Soft noises crept into Emma's consciousness. Gentle, lilting sounds that she was both familiar and unfamiliar with as her brain tried to wake itself up.

Voices. They were voices. Mum?

Emma felt incredibly warm. Her body felt heavy, but she was warm and very, very comfortable. She could tell that she was lying on something soft and plush, her head cradled in pillows that felt as though Remus himself had fluffed them. They were exactly how she liked them.

But that's not right, Emma thought to herself. Then again, if you're dead, maybe it is…

She didn't know what death was like. For all she knew, the moment she opened her eyes, everything she enjoyed would be right at her fingertips. A smile nearly crept its way onto her face, but she needed to see for herself, needed to know what the afterlife had brought to her.

Emma struggled to open her eyes, but when they finally fluttered open, her head began to pound. She crushed her eyes closed, wishing for the sudden pain to stop. It hurt terribly as if her skull was suddenly too tight.

Death shouldn't be this bloody painful, she thought. There's no way it's this painful.

With great effort, Emma forced her eyes open, trying to focus her vision through the stabbing sensation in her brain. She blinked quickly, trying to bring things into focus and understand where she was. She frowned at the metallic taste in her overly dry mouth. Everything felt dry and sore, and fuck, it hurt. Her bleary eyes finally registered that there was a tall window across from her, as she could see the top of it. Her brain was slowly starting to work faster – the window was familiar. Too, too, familiar.

When Emma tried to lift herself from the bed, she found that she couldn't as there was a heavy weight on her chest. Confused, she looked down and nearly gave a start at the mop of raven hair that sat there.

That's not mine.

She turned her head, surprised to find another set of raven hair. She tried to lift her head and saw another form at the end of her bed, this time with blonde hair.

This isn't right.

Emma turned her head the opposite direction of the raven-haired objects, ignoring the sharp scratching of her throat. She found herself fixated on a tall figure that stood near one of the windows. She wasn't sure if they were looking into the room or looking out as they were bathed in shadow, but she found herself curious.

Her gaze followed the way the figure seemed to let out a deep breath, their body moving with the movement. She watched as hands raised up to what she assumed was their face, their actions weary. And then the figure's head dropped, body sagging almost as if in defeat. The figure began to come in clearer as she stared. The person, whoever they were, jammed their hands in their pockets in a way that Emma knew that, without a doubt, everything was very, very wrong. A name came floating through her addled thoughts, and it left Emma confused.

As the name reached the tip of her tongue, the figure seemed to freeze, their head snapping back up.

"Daddy?" Emma whispered hoarsely, wincing against how grating the sound was. The figure's head turned immediately in her direction, and her heart rate had picked up so fast that it was painful. There was no way that it was possible. The mop of raven hair on her chest began to stir, and the one to her side and at the foot of her bed did as well, almost as if they realized something was happening.

But Emma was never given the opportunity to understand what was happening or who had been in bed with her. They disappeared quickly, and another figure came into her vision, but it was as blurry as everything else. She desperately wanted to look past the figure that was suddenly right there, but she couldn't.

All at once, her body was in a sitting position, and a glass was pressed to her lips, a cold liquid being forced down her throat. She choked and sputtered against the harsh burn in her throat, but before she could recover, a second and third liquid found its way into her mouth. She gagged against the taste, her eyes watering at the eerily metallic taste of the last one. Emma shuddered as cool fingers gripped her wrist, pressing on her pulse point seemingly to find the pulse that she wasn't even sure she had. There was a noise that was an equal mix exasperated and relieved, and Emma couldn't understand.

What was happening?

Emma closed her eyes tightly and was grateful the pounding in her head finally began to subside. But when she opened her eyes, panic flooded her system. Everything was wrong. Her eyes met the sharp face of Madame Pomfrey, and Emma felt herself grow cold at the thoroughly unamused expression on her face.

She fucked up. Bad.

She tried to look in the direction of where she thought the figures had gone. If Emma had Pomfrey boring holes into her skulls, she knew those figures. Persephone, Caspian, and Neville had been there, and she desperately wanted to apologize to them.

"I made them leave," Pomfrey said, her voice a lot softer than she looked. "They've been sneaking in here for the past week and a half. Someone has felt that my rules are meant to be ignored. You scared a lot of people…"

A week and a half?

Emma knew that Pomfrey said she sent the others away, but she kept her attention focused on the tall double doors. She just wanted to see the others, if only to have proof that she wasn't imagining everything. Emma heard a shuffling noise and the sound of a chair being dragged up to the bed, and her eyes clenched shut as large, shaking hands took hers.

"Oh, Merlin," Emma heard Pomfrey mutter as she shuffled away. "I told you to come back later."

Unable to get herself to look, Emma ran her thumb tentatively over the fingers that clutched her hand. Her thumb brushed over scars that she had grown familiar with, and she felt herself break. She felt her face twist from the sob that worked its way through her entire body, a low whine creeping through her clenched teeth. She wasn't sure that she could loathe herself any more than she did as she lifted her free hand to clutch at her chest. The pain she felt was unimaginable.

Strong arms were wrapped around her body in an instant, and soft kisses were placed in her hair as a body joined her in the bed. A quiet wail nearly escaped her throat at the familiar smells that invaded her senses; the scent bittersweet and painful with reminders. Her hands folded themselves into familiar fabric, clutching at the soft fabric as she was held tighter. Emma pressed the side of her face into a sturdy chest, grateful for the hand that held her head there. Guilt twisted her stomach as she felt the heartbeat underneath her cheek, beating just as hard and erratically as her own.

This was Emma's worst nightmare. She didn't want Remus to have to worry about her anymore, but yet here he was, holding her with a nervous energy that was unfamiliar to her. This wasn't what she wanted, and his pain was radiating from his entire being, and she hated herself. This was all her fault, and there was nothing she could ever do to take any of it back.

"I'm so sorry," Emma managed to squeak out through her sobs. Talking hurt so bad.

"Hush," Remus whispered through his own tears, gently rocking her in his arms in an attempt to soothe her. If Emma felt terrible, Remus was sure that he felt even worse. He wanted to say more, to tell her that everything was fine and would be okay, but that was so far from the truth. He wasn't mad at Emma, he could never be mad at her, but he was genuinely furious at himself for failing so terribly. Emma was in so much pain, and he didn't do everything that he could to help stop it. He knew that every day was going to be an even bigger struggle because a line had been crossed.

Remus had hoped in quiet desperation that he had done what he needed to help her. But he didn't. Remus had failed, and he had failed miserably. He failed himself, he failed his father, he failed his sister, but worst of all, he failed Emma. The moment Remus had taken her home for the first time, beaten and broken, but still fiercely optimistic, Remus had made a vow to make sure she remained that way. He vowed to make sure that she would stay happy and whole. He vowed that she would always be able to believe in love, in hope, and most of all, in the joys of the world.

He couldn't help the bitter thought of his own hypocrisy from wedging itself into his thoughts. After all, there had been a point he had been where she was. He understood the turmoil going through Emma's brain, could remember the worried looks of his parents – of James, of Peter, and oh, Merlin…Sirius. He remembered the way Margaret would hover in the doorway of the Hospital Wing, teetering on the edge of coming or going, but ultimately going.

It was a part of his life that Remus wanted desperately to forget, but he understood. Hell, if Dumbledore didn't show up when he did, he would have died that night. The only reason Remus bothered to hang on, to try again, was because of Emma. He had to tell her the truth, not all of it – not yet, but he would try.

Emma's crying finally began to slow as he stroked her hair. Her sobs became broken hiccoughs and ragged breathing, but she was calming down. It was then that Remus realized the curtains were drawn around the bed, and he was relieved to see them. He had felt that Emma was far too exposed, but it was too much to try to move her. She was too unstable, too far gone, too close to dying.

"I'm so tired," Emma murmured as her crying slowed. Her voice was hoarse from disuse and her tears.

"I know," Remus said softly, brushing her hair away from her face and pressing his lips to her forehead. He nearly began to weep again from the sheer relief that the warmth had returned to her body. She was no longer the eerie cold that she had been the other day, almost as if she had already been taken into death's embrace. She was alive.

He carefully leaned back against the stiff metal bars of the headboard, cradling Emma against his chest. He wiped away her tears with his thumb as her weary arms snaked around his body, fingers weakly fisting the fabric of his jacket.

"Sleep, little one." Remus closed his tired and wet eyes – he had barely slept, and the full moon was only a few days prior. He was terribly exhausted. "'I can't carry it for you, but I can carry you and it as well,'" he whispered into her hair.

Emma's breathing began to even out as she thought about what Remus had said. Her brain was still trying to catch up to the sensory overload that she was experiencing. After a few moments, she began to weakly recite the next lines. "'So up you get! Come on, Mr. Frodo dear! Same will give you a ride." And then Emma understood what Remus was trying to say. A fresh wave of tears began to burn her eyes as she trailed off, unable to finish the rest of Samwise's fierce declaration.

"'Just tell him where to go, and he'll go.'"

Emma took a deep, shuddering breath and then yawned as Remus gently rubbed her back, lulling her to sleep. Instead of being scared of the darkness, this time, it was welcome. Emma knew that she would awake at the end of it, safe and warm. She didn't know that it was what she wanted, but as she was held close, she felt incredibly loved, and she knew it was what she needed.

Remus was left to his thoughts as Emma slept on him. The cold bars of the bed against his back was uncomfortable, but he had dealt with worse. His discomfort was nothing compared to the relief that Emma was alive. Broken and scarred but alive.

The past week and a half had been a waking nightmare for him. The frantic Patronus that dropped into the living room still made him sick to his stomach when he thought about it. He was just grateful that he was still home when it arrived, and he scrambled to the fireplace to Floo into McGonagall's office. The look on her face when he stumbled into her office had been terrifying. Seeing the state Emma was in was even worse.

Remus couldn't quite figure out what part of the situation was more unnerving. He couldn't decide if it the color of Emma's skin and her blood-stained clothing or the fact Snape was hovering over her. It had taken Remus off guard as he watched Severus quickly mixing a potion where he stood. Remus had watched Severus brew potions a million times before, but this was different. He wasn't sure if Severus breathed at all as he worked furiously and quickly. And that was when Remus realized that Emma was barely breathing.

He choked back a cry as he watched, turning to McGonagall, who stood next to him with her hand held to her mouth.

"They're trying to stabilize her," McGonagall whispered shakily in explanation. She looked at Remus and took in a shuddering breath. "She…oh, Remus, if it wasn't Severus who found her. And we're trying to find another student…"

Remus was confused. Another student? Remus couldn't allow himself to think about it as he turned back to watching the situation in front of him. Whatever Severus was trying to make was completed as he had Pomfrey help hold Emma up as he tipped a green liquid down her throat. It felt like ages where all they did was watch and wait for something to happen and then Emma took in a deep breath.

"She'll live," Severus said to Pomfrey, his voice shaking in anger. "But I can't guarantee her condition won't change. I don't recommend moving her from this room."

Pomfrey nodded, letting out a sigh of relief. "Thank you, Severus. I'll contact St. Mungo's to have someone come here."

Severus nodded, gathering his things, and the moment he spotted Remus, his face twisted in a fury. He gathered his things quicker and marched over to Remus, a finger pointed accusingly at him.

"She is never allowed back into my classroom," he shouted at Remus, glaring at him for a moment before storming out of the Hospital Wing.

Remus didn't even have a chance to react, far too stunned to think rationally as he turned to McGonagall. "What did she do?"

McGonagall was quiet for a moment, nervously reaching into her robe pocket and procuring an envelope. "She…she tried to take her own life, Remus," McGonagall said, blinking back tears. She looked down at the envelope in her hand, holding it out for Remus to take. "She wrote it all down in here. I'm so sorry. I didn't see…"

Swallowing hard against the lump that had formed in his throat, Remus took the envelope from McGonagall, but couldn't get himself to look at its contents. "I need to be with her," Remus said suddenly, tucking the envelope into one of his pockets. He couldn't read it, he couldn't know.

"Let Poppy clean her up first," McGonagall said quickly, placing a hand on Remus's arm to stop him. "She…it wasn't good."

It had felt like an eternity before Remus was allowed anywhere near Emma. He felt uncomfortable in the Hospital Wing, suddenly realizing the oddly statuesque bodies lying on the other beds. He half-listened as McGonagall tried to explain the current situation of the students and the missing student in question. Emma had managed to pick the most chaotic moment to try and end her life. It was only because Caspian noticed her absence and dared to escape the common room that anyone even knew she was missing.

The moment Remus could be by Emma's side, he sprinted, pulling Emma's limp body into his arms. She was so cold, and her skin was as pale as the hospital clothing, and it made him ill.

Pomfrey gently explained to Remus what they think happened as he held Emma close. She explained that Severus had found her in the potion's classroom brewing Draught of Living Death and had hurt herself in the process. In addition to the blood loss, she had taken what would be considered a lethal dose of the potion if Severus hadn't worked quickly to make an antidote. While she was alive, there weren't any guarantees that she would wake up. They weren't sure how much damage she could have caused, but they would do their best to fix it.

"Remus, I need to contact someone at St. Mungo's," Pomfrey said gently. "Is there anyone in particular –"

"E – Elara Douglas," Remus said quickly, not allowing her to finish her sentence. "She's the only one I want here. She…she knows the situation."

It felt like ages before Elara entered the Hospital Wing, escorted by McGonagall. Madame Pomfrey met Elara at the entrance, giving her all of the information that she knew and handing her a piece of parchment. Elara was at Emma's side quickly, running all of the scans that she needed, the color draining from her face.

Remus sat in the chair next to Emma's bed, feeling hopeless. He held onto her hand, hoping to pass some of his warmth to her chilled skin.

"Remus?"

A hand touched his shoulder, and Remus looked at Elara in surprise.

"Remus, remember what we talked about?" Elara asked, looking down at the parchment in her hand.

"What we talked about?" Remus asked, not understanding what Elara was referring to.

"The potion – remember the potion?"

There was a moment where Remus could only stare at Elara, but he nodded.

"She needs it."

Remus's blood ran cold at Elara's words. "No. No, Elara, I already told you –"

"Remus, she is dying," Elara said, her eyes boring into Remus's, in the hopes he would understand. "She poisoned herself, and she has lost a lot of blood. She only reason she isn't dead right now is due to some very quick thinking, and she is trying to fight." Elara looked at the parchment in front of her. "Remus, if you do not want her to die, you have to…"

"But what if she –"

"Remus," Elara said sharply, not allowing him to continue, "there are only two choices that you have right now. Either you let her die, or you get your head out of your arse and do whatever it takes to make sure this little girl lives. And Merlin, I know you would follow her if you don't and then what? You leave your father with no one?"

"Elara…"

"Remus, you know what you need to do. All it takes is you agreeing. You're her father, and that means you're stuck making the hard decisions now."

Remus watched Emma for a moment, just to make sure that she was still breathing.

"There has to be something else," Remus said. "No. I don't agree."

Elara's face fell as she looked down at Emma. "Remus…"

"No."

"I'll do what I can," Elara said, "but Remus – don't be selfish."

The next few days had been spent in agony as Emma's condition didn't get better, but she didn't get worse either. Remus was positive he had never just watched someone just to make sure they were breathing. If he wasn't sitting and waiting, he was standing and watching, when he wasn't standing, he was pacing.

Remus angrily watched as petrified students left the Hospital Wing, passing curiously glances as they passed. A bushy-haired girl and a brown-haired boy gave pause as they passed Emma's bed but didn't say a word. He watched, half-surprised, as a small red-headed girl (a Weasley, he quickly learned), recovered from her visit into the Chamber of Secrets. He watched as Lockhart was taken off to St. Mungo's after prattling on about himself for hours on end – apparently, he could still remember himself. It was unfair that everyone got to live, got to return to their lives, and Emma was barely existing. She deserved the world, and so much more.

Only able to watch Emma, Remus found himself lost in his thoughts far more often than usual. He knew that he loved Emma more than anything, but he never realized how much he actually knew. Emma was a series of little quirks that made her the person she was, many of her characteristics carrying over from toddlerhood. In a way, it was almost like he didn't miss out on her growing up.

He knew that Emma preferred sleeping on her side, and she was very specific. If he would find Emma sleeping on her left side, she had been reading, though she often still had the book in her hand. She preferred to fall asleep on her right if she could get herself to stay up long enough. Remus knew that she liked to go to sleep with her blanket pulled up to her eyes, but have a leg kicked out from underneath the covers. She always insisted that it was for maximum warmth. He knew that eventually, that leg would creep its way back underneath the blanket, and she would curl up tightly.

Emma needed three pillows precisely – no more, no less; there was no logical explanation that she could give. As much as Emma would deny it, he knew that Boris, her teddy bear, would be hiding underneath the covers with her. She would tell him that she didn't need him to fall asleep, but Boris was always there.

Those were the first two things that he realized he could fix. He quickly conjured two more pillows to settle Emma into. He was able to Floo call Lyall and have him go to the cottage and send Emma's teddy bear. Remus had wondered why she left Boris as home, finding it odd, but she never asked for the bear. He couldn't tell his father why it was so important, but Lyall readily agreed. Remus made sure to tuck Boris just underneath the blanket, exactly how she would at home.

Emma always took her tea scalding hot, never giving it a chance to cool down or even steep. She would always complain about the flavor, adding far more sugar than necessary, and then would complain when the tea would cool. Every. Single. Time. Hot chocolate was never "hot" chocolate, but "warm" chocolate. Some days it would even become glorified chocolate milk, but she insisted that it "tasted better," and that was that. On the more unremarkable days, when Emma seemed to have a sixth sense the day would be dull, she would have coffee. She would pour in enough milk so that the coffee turned into a light brown color and then swirl exactly two spoonfuls of sugar into the cup. Emma would then stare at the cup of coffee, doubtful of its contents, and then would drink it and loudly declare that coffee was better than tea. She would then proceed to not touch a cup of coffee until the next month, despite her adamant proclamation.

Remus knew that Emma would go through books as quickly as she ate her chocolate. She would take multiple books from one of the full bookshelves and sit them in front of her and just stare. Emma would tell him it was so that she could figure out which book wanted to be read – they would "speak" to her. When a book didn't call her, she would return the pile to the bookshelves and start the cycle anew until she had finally amassed a small collection to sit and read. He knew that eventually Emma would turn on the radio or the television for background noise. On the rare occasion he would allow herself to get lost entirely in a book, she would sing along to the music or recite a television commercial word for word.

A lump hard as a rock formed in Remus's throat. Did Emma love him? Did she want to truly be family? He stared at her pale face, deep in thought, and the lump dissolved when he realized how stupid he was being. Of course, Emma loved him. Of course, she wanted a family, but she wasn't loud about it.

The way Emma loved was perfect. It was a mix of youthful joy and complete trust in the people she loved. Emma's love was quiet, and it was simple, but it was telling.

Emma's could be found in the way she would listen to him, attentive and careful to make sure she didn't miss the important details. It was the late nights with him, where she would walk into the living room with blanket dragging behind her. It was the way she would wait for silent permission to snuggle up with him on the couch as if he would ever tell her no. It was the way she would sidle up to him after breakfast while he would still be reading, placing a featherlight kiss on his cheek. She would scrunch her nose at the stubble there before bolting away. It was one of the things that she used to do when he would watch her as a child; he wondered if she knew.

His favorite thing though, he had to admit, was how Emma would sit next to him on the couch, trying to slyly read over his shoulder. He loved the smile she would give him when he would finally put his arm around her, pulling her closer so that could read with him.

As simple as Emma's love was, she shared it far and wide with everyone she cared about. She always made sure that others were okay. It was the gentle arm touches or hugs that she gave freely, trying to envelope people and share her giving spirit. It was Emma's willingness to share with the others around her. It was the way she always tried to say the right thing when people needed it, even though she needed it more. There needed to be more people like Emma, and he refused to give that up.

A week had passed, and Emma's condition never changed. She was wavering somewhere between life and death, and nothing Elara tried had worked. They were able to replenish her blood supply with a tricky combination of potions. The mixture that Emma had managed to create didn't react well with blood replenishment potions, and it took time to figure out why.

"Remus, it's the full moon tonight," Dumbledore whispered one afternoon, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. Dumbledore had returned to the castle a few days prior and made sure to visit daily to keep up to date.

"I can't leave," Remus said, unable to take his eyes away from Emma's face. Remus had scarcely slept since he had entered Hogwarts, and he was paying for it, but he didn't care. He knew his transformation would be painful, but nothing would compare to his pain if Emma died.

"You're more than welcome to use the Shack again," Dumbledore said, his voice sympathetic. "It would allow you to stay close."

Remus rubbed a hand over his face and shook his head. He watched anxiously for the subtle rise of fall of Emma's chest, just to be sure, before looking over his shoulder at Dumbledore. "I should go home," he said quietly.

"Elara will be here in an hour," Dumbledore said, consulting his pocket watch. "Stay until then and come to my office. The Floo will be available for you to use."

It was the longest hour that Remus had ever experienced. Remus's eyes darted between Elara and Emma as Emma's diagnostics were taken.

"Nothing has changed, Remus," Elara said quietly as she tucked her wand into her robes. "She's trying to fight whatever is happening in her body, but it's keeping her from pulling through."

Remus could only turn his attention back to Emma, trying to ignore how sick he felt. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Elara," Remus said quietly, opening his eyes to look at Elara, "you said it will help?"

"The potion?" Elara asked, sighing as Remus nodded. It felt like they had the same conversation every single day. "Yes, there are no guarantees, but it's better than nothing," Elara said, exhausted. In the hopes that Remus would agree, she had brought three bottles back with her from the hospital. They had been sitting in Pomfrey's office since day one and had been ready to return them to the hospital's stores. She paused for a moment before looking up at Remus with narrowed eyes. Not once did Remus ever bring the potion up himself, instead getting aggravated whenever she did. "Remus, does that mean what I think it means?"

Remus nodded, glancing over at Emma. "I can't lose her…"

Elara placed a hand on Remus's arm. "You're doing the right thing, Remus. Just, please remember this might not work."

"Just do it," Remus muttered, returning his attention to just watching Emma. He reached out to take her hand, holding it gently in his. It was the last thing he ever wanted to do, there wasn't enough research, and he was terrified.

"Remember," Elara said as she filled a cup with the potion, "this might not work. We're relying on some bizarre magic right now, but it's the only hope that we have."

"I'm hoping with the full tonight…"

"We'll see what happens after this," Elara said, sitting Emma up and tipping the potion into Emma's mouth. As Elara set Emma back down, Remus found himself growing impatient.

"Is something supposed to happen?" he asked, staring in the hopes that he would notice something.

"I'm not sure," Elara said, running her tests for the second time that day. Her face was impassive as she read down the parchment, but as she neared the end, she paused.

"What is it?" Remus asked anxiously as Elara rushed off.

Elara returned with the file that she had been keeping on Emma, flipping through the papers. A small smile crossed her face as she compared the test results from when she arrived at the test she just did. "Remus, that might have been the best decision to make," she said.

"But does she –?" Remus watched the smile on Elara's face fade, and bile rose in his throat. "That wasn't the best decision to make," Remus spat bitterly, covering his face with his hands.

"Remus, she won't be a werewolf. It's not as though you bit her," Elara said quietly, letting out an exhausted breath at Remus's low growl. "You gave her a chance, and that was what we needed."

Remus wasn't at all convinced, but with whispered promises to Emma that he would return as quickly as he could, Remus left.

Both exhausted from the full moon, Remus and Elara met in Dumbledore's office the next morning and made their way to the Hospital Wing together. Neither said a word to each other as Remus was still incredibly grumpy, and his transformation was worst it had ever been.

Elara startled, seeing Pomfrey standing at Emma's bed, which made Remus nervous. As the matron turned to them, they could see she was smiling.

"She's got color in her skin," Pomfrey said as they approached. "And she moved by herself just a little while ago." A smirk crossed Elara's face, and Remus had to concede that she was right.

It had taken a few more days for them to finally get where they were, but Remus was grateful. He was sure that he had more grey hair with how stressed he had been, but that meant nothing to him. With a sigh, Remus tried to get himself comfortable without disturbing Emma. He pressed a kiss to the top of Emma's head and closed his eyes. Remus knew that he would hear an "I told you so," from Elara later, but he couldn't find it in himself to care. Emma was alive, and that was all that mattered.