A/N: Zarathustra, I truly appreciate you taking this story under your wing. Should I apologise for telling you it would only be fifteen chapters, and then eighteen, and then twenty (and an epilogue)? I didn't mean to lie! Really! SortingHat47, thank you for making me rewrite this chapter 482 times. It really is better this way.

Thanks over and over to those of you who review and those of you who put this story on alert. I truly appreciate it!

Disclaimer: Not mine. Darn it all, anyhow.

Chapter 24: Revelations

Tuesday, 17 December, 1985—10:55 a.m.

Jonathan had been determined that nothing was going to disturb him, distress him, or otherwise interfere with a decent performance in Potions today. As a result, he had ignored at least two snide remarks from his professor, and had managed to 'rescue' his potion twice: once because he had almost forgotten to dice the antelope liver (he had cubed it) and the second time when he had added too much valerian. He countered the second mistake by adding a little more armadillo bile, thanks to the suggestion of the girl at the desk next to him.

Professor Snape walked by for what seemed like the twentieth time and sniffed with disdain as he peered over Jonathan's shoulder. He said nothing, however, and the young Ravenclaw relaxed marginally. The potion was the correct colour, the proper consistency, had the desired purple steam —Jonathan began to hope that he'd have a decent potion to present to the professor for grading.

When the class was over, after Jonathan had given a capped vial of his potion to the professor, he went back to clean up his station. He was surprised when Snape suddenly appeared at his side.

"Who helped you, Mr Blotts?" the man demanded softly.

Jonathan blinked with surprise. "No one, sir. Well, I had to ask Amanda Winterbourne about what to do when I added too much valerian, but…"

"It is impossible that you could have done this potion on your own," Severus stated. "Did you somehow switch cauldrons with someone?"

"No, sir! I did it on my own! You saw it! You were beside me several times during class!"

"You have, up until this point, been unable to follow the simplest of potions-brewing instructions. And yet, today, you have created an acceptable O.W.L.-worthy potion? I find that highly unlikely."

"But it's true," Jonathan insisted.

"Then explain to me this miraculous turn of events. How could you possibly have improved so much within a matter of a few days?"

The Ravenclaw raised his chin, knowing that the answer was not going to be well received, but determined to give it nonetheless. "Mr Lupin and I came down Friday evening and worked on some things."

Snape stared at him, as if waiting for him to say something else. "That's it, Mr Blotts? Your answer to this amazing turnaround is that you and Lupin worked on Friday evening?"

"Yes, sir."

"Did you not work on Potions over the weekend? Or last night?"

"Mr Lupin and I worked on slicing, cubing, slivering — that sort of thing. I didn't realize I was so confused about those things."

"And that was the extent of his instruction?"

Jonathan bit his lip. "He offered me some advice, sir, and that — that was it."

"And what was the advice?"

Not quite brave or stupid enough to tell the Potions Master exactly what Lupin had said, Jonathan decided to paraphrase. Greatly. "He told me not to get distracted while working on a potion. He said I needed to pay attention to the steps and make sure I followed each step carefully. He also said that if I realised I had done something wrong, to ask someone good in Potions how to counter it."

Snape's eyes hadn't left his, but now something kindled in the black depths, something angry and frustrated. "That's impossible," he said flatly.

"I'm sorry you think so, sir," Jonathan said. "May I please finish clearing my things away? I'm going to be late for Runes."

The Potions professor's lip curled into a sneer. "Another class in which Lupin has helped you make almost miraculous improvements."

"I suppose it seems so," the boy said. "But he helped me figure out —"

"I am not interested in the — man's methodology. I am not even remotely interested in Ancient Runes. I am, however, amazed that a man who was barely capable of completing a fifth year potion himself is able to — inspire you to improve so much over such a short time."

Jonathan carefully considered his next comment. "I would think you should be happy that I've done well during this class, sir."

Snape regarded him coolly. "One would think so, wouldn't one?"

6:33 p.m.

"Shouldn't a professor be happy at his student's progress?" Jonathan asked.

Remus chose his wording carefully. "Yes, he should. But sometimes there are extenuating circumstances, and sadly enough, Jonathan, I happen to be the extenuating circumstance that will make Snape angry at your accomplishments."

He wanted to warn the boy to be careful. There was something — a feeling, a thought, a suspicion — and it made the wolf within Remus restless and wary. He just wasn't certain what it was.

Wednesday, 18 December—7:55 a.m.

Remus took the wax-sealed envelope from Jonathan's hand and regarded it with curious eyes. "What is it?"

"You'll have to open it," the boy said, his enthusiasm barely contained.

Remus slid a long finger beneath the flap and tugged until the seal gave up its hold on the parchment. The smell of pine and cinnamon and ginger drifted out of the envelope.

"My mother pays extra for that," Jonathan informed his tutor, noticing the man's nose twitching at the scent.

Remus pulled an embossed card from the envelope and scanned it quickly. Then he looked at Jonathan. "Your family has a party for their employees?"

"It's always the day after Boxing Day," Jonathan said, reaching around to point to the date on the card. "They have canapés and drinks, and then they give gifts to their employees."

"But, Jonathan, I'm not –"

"I told my father I wanted to get you something for Christmas to thank you for helping me. He said that since you've all but performed miracles by helping me, you deserved more than he could probably afford." The boy smiled. "But he did tell me we could invite you to the staff's party, and you could choose any five books from the store as your gift."

"Any five books?" Remus repeated, dumfounded.

"I know you like to read, but I don't know what you like or what you have. You can pick them out the night of the party."

Remus stared at the invitation and then sighed. "I would love to come, Jonathan, but I already have a previous engagement for that night."

The boy looked disappointed. "You couldn't come for even a little while?"

The tutor shook his head regretfully. "I wish I could. I'm sure it's a wonderful time, but I have no choice."

Jonathan sighed.

"I am really sorry," Remus said softly. He inhaled deeply, enjoying the spelled scent, and then tucked the card back into the envelope. "Could I stop at another point during the holidays?" he asked.

The Ravenclaw's smile returned with even more intensity. "Yes! That would be great! My parents will be glad to finally meet you."

"I'll come by sometime after the new year begins," Remus promised. And after the scars from my transformation on the twenty-seventh heal…

Thursday, 19 December-Tuesday, 31 December

The Christmas holiday was a surprisingly pleasant one. Remus spent a lot of time with Kettleburn and Hagrid during the days, and the evenings in the Staff Room, playing chess or reading. It was a peaceful existence, one that he treasured if only because he didn't know when he'd have another Christmas like this one.

He had been surprised to see gifts at the foot of his bed when he had awakened on Christmas morning. He was grateful for that tradition, because he had found himself in tears at the sight of the brightly coloured paper and ribbon. There was no sign of the tears when he had appeared at breakfast that morning, dressed in the new set of robes that Dumbledore had given him, and the new boots from McGonagall.

He even managed to cajole, beg, and otherwise plead for a game of Gobstones between the professors on Christmas Day. He thought they had mainly agreed to it only because he had introduced a bit of firewhiskey to their wassail, but by the amount of laughter and teasing between them, he wondered if maybe they might have gone along with his idea despite the addition he had made.

Remus couldn't remember enjoying Christmas that much in years. Definitely not since the Potters and Peter had died, and certainly not since his father had died almost five years ago.

The delight and fellowship he had found at Hogwarts even pacified the wolf within. He emerged from the Shack on the morning of the twenty-eighth with fewer injuries than he'd had in a long time, and only one new soon-to-be-scar on his upper thigh. The other injuries faded quickly with Pomfrey's adept help.

Satisfied that there no obvious residual signs of his transformation or its aftermath, Remus sent a message to Jonathan, telling him he'd be in Diagon Alley on the thirty-first, and that he'd stop in the bookstore to see the boy.

The Ravenclaw had responded with enthusiasm, telling him that his mother had told him to come for dinner. Though Remus hadn't wanted to impose, he could tell by the tone of the letter that Jonathan would be devastated if he declined the offer.

So, at six o'clock sharp on the thirty-first, he found himself seated at the Blotts' family table with the Blotts family: father, mother, one older sister, and two younger brothers. Mr Blotts recognized him from his occasional foray into the bookstore and, despite his wife's admonitions, kept asking Remus his opinions about books and authors in whom they shared an interest.

After dinner, Jonathan took Remus into the store and helped his tutor choose his Christmas gift. Remus made certain to select books that he knew he'd read or use repeatedly. Appreciation from a student and his family could not be squandered on books that Remus was merely curious about. These books would be treasured.

Before Mr Blotts wrapped the books up, Remus opened one and pushed it toward Jonathan. "Sign it," he ordered.

The boy looked at him with uncertainty.

"It's customary for someone giving the gift of a book to write some kind of dedication," Remus explained with a smile.

"What do I say?" the boy asked.

"That's for you to decide."

While Jonathan debated what to write, Remus turned to Mr Blotts, ready to ask him another question. He stopped, seeing the man staring at him with an odd look on his face.

"You were the one —"

"The one?" Remus prompted, his smile fading.

Mr Blotts glanced at his son and noticed that Jonathan was busy writing. "This past summer — Aurors were in looking for you. They said you were missing."

Remus bit back the curse that threatened to escape. What do I say? Fortunately a clever brain and an extensive vocabulary helped him figure that out. "I was merely misplaced for a bit." It took supreme effort to get his facial muscles to form a lopsided grin. "It was a bit of a misunderstanding. It's all cleared up now."

"I'm certainly glad to hear it," the other man said. "The Auror, Moody, I believe it was, seemed extremely concerned about your well-being."

Remus could only imagine the conversation that might have occurred, and the manner in which it was conducted. This time, his smile was genuine. "Alastor Moody is a good man. He watches out for me."

"It's good to have such friends," Mr Blotts said.

Remus cocked his head to the side thoughtfully. "Yes, it is," he replied quietly.

Tuesday, 7 January, 1986—10:49 p.m.

While Remus would always remember that Christmas holiday as one of the happiest he'd had in a long time, if there was one not-so-bright spot, it was Severus Snape. The man seemed to find Remus' presence as a personal affront. He made snide remarks and comments whenever he could, and Remus found himself drawn deeper and deeper into a battle of wits with a man who commanded sarcasm as skilfully as any fencer ever wielded a rapier. Many times, Remus was left speechless; once in a while, he was able to strike back quickly, coolly, sharply. At those times, he found himself guiltily amused at the anger that would flare in the other man's black eyes.

"You should tell the Headmaster about him," McGonagall suggested one night in the Staff Room, after Severus had all but accused Remus of dallying at Hogwarts in order to attack the students. "His words are becoming more vicious."

Remus shook his head. "No, I'm fine. They're just words. It's nothing that I haven't heard before." He grinned. "Actually, I find it rewarding when I can come up with something that even he can't counter."

"But, Remus, this isn't some sort of game!"

"It's all right," the werewolf said, soothingly. "It's just Snape. He can't stand me, and I don't blame him. There's too much between us to be ignored. We may be older, but the anger and hatred has had more time to fester."

"It isn't right," the Transfiguration professor insisted.

"No, it isn't," Remus agreed. "But if snapping at me is the only way to make it bearable for him to see me here, then I'll take it. And more besides," he added firmly.

Thursday, 16 January—10:59 a.m.

Jonathan carefully placed the vial on Professor Snape's desk. Again, he had managed to concentrate on his potion brewing, ignoring the mutterings of the dark-haired professor, and had delivered a decent-looking brew. It wasn't quite the right colour exactly — it was more of a teal than an actual blue — but it was obviously better prepared than Foss Hardwicke's orange potion.

The Ravenclaw allowed himself a small smile of triumph and turned to go back to clean his area.

"Blotts."

Jonathan tried not to sigh with vexation. Was the Potions Master going to accuse him of cheating again? "Yes, sir?"

"I believe these belong to you." Professor Snape was holding the postcards from the carnival in his hand.

"Yes, sir."

"I do not want to see these in my classroom again, understood?"

"Yes, sir."

Jonathan tucked the cards into a pocket and started to walk away, but again the Potions Master stopped him.

"Mr Blotts, I have forgotten one. Here."

Jonathan took the last card and glanced at it. It was the werewolf card. "Thank you, sir."

"Don't thank me," the Potions professor said with an inscrutable smile. "Thank Lupin."

7:18 p.m.

"What did he mean by that?" Jonathan asked when he met his tutor that evening in an empty classroom on the first floor.

Remus shrugged. "It could mean anything or nothing. It's Severus Snape."

"No, it meant something. Did you talk to him about the postcards? Somehow convince him to give them back to me?"

"No. I don't know what cards you're talking about, so I couldn't have known that Snape had them." Remus chuckled. "Besides, I don't think I could convince that man to do anything. If I asked him to give you a 'T' on an essay, he'd probably give you an 'E' just to spite me."

"But –"

Remus ran a hand through his hair. "What does it matter, Jonathan?" he asked impatiently. "You got your bloody cards back."

"I did, but —"

"Merlin save me from Ravenclaws who need to know the hows, whys, and wherefores of everything that happens," Remus said, raising his eyes to the ceiling. "Tell me what you're going to write in that essay for Professor Flitwick."

Jonathan sighed and began to recite everything he remembered about Summoning Charms.

"You've got a good grasp of the concept," his tutor suddenly interrupted him. "Now write it."

"Don't you want me to tell you how I'm going to organize this?"

Remus shook his head. "You're beyond that. You can work it out on your own now."

Jonathan gave him an odd look. It wasn't quite confusion, but it wasn't worry… "Sir, are you leaving soon?"

"What makes you ask that?"

"You seem — sad."

Remus smiled again. "All good things must come to an end, Mr Blotts."

"So you are leaving."

"Not quite yet. But probably soon."

"Did you get another position somewhere?"

The man chuckled, but it was with bitterness. "No."

"Then why —"

"Jonathan, must you question everything?" But as soon as the question was out, Remus raised his hand to stop him from answering. "Yes, you must. I know." He sighed. "I've been here since September, out of the Headmaster's forbearance and pity. I'm feeling better than I have in months, and the one task he set for me to do —" he pointed to Jonathan, "— has nearly been accomplished. I really have no reason to stay much longer."

"But I still need help –"

Remus shook his head. "Not really. Yes, you're still a little behind your peers, but you're improving every day. I fully expect you to be able to hold your own from this point on."

"'From this point on'? You mean tonight's our last night?"

"No, it's not. You're not quite finished with me yet. Look, finish your essay and we'll discuss it later,"

Remus ordered, as he grabbed Jonathan's Potions text. He had forgotten to bring a book to read while the boy worked, which was just as well. He could look through what Snape was going to be teaching next and point out things that Jonathan would need to watch for.

The book fell open, revealing several postcards.

"Are these the cards —?" Remus didn't finish the question. Marquee lights had just appeared, surrounding the words "Bentley & Parsons' Carnival of Dark and Dangerous Creatures."

"Yes. Have a look at them," Jonathan said, apparently not noticing that Remus had caught his breath in shock, and wasn't quite sure how to begin breathing again. "They're bloody fantastic."

Slowly, almost expecting his fingers to burn, the werewolf turned the first postcard over.

Nothing in the world could have prepared him for what he saw. Nothing.

An all-too-familiar centaur stood squarely in the middle of the card, staring out with an almost mulish expression. His arms were crossed defiantly across his chest.

Oh, gods. It can't…

Remus' hand unconsciously went to his own chest, as if to pull the knife out of his heart, because the pain he was feeling was so sharply physical. He sucked in a ragged breath, casting a quick glance at Jonathan, but the boy hadn't seemed to notice his distress.

I don't want to see… But he looked anyhow.

Libertas stomped a back hoof impatiently, making Remus remember the many times he had seen the centaur do that.

I'm the only one that would remember that… That brought more pressure into his chest, but it wasn't quite as pointed as before.

He wasn't sure he wanted to see the rest of the cards now. But then the thought hit him that he had seen the worst of what he could see. Determinedly, he laid the postcard of Libertas aside and picked up the next one.

It didn't seem like the nerveless fingers, which held the cards, were still attached to his hands. It had to be someone else who slowly, methodically took each card, glanced at the marquee lights, and then turned it over to reveal animals and creatures that he had known, had touched, had cared for. It had to be someone else; because surely Remus couldn't be seeing the logo and those animals, and not feeling or saying anything.

How could he sit there so calmly? How could he not scream with anger or frustration, knowing what he knew about the carnival and the men who owned it? How could he do this to himself, forcing himself to look at each picture, to remember… There was the Clabbert; Remus could almost feel the soft, green fur and hear its pleased squeal. The jarvey had amused him with its mad, muttered imprecations. The hippogriff bowed its head solemnly and he found himself thinking of how it had liked to be scratched under its jaw…

Only one card remained. His hand shook as he flipped it over.

"Oh gods," he groaned softly. The pain in his chest returned with a vengeance.

The werewolf in the photograph threw himself at the bars. Thick spittle dangled in long strings from his teeth, and Remus could imagine the hot breath and the snarls of the furious animal.

"Mr Lupin? Are you all right?" the boy asked.

What do I say to that? How can I possibly answer that question?

Jonathan bit his lip and then asked quietly, "Do you need to get some fresh air, sir? Or do you need me to go and get someone? You don't look well."

I don't suppose I do right now. The cards slipped out of his hands and onto the table. "Give me a minute," he managed to say hoarsely, cupping a hand over his eyes.

Snape had these. He saw these. Does he realise it's me? Yes. He would never have said that to Jonathan otherwise. Bugger.

"Mr Lupin?"

Rubbing his forehead with his fingertips, he looked up at the young Ravenclaw, who was staring at the werewolf snapping at the bars.

"The werewolf—on the card—" The boy hesitated for just a moment then nervously rushed through the rest of it, glancing up, but not quite looking Remus in the eye, "—it's you, isn't it?"

Shit! Remus' hand froze. Sirius' voice whispered in his ear: "Admit nothing, Moony!"

Was there any point in trying to lie? The boy wasn't stupid. Sometimes it was just better to admit the truth and damn the consequences. Especially when coming face to face with the picture of himself — something he hadn't known existed — had twisted his psyche into knots. "How did you know?" Remus asked hoarsely.

"That you're a werewolf? Or that it's you on that card?"

Remus sighed. "I can work out how you might figure out that I'm a werewolf — starting with our talk on the top of the Astronomy Tower. But, the other —" he tilted his head to the side, inviting the boy to pick up the conversation.

Jonathan suddenly squirmed in his chair. "When we were talking, you looked familiar to me. But it wasn't until a couple days later that I remembered seeing you. Or what I thought was you. At the carnival. Your hair was longer and you had a beard, though.

"And then when you came for dinner, I heard my dad say that the Aurors had been looking for you, that you had been missing. I asked him when that was, and he said that the one Auror had been in two or three times over the summer. I was at the carnival during the second week of August. So I put it all together —" He shrugged, ending his explanation.

"Have you told anyone else?" Concern made the necessary question sound even harsher than Remus had intended.

"No!" Jonathan looked horrified that he had even suggested it.

"Not your parents or your friends?"

"My mother would have a right fit, if she knew," the Ravenclaw said. "She liked you well enough; but, you know..."

Yes, I know all too well…

In a little softer voice, but quite firmly, the boy said, "I haven't told anyone, and I'm not going to."

Remus rubbed his bottom lip with his thumb, keeping his eyes on the young wizard. Could he trust the boy? He really had no choice, did he? "Jonathan, this is just a little bigger than keeping the secret of who your best friend fancies."

"I know. I know it's important." The Ravenclaw bit his lip. "You'd have to leave, wouldn't you?"

"Yes." It was a simple answer. Too simple for the actual truth: that Dumbledore would be in for an inordinate amount of trouble for his presence; that Jonathan might suffer the jeers and taunts of the other students; that the boy might actually be avoided because of the fear of being tainted by Remus' condition…

Before Remus could formulate any other dire consequences, Jonathan said, "I guess Professor Snape knows your secret, since he made such a big deal about handing back the cards — especially the one with y— the werewolf on it."

"Yes, he knows," Remus said with a frown. "I'm sure he'll make a point of asking me if you showed them to me."

"And I'd guess the Headmaster knows…"

"Everyone on the staff knows," Remus told him. "It would be a good thing for the professors to know if there's a Dark creature in the building, don't you think?"

Jonathan's eyes lit up with curiosity. "How long have you been a werewolf?"

"Since I was a small child," Remus replied, resigned to the fact that the boy's love of magical creatures would lead to an incredible number of questions.

"But," the boy hesitated, "you said that you came here to Hogwarts."

"I did."

"So, you were a werewolf while you were here?"

"I am, as far as I know, the only werewolf to ever attend Hogwarts," Remus said.

Jonathan's eyes widened. "That's amazing."

"I was extremely fortunate."

"What did your friends think?"

"They thought it was brilliant, in point of fact. They were more supportive than I ever expected."

"Are they still?"

Remus took a deep breath. "My friends are dead. In the war against Voldemort."

The boy was instantly contrite. "I'm sorry."

"Me too."

Remus' eyes fell again on the postcard with his picture and he shuddered. "Jonathan, could you please put that — those — elsewhere?"

The Ravenclaw looked surprised, but grabbed the stack of cards and put them deep in his Arithmancy book. He gave Remus a concerned look. "Are you all right? You still look —" he stopped, not knowing how to proceed.

"It's been a bit of a shock," Remus admitted. "I've never seen those before."

"You haven't?"

"Never knew they existed, actually," Remus said, the left side of his mouth twitching in a futile attempt to smile.

"But, they were selling them at the carnival!"

The heat of anger flared through Remus' body. "I may have been there, Jonathan, but I was not in any way, shape, or form an equal partner. I was not asked if they could photograph me, and I certainly was not asked if they could sell the damned things."

"You weren't?"

Remus ground his back teeth together. "No. I was taken and kept there against my will. I was nothing but a way for the owners to make money."

There was a long moment while the boy processed that information. Finally he scowled. "But…"

The werewolf took a deep breath. "But what, Jonathan?"

"Why didn't you say something to the people coming through?"

"I had been warned not to, first of all. Second of all, if a werewolf in a silver cage asks you to help him escape, are you going to do it?"

Jonathan's mouth opened and then closed. He looked very upset.

"It's all right, Jonathan. No one else would either. It's the way things are."

The boy seemed far from comforted, but Remus sighed explosively and continued. "You told me on the top of the Astronomy Tower that your cousin was saying things to the werewolf — to me — that would have made you hex him had he said them to you. Did you once tell him to stop when he was saying them at the carnival?"

"No," the boy admitted quietly, his cheeks slightly pink with embarrassment.

"And why not?" Remus persisted. "Because you didn't know werewolves thought or felt like 'normal' people. Wasn't that what you said?"

"Yes, sir. But if I had known —"

"If you had known what?"

"If I had known it was you —"

"But, Jonathan, it was me. You just didn't know me then. It makes no difference."

The boy struggled for a way to rephrase what he was thinking. "Then, if I had known that, you know, werewolves have, er —"

"That werewolves have feelings?"

"Yes, sir."

"It still might have made no difference," Remus said. He smiled bitterly. "Humans have a sort of pack mentality, you know. If your cousin were to insist on saying rude things — to anyone — it's almost a matter of fact that you would not have stopped him. Even if you had known that my feelings were hurt."

Jonathan's voice was very soft, and sounded very young: "Were your feelings hurt much?"

"By your cousin's words?" Without waiting for an answer, Remus shook his head. "I don't remember which one your cousin was, Jonathan, much less what he said. Nearly everyone who came through said the same sort of thing, and I can't blame them. Fear makes people do and say terrible things. I learned to ignore the things that were the most hurtful, the most hateful."

"You learned — But how?" Jonathan asked. "How could you just ignore it when people are insulting you like that?"

"If you don't ignore the terrible things that people say, you begin to believe them," Remus said quietly. "I didn't want to believe that I deserved to have a silver bullet put into my head. I didn't want to believe that I was nothing but a monster. I didn't want to believe that my life was worthless. So I ignored the comments the best that I could."

"Like you told me to do in Potions," Jonathan breathed.

Remus chuckled. "More or less, though I doubt even Snape has gone so far as to recommend you be put down."

"It must have been terribly difficult for you."

"I hope you never find out," Remus said. He stood suddenly and pushed his chair in. "If you don't mind, Jonathan, I think I'd rather give this up tonight. Confession may be good for the soul, but it does also have the tendency to be a bit draining."

The boy suddenly opened his Arithmancy book and grabbed the werewolf card and held it out toward Remus. "Would you like this, sir? You can do whatever you'd like with it. I'm not quite sure I feel right in keeping it."

The werewolf looked at the card, and then shook his head. "No, Jonathan. You keep it. Maybe someday you can tell someone that you knew that werewolf and, because of him, you found out that werewolves are sometimes — human."

He started to turn, but halted and looked back at the Ravenclaw. "Actually, if you wouldn't mind, there is one of those cards that I would really like to have. I will pay you for it…"

"No, that's all right," Jonathan said quickly. "Which one?"

"Libertas," Remus replied. "The centaur."

As the boy shuffled through the cards to find the right one, he asked, "The centaur was right across from you, right? Were you two friends?"

Remus considered his answer carefully. "He might not have said as much, but yes, I believe we were."

"Is he still with the carnival?"

The card was now being extended toward Remus, and he took it with steady fingers. "No," he replied. "I helped him find freedom."

11:02 p.m.

One by one, the professors in the Staff Room said their goodnights and headed for their rooms until only two men were left. Minerva McGonagall had been the last one to leave. She had sensed the tension and the animosity emanating from both young men and was loath to leave them alone.

Severus ignored her hesitation.

Remus, however, looked up at her with a smile. At first she thought it was the candlelight that was making the blue eyes glitter, but then she realized abruptly that it was something else entirely. "Good night, Professor," he said softly.

She cast a quick glance at Snape, then back at Remus. He smiled again, and this time, it was nearly predatory. She felt a shiver go up her spine. Whatever it was between the two young men, the Gryffindor was determined to see it through.

She nodded and pulled the door shut tightly, wondering if she should ward off the room or the entire wing from whatever was going to happen.

Remus sat back and crossed his arms over his chest once McGonagall was gone. "Something happened tonight when I was tutoring Jonathan," he said, amazed at how casual he sounded.

"Was his tutoring session — educational?" Severus asked, almost offhandedly. He kept his eyes on the book he had been reading.

"It was interesting, to say the least."

Severus' lips twitched with disdain. "Considering it was Blotts, I find myself astounded."

"It seems that someone was careless enough to reveal my lycanthropy to him," Remus said, keeping his eyes fastened on the other wizard.

"How appalling," the Potions Master drawled, flipping a page in his book.

"Even more shocking was that he had a postcard with a picture of me in my wolf form on it. But you'd know all about that postcard, wouldn't you — Severus?" The blue-eyed wizard hissed the name, and for the first time since their conversation had started, Snape looked up at him.

"I know I had taken those cards from him because he was paying more attention to them than to his work in class," Severus said. "What he knows about the card with the werewolf on it — or the werewolf's identity — is of no consequence to me."

Remus laughed. "Then you won't be disappointed to know that he had already figured out that the werewolf at the carnival — the one on the bloody card — was me long before he got the cards back?"

The dark-haired man smiled tightly. "Disappointed? Why should I care?"

"I'm relieved to hear it." Remus stood and began to gather up his newspaper and pieces of parchment together, as if preparing to leave. "I thought you'd be upset that I had made such a mistake by telling him of my lycanthropy back in October."

He made certain that he was looking right at Snape when he said the name of the month. He saw the man stiffen.

"I didn't come right out and tell him, of course," Remus said with a shrug. "But we were talking about werewolves, and, well, he is a Ravenclaw…"

"His third year Defence Against the Dark Arts professor should feel honoured that Blotts remembered how to identify a werewolf in human form," Snape finally spat.

"And his Potions professor should have realised that a boy interested in magical creatures wouldn't be repulsed or disgusted by having a werewolf as a tutor," Remus snapped. "You realise that if Jonathan had reacted in some horrible way, the Headmaster would have caught as much hell as I would have — if not even more."

"The Headmaster has survived more dire threats to his position and his reputation over more significant issues and things."

"That's true," Remus acknowledged. "But it would still have been very uncomfortable for everyone until the anger and the worry and the threats surrounding my presence had been dealt with."

Severus stood, moving smoothly and with only the slightest swish of robes. "Actually, Lupin, as far as I can tell, you are the only threat to the Headmaster and this school, and I would find it highly satisfying to see you dealt with."

And before Remus could frame a suitable reply, the Potions Master strode out of the room.

I reworked this chapter at least 400 times. I'd really appreciate a review to tell me if it this version was worth the agony, sweat, and tears I put into it! (Fortunately, no blood was involved in the making of this chapter...)