12 February 1994

"Lupin! I want a word!"

Remus jumped in his seat at the sound of Snape's loud, furious voice. He turned to look at the fireplace in his office; sure enough, the flames were glowing emerald green.

He closed his eyes, suppressing the urge to curse. Snape's mood, always foul, had reached intolerable heights since Black's break-in the previous weekend. Every time he ran into the potions master in the halls, he was met with sneering comments and leery glares. Whatever resentful respect had existed between the two of them, however meager, was over and done.

Sighing under his breath, Remus crossed his office to the fireplace and stepped into the flames. Seconds later, he tumbled into Snape's office, brushing a few sooty patches off his robes.

Snape was standing by the fireplace, black eyes glinting dangerously. And crammed into a chair opposite Snape's desk, looking as though he'd rather be anywhere else in the world, was—Harry.

Remus blinked at Harry for a moment, flummoxed. Then, he turned to Snape.

"You called, Severus?" Remus asked lightly—but he was on guard. Snape looked positively enraged.

"I certainly did," Snape said harshly. His face contorted with fury as he strode back toward Harry and yanked a rumpled, positively ancient-looking piece of parchment off his desk. "I have just asked Potter to empty his pockets. He was carrying this."

Remus stared down at the parchment, feeling his insides slowly melt away.

His breath was trapped in his chest—he couldn't think—couldn't see—beyond the four names that were shining innocently up at him in fine green ink—Moony—Wormtail—Padfoot—Prongs

Mr. Moony presents his compliments to Professor Snape, and begs him to keep his abnormally large nose out of other people's business.

"Well?" Snape asked.

Remus didn't respond. His mind was working on overdrive, trying to wrap itself around the fact that Harry—Harry—was in possession of the Marauder's Map. How had he gotten his hands on it? There was no way James had left it to him—Remus vividly remembered the fateful night, back in his seventh year, when James had disastrously left the map in the Astronomy Tower for Filch to find…

"Well?" Snape demanded again—and Remus could hear the venom in his tone. "This parchment is plainly full of Dark Magic. This is supposed to be your area of expertise, Lupin. Where do you imagine Potter got such a thing?"

At last, Remus looked up—and, by the barest of glances in Harry's direction, he warned him not to say a word.

"Full of Dark Magic?" Remus asked Snape, in the breeziest voice he could muster. "Do you really think so, Severus? It looks to me as though it is merely a piece of parchment that insults anybody who reads it. Childish, but surely not dangerous? I imagine Harry got it from a joke shop—"

"Indeed?" Snape interrupted quietly. The familiar muscle was convulsing in his jaw, a warning sign. "You think a joke shop could supply him with such a thing? You don't think it more likely that he got it…directly from the manufacturers?"

Remus gazed at Snape. Anger was steadily mounting inside him—he finally understood what Snape was doing. He thought it was he, Remus, who had given Harry the map. Another accusation in the long list of traitorous actions Snape seemed to suspect him of.

"You mean, by Mr. Wormtail or one of these people?" Remus asked Snape. His voice was still calm, but it was no longer pleasant. He didn't tear his eyes away from Snape's as he asked, "Harry, do you know any of these men?"

"No," Harry said immediately.

"You see, Severus?" Remus said. "It looks like a Zonko product to me—"

Remus was cut off by a scuffling sound at Snape's office door. The very next moment, the door burst open and Ron came skidding into the office. He was completely winded, clutching his side as he spoke and barely able to get the words out of him.

"I—gave—Harry—that—stuff," he gasped, tears streaming down his face. "Bought—it…in Zonko's…ages—ago…"

"Well!" Remus exclaimed, clapping his hands together. "That seems to clear that up! Severus, I'll take this back, shall I?" Before Snape could say a word, Remus folded the map and tucked it inside his robes. "Harry, Ron, come with me, I need a word about my vampire essay—excuse us, Severus—"

Remus didn't bother looking at Snape as he led the way out of the potions master's office and down the dungeon corridor. Harry and Ron trailed after him in silence, and Remus could feel the mingled astonishment and gratitude emanating off of them. He felt a twinge of guilt, knowing that he ought to have left the boys with Snape to deal with the consequences of their irresponsibility. Minerva had warned him, back in September, about playing favorites with students and picking students' sides over another professor's…

…But then again, if Snape was treating Remus as poorly as he was, Remus didn't want to think about what he might have done to Harry and Ron, had Remus left them to bear the brunt of his anger at the Marauder's Map being downplayed as a commonplace joke shop product.

It wasn't until the three of them had safely made their way up to the Entrance Hall that Remus heard Harry clear his throat from behind him. Remus turned around.

"Professor, I—"

"I don't want to hear explanations," Remus said curtly, and Harry stopped short, swallowing. Remus glanced around the empty Entrance Hall, then lowered his voice. "I happen to know that this map was confiscated by Mr. Filch many years ago—yes, I know it's a map," he added, as Harry and Ron looked startled. "I don't want to know how it fell into your possession. I am, however, astounded that you didn't hand it in. Particularly after what happened the last time a student left information about the castle lying around. And I can't let you have it back, Harry."

To Remus's surprise, Harry didn't look disappointed. On the contrary, his expression had suddenly lit up with interest. "Why did Snape think I'd got it from the manufacturers?"

"Because…" Remus hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "Because these mapmakers would have wanted to lure you out of school. They'd think it extremely…entertaining."

"Do you know them?" Harry asked keenly.

Remus looked at him, expression stern. He had said too much. "We've met," he said shortly.

Harry and Ron exchanged a look of undisguised amazement. Remus frowned, taking a step toward them and crossing his arms.

"Don't expect me to cover up for you again, Harry," he said quietly. "I cannot make you take Sirius Black seriously. But I would have thought that what you have heard when the dementors draw near you would have had more of an effect on you. Your parents gave their lives to keep you alive, Harry. A poor way to repay them—gambling their sacrifice for a bag of magic tricks."

Harry's face fell, his expression crumpling in a way that made Remus's chest ache. But before Harry could say anything to make Remus backtrack, Remus turned around and set off toward the Grand Staircase.

He was up on the second floor before he knew it, practically racing down the corridor to his office. Tumbling inside, he slammed his office door closed and dashed to his desk. And then, at last, he withdrew the weathered, worn old parchment from his robes, his hands trembling as he unfolded the map over his desk and smoothed out the creases, so familiar, so real

He still had a million questions about how Harry had gotten his hands on the map, about how many times the boy had recklessly wandered beyond the safe boundaries of the castle—but he pushed these questions to the back of his mind, now, as he drew his wand. Only one thought was in his head, overpowering the rest and causing the blood rushing through his veins to feel electric.

If Sirius Black ever managed to set foot in the castle again, Remus would be the first one there.

He touched the tip of his wand to the parchment, excitement flooding through him.

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."