent a well-aimed stunning charm at the knot at the base of the tree; the willow's branches shuddered and froze. Turning back to her students, she said tartly, "It's time. Good evening, Mr. Potter, Miss Weasley, Miss Granger."

"Good evening, Professor."

She gave a short nod, lifted the skirts of her robes and disappeared into the hidden opening between the tree's roots. Ron followed without a word; the tree shuddered above them, and then the roots closed up again, shutting off the entrance.

The passageway beneath the tree was as dark and gloomy as ever; insects crawled along the dirt walls, and a sense of haunting misery pervaded the place. Professor McGonagall walked along swiftly without a word, and Ron followed. Now that he was away from his friends and the open air of the grounds, he felt his fear mounting in his chest. His mind was swirling with every gruesome werewolf story he'd ever heard, and the terror on Lupin's face when he realized that he'd forgotten to take his potion, that night in third year. The teenager swallowed and shivered, silently praying to any God if there was one that he would be spared the same fate.

As awful as the walk through the passageway was, it seemed to be over all too soon; before he knew it the walkway had come to an end, and before them was a very old, beaten oak door. McGonagall pulled it open. "In you go," she said tartly, when she saw that Ron had frozen, but her eyes were sympathetic.

The young man slipped inside. The Shrieking Shack was every bit as miserable as he remembered it, all dust and scratched-up walls, the paint peeling away. The sitting room into which the door led at least seemed recently used, for there were cold black coals in the hearth and a new yet rumpled blue blanket on the couch, but it was a gloomy place nonetheless.

He turned as he heard the door shut behind him and found Professor McGonagall standing there. She had a rather odd expression on her face; her mouth was pinched tight, but it seemed her eyes gleamed a bit too brightly, as if she were holding back tears. Ron quickly looked away, embarrassed both to have seen and, he presumed, to be the cause. "So," he said, clearing his throat uncomfortably. "What now?"

McGonagall sighed. "Now, we wait." She checked her watch and nodded to the stairs. "We've only a few minutes. There's a bedroom on the top floor, first on your left; Remus usually used it to transform."

"Okay," Ron said nervously. "And… and if I do, y'know…"

"I'll remain down here until the transformation is complete. Most likely you'll hear me and come down yourself, but if not I'll transform and go find you."

Ron tried to agree, but found that his voice had failed him. He realized that his hands had begun to shake. McGonagall, in a moment of sympathy, laid a hand on his shoulder. "Time and time again you have proven yourself to be very courageous young man, Mr. Weasley. I have no doubt that whatever may come when the moon rises, you will be able to bear it."

"Thank you, Professor," he whispered hoarsely. She nodded kindly, and then checked her watch again.

"Five minutes. Go."

He did so, turning around and walking mechanically up the stairs without a glance back. Ron was sure that if he did, he'd freeze in place and wouldn't be able to move another step.

He found the bedroom on the left, just as McGonagall had promised. It was even more dismal a place than the sitting room; the floor was covered in a thick layer of dust, in which were imprinted several overlapping patterns of shoe-prints, all of which seemed to stop in roughly the same place. Then a large, misshapen space where there was no dust, some of it swept away in long arcs as if someone or something had been making a madman's misshapen version of a snow-angel, and, finally, great paw-prints padding around the room and back towards the door. Long, deep grooves, whether from nails or claws he didn't know, covered the floor and walls, even marking up the posts of the old, rotting bed in the corner. Ron swallowed. He didn't want to think about Lupin, screaming and flailing on the floor, clawing at the ground in agony. He didn't want to think about what kind of horrors could reduce a man of such dignity and humanity to so debased a state.

He stripped off his shirt and trousers, shivering in the icy November air as he wrapped himself in one of the newer blankets someone had left on the foot of the bed. There he sat and waited, unable to keep his mind from twisting down dark paths. What was it like, Ron wondered? How badly did it hurt? He had never dared to ask Lavender or Lupin about it; now he wished he had.

He checked his watch; three minutes. What would his parents think? Oh, he knew they would still love him– they would always love him– but they had been through so much already, how could they take having a werewolf son? Would they flinch away from him? Or worse, look at him with pity? Ron didn't think he could take that; he hated being pitied. Made him feel like an invalid.

Two minutes. And what about Hermione? He knew she'd promised, and that woman never broke a promise– but what if they did get married? What about five years from now, or ten? Twenty? How long would it be before she started to resent him, for destroying her dreams, for putting his own selfish needs before that of everyone she could help? Ron wasn't sure he was strong enough to find out.

A minute. Terror thrilled inside him, and the worst fear of all finally forced its way out of the tiny cage in the back of his mind: would he be able to stand himself? He'd heard stories about werewolves offing themselves, and secretly, he'd never blamed them. A shiver prickled the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck; what would it be like, to be a monster? He hated himself immediately for thinking that way, but there it was, in all of its prejudice, guilt, and painful honesty: he didn't want to be a monster.

But… would that really be true?

He looked to the smudges in the dust at his feet, to the terribly clean space, and thought about the man who'd persuaded him to apply to the corps, who'd convinced George to go sober, who'd given him the talking-to he'd needed for a long time and seen through the charade of a stupid teenager to someone who couldn't figure out how to ask for help. And he thought of the girl he'd snogged senseless under the mistletoe at sixteen and who'd chewed him out at eighteen. And lastly, he thought of his friends, even now waiting back at the Willow, prepared to be with him through thick and thin.

He checked his watch one final time and felt a violent jolt in the pit of his stomach. Five seconds. Four. Three.

If they could have faith in him, Ron thought stoutly, straightening up and preparing to face the worst , if his friends could believe in him–

Two.

Well, then he could believe in himself, too.

One.

…

Two.

Three.

Four…

He gaped in shock, staring down at the watch, but there was no denying it: the second hand ticked on, clicking against the glass, jumping from one faded planet to the next. Ron forced himself to remain calm; maybe his watch was slow; maybe the moon didn't rise exactly on the top of the minute…

But after another sixty seconds, his doubt had vanished; Ron leapt to his feet and rushed to the window, where just the faintest rays of moonlight were beginning to pierce through the cracks between the boards. Slowly at first, then with jubilation and relief, he started to laugh: great, chortling bouts of laughter that he was sure could be heard by the whole village, but Ron didn't care. He threw back on his shirt and trousers and raced down the stairs, his shoes stomping loudly on the hardwood in his haste.

Professor McGonagall was sitting on the faded sofa, smiling wider than he'd ever seen her. "Well then," she said, rising to her feet, "I believe we'd best be heading back, don't you think, Mr. Weasley?"

"Sound great to me, Professor," the Head Boy replied, grinning broadly. On their way back through the passageway, Ron– who still felt like he'd swallowed a whole bucket of felix felcis– said, "Eh, Professor?"

"Hm?"

"I think I'd really like to start those animagus lessons soon."

McGonagall looked over at him, surprised. Then, much to Ron's shock, the straight-laced headmistress threw back her head and began to laugh.

The others were still waiting for them when the pair finally climbed out of the willow; Hermione let out a gasp of relief and rushed forward, embracing him so fervently that she knocked both of them to the ground. "Hey, hey," Ron laughed, sitting up; Hermione was still clinging to his neck and letting out little noises like half-sobs. "C'mon, I'm alright."

"You stupid prat," she mumbled into his shoulder. "Don't you ever scare me like that again."

"Eh, well, no promises…" Hermione drew back, scowling, and punched him half-heartedly in the arm. Ron chuckled and looked up. "Hey, Harry, Ginny."

"Glad to see you're okay, mate," Harry replied with a grin. Ginny looked too close to tears of her own to talk.

The bespectacled wizard helped his friend to his feet (a slightly difficult task, considering that Hermione was once again resolutely refusing to let go of him) and then the four turned to find McGonagall smiling at them, though there was a hint of sadness in her eyes, too. "You've been very lucky, Mr. Weasley. I would not recommend you take it for granted," she advised.

"No, ma'am," Ron agreed seriously.

"But enough with this. I do believe if you hurry you'll catch the end of dinner; goodness knows you have much to celebrate."

"Here, here!" the redhead agreed, eliciting laughter from the others. They started towards the castle doors, all five in a state of content, and were just about to step inside out of the cold when they heard it: a low, haunting howl echoing out from the direction of the forest.

All five froze. A few seconds passed, and then the howl came again. Ron turned to McGonagall, face even paler than usual. "W-was that Lavender?"

The third howl answered his question, for it was joined by another, a low baying that must have belonged to a companion. McGonagall's face had gone very hard. "No," she said grimly, drawing her wand. "Expecto patronum!" A silvery cat burst into being and turned to face her. "Emergency call to the Auror Office, United Kingdom. Request for backup. Unidentified werewolves running wild in Hogsmeade; threat to the village suspected." The cat nodded and dashed off.

"Professor–" Harry began, but the headmistress shook her head sharply.

"This is not your fight, Potter. Inside, all of you. Granger, Weasley, get all of the children back to their dorms and have the professors come to find me as soon as they can." There was an icy gleam in her green eyes, and Harry nearly shivered; never before, not even in the heat of battle, had he seen a look of such utter wrath on the headmistress's face. "I'll be in the forbidden forest."

"Mark, I really don't think this is a good idea…"

"Stop being such a wuss. We'll be at Hogsmeade in no time."

Mark Higgesnbee looked around nervously as he followed after his friend; the sun had set just a minute ago, but already the shadows of the Forbidden Forest were thickening into a deep, dark gloom. Snow crunched under his boots and the nipping wind bit at his nose. He wished he'd just told Davy to go on his own, but he hadn't wanted to look like a scared kid and besides, he'd wanted to see Hogsmeade, too. Being muggle-born, he was fascinated by the idea of a full wizarding village, with magical stores and a candy shop with sweets that could make you float!

"Bloody rubbish rule, that first years can't go," Davy grumbled as they clambered over a fallen log. "My dad says that Hogsmeade is brilliant; we'll pop into the shops and visit the Three Broomsticks, and then come back this way and no one will ever be the–"

Both boys froze as a deep, bone-chilling howl reverberated through the trees. "…W-what was that?" Mark whispered, barely breathing.

"N-nothing," Davy stammered uncertainly. "P-probably just a dog–"

Another howl, closer this time. Mark let out a little gasp and turned, wide-eyed, to his friend. "Davy," he moaned, "Davy, what day is it?"

His friend went pale. "Oh no."

A third howl rang out, seemingly right behind them, and was joined by a fourth. The boys took off running, stumbling over fallen branches and rocks, slipping in the snow. A third howl joined the first two, then a fourth and a fifth; the boys ran in blind terror, not sure which way was which, not even sure where they were running to. They splashed through a shallow stream, icy water drenching their robes, scrambling up the frozen bank and again into the shallow snow. It seemed that no matter how fast they ran the wolves were always right on their tail.

And then, suddenly, a howl came from not far in front of them; the two stopped short and looked at each other in abject terror. "This way!" Davy cried, grabbing Mark's hand and dragging him to the right. Over root, under branch, the howls chasing behind them, beside them, all around them–

"AGH!"

Mark hit the snow before he even realized he'd tripped. Davy whirled around. "Mark!"

The boy scrambled back, but it was too late; out of the shadows directly in front of him, two glowing yellow eyes appeared in the darkness. He let out a low moan of terror and looked behind him, but it was no good; the wolves had them encircled. Mark whimpered, gripping his wand tightly. This was it. He would never see his family again… never tell his parents that they loved him…

The massive wolf in front of him let out a little snort– was it laughing? Mark couldn't tell– and jerked his head to the left. Another large wolf lumbered out of the darkness, this one with reddish fur mixed in with the gray. It bared its teeth in what almost seemed to be a grin, and then looked to the huge gray wolf again. It gave a short nod, and Mark heard Davy let out a strange choking sound. The reddish wolf turned back to them with that same feral grin, and both boys screamed as the wolf lunged.

BANG!

An impossibly loud noise ricocheted off the trees, and the reddish wolf was thrown sideways with a loud yowl. Mark scrambled to his feet as all the wolves turned in unison, snarling at an unseen point in the shadows. He squinted, peering into the woods, and then out of the darkness came a–

–cat?

The tiny feline pounced into the light, expertly dodging the snapping jaws and tearing claws of the wolves. A moment later, none other than Headmistress McGonagall was standing in front of them, pushing them back with one hand and holding a– Mark's jaw dropped open– an old muggle revolver with the other. She fixed the deadly weapon on the enormous gray wolf, who froze and then tilted its head, as if interested.

"You must be a bigger fool than I thought, to come here so soon," the witch said coldly. The wolf eyed her, yellow eyes gleaming. "The aurors will be here any minute. If you have decency or common sense left in that rotted heart of yours, you'll leave that village alone."

The wolf hunched down, growling, and Mark felt his heart leap into his throat as all the others did the same. Maybe the headmistress could take down one, but they'd never stand a chance if all of the wolves attacked at once!

But then the amazing happened; Professor McGonagall whirled around, grabbed him by the arm and then suddenly everything vanished. Mark tried to cry out in surprise, but it was impossible; he couldn't breathe, couldn't move, it was like being squeezed tighter and tighter through a tube, and then–

His feet hit the ground and he stumbled forward, unable to keep his balance; a surprisingly strong hand caught the back of his robes and steadied him, before pushing him forcefully forward, through the break in the ancient wall, into the school grounds. Breathing heavily, mind whirling, he turned to see a very angry Professor McGonagall glaring back at him.

"What were you two thinking?" she barked. Both of the boys flinched. "Sneaking off school grounds in the middle of the night! There's a reason that forest is called forbidden! Well? Answer me!"

"We– we wanted to see Hogsmead, ma'am," Davy mumbled.

The headmistress gaped at him, and Mark desperately wished that his friend had just remained silent. "You wanted to–" She shook her head incredulously. "Do you two have any idea how foolish you've been?! It's the full moon!"

"We didn't remember it was the full moon, ma'am," Mark whispered, shame-faced.

"Didn't remember! Merlin and Morgana, I ought to–" The witch pinched the bridge of her nose, seemingly in an effort to calm herself. The two boys waited in agony, wondering what sort of punishment they would receive. But when she lowered her hand and looked them dead in the eyes, the words she spoke in her calm, matter-of-fact voice dealt a far more grievous blow than any bellowed chastisement could have:

"Do you realize," she said quietly, coldly, "that you may very well have cost someone their life tonight?"

The two gaped at her, filling with a sense of utter shock and guilt. The professor waved her hand. "Go. Both of you, back to the castle. Go to bed. Fifty points from Gryffindor– apiece. I'll decide on further punishment in the morning. Right now–" She turned back to the wall and stepped over the ruins; the boys could hear the distant pops of apparition and shouting in the forest, "–Right now, there is a village in grave danger."

And with a sharp crack, she vanished, leaving the two shame-faced boys in her wake.

Chime. Chime. Chime. Chime. Chime. Chime. Chime. Chime.

Nymphadora groaned and rolled over, only to find herself with a mouthful of fur. The body to which the fur belonged stirred, as well, and she suddenly got a very bad feeling in the pit of her stomach.

As she sat up and checked her watch, a wave of guilt washed over her. She'd fallen asleep. Worse still, she'd fallen asleep lying next to Remus. Oh, he was going to kill her…

She turned to the large gray wolf on whose torso she had been lying. Remus had lifted his head and was glaring at her with bright golden eyes. Nymphadora winced. "Er, morning, Love."

The werewolf let out a very angry snort, and her wince turned into a grimace. "I know, I know! But I didn't mean to, honest! You're just really comfy as a pillow!"

Remus growled, and she could practically hear his argument in the sound. With a scowl, she crossed her arms. "Oh, stop being such an infant! You didn't hurt me and you wouldn't have even if you had woken up!" He let out an angry snort. "No you wouldn't have!"

He growled again and jerked his head towards the cub, who was stirring against his father's belly. Dora immediately realized the flaw in her argument and dropped her gaze. "Oh. I …Remus, I'm sorry. I won't let it happen again, I promise."

He looked ready to berate her further, before he seemed to remember he currently had no functioning vocal chords for that sort of a discussion and looked away, obviously furious. Dora swallowed the lump in her throat and rested against the wall, feeling awful. Of course Remus could control himself around her, she had no worry about that– but Teddy was still a baby, and a very active one at that. If he'd woken up in the middle of the night and had managed to get around his father's body to his mother… Dora felt positively sick with guilt at the very thought.

The feeling of something cold and wet against her hand drew her attention, and Dora looked over, startled. Remus looked back at her with apologetic eyes and nudged her hand with his nose. Dora wiped her eyes hastily– tears had sprung at the realization that her foolishness might have led to a life of perpetual guilt for her son– and tried for a smile. "It's okay, Love; you're right. I should have been more careful."

He shook his head, and his tail beat out a pattern: ME TOO.

"Well, we'll just both have to be more careful next time, eh?" He smiled as much as a wolf could and then bumped her palm with his nose again. Dora chuckled and obligatory began to pet his head, giving special attention to his ears. Remus sighed and lowered his muzzle down to his paws again.

They passed nearly three-quarters of an hour in that fashion, just sitting in companionable silence. Teddy eventually got up and began to wander around; any time he got too close to Dora his father would growl a warning, and the cub would meekly scamper away. At about a quarter to nine, Dora's watch began to chime again, and Remus raised his head. His wife swallowed. "Five minutes," she said quietly.

With Remus's help she managed to catch Teddy and, despite the cub's squirming and growling, injected him with a syringe of sedative potion. Once the baby was assuredly asleep, she sat down again, cradling him in her arms. Her husband frowned and jerked his head towards the staircase insistently, but she shook her head. "I know you don't want me to see, Remus, but I've heard it dozens of times. Why won't you let me stay with you?" He looked away, and she sighed. "You have no reason to be embarrassed; it's not as if this is your fault. I just want to be here for you, to make things easier if I can… I don't want you to feel so alone." When he still wouldn't meet her eyes, Dora grabbed him by the chin and tilted his muzzle back to look at her. "Listen to me, Remus Lupin," she said quietly, "I love you more than anything in this world, more than life itself. And more to the point, I respect you, as my husband and as my friend. If you want me to go, I'll go. But I promise, I won't think one iota less of you for anything I see here. Okay?"

There was a long pause in which Remus just stared at her with his luminous, unblinking gold eyes. Then, after what seemed like an infinity of silence, he nodded. Dora smiled sadly, and then checked her watch again. Her face grew solemn. "Three minutes."

Those three minutes passed somehow both too quickly and agonizingly slow, until both of them were almost so neurotic with dread that they just wished it would happen already Then, the pain struck, and that wish was instantly regretted.

It happened so instantaneously that Dora started when she felt her husband's body tense under her palm. He let out a sharp, hoarse gasp from between his teeth, nearly a bark, and every muscle went taut. Tremors began to race up and down the lithe, bony limbs as his breathing grew heavier and heavier, until, suddenly, it seemed he couldn't take it any longer, and a wretched howl escaped his throat.

Dora flinched, her hand quaking as it rested on Remus's spasming form. Her husband's whole body collapsed sideways as the legs began to kick and flail wildly, accompanied by howls and bays of utter agony. Fur was retracting forcibly back into the pores of the skin; the face was shrinking as the canine fangs receded into adult human teeth. Dora let out a sharp, choked noise as she heard the forearm bones snapped apart, accompanied by a half-human, half-animal scream from his bloodied mouth. His paws– hands– scratched at the floor, claws popping off of raw nail-beds which were soon covered by fresh human fingernails, and oh, she wanted to look away, she couldn't bear it–

But she had to. She had promised him, for better or for worse, in sickness and in health. So with tears spilling down her cheeks, the auror forced herself to watch, and more still, to reach out and grab his hand. Remus looked to her with anguish-dazed hazel eyes, his face still misshapen and half-covered with fur, and his hand gripped hers back.

A moment later he let out a scream so awful it made her gasp as his whole body contorted into a fetal position, knees drawing up to his chest. As she watched, his head moved from a horizontal position on his spine to a vertical one, accompanied by a sickening grinding noise that made her want to throw up, and then…

…Then, it was over. Remus lay gasping, quivering, on the stone floor, seemingly in a state of shock. His hand unclenched from around hers and he hugged it close to himself, curled up with his back to her as he shivered– from pain or from cold, Dora didn't know. In an effort to preserve both his dignity and body temperature, the auror quickly pulled the blanket she had been using over him; Remus clutched at it with trembling fingers and waited for the aches to fade away.

With Dora's help, the man eventually managed to sit up, wrapping the blanket around his shoulders. "I told you I didn't want you to see it," he said hoarsely, not meeting her eyes.

"I'm glad I did," his wife replied softly. "Remus… I never knew…" He wanted to cringe at the pity in her tone, but before he could try to put on a show of courage Dora beat him to it: "I never knew how strong you were. I can't imagine it, going through that alone… I wish I were half as brave as you."

"I'm not brave," Remus said quietly. "I just do what I have to."

Dora touched his jaw and turned his face to hers. "You, Remus Lupin, are the bravest man I know," she said sincerely, and then kissed him gently on his cracked lips. Remus winced– his jaw and mouth were still sore– but didn't pull away.

Thankfully, he didn't have to; Dora drew back a moment later, grimacing. "Ugh. You taste like iron."

"Sorry. Blood," he whispered roughly.

"Yeah. Here, let me help you with that."

She retrieved a little tin cup that they'd found in the trunk and filled it with an aguamenti. Remus rinsed his mouth until the metallic taste was gone, and then washed his bloodied hands, cleaning under the fingernails until not a speck of red remained. When he was finished, he stood and dressed (a task he insisted on doing himself, now that he had a little of his strength back) and, once Dora had been sufficiently convinced of his ability to stand and walk without passing out, she helped him up the stairs and apparated the pair back to the clergy-house. Remus was overjoyed at the aroma of bacon and eggs that surrounded them as they stepped inside; he felt like he could eat a whole feast.

Dora, it seemed, was equally excited. "Good morning!" she called as they walked into the kitchen. "I smell breakfast! Is there anything I can do to– oh."

Both she and Remus stopped short. They were met with the grave faces of not the reverend and his wife, but of Professor McGonagall and– the pair felt their heart drop into their stomach– Kingsley Shacklebolt. "Kingsley," Remus said grimly. "What's happened?"

In response, the minister nodded to the chair. "Remus, Tonks… I think you'd better sit down."

Their fear growing, both took a seat at the kitchen table. The minister and headmistress looked at each other, clearly uncertain how to address the issue. "Remus, Tonks," said McGonagall gravely, "there was an attack in Hosgmead last night."

The reaction was immediate; the man went pale, while his wife immediately began demanding information. Kingsley held up a hand. "Thankfully, nobody was hurt, but it was too close a call for comfort. Somehow the whole pack managed to vanish before the aurors could apprehend them, and we have no idea where any of them are now."

"It was Greyback's pack?" Remus demanded. "You're sure?"

"Positive," McGonagall replied.

A long silence reigned over the table.

"Remus," said Kingsley at last, "I can only imagine how difficult this must be for you. But I am asking you, as one leader to another, not to give into these terror tactics." He leaned forward. "If the Ring falls back into Greyback's hands, we could very well have another full-fledged war on our hands."

"What else can I do?" Remus asked hollowly. "He won't stop, he's proven that now. This time it was the village; what if next time it's the school?"

"The village is secured," McGonagall reassured him. "Arthur took the initiative to set a twenty-four hour watch on the village. Aurors are patrolling it as we speak, and as to Hogwarts, the school is better fortified than ever."

"He'll find a way," the werewolf whispered, seemingly not even in the room any more. "Fenrir Greyback always finds a way." He looked up with glimmering golden eyes, the old scars seeming deeper than ever. "Professor, what else can I do?"

The headmistress's face was sorrowful, but when she spoke, her words were as strong and sure as he'd ever head them. "You do what you have done before, Remus," she said, "What Hogwarts has always done when dark and dangerous forces threaten the safety of her students." She stood and reached across the table, her eyes gleaming with an almost mad brightness, and when she grasped his shoulder, her grip was hard as iron:

"You teach them to fight."

A/N: C'mon, you guys didn't really think I'd keep Lupin away for long, did you?

And ta-da! Ron's not a werewolf! For those of you who are wondering why some people get turned by a non-full-moon bite and others don't, I promise, I'm not making this up as I go: I have a plan.

So what do you think? Did it turn out the way you expect? Please do leave a review! Pax et bonum!