A/N: "I dedicate this chapter to all my fantastic, awesome, loyal readers. You guys rock!

.

.

.

.

.

oOoOoOo

Thirteen-year-old Hermione Granger was in bed, warm under the heavy woolen blankets. She watched as the torchlight flickered against the walls, and listened to the silence around her. The room was very still. Even the paintings were unmoving, their occupants asleep, and Hermione was surprised by how unsettling she found this. It was late, though the exact time she couldn't say. After living through this evening not once but twice, the hours had become jumbled in her mind. Ron and Harry had fallen asleep some time ago. Straining her eyes against the darkness, she could see the gentle rise and fall of their bodies. She wasn't surprised that they could sleep after such an exhausting night. Hermione found herself envious of their dreams. The desire to sleep pulled at her like a strong current, but even with her muscles screaming and her body weak and fatigued, her mind raced on.

She traced a finger along her brow, absentmindedly feeling for where the shallow cut had been. Madam Pomfrey had healed it, of course, and while she now felt nothing under her fingertips, a phantom feeling arose from where the Whomping Willow had broken her skin.

As the distant clock tower chimed four in the morning, Hermione sat up, the blankets falling off her shoulders and allowing the coolness of the night to slip through her pajamas. She shivered. For a place of wellness and recovery, the Hospital Wing was not very comforting. The ceiling was too high or perhaps the rows of cold, metal beds too sterile, Hermione couldn't place it, but the hall always left her feeling uneasy. It was strange to think that last year, for over a month while petrified under the basilisk's gaze, this room had been her home. Which bed had been hers? Looking back, Hermione recalled nothing of being placed here amongst the other students, still and lifeless as the mandrakes aged and Harry fought Voldemort without her. She'd awoken to a blue-filled room, everyone so relieved she was alive but with a whole month of her life gone.

She climbed out of bed. Her legs were heavy and tired, and the stone floor was cold on her feet. Reaching for the fluffy bathrobe on the chair next to her, she slipped it on and tightened the belt around her waist, reveling for a small moment in the charms of the simple warming spell. Hermione then, suddenly, noted the lack of cool metal around her neck. A quick flood of panic hit her. She pulled the robe aside, her hands searching through her pajamas as she grasped for the thin, golden chain that wasn't there.

Then she remembered.

Hermione sighed, rubbing her eyes as her heart threatened to beat from her chest.

Professor Snape and the Minister of Magic had left the Hospital Wing hours earlier, one seething and the other sulking, and Dumbledore too had been about to leave when she called him over. Perhaps the decision was somewhat impulsive, but Dumbledore had not seemed surprised. He smiled softly when she held out the delicate, golden Time Turner. A strange expression was in his eyes as he nodded and said, "I quite understand, Miss Granger".

Now she felt naked without the familiar weight around her neck. It was never a heavy instrument, the Time Turner always seemed as if it were crafted out of air instead of gold and sand. Still, she was very aware that it was missing. A call left unanswered.

But it was for the best, really.

When McGonagall had given her the Time Turner at the beginning of the school year, she had seemed reluctant to hand it over, a hesitation Hermione now understood. Those first few days jumping back and forward to get to class, she had been so excited by its possibilities; all of time was open to her. Even as she read through the library's limited information on time manipulation, learning about the dangers and those who tried to change history and cheat time, it was so easy to feel above it all. After all, she wasn't trying to change the world, she just wanted to study and learn. But it didn't work that way. The weight of the Turner quickly began to pull at her as hours and days bled into one another.

Even when things went wrong, which they did often, the answer was there around your neck, just a turn away. Last night Harry had been exposed to the Turner for barely a fraction of time and how quickly he had wanted to change the past. It was a noble reason, his desire to save someone, but Harry didn't understand it like she did. It took time and experience to learn the Turner's faults—to realize the antidote had been the poison all along.

And yet, how well did she really know it? The previous night had taught Hermione just how little she understood about this sort of magic. Standing in Hagrid's hut with Ron and Harry, she had no idea another version of herself was merely feet away, a fountain of knowledge in her head that could have changed so much. Her own perception of time was now questioned. Before this year, she would have never considered her place in time and how she related to it. Before this year Hermione could have looked at her life and felt certain that it traveled a set path. A road already paved. But now she wondered if that was really true.

Hours were no longer hours, the tick of a clock hand meaningless.

No, she didn't like it. They wouldn't have been unable to save Sirius had they not used the Time Turner, and while Hermione was thankful they did, the implications and true possibilities of the instrument left a bad taste in her mouth.

Her time traveling days were over.

oOo

The sun had risen over an hour ago, but as the moon still hung in the air alongside it, the wolf slept on.

It had been a good night. Everything was lush and alive with spring, the ground wet and warm, the trees in early leaf, and the wolf, finally unhindered after so many years, was able to run. With the vast forest completely open to him, the moonlight and the night air thick is his lungs, he ran and ran. He came across others in the night; some he chased hungrily, his mouth easily cutting though their flesh when he caught them; others he chased merely for the chance to run, snapping playfully at the heels of unicorns as they vanished into morning mist.

But time moved forward, the moon slid closer to the horizon, and the wolf was awoken by the first pains of the transformation. It was an unbearable compression. His muscles were squeezed, bones locked together as his very cells were rewritten and his body began to shrink. The wolf fought and wrestled against the pain, but, caged within his own body, there was nowhere to run. His mind began to shift, the wolf's consciousness pushed to the side as another mind called out desperately from the depths, fighting for control. A roar, throaty and violent, tore out of him.

A long moment later, Remus Lupin lay panting in the dirt.

He rolled onto his back, his muscles screaming in protest. He opened his eyes, and his vision shifted, becoming clearer as he looked up at the canopy overhead. Morning light escaped between the branches like lace, shining down upon him, but Remus hardly noticed. His lungs ached with ragged breath, and he closed his eyes again. Licking dry lips, he tasted copper. He brought a shaky hand to his mouth to find it was caked with dried blood. He looked down, and Remus saw his naked chest was awashed in burgundy.

The panic rose.

Struggling against the pain, Remus managed to sit up and look around. He was in a low clearing somewhere in the Forbidden Forrest, surrounded by tall trees. The soft drip of water falling off branches met his ears, the echo of a summer shower. Remus rubbed his eyes, his heart hammering in his chest.

He couldn't remember anything.

Stretching his mind, Remus grasped for even the smallest of memories, any clue to what had happened within the last several hours, but there was absolutely nothing. Even the wolf, which had been in his very head just a moment earlier, seemed a fleeting memory. His muscles were tired from running and his stomach full from feasting, though what Remus had chased and eaten he couldn't say. Just the leftover taste of meat made him feel sick. Remus tried to spit out the blood, but found his mouth was too dry. He closed his eyes and ran his hands through his hair.

"You killed only animals."

Her voice rang clearly through the wood, and his eyes shot open at the sound. Remus turned. On the edge of the clearing, sitting upon a moss-covered log, was Hermione. Her midnight blue robes were wrapped tightly around her and dew was trapped in her curls. She watched him, and for a moment Remus couldn't look away. She seemed almost ethereal sitting there like that, a morning illusion. While next to her, in a neat pile, were his clothes that had been torn the night before, mended and whole. He wiped the sweat from his forehead.

"You… you followed me?" he asked. "I was unsafe—wild—"

"You stayed deep in the forest, hunting deer mostly."

"But—"

Remus moved to stand, but his legs were still uncertain of this new form and his knees buckled. Seeing his struggle, Hermione rushed over. She pulled out a handful of small bottles from an inside pocket of her robe.

"I have pain tonics, do you want them?"

"What happened? I—I can't remember!"

Hermione lifted one of the potion bottles to his mouth. The pain tonic was sweet, but it turned to gravel in his stomach. Remus coughed. She pulled out a second bottle, but he pushed her away. How could Hermione have followed him? The idea that anyone had been in these woods aside from himself left Remus feeling ill. But why hadn't he taken the wolfsbane? A glimmer of a memory flickered in the darkness of his mind. He remembered standing at his desk, the sun setting as night fell and filled his office with shadows. The tattered, yet familiar parchment. The Marauder's Map.

Peter.

Remus put his hand on her shoulder as the evening began to stretch and build in his mind, the memories resurfacing. He remembered running along the grounds and the groan of the Whomping Willow. The Shrieking Shack and the smell of dust. He rubbed his brow, trepidation filling him as he remembered the haunting look in Sirius' eyes and the twisting form of Peter as he transformed from the rat in Ron's arms.

"But no—no we'd left the Shack!" He fumbled for words as Hermione handed him his clothes. "We had him in chains, we were taking them up to the castle. And… and then…"

Then moonlight and darkness; he couldn't remember.

Shaking, Remus fastened his belt. He ran his hands through his hair, desperate for any sliver of memory after the transformation began. But the hours were lost to him. A soft breeze cut across the clearing, the trees swaying and the leaves rushing, but they gave him no answer. Remus looked down at his blood washed chest and turned back to Hermione. He reached out and took the shirt from her.

The potions were beginning to take their effect, and Remus found his strength growing and in abundance. It had been a very long time since he had fully transformed without the wolfsbane. It was a strange tradeoff; while the wolfsbane left him his mind, it took from him his body and strength, leaving him exhausted for days afterwards. But now, even as he felt so lost and disoriented, a whole evening of his life a mystery, Remus found physical strength where he wasn't used. He turned to her.

"Hermione, what's happened?"

"Please, sit down. You aren't well yet."

He brushed her off, his strength only growing.

"Where's Peter?"

Hermione didn't answer. She stood very straight, Remus noticed, a strict, unnatural posture. And while he saw concern in her eyes, the expression she wore every morning after his transformation, there was something else there too.

"Tell me."

"Dumbledore wants to see you—"

"No," he stepped closer to her. "What happened to Peter?"

Her eyes held upon him, and in their depth Remus recognized the look of pity. It was a look he'd received so many times before, but on her it was strange. Foreign.

"What happened?"

"Peter is… gone."

"Gone?" Remus frowned. "What do you mean gone—?"

"He escaped custody."

"How?"

"It was during the confusion around your transformation," she answered. "Sirius kept you away from us, but Peter managed to get away."

His blood ran cold at her words. Remus turned, his eyes flitting around the empty wood as repeated it all to himself. He swallowed.

"A—and Sirius?"

"He's gone, too. He managed to escape—"

"Escape? But Dumbledore—"

"Remus—"

"No, Dumbledore would surely—"

"Remus," she interrupted. "It's much more complicated than that."

She took a deep breath and then slowly began to explain.

Hermione and the others had been crossing the grounds when Remus' transformation took over. They tried to run, but both Peter and Ron were still chained to Remus. And while Sirius was able to keep Remus away from the others, Peter managed to get ahold of a wand and transform. In the chaos a rat was easily lost and soon the dementors were upon them. "I only found out later from Harry what happened," she said. "I had passed out under the dementors influence by that point." Remus listened in horror as she told him of the dementors reaction to perform the deadly kiss on not only Sirius, but Harry as well.

"Is Harry all right?"

"Yes, he's fine, Sirius too, but he was captured and brought to Hogwarts."

Remus ran his hands through his hair. He'd been transforming monthly for almost thirty years now. And, aside from his years in school with the marauders, he had never had an unrestrained full moon like that before. How could he have forgotten the wolfsbane? If what she said was true, the repercussions of his actions…

Remus took a deep breath, forcing himself to stand straighter.

"You—you said Sirius escaped?" He asked. "How did they get away from the dementors?"

She had awoken in the hospital with everything in chaos, Hermione explained. Snape was there, along with Dumbledore and the Minister of Magic. The dementors had been called to perform the kiss on Sirius. And while Hermione and the others were outraged and tried to explain all that had happened, nobody aside from Dumbledore believed them.

Hermione then paused, her lips pursed once again in thought, and Remus was suddenly aware she was holding back. He turned to her, noting she stood a step back, her reluctance to continue physically taking over.

"Go on," he urged.

"It was Dumbledore's idea to used the time-turner."

Ron was still recovering from his broken arm, so it had been Harry and Hermione who'd gone back. A few turns sent them to the beginning of the evening; they saved Buckbeak from the executioners; watched as their earlier selves pulled were pulled under the Whomping Willow; and once again witnessed Remus' transformation. And with her description of Sirius fleeing off into the night and their dash back to the hospital wing, her story finally returned home and left them where they were.

For long minutes, the only sound around them the rustling of leaves in the summer wind and a lone birdsong. Remus rubbed his mouth, repeating over in his mind all that she had said. His stomach twisted.

Peter escaped.

Sirius captured and almost destroyed.

They'd been so close to Hogwarts. Within those walls, Peter's sentence would mean Sirius' innocence. Years of ignorance and hatred, half a lifetime of damage, would have been reversed. But, no. Remus had destroyed that opportunity, and the reality soured his stomach. Sirius was on the run again, and Peter, who had ruined everything, had escaped.

All because Remus had forgotten that he was a monster.

He rubbed his eyes as wave after wave of guilt began to rush over him. He looked down at his partially buttoned shirt, his chest mangled and bloody. Desperately, Remus began to fasten the buttons. His hands shook.

Hermione stepped closer, gently guiding his fingers aside and taking over the task. Remus breathed heavily, and closed his eyes as the emotions overtook him. He could feel her fingers as they moved gently against his chest, and her smell filled his nose. An instantaneous, involuntary relief filled him in her presence. Looking down at the top of her head as she worked, he wanted to reach out and pull Hermione into his arms. To hold her, to have her help with the weight that was pressing down on him, the eagerness was almost overpowering. However, as Remus gently touched her side, feeling her warmth, his mind turned. He pulled his hand away and took a step back.

She looked up and met his gaze. Remus inspected her face, the soft curve of her jaw, the pale pinkness of her lips, and then the warm depth of her eyes. The dark brown pools, now filled with pity and sadness, were the same eyes from the night before, the same eyes that had witnessed Peter's confession. She had been there that night, too. She had seen everything. She had seen more. Remus took another deep breath. So much had changed in the course of one long night. But no, it hadn't just been one, long night, he told himself. It had been months in the making. Years even.

"You knew this would happen?" he asked. "All along?"

Her eyes did not move from his and her expression did not change, but her answer, which he had known before he had even asked, washed over him like cold water, seeping through to his core.

"I knew."

Remus breathed in. He turned and strode across the clearing, her words ringing in his ears. I knew. Within himself, something was growing. His heart was beginning to race. He turned back to her. Part of him expecting her to answer, to fight or protest or something, but she remained silent. She did not move. She barely reacted. The only change he could see was that the pity was growing, sadness lacing into her expression. It made her look so strangely innocent. A surge of anger flooded him.

"You had no right to keep this from me!" he walked back to her. "You know all about me, don't you—my future? I understand that. But my past?" Remus spat the word out. "You had no right to that!"

Hermione, again, said nothing, but Remus didn't care. What did he expect from her anyway? Like those times he had been mad at her before, every time he felt betrayed by her secrets, she remained silent, protected by her rules. It was too much.

Remus began to pace, his hands on the back of his neck. He thought of all those months together, all those months when she had known. How could he have been so foolish! How much comfort had he found in her arms when she concealed the facts that would have eased a lifetime of heartache? He ran his hands through his hair, pulling at the strands as anger coursed through him. If only they had killed Peter or he had remembered his potion—but, no. No, this wasn't his fault. Not his alone.

"This whole time you have been here, with me," he shouted. "All these weeks and months, you… you could have been useful! You could have—"

Remus stopped. His stomach twisted as the pieces clicked into place.

"That's it, isn't it?" he said. "That's the reason you couldn't take the Time Turner at the start of the year—you needed it for last night."

Silence, and then Hermione nodded.

Remus shook his head, unable to help himself from laughing at her boldness. He glanced back at her, suddenly aware how clearly he could see her now. Even a few moments ago when Hermione had explained the rest of that evening to him, she had spoken as an official would in retelling the scene. Detached. After everything that had happened, she was still keeping herself from him. He stepped closer.

"You talk about rules, but last night you broke them— you went back and saved Sirius!"

She nodded, "Yes, but that was under very special circumstances—"

"No! That's not good enough!" He pointed at her, his hand shaking. "Don't try to be innocent. What of Peter?! He killed them! He handed them over like they were nothing and turned Sirius into a traitor! Go back! Fix it!"

"Remus," the pity was so thick upon her voice, "You know I can't do that."

God, how could she have kept this from him? The clearing suddenly seemed too small, as if the trees were slowly creeping up on them. Remus tried to breathe, but the air was tight in his lungs. Shaking his head, he stepped towards her.

"What else is there?" he asked, his voice shaking. "This was only one night, but there are still years to go—"

"Remus—"

"Ten years," he looked at her. "You know where Peter is now or where he will be—

"Remus—"

"Tell me!"

But she didn't. Remus was almost boiling with anger, but Hermione said nothing else. Tears were welled in her eyes as she watched him, but she was no longer giving the excuses. And her silence told Remus enough; her job here was done and so Hermione was done with him.

He looked up at the canopy overhead, his vision hazing as the first tears stung his eyes. Exhaustion pulled at him, and the terrible weight settled further into his shoulders. Sirius was innocent, the man he'd hated for so long a victim in all of this, while Peter, the martyr, the smallest and quietest of them all, had been the monster all along. One night and everything had changed.

Remus stepped closer, his exhaustion finally too much, and fell to his knees at her feet. Everything Hermione had told him and everything she had concealed from him swam before his eyes. He hated the secrecy and the lies, but he couldn't help himself as he slowly reached up, his fingers gently grasping the edge of her robe. The midnight blue fabric was very soft. He let it go and brought his hands to his face.

"Why are you even here?"

Remus looked up at her. Tears were upon her cheeks, but again she didn't answer. He lowered his chin, looking back down at his hands. His mind traveled back to the tears Hermione had shed before. Tears had painted her face as he told her he loved her, and in response she had pulled her wand on him. Now he found himself longing for that night and that memory charm she didn't have the courage to do. Remus wiped his eyes. No, he had to push that thought aside. He knew he couldn't live in the dark anymore. After all that had happened in the last 24 hours, he needed to remember.

He needed to remember everything.

Finally, she spoke, "Dumbledore wants to see you."

oOo

Remus left Hermione in the clearing. He walked through the woods, his limbs heavy and his mind unfocused. Coming to the edge of the Forbidden Forrest, he continued on towards the large castle in the distance. He kept his head down as he passed by the Whomping Willow and where Peter had escaped. Nor did he look up as he passed the lake, where Sirius and Harry had almost died.

Soon he was at the castle and outside the large wooden doors. From the entryway, he could hear the sounds of students and chatter drifting from the Great Hall from breakfast, but he continued past. He followed the halls blindly, and as he came to the griffon statue, he recited the password and followed the revolving staircase it concealed. Reaching the door to the headmaster's office, he knocked and then let himself in.

Dumbledore sat at his desk, his chair pulled to the side as he looked out one of the large windows. The room was brightly lit, and the gentle hum of voices filled the air as the many headmaster portraits chatted with one another. Dumbledore didn't say anything as Remus entered, and didn't even look up until Remus had taken one of the seats in front of him. Meeting his gaze, he saw that the old man seemed just as tired as he was, and Remus suspected he had been up all night as well.

"Sir, I must apologize," Remus started, his voice raspy, "When I took this position I agreed to take certain cares when it came to dealing with my lycanthropy. With regards to last night, I—I have no excuse, but still, I must apologize."

The headmaster nodded and then sighed, "I assume Miss Granger explained all that has happened?"

"Yes," Remus answered. All it took was her name for that sharp pain of regret to grow. "You talked to her also?"

For a long moment, Dumbledore didn't answer. The old wizard sat, unmoving in his large chair, his attention on the world outside the large windows. Then he nodded. Remus ran his hand through his hair and looked around the room again, his agitation prickled by the silence. The last time he had been in that office Hermione had sat beside him, explaining the strange accident that had brought her here. That rainy, summer evening seemed like a lifetime away.

"How could she have known," started Remus, his own anger getting the better of him, "and not told us."

Dumbledore sighed. "Remus…"

"This entire time she knew!

"Miss Granger wasn't allowed to tell us,"

"But there must be a line," Remus said, his voice rising as his hands gripped the side of the Headmaster's desk. "This was an innocent man's life! She could have exposed Peter—he was right here under us!"

"Yet out of our grasp," Albus turned back to him. "Please listen to me; she had no choice!"

The headmaster sighed. Closing his eyes, he leaned back into his seat and stroking his beard in thought. Remus watched the older man for a moment, the sun reflecting in the familiar half-moon glasses. Yet, the silence was not contagious and Remus found himself unable to remain mute.

"Didn't you suspect that Sirius was somehow innocent?" he asked as Dumbledore opened his eyes."We should have never let him go to jail without a trial. I—I should have gone to Azkaban, demanded the truth—God, why didn't he say anything!"

"Because Sirius felt he was guilty," Dumbledore said, leaning forward to face Remus again.

"Technically, because of his decision to use Peter as the secret keeper, Voldemort was able to find Lily and James that night. And while we may find it hard to blame him for that decision, Sirius found it very easy to do so," Dumbledore's sparkling, blue eyes seemed duller than usual. "Like you, I always had my suspicions. Sirius' convicted involvement with Voldemort and his betrayal had never quite fit with me either. I went to Azkaban, multiple times, to see him, but he always refused to meet with me.

"My heart breaks for Sirius and his sufferings, but the man I talked to last night—who explained not only the events in the Shrieking Shack, but those of the night twelve years ago—I feel an error is being mended. The truth will come out eventually. You must trust the future, Remus."

"How could I possibly do that now, Albus?" he answered, defeated. "After everything that has happened? After how blind I've been and how much she knew—how much she still knows— how could I possibly have any faith in what happens next?"

"Because, Remus, without that faith, we have already lost the war."

Remus frowned and looked up at the strange choice of words, but Albus was already waving him off.

"I'm sorry, please ignore me," he said, looking out to the windows again. "As for Hermione? She did her duty, nothing more, nothing less. Something I hope you are still capable of?"

The tone in his voice told Remus the discussion was over. Like the dutiful soldier, he stood. "Is that all?"

"There is much we have left to discus, but it will have to be at a later date. I'm afraid I have more bad news," another dark look crossed the headmaster's face. "It seems that at breakfast this morning, against my strongest commands, Severus told his students of your lycanthropy… I am sorry, Remus."

While he saw true remorse in the old man's eyes, Remus couldn't help chuckling to himself. With everything that had happened he had forgotten. He wasn't surprised; after all, he had been warned: "The curse on the position is true then—this will be my first and last year?" It was the one thing she had let slip.

Remus returned to the rotating stair. The day was beginning to grow warm. The windows were open and the air off the forest was fragrant. He passed students lounging on benches and chatting under stone archways, their eyes following him. Yes, they all knew by now. Out of dozen faces Remus passed, not a single smile was directed his way. Students he had taught for months, young minds he had respected, now pointed and whispered. Some had fear clearly written on their faces, others looks of disgust. Part of him wanted to walk faster and escape their gaze, but Remus forced himself to maintain his pace. Somehow, even after all that had happened, some sliver of pride still existed within himself.

Finally he was at the familiar wooden door that led to his office. He paused, and then pushed it open.

The room was bright with afternoon sunlight. The leaded glass windows were thrown open, the curtains moving in the wind, the heavy velvet finally breaking free of the confines of winter as they shifted. A trunk sat beside his desk. Within it, Remus saw a tumble of familiar clothes, the maroon sweater that was too big for her, the grey one that was so soft under his hands. They were packed and ready to return with the house elves to Hogwarts' lost and found. As always, a fire crackled in the hearth, the orange glow falling across his office, but now it ate away at a heavy mound of scrolls and parchment. All of the work she had done, the miscellanies writing and all her notes she had taken over the last ten months, burning away. Evidence of her time here vanishing into ash. He closed the door behind him.

Hermione stood at the bay window looking out over the distant mountains, just as she had done so many times before. Her hair danced in the wind as her midnight blue traveling cloak swayed and sighed against her. Remus stepped forward, and Hermione turned around to face him. On her chest, sparkling in the light, was the Time Turner.

Looking at her now, it was as if no time had passed, as if they were still in that lone ministry corridor, or standing, wands brandished, in an empty elevator. She was dressed in the same clothes as that day, the same robe and sensible heels. Still as lovely, and still a complete mystery to him.

Even after Dumbledore's insistence that Hermione had done the right thing, and even with his own understanding of the rules of time travel, Remus couldn't help the anger he felt upon looking at her. She had once called herself a mirage, a title he now found quite fitting, and now it seemed so strange that he had placed so much trust in someone who didn't exist. Hermione had infected this time and Remus was the one left ill by it.

"I wish you had never come here."

Her expression didn't change at his confession, and Remus found that he didn't even care. She let the moment hang between them, then reached up and clasped the Time Turner.

"So do I."

And then she was gone.

oOo End of Part I oOo

.

.

.

.

.

A/N: "Please continue onto chapter 26 for part II. In the early stages of writing this story, I soon realized that I couldn't just end it after this year—I couldn't just flash forward to the future and give you a cliché time-travel reunion scene. Remus goes through so much and, really, their relationship was so unhealthy, it's the only way it could end. Again, I cannot thank my readers enough for all the support so far. THANK YOU! " -E