In the early days of being in Grimmauld Place, the whitewashed walls of Saint Mungo's felt like a respite from the dreary interior. She had been living in London for two weeks, had spent far too much time in her room in Grimmauld than could be considered healthy, and tried to avoid everyone as much as possible. When it was just the Lupin-Blacks trying to readjust to their new lives, it felt manageable. With far too many Weasleys plus Hermione, it was too much for Emma to deal with.

Emma looked forward to seeing Dr. Wheeler more than once a week just to get out of Grimmauld. But therapy was starting to be too much, as well. Even Saint Mungo's seemed to haunt her very existence.

"Emma, are you with me?"

Emma turned her head to Dr. Wheeler with wide eyes. She tried to keep herself from fixating on the incessant noise of the ticking clock, but it tick tick ticked loudly in the background. It caught her attention just like the first time she set foot in the borrowed office. Just like a dog, Emma could practically feel her ears begging to twist and turn to listen to the noise. She had to suppress the urge to snort as the thought crossed her mind. Depending on who was asked, they would say she might as well be a dog. Oh, what a life she lived.

Tick tick tick.

Emma tried to force herself to return to the present. She stared down at her fingers, frowning slightly at how pale they were. All of her was pale anymore.

Unlike her second year, she experienced a slow and steady decline in her appearance. Her skin was once again dull, her hair limp and falling loosely around her face instead of in her wild waves. She was thin, but not disturbingly so. Nearly everyone pulled their weight in making sure that she was eating every so often, normally tricking her into doing so. Justin had discovered back in May that if he handed her a snack while she was reading, she was likely to be too distracted to realize she was eating. The moment it was discovered, everyone knew about it. Since Emma was nearly always reading to keep her mind focused elsewhere. Unfortunately for her, it worked far too well.

Tick tick tick tick tick…

"Emma?"

"Yes," Emma finally said, clearing her throat and shifting herself on her chair to try and get comfortable. At Dr. Wheeler's insistence that it would be perfectly okay, Emma attempted to transfigure the hardbacked chair into a squashy armchair. She had only half-succeeded in her distraction. While the chair looked soft, the cushions were hard as rocks, but Emma didn't want to let on that she had failed miserably. Wanting to put on an air of being calm and collected, Emma tugged one of her legs up and hugged her knee to her chest. "Did you ask me something?"

"I asked you what you are afraid of," Dr. Wheeler replied, tapping her pen on her knee. Even though Emma had spent a lot of time with the woman, she still had trouble deciphering the expressions on her face. She had taken Dr. Wheeler's almost puckered-up face to mean that she was silently disappointed in her. The woman would never express her disappointment and often did well hiding her faces, but after so long together, they were comfortable with each other.

"What do you mean?" Emma asked, trying to put off answering the question. How could she eloquently say nothing and everything? Would that raise more red flags than had already been brought up before?

Emma had made the mistake of mentioning that she had been avoiding mirrors. If she passed by one of the ornate mirrors in one of the hallways at Grimmauld, she had taken to running past it. While at school, she sometimes took the long way to classes to avoid the hallways that held mirrors on the stone walls. The only time she looked in the mirror was for a brief moment before leaving the bathroom to be sure she looked somewhat presentable. She couldn't stand seeing the haunted look in her eyes, the way she couldn't recognize herself in the mirror anymore.

Her aversion to mirrors had sparked an hour-long conversation that Emma wanted desperately to get out of several sessions back. Apparently, it was an issue, but Emma couldn't entirely see why. Was it so wrong for her to not look at herself?

"Exactly that," Dr. Wheeler said, setting the papers on her lap to the side and leaning on the armrest. "What is it you're afraid of? And no, I'm not letting you get out of answering this time."

Emma scrunched up her nose, crossed her arms over her chest, and turned her head to try and find something else to look at. The room was far too barren to find something to catch her attention. The walls too clean, the pattern of the floor tiles too predictable, the ceiling too…ceiling-y. There was nothing on the shelves behind the desk and only a single painting that wasn't there the first time Emma set foot in the room a few years prior. She was sorely tempted to get up one day and read the small plaque underneath it but never bothered. There was never anything in the painting other than an ornate backdrop and a single chair with no one in it. It was the strangest thing Emma had ever seen, especially when all paintings were exceptionally nosy. Why would this one be any different?

Trying to answer Dr. Wheeler's question seemed complicated the more Emma tried to think about it. There was no definitive answer; at least she didn't believe so. It was a collective and convoluted answer with multiple layers that Emma didn't even want to wade through.

There was the complicated situation of Jude's confession of killing her mother and Persephone's contribution. She had to live with the memory of exactly what happened the night she left the Moon's; the new deal she had made with Fenrir and the still tender bite on her shoulder. Her thoughts frequently went to Elara's trial and subsequent execution, and that haunted Emma's nightmares. And then, of course, the worst of all – the still stunning and painful loss of Cedric.

If Emma dug deeper, she could dare to mention that she worried about losing both Remus and Sirius more than she ever had in her life. The resurgence of the Order of the Phoenix meant that Dumbledore was preparing for the worst. Emma could hardly keep track of everyone that passed through the doors of Grimmauld Place. She had to resist the urge to throw tantrums when she wasn't allowed in yet another meeting and be forced to wait and see if Sirius would tell her anything.

Emma didn't even want to get started on how Molly Weasley treated her daily. The woman tried to boss her around, telling her what to do in her own home as if she was the sole owner of Grimmauld. Sure, Grimmauld was dirty and needed cleaning, but did Molly have to wake her up at the crack of dawn and try to cajole her into joining her children in cleaning? That's what Kreacher was for, even if he did an awful job of doing it or most likely did nothing at all.

Really, other than Arthur, Emma tried to avoid all of the Weasleys. Things with George had never improved; Ginny was too busy wandering and getting into things, Fred was always with George, and Ron constantly fought with Hermione. Remus tried to tell her that things would get better, but she didn't believe it.

Hermione was a different story entirely, and every time Emma saw her, she immediately went in the opposite direction. Emma refused to spend more time with Hermione than was deemed necessary. Having to live in a house with Hermione – her home, no less – felt like punishment for every wrong thing she had ever done in her life.

Emma felt as though she had no time to truly process anything that had happened, and trying to confront herself in therapy just wasn't working anymore. In the beginning, therapy had been helpful, but Emma couldn't help but feel it had run its course once more. She usually left her sessions feeling worse than when she started.

"Myself," Emma finally volunteered, shifting anxiously in her chair once more and looking over at Dr. Wheeler. "I'm afraid of myself."

"You're afraid of yourself? How so?"

Emma hesitated for a moment, face twisting in thought. "Do you know what a Boggart is?"

"I do. We've discussed yours a few times before."

Emma frowned, rubbing her tired eyes. She suppressed the urge to yawn, not wanting to divulge just how exhausted she was. She had spent half the morning hiding in her room crying. It was almost pathetic that she wasn't even sure what she was crying over anymore. Emma's belly threatened to fill itself with nervous butterflies when she realized that she didn't bother to check if her eyes were bloodshot or not before leaving Grimmauld. Her eyes were always rimmed with red and surrounded by purplish circles from her lack of proper sleep. She had given up on trying to use makeup to hide how she actually looked. No amount of magic could be worked to hide just how rough she looked anymore.

"Then I suppose I should change my answer to say I'm afraid of Soleil, so, therefore, I am afraid of myself."

In the first few days of residing in Grimmauld, Emma was forced to confront herself in a way that she didn't expect. The home had picked up many creatures – doxies that lived in curtains, enchanted dark objects that seemed particularly haunted. There was a banshee that Remus quickly took care of out of frustration. He was startled by its appearance, too distracted by Emma's tears over something invisible touching and scaring her as she walked by. It shouldn't have been too much of a surprise when Emma found herself face to face with one of the home's many Boggarts.

It was unfortunate that Grimmauld was mostly lit from the outside in the middle of the night. There was no point in taking the time to light the lanterns and Kreacher, who absolutely despised her, was of no use. She had made the mistake of trying to ask Kreacher to do something for her only for the house-elf to interpret her instructions in a less than savory way. Emma shuddered at the thought – she would never make that mistake again.

The tall windows cast eerie shadows along the walls, just barely bright enough for Emma to see. She had woken up in the middle of the night, a few nights before the full moon, and stepped out into the hallway to head to the toilet down the corridor.

Emma had walked out with her eyes half-open, far too tired to open them fully. She was perfectly content to walk down the hallway with her hand brushing the wall to guide her to the exact door she needed. All she had to do was run her fingers along the wall across from her room, trail them past the two doors she was set to pass, and the third door would be the bathroom. She was prepared to do exactly that until a deep, guttural growl forced her eyes to snap open.

In front of her, lit up by the silvery waxing moon hovering high in the sky, was a small and skinny tawny-colored wolf. It stood a few feet in front of her, head low and teeth bared as it growled at her. Emma stood frozen, taking in the wolf's posture, its pushed-back ears and hackles raised, ready to strike. All it took was one snap of the wolf's jaws to send Emma running with a shriek that woke up the entire house. In her infinite wisdom, she had left her wand back in her room. She would never have expected a creature like a wolf to find its way into Grimmauld.

Remus was always quickest to respond to Emma's terrified screams. He had become accustomed to waking Emma up from her nightmares, so when Emma heard the slamming of feet down the stairs, she felt safe. Of course, her safety also depended on her staying upright.

The threadbare carpet that lined the hallways was one of the worst tripping hazards Emma had experienced. Her toes caught on a rip in the carpet, and she went careening forward. She flung her hands out in front of her, and the moment she landed on the ground, Emma flipped herself onto her bottom and crawled backward. To her surprise, the wolf stopped where it was and didn't surge forward like Emma thought it would. She looked over the wolf's head when she heard Remus's footsteps slow, and with a soft hissing noise, the hallway was bathed in light.

"Oh, sweetheart," Remus breathed out, hand pressed to his chest. His lips pressed into a thin line as he looked between the wolf standing between himself and Emma. He looked as though he wanted to say something but kept stopping himself.

A loud bark drew Emma's attention back to the wolf in front of her. With the hallway lit up further, she was able to take a better look at the wolf. Emma gasped when she finally forced herself to look at the wolf's eyes and realized that she was looking at herself. Even worse, Emma could see just how similar the wolf looked to Remus as Moony. White fur ran across the wolf's face in the same pattern as her scars. A crescent moon-shaped patch of fur rested along the wolf's left shoulder and right front leg. Even worse, white lines ran across the wolf's front left leg. How did she not realize what she was looking at?

Remus sighed, stepping closer to the Boggart. The wolf's head whipped around to stare at Remus before swiftly turning into the approaching full moon. Remus gave a lazy wave of his wand with a softly spoken "Riddikulus," which sent the Boggart into a puff of smoke.

"It was just a Boggart," Remus managed to say, crossing the space between them. He dropped down onto his knees and bent low to Emma into his arms to hold her close like when she was younger. Emma very slowly wrapped her arms around Remus's neck but couldn't stop staring at the spot where the wolf had just been. Of all the things Emma expected to be scared of, she never expected it to be herself. Then again, most of her worst nightmares had already come true – what else was left for a Boggart to prey on?

"Have you ever seen Soleil before then?" Dr. Wheeler asked, pulling Emma back into her retelling of the night.

"No, never," Emma replied. "I knew that she existed because, well, she's in my head 24/7, but until that night, I never knew what she looked like."

"And what did you think? Did it make you more anxious over the idea of transforming?"

Emma huffed out a breath, focusing on the bookshelf behind Dr. Wheeler. She could imagine books on the shelves, and she wondered if she could somehow conjure a fake set of books to display just for decoration. Emma could hear the answer sitting on the tip of her tongue, but she shrugged. She didn't want to admit that Fenrir was right – Soleil was beautiful.

"I don't know," Emma admitted. "On one hand, I got to see what I would look like, but on the other, it also means I know what I look like. That's not a luxury afforded to werewolves. I mean, there's always the chance that it'll never happen, but…."

"Because they don't see Boggarts?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, do they not affect werewolves in the same way as you or I?"

Once again, Emma was left stumped. Was it because werewolves weren't running into Boggarts? Or was it because most werewolves were so out of touch with their human side that all that was left was their animalistic nature? Emma supposed that most werewolves had other things to fear, but she wasn't sure. After all, animals had fears, but those were for other, bigger, and more dangerous things. Why would they be afraid of themselves like she was? And the idea that a werewolf wouldn't be bothered by a Boggart seemed silly, but she still wasn't sure. The question presented to her was the kind she would have to ask Remus in a hypothetical situation.

Emma couldn't stop herself from wondering what Fenrir's Boggart would be.

"I'm not sure," Emma replied after mulling it over for a while. "I'm sure Dad will know, though."

A soft, knowing smile crossed Dr. Wheeler's face. She always praised the fact that Emma was so willing to learn, actively asking Remus questions to learn more. Even if Emma struggled in other ways, Dr. Wheeler found it a good sign that Emma still maintained her curiosity. She glanced down at her watch and sighed, starting to gather her things.

"Well, you're almost free to leave, my dear," the woman said, reaching down to the floor to pick up her purse. She started to place her belongings back into its confines, glancing up at Emma through her lashes. "But speaking of your father, he mentioned that you've been having more trouble at home."

The moment Dr. Wheeler mentioned that Remus had talked to her, Emma was put on edge. Each and every time he brought up a concern, it didn't bode well. It meant that she wasn't doing a good job of hiding like she thought. Then again, Remus always seemed to read her like one of the many books on his shelves.

"Meaning?"

"Well, he expressed concerns over you potentially slipping back into old habits. You not eating is worrisome, but you're trying. The night terrors and everything that follows is normal –" Emma squirmed uncomfortably in her seat, rubbing the back of her neck "– considering your situation, and while concerning, they're not the main issue. We hope that they'll improve in time, sooner rather than later, but…."

"But?"

"He's noticed that you've been taking from his supply of Dreamless Sleep. From what he's mentioned, it sounds as though your usage is far more often than you've told him. Now, we don't want to assume anything – because we know it could be Sirius – but would you happen to have anything to say about that?"

Emma swore her stomach dropped out of her very body, through the floor, and into the depths of wherever the Ministry of Magic was lying beneath the streets. She had been so careful in making sure that Remus's supply looked untouched. It wasn't as though she had been taking nearly as much as she was back in her second year, just a sip or two hidden within her glass of water before bed. She didn't even think it was enough to merit any concern. All she wanted was for the nightmares to stop and so that she didn't have to see Cedric's lifeless eyes in her mind each time she fell asleep.

Her thoughts briefly moved back to Cedric's funeral the previous week. A part of her felt guilty for not even going to her mother's funeral, but that guilt was what forced her to go to Cedric's. Emma had never seen so many of her classmates outside of Hogwarts during the summer before, and she wished it was in an entirely different context.

Amos had cast her and Remus a look upon their arrival, but Mrs. Diggory had pulled Emma swiftly into a hug when she saw her.

"He used to talk about you so much," she whispered in Emma's ear. Mrs. Diggory let go of Emma with one arm to reach behind her and take Remus's hand. "And he always said you were one of his favorite professors."

Emma still wasn't entirely sure how she made it through that day. She leaned heavily on Remus most of the time, and when she wasn't using him for support, she relied on Justin. Ernie didn't seem too thrilled to be sharing his boyfriend, but Justin didn't care. He wrapped Emma's arm around his, letting her rest her head on him.

"Emma comes first right now," Justin told Ernie. "We're all hurting, but Emma was closest to him, and she's already had a hard enough time without your help."

Ernie looked incredibly offended by Justin's comment but didn't say a word. He wordlessly walked off to join some of their other classmates and left the two of them alone.

The entire day had been an emotional affair. It was a beautiful ceremony, but all Emma could be reminded of was how it looked like Cedric was just sleeping. He looked exactly as he did when he would stay with her in the common room, and she would wake up before him. She kept expecting him to open his eyes at any minute and look over her, still half awake, and give her a sleepy smile. Her heart had shattered into a million pieces when he was finally shut off to the world, and his smile never appeared. She would never get to see it again.

"Not at all," Emma said, mustering up her best innocent smile. She wasn't sure that the effect was there as unshed tears filled her eyes, but Emma assumed it was a valiant effort. "I've only taken what Dad's let me."

Dr. Wheeler studied Emma closely, her lips pursing slightly. The moment she reached over for her pen and pulled back out one of the folders she had just placed in her bag, Emma knew she was in trouble. She already dreaded the long conversation dripping with disappointment she was going to have to have with Remus. At least her drinking with Sirius up in the attic with Buckbeak had gone by relatively unnoticed. She wasn't sure that she could handle adding to her list of disappointments.

"And another thing –"

"Shit," Emma hissed, sinking back into her chair and covering her face with her arms. Had she gotten sloppy with hiding things, or was Remus just that much more observant?

Emma left her appointment with Dr. Wheeler reeling. The woman had called her out on just about every behavior Remus has tried to point out in the bluntest way possible. She thought that she had been incredibly clever, but Emma should have known that even in his absence, Remus was still paying attention. It was also just as likely that someone told on her - namely Mrs. Weasley or Hermione. None of the others would dare do such a thing.

She stood awkwardly in the reception area of the hospital. In front of her was the exit back onto the busy streets of London. To her left was the fireplace she had used to Floo in from a nearby pub that was close to Grimmauld. Of course, she was expected to be back home, but it wasn't as though someone chaperoned her wherever she went. The only time she had been supervised was her first trip to Saint Mungo's with Remus just so she knew how to get there and back from their new home.

But at the moment, Remus was away doing Order business, perhaps meeting with the other "domesticated" werewolves he knew. Sirius was most likely in the attic again and wouldn't be too concerned as long as she returned before dinner. And the others? Well, she didn't entirely care what they thought.

The choice between freedom and returning to the stuffiness of Grimmauld left Emma with an easy choice. She walked straight ahead and merged seamlessly with the nearby crowd walking down the street. The ability to blend easily in with the crowd after walking through what would typically be a solid wall was magic at its finest.

Emma felt exhilarated! She wasn't under the watchful eye of everyone at home; no Kreacher to make snide comments, no screaming portrait of her grandmother Walburga, and certainly no creepy house-elf heads to stare her down. She didn't have to have a battle of wits with Mrs. Weasley and didn't have to deal with Hermione's incessant tutting whenever possible. It felt glorious, and it was the first time Emma felt truly herself in months. As long as she didn't have to be faced with the reminders of her past, she was perfectly content wandering the streets of London on her own. There were no rules, no expectations, and she could do whatever she'd like. Nothing felt more perfect.

And what would any rogue Lupin-Black child, daughter of two Marauders, do on her errant trip away from home?

Go to the library.

a/n: Hehehe. Oops. Soooo, I said this wasn't going up until October 9th, but I couldn't wait any longer! I am so ridiculously excited for year five to begin (and excited for a much shorter book this time), and I can't wait to see where this one ends up. So much happened during year four in both the book and in my personal life, and I'm so ready for things to level out. This is a nice little transition I think.

Current goal is at least one new chapter a week, but I've also got like...5 other projects going on at the same time. I'm a menace. If you want to keep up with everything I'm doing, definitely find me on social media and see what I'm doing. I don't even know half the time, but that's part of the fun.

Thank you to everyone who's stuck around this long. Let's goooo~

As per one of my favorite traditions:

To my late night readers, please go to bed!
To my afternoon readers, I hope you've had a good day so far.
To my morning readers, good morning, I hope you have a wonderful day!

Xoxo,
Cat