14 December, 1978—The Daily Prophet reports: The delivery of a bloodied young man to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement on Thursday has shaken Ministry employees as well as civilians. The man, now identified as Hadrian Thrush, age 28, appeared suddenly in the midst of the Department at approximately nine-thirty AM; he was initially unresponsive, but was soon Apparated to St. Mungo's Hospital after a violent fit that left one DMLE official with minor injuries.

Bartemius Crouch, the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, is adamant that this is the work of Dark Wizards, perhaps those aligned with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named: "The young man found at our doorstep bore clear signs of torture. The Dark Wizards who did this to him—and chose to release him to us—did so to send a message."

Crouch is the first Ministry official to publicly acknowledge the Death Eaters as a threat to Wizarding Britain.

The first half of December passed dismally; the skies remained gray and the news did not get any better. Reports of people maimed beyond recognition—wizards and muggles alike—had incited a fresh wave of fear in the magical community. After these incidents, paired with the response to the piece Barny had written, the Ministry soon found they had no choice but to comment.

There had been more and more hints in The Daily Prophet that Barny's words were being taken seriously. Nothing definitive, but little sentiments slipped in here and there.

"At the very least, they've stopped openly antagonizing Dumbledore," Lily murmured, scanning the paper over breakfast. She was wrapped in a ragged plaid blanket.

Lily, James, Peter, and Sirius had risen early and gathered at the kitchen table, picking at their oatmeal and listening as Lily read the articles aloud. There was a small knock at the front door.

"At least," Peter agreed, watching James rise to answer the knock.

"Perhaps this will even move the Ministry to make some inqui—"

A crash of breaking glass cut across Lily; it had come from the front hall.

Sirius, and Lily drew their wands and practically upended the table in their hurry to assist James. Peter brought up the rear, putting his ear out, straining to hear past the squeal and bang of the swinging door.

"Oh my God!" He heard Lily exclaim. Oh, no. An injury? Or worse…

Peter eased open the swinging kitchen door and peered out into the hallway. His heart dropped into his stomach.

The door was hanging wide open, framing his friends against the white morning sky, but they were heedless of the cold. At the center of the scene, Remus's arms enfolded James and Lily.

Lily's face was pressed into Remus' neck; James was chattering nonstop and kneading Remus' shoulder. Sirius, however, was set apart from the knot of bodies. His back was to them and he was leaning against the dining room doorway, face pressed into his forearm. The green glass vase that usually stood by the door was in pieces on the floor by James' feet.

Remus' eyes were closed; his face a mask of exhaustion and relief. And then his eyes opened.

"What's the matter, Peter?" he said, his voice softer and soberer than it had been in September. "Not pleased to see me?"

Peter exhaled, and his shoulders relaxed. "Get over here, you mangy mutt." He strode towards Remus and wrapped him in a tight hug; he smelled of pine needles and old sweat. His hair was even longer now and he was definitely thinner than Peter remembered, which was saying something. His clothes were thin, too—far too thin for this cold—and his new traveling cloak already sported a few frayed edges and a poorly-patched tear.

Over Remus' shoulder, Peter could see James and Lily embracing, both wiping away quiet tears of relief. Peter pulled away and studied Remus' face; Peter thought he bore more scars than before. Remus smiled tightly and turned away. They looked to Sirius, who was still hiding his face.

He must have sensed their stares, because he finally turned and passed a quivering hand over his handsome face. "You wanker." A smile broke over him and he reached out to pull Remus in for a hug. "Never disappear like that again."

"Home for Christmas," Peter smiled, patting Remus on the back.

"And the wedding, of course," James added. "I can't tell you how pleased I am that you're here." He pushed the door closed behind them, shutting out the frigid air.

Remus' yellowish gaze drank in the memory of their faces. After several long seconds, he replied. "I can't tell you how pleased I am." He reached out to touch James on the shoulder and held the thin cotton of his t-shirt between two fingers, rubbing gently. His nails were long and cracked, although his hands were clean. He closed his eyes again, seeming to revel in the feel of the material.

James shot a furtive, puzzled look at the others, who shrugged as subtly as they could. If Remus had been working to persuade new werewolf recruits to join the Order, where were those werewolves now? And what had Remus gone through to find them?

"I think I'm ready for a cup of tea, if I can trespass on your hospitality." Remus met Lily's eyes, and her smile was both sad and admonishing.

James snorted. "Shut up." He slung an arm around Remus' shoulder and led him into the kitchen. "Where are you living?"

Lily followed, leaving Sirius and Peter staring after them.

"He came back," Sirius breathed.

"He did," Peter agreed, the warmth filling his chest. "Of course he did." In retrospect, he had been quite afraid for Remus. They all had been, but only now, upon his return, did they let themselves consider the alternative.

"He looks awful."

Peter shrugged, then nodded. It was true. Silently, they filed back into the kitchen.

Lily was pouring the steaming water; Remus already had his hands wrapped gratefully around the mug, warming them. Lily was watching him, apprehension and excitement plain on her face.

"We don't want to rush you. We know you're still settling in—"

"What Lily means is," James cut in. "Where on earth have you been, mate?"

Peter lowered himself onto the bench next to Remus; gently, so as not to disrupt the delicate moment. It was evident that Remus was not interested in answering the question, although he had clearly expected it. He sipped his tea; he was probably trying to appear quietly thoughtful, but the tension in his jaw belied the frantic workings of his mind. After a few seconds, his face went slack.

"I…can't tell you."

Sirius blinked, then laughed. "That's the best you can come up with?"

"I'm not lying." He didn't sound defensive, but exhausted, like the fight had gone out of him before the bell had even sounded. "I'm serious. I really can't tell you."

"I suppose it doesn't really matter," Sirius said haughtily, crossing his arms. "We already know."

Remus pursed his lips and started hard into his mug. James and Sirius shared a frustrated look; they had been prepared to swap stories, to pour out all their doings. To be denied this chance to get the gang back together did not sit well.

"What do you know?"

James tilted his head. "We have some suspicions."

"I see."

Remus refilled his own mug from the kettle Lily had set before him and added sugar; he did not meet anyone's eye.

"Do you want to know what they are?" Peter asked, studying Remus' profile in his peripheral vision.

"I get the feeling you're about to tell me whether I want to or not, so you might as well get on with it." There was no heat in it, but Remus was not typically so blunt. The others were momentarily silenced, trading awkward looks.

"Well, look who got some bollocks," James began coolly. "Obviously it has something to do with werewolves." He leaned back into his chair and reached up to muss his hair. It was the signal that James was reclaiming his seat as the unchallenged leader. Peter hadn't seen him do that in months; he suppressed an involuntary thrill in his gut. Sirius, however, caught the action and smiled.

When Remus did not react—just leveled an unreadable gaze—James went on. "Recruiting, that kind of thing. Making allies."

"Which is very noble and brave," Lily added, shooting James a look that suggested he was going about it all wrong. "And we're very glad you're home. I suppose we just expected that you'd be bringing some people back with you."

"Perhaps Moony didn't succeed," Sirius interrupted, pulling out his pocketknife and flicking it open. "Maybe his small-talk skills didn't get him very far with werewolves." He began to clean his fingernails. James snickered.

Peter frowned. James and Sirius hadn't perpetrated this kind of tag-team humiliation on Remus since they'd been in school, and certainly never in circumstances as serious as these. As awful as it was to watch it happen to Remus, a blossom of relief darted across Peter's shoulders. He felt himself going smaller and stiller, avoiding notice in case James and Sirius decided to refocus their attentions.

"That's enough." Lily hissed. "Remus, I'm so sorr—"

"What are you more worried about, Sirius?" Remus sounded very bored of the whole business. "That I let the team down? That I didn't succeed?" He drained his tea and stood up; his eyes flashed. "Or are you more afraid that I did?"

Sirius blinked.

"Thank you for the tea, Lily. I'd best be off to meet Dumbledore." Remus stared straight at James and Sirius as he said it, as if to prove his point.

Lily followed Remus out of the kitchen, apologizing hurriedly in a hushed voice. Peter looked to James and Sirius, who were lounging; Sirius had begun carving a new work of art on the other bench.

"Goodness, being out with the wolves certainly grew Remus' backbone a bit." James gave a lazy shrug, but there was a touch of uncertainty in his voice.

They heard the front door close, and Lily stormed back into the kitchen, hair flying. "I can't believe you just treated Remus like that, after he's been gone. You're acting like children. Shame on you. You will absolutely owl him an apology today."

James hmmed noncommittally, but rolled his eyes at Sirius when Lily turned to the stove. Sirius did not share in the joke; his eyes were boring into the bench beneath him. After a moment he sprang up and addressed Peter. "I should go, too. Want to walk me home?"

Peter stared up at him. "Er. Sure."

"Don't get handsy." He winked, but it was half-hearted.

Outside, Sirius pulled on his fingerless gloves and lit a cigarette. Peter raised his eyebrows expectantly.

"Well?"

"Well, what?"

"Oh, come on, obviously you dragged me out of the warm to tell me something. What's going on?"

Sirius exhaled and shrugged. "Did Remus seem odd to you?"

If you mean thin and haunted, sure, but only because he's thinner and more haunted-looking than he used to be. "Er. Odd?"

"You know, sort of prickly. Distant."

Peter scoffed. "You're that annoyed that he stood up to you?"

"It's not that," Sirius snapped, then relented. "Okay, fine, that's part of it. But when has he ever talked to us like that? And keeping secrets? That's not Remus."

"It's not?"

"Remus hasn't kept stuff from us since fifth year. You know that. And this is serious—this is Order stuff."

"Maybe he figured he should tell Dumbledore first, seeing as he was the one who sent Remus off in the first place."

"But what if Remus abandons the Order? What if he runs off with his werewolf pals?"

"Whoa—what? Don't let James hear you saying that."

"Why do you think I'm telling you?"

It was unusual—and rather flattering—for Sirius to confide in him over James, so Peter humored Sirius for a moment. "All right. Let's say Remus decided that running with werewolves is what he prefers. How are we supposed stop him if that's the decision he makes?"

"We'd have to prove that he's allied with the werewolves."

Peter immediately saw the logical problem with this, but he waited to see what Sirius would say next.

After a moment of thought and another drag, Sirius frowned and muttered, "I suppose it would seem like Order business, considering Dumbledore made it Remus' job to get friendly with the werewolves."

"Ah ha."

"Don't be so smug. Do you want Remus to—to turn his cloak?"

"Turn his cloak? Bloody hell, Sirius, your pureblood is showing. I thought you said you never read those gothic novels in your mother's library."

Sirius pouted prettily and extinguished the cigarette. "I mean it."

"I know you do. But that's not what Remus is about. He loves us. He loves being in the group."

"He loves being in A group, maybe. After all, the werewolves are his 'people', too."

Peter's ears pricked. Sirius had not sounded this genuinely thoughtful since they had discussed Regulus.

"I don't mean he's with Voldemort, but being accepted by other werewolves might mean that much. What if—" Sirius sighed. "What if he decides he likes being a werewolf better than being a—well, one of us?"

Sirius sounded so sullen and childlike Peter could have kissed him on the forehead. Instead, he patted him solidly on the back. If Peter could not convince Sirius that Remus was as faithful as they come, he could make him forget the alternative. "Come on. I'll get us a pint; it'll clear away these weird ideas about double-crossing werewolf mates."

"It's nine-thirty in the morning."

"Has that ever stopped you?"

The chapter title comes from the composition "On Hearing the First Cuckoo in Spring," by Frederick Delius (1912).