9 August 1975

Remus threw out his arms to steady himself as he spun out of the Potters' red-bricked fireplace and into their cozy sitting room with a blaze of green.

"Oh—good afternoon, poppet," Mrs. Potter greeted him warmly from where she was tucked into her armchair, sewing and thumbing through a magazine. "How are you?"

"I'm doing well, thank you," Remus said politely, dusting a few flecks of soot off his sleeves. "How are you, Mrs. Potter?"

"I'm just fine, Remus, darling," Mrs. Potter chuckled, putting down her magazine. "You know, I do wish you'd teach James some of your manners."

Remus grinned bashfully. "I always try, Mrs. Potter."

Mrs. Potter smiled. "Of course you do. He's out in the back garden with Sirius and Peter, doing Lord knows what—they've been out there for hours."

Remus returned her smile and thanked her, before turning and setting off down the hallway of the Potters' high-ceilinged, country cottage. In the kitchen, he said hello to Mr. Potter, who was smoking a pipe at the counter. Then, pushing open the door to the back garden, he stepped into the muggy summer air to find James, Sirius, and Peter lying on their backs under the shade of an enormous birch tree.

"Hey," Remus called to them as he approached.

James shot upright, glasses becoming lopsided, his expression tense—but when he saw that it was Remus, his shoulders relaxed. "Merlin, I thought you were my mum," he muttered, shaking his head as he lay back down.

Remus snorted, sitting cross-legged on the grass next to James. "Guilty conscience?"

"It comes with spending your summer attempting an illegal Animagus transformation in your parents' backyard," James said in a low voice, shielding his face from the blazing sun with his hand.

"Yeah, your mum's getting suspicious, I reckon," Remus told him, stretching out his legs. "Have you three been out here all day?"

"Yes," Peter groaned, rolling onto his stomach and burying his face in his arms. "And we'll probably be out here all night, too."

"Still no luck?" Remus asked sympathetically.

"Do these look like the faces of three lucky people to you?" Sirius grumbled, flicking his dark hair out of his eyes and rubbing his temples with the heels of his palms.

Remus sighed, shaking his head. "I've read the manuscript cover to cover and it just doesn't have any more instruction. It just says, 'Attempt the physical transformation.' It doesn't mention a single thing about how long it ought to take—"

"Yeah, well, it depends on the wizard, doesn't it?" James exhaled heavily, dragging himself upright and leaning back against the trunk of the birch tree. "I mean, we've only been trying a year. I remember McGonagall saying in class third year that it took her eight months, and she was eighteen—and that Adrian Tutley bloke said in his personal essay that it took him fourteen years."

Peter made a strangled noise and poked his head up from the burrow of his arms, his expression aghast. "Fourteen years? I don't remember reading that—!"

"That's because James and I hid that page from you," Sirius muttered without opening his eyes, his face half-mashed into the grass. Peter mouthed soundlessly as Sirius turned to James. "I think we should take a break, mate."

"Yeah, all right," James sighed. "Dad!" he yelled in the direction of the kitchen door. "Could you chuck us some butterbeers? And maybe some of the chicken from last night?"

The kitchen door opened, and Mr. Potter stuck his head out. "If you'd like to hire a personal maid, James, do it on your own dime! Last I checked, your knees worked better than mine!"

Remus, Sirius, and Peter snorted with laughter, while James rolled his eyes.

"We're heading into O.W.L. year—I was just saving my energy," he said defensively, though he got to his feet nonetheless and headed in the direction of the kitchen.

"Speaking of owls," Sirius said, sitting up suddenly and squinting at the late-afternoon sky, "I'll be a bowtruckle if that isn't our booklists."

Remus followed Sirius's gaze to the horizon—and sure enough, beyond the smattering of trees in the Potters' backyard, four brown specks were clearly visible in the distance, growing larger by the second.

"How did the school know I'd be at James's today?" Remus asked in amazement, scrambling onto his knees and staring up at the owls.

"Please," Sirius snorted. "We're always at James's."

Within minutes, the four handsome tawny owls had flown clear over the Potters' high garden wall and swooped down to land lightly on the grass. James hurried out of the kitchen to join them, bearing a platter of chicken and a tray of four chilled bottles of butterbeer.

Taking a sip from his bottle, Remus carefully unfastened his letter from the talon of the owl nearest to him.

"Who d'you think our new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor will be?" Sirius asked, slitting open his envelope while gnawing on a chicken leg.

"How d'you know Professor Fawcett's gone?" Peter asked, frowning at Sirius over his own letter.

"She quit. She's pregnant," Sirius said nonchalantly, holding his chicken leg between his teeth as he unfolded his letter. "I heard her telling Flitwick at the end of last year." He frowned down at his booklist. "Hmm…let's see…they want us to buy The Dark Arts Outsmarted this year." He paused, raising his eyebrows. "That actually sounds promising, doesn't it?"

"Well, it certainly beats An A to Z of Spooky Spells," James snorted as he scanned his own booklist. "I don't think Fawcett realized she was teaching fourteen-year-olds, the way she used to talk to us."

"Well, pretty soon she'll have an actual baby to baby," Sirius snickered, setting down his booklist and taking a bite of chicken. Chewing and swallowing, he settled back onto his elbows and looked at Remus—and he frowned. "Moony, what's the matter?"

Remus didn't answer. He was too busy gaping down at his letter in astonishment, his ears ringing. One sentence was staring innocently back up at him, neatly printed, plain as day: We are pleased to inform you that you have been selected as Gryffindor Prefect for your year.

"What are you looking at?" James asked, bounding onto his knees to scrutinize Remus's letter over his shoulder. Then, he gasped, snatching the letter out of Remus's hands. "Prefect?"

Sirius swore loudly, gaping at Remus. "No way."

"Yes way," James exclaimed, his hazel eyes as round as gobstones as they moved over Remus's letter. "Here—let's see if he's got the badge."

Before Remus could so much as react, James had seized his envelope from the grass and turned it upside down—and with a flash of scarlet and gold, a palm-sized badge with an enormous golden 'P' engraved onto it fell into Remus's lap. Remus could only blink at it.

Sirius swore again, in a hushed voice this time, gawking the badge. "I forgot Prefects were selected in fifth year," he said, shaking his head. He looked at Remus, grinning broadly. "Congrats, mate—not that there was ever a question of who was going to get it."

"I-I—" Remus stammered, reaching down with numb fingers to pick up the badge. "I—don't—"

"Oh, c'mon, you can't honestly be surprised," James told him incredulously. "We've known who our Prefects would be for years—you and Evans were a dead cert."

"You're sure it'll be Lily?" Peter asked curiously. "It could be Mary—or Honora. They've got good marks, too."

"Nah, just wait and see—it'll be Evans," James said confidently. Then, he smirked at Remus. "Though I bet Moony would've loved the chance to patrol the corridors with Macdonald. Wouldn't you, mate?"

Sirius snickered. "Moony and Mary, a library love affair."

James grinned. "You should ask her to Hogsmeade this year, mate. Or maybe, you could just ask her to the library—I'm sure she'd love either."

Sirius howled with laughter, and Peter stifled a titter behind his hand—but Remus couldn't even muster up a retort as he normally would have. He was completely out of his head, gazing at the Prefect badge in utter amazement. Prefect. Prefect. He had never, ever imagined…and yet…

"Who d'you reckon the other Prefects will be?" Sirius asked, tossing his skinless chicken leg onto the grass and picking up his butterbeer bottle.

"Stebbins and Stump for Hufflepuff, probably," James mused, "and Aubrey and Wildsmith for Ravenclaw—and Mulciber and Helfer for Slytherin. Slughorn loves them."

"Eurgh, not Helfer," Sirius said in a tone of disgust. "She'll be insufferable."

"Didn't she ask you to Hogsmeade in February?" Peter piped up, sounding bewildered.

"Yeah, and he turned her down. He's worried she'll get her revenge, now," James smirked at Sirius.

Sirius threw him a filthy look. "Don't think I didn't catch you staring at the back of Evans's head in class throughout the end of last year."

To Remus's surprise, James's cheeks went pink. "That—it's nothing."

"Of course," Sirius rolled his eyes. "And I hear my mother's winning the Best Mum of the Year award."

Peter laughed as James threw a chicken bone at Sirius's head. Meanwhile, Remus shoved his Prefect badge, booklist, and school letter back into his square envelope, and scrambled to his feet.

"Hey—where're you going?" James demanded, as Remus began racing down the length of the garden.

"Home!" Remus called over his shoulder, grinning from ear to ear. He flung open the Potters' kitchen door. "I've got to show my parents my Prefect badge!"

Chest bursting with exhilaration, Remus flew down the hallway and back into the sitting room. Blurting out a hasty excuse to a very bewildered-looking Mrs. Potter, Remus seized a fistful of Floo powder from the glass bowl on the mantel and hurled it into the fireplace. The flames turned emerald-green and roared, growing higher, as Remus stepped into them.

"Lavender Cottage!" he bellowed.

At once, he began to spin very fast, and the Potters' parlor was whipped out of sight in a rush of green. Blurred fireplaces flashed past him in quick succession, and Remus's heart hummed with adrenaline. At last, several moments later, he felt himself begin to slow down—and with a roaring whoosh, he tripped out of his own fireplace and into the cottage's snug little sitting room.

"Mum!" he exclaimed loudly, sprinting toward the nearby kitchen. "Mum!"

"What? What is it?" came Mum's frantic answer from the stove; she whirled around, her expression terrified. "What's happened?"

"Look!" Remus cried excitedly, plunging his hand into the envelope and withdrawing his Prefect badge. "Look, Mum! I'm a Prefect—I've been chosen as a school Prefect!"

Mum's jaw dropped.

"I—oh, Remus!" she cried in a strangled voice, her face splitting into a luminous smile. She reached out and took the badge from Remus, her expression reverent. "Congratulations, love! I'm so proud of you!"

Remus beamed at his mother. "Is Dad upstairs?"

"Yes, yes, he's in his study," Mum said breathlessly, still gazing down at the badge as though it were a jewel. "Go up and show him right away—I'm going to go down to the village and buy us a cake—oh, this is so wonderful!"

Remus grinned, warmth bubbling in his stomach from his mother's excitement. The tired lines around her eyes looked suddenly less prominent, her face brighter than Remus had seen it in years. Taking the badge back from his mother, Remus gave her a quick hug, then turned and hurried out of the kitchen, toward the staircase. He took the stairs two at a time, coming to an unsteady standstill outside his father's study. Raising his hand, he knocked three times.

"Come in," came Dad's voice from inside.

Grinning, Remus shoved the door open.

"Remus," Dad rose from his desk, looking bemused. "I thought you went to James's—"

"I'm a Prefect!" Remus burst out, holding his badge up for his father to see. "I've been selected—I'm a Gryffindor Prefect!"

Dad's face went blank.

Then, slowly, an astounded expression spread across his features.

"Prefect," he breathed, as though he'd never heard of such a thing.

Remus's eyes shone. "Yeah," he said, his heart surging with pride. "I mean, I know it doesn't change everything—I know it'll still be hard for me to get a job after Hogwarts—but this has got to count for something, right, Dad?"

Dad stared at the badge, his dark eyes filled with an emotion that was strangely familiar to Remus, though he couldn't quite place it. "Yes," Dad agreed, his voice sounding oddly distant. "Yes, Remus, this is—extraordinary. Congratulations, son. You deserve this."

Remus felt his heart sink a little. "Dad?" he asked, frowning. "Are you—is everything all right?"

Dad looked up and met his gaze. And then, right before Remus's eyes—for the only time in Remus's memory—Dad's expression crumpled, and his eyes filled with tears.

"Dad," Remus gasped, stepping forward. "Dad, what—?"

"I wouldn't blame you if you never forgave me," Dad said in a choked voice, collapsing into his chair and dropping his head to his palms. "I wouldn't blame you—it's my fault, it was all my fault—"

"Dad, you're scaring me," Remus whispered, taking another step toward his father's desk. "What're you talking about?"

Dad put down his hands and faced Remus again—and the devastated expression on his father's face caused Remus's stomach to drop like a stone.

"It was my fault," Dad said again, his voice cracking. "It was all my fault that…that you became a werewolf."

It was as though the air had been sucked out of Remus's lungs, he couldn't breathe. The floor of his father's study seemed to fly up from beneath him—Remus's head began to spin from the effort it took to process the words coming out of Dad's mouth.

"When you were just a toddler," Dad croaked, "I became part of a committee at the Ministry that was in charge of educating Law Enforcement officials on Dark creatures. One day, the Aurors brought in a—a filthy-looking man—and I knew immediately that he was a werewolf. But when I told this to the other committee members, they—they just—laughed. They made a fool of me—called me paranoid, and in my anger, I said something that I will never—never forget."

Remus's hands were shaking. He clenched his trembling fingers around his Prefect badge so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

"I stood up—I stood up and looked at the werewolf sitting in front of me, and I said—I said that werewolves were soulless, evil creatures," Dad's voice was less than a whisper, frail and fractured. "Soulless, evil creatures, deserving nothing but—death."

Remus felt something inside him plummeting, plummeting to his feet, leaving him forever. He reeled backwards from his father's desk, feeling nauseous, and the Prefect badge slipped from his fingers. Dad made a strangled, distraught sound, rising unsteadily to his feet.

"He tracked me down," he sobbed, coming around the desk and sinking to his knees. "The man—the werewolf—Fenrir Greyback—he—he must have followed me home that night. He found us—he found y-you—and then, one day, just a month before your fifth birthday, he—he—"

Remus couldn't speak—he couldn't think—the screaming in his brain was drowning out all coherent thought. It wasn't possible—it couldn't be possible—his father could not have said those things—his father, who defended Remus's every right, who had dedicated his life to Remus's welfare, who would fight tooth and nail—give up everything—for Remus to have a normal life…

"I'll never forgive myself," Dad slumped forward, shoulders shaking. "I'll never—I'll never forgive myself, I'll never—I can't—it's unforgivable—I don't expect you to forgive me—"

"Dad," Remus managed to find his voice at last—but it sounded a million miles away, a distant echo of his normal tones. "Dad, please—please don't—"

"I was never brave like you, Remus," Dad continued brokenly. "I should have told you years ago. You deserved the truth—I was a coward. I couldn't bear it, the thought of you hating me—the thought of you knowing that I'm—I'm the one to blame for everything—all of it—" He gasped for breath, raising his head and looking at Remus. "I—I keep having this memory—this image in my head—holding you in my arms, the night you were born, and I said—I looked at you, just nine hours old, and I said that…that you were a great wizard in the making. And I was right, Remus—you're ten times the wizard I'll ever be, and I'm sorry—I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…"

Remus fell to his knees in front of his father. Tears burned his eyes, sealing his throat. A raw, terrible, keening grief was tearing at him from within—he longed not to feel—he wished he could forget, turn it off…

But in one dizzying, paralyzing moment, Remus felt his control give away, and he broke down—and suddenly, his father's arms were around him, clutching him so tightly that it hurt, and Remus allowed himself to cry like he hadn't done since he was a little boy—a little boy whose entire world had been ripped away from him.


Author's Note:

:'(

Sorry, everyone. This chapter was a nightmare to write, but it was also incredibly cathartic, and I loved it.

In other news, I'm finally back to updating this story! Interesting headcanon about this chapter: Katarina Helfer, the Slytherin Prefect that James teases Sirius about, is Blaise Zabini's eventual mother, hence the detail of her being a favorite of Slughorn.

Anyway, I really hope you enjoyed this, even if it was super sad. Love you all madly.

Ari