A/N: Two new chapters in three days - that's a record for this story! If you guessed that the clue was something to do with Draco Malfoy, you are correct. If you guessed specifically it was looking for Draco at Snape's old home, then I take my hat off to you, my friend.

Bright and early the following day, the three of them were standing at the front door of Spinner's End.

The houses that lined the street on either side were completely identical: they seemed grey and faded and listless, almost as though the town had given up on colour altogether. Harry felt Hermione give a shudder and move closer to Ron.

"So this is where Snape lived." Ron gave the house an apprehensive look. "No wonder he was so grim all the time. This place makes the Chamber of Secrets look like the ideal place for a party."

There was indeed a sense of ever-present doomed expectancy in the air, as if the people of the street expected the apocalypse to occur at any moment. Harry stared up at the front door of Snape's childhood home. Even in broad daylight the place had the ability to appear dark and forbidding. The curtains were drawn tight in the windows and the inside of the house looked completely quiet. It didn't seem like anyone was living here, much less Draco Malfoy.

He couldn't imagine Draco Malfoy, rich and obnoxious daddy's boy, living here at all.

For a moment, he considered going back, but the thought banished itself almost as quickly as it came. He needed to find proof. Malfoy could give it to him. Or at least, point him in the right direction.

To his left, he heard Hermione let out a drawn out sigh. "Harry, I don't think anyone lives here anymore."

"We don't know until we knock," he said, refraining from telling her that the same thought had crossed his mind mere seconds ago.

"Minerva said he's vanished without a trace, and so did the article in the Prophet. I don't think he'd have gone to the trouble of disappearing if he was just going to show up again at a place where people apparently know to look for him. If you'll just think about it logically—"

He knew Ron had given Hermione a sharp nudge when she let out a muffled squeak and fell silent. Feeling a wave of gratefulness to his best mate, he indicated the door. "Shall we?"

Reluctantly, Ron and Hermione followed as he went up the front steps and gave the door a few hesitant knocks.

There was no response.

He knocked again hopefully.

The entire street was eerily silent, and the house remained no different.

Harry sighed, feeling the hope he had been holding on to waver and diminish.

Looking up Draco Malfoy had seemed like such a brilliant idea. The man owed him one, first of all, because he had testified for him at his Wizengamot trial. Harry felt sure that if he could be found, Malfoy would be sure to help. He stared at the door. "Maybe there's a clue inside as to where he's gone," he said. He reached for the doorknob.

"Harry," Hermione said sharply. "Stop. There could be a trap here."

"And besides," Ron added, "let's try to avoid breaking and entering until we have no choice left, eh?"

Harry still had one hand resting on the doorknob. He released it slowly.

He felt Hermione tugging gently at his arm. "Let's go, Harry," she coaxed. "We'll find something else."

As the trio headed back down the street, Harry casting one last glance back in the hopes that he would catch sight of something he had missed the first time – perhaps a flicker in the curtains or a shadowy movement – but the house appeared as solid and grim as the ones next to it, gradually fading in with the bleary sky. He turned away, disappointment swimming in his stomach.

They had been close, he could feel it. But not close enough.

###

Remus stood in front of the bathroom sink, examining his reflection in the mirror. A night's sleep in bed hadn't helped; he saw clearly the lines on his forehead and the bags weighing under his eyes. He had stayed under the covers past noon, hoping each time that he could somehow transport himself to another reality each time he reopened his eyes. It was now three in the afternoon, and he was feeling no better.

The sink was still scattered with Tonks's toiletry. Her toothbrush—pink as an ode to her hair—still stood next to his. Her shampoo and conditioner were still in the shower; and there were about twenty bottles of different substances that crowded the windowsill. Wizarding potions for women looked very different to the regular bottles of cream and whatnot that Muggles used—Tonks's particular collection was a collection of different shapes and sizes; some of them glittered, and some of them smoked.

He'd told Harry he would talk to Tonks tonight.

There hadn't been any other option to say. He couldn't tell Harry about the real reason behind his separation with Tonks. If Harry had asked, he would have said they'd drifted apart.

He definitely wouldn't have said anything about an affair.

Technically, she's never confirmed it.

But she hadn't denied it, either. And that in itself was a confirmation, wasn't it?

Anger rushed up in him, fast and furious, and he lashed out before he could stop himself. The bathroom echoed with the sounds of broken glass as twenty different bottles crashed from the sill; bottles fell into the sink and burst into smithereens on the floor.

He froze, staring at the mess he had made in horror.

In the room next door, Teddy began to cry, clearly disturbed by the commotion.

Remus leapt over the broken pieces of glass and the pooling mixture of potions. He would clean it up later. Maybe he'd take Teddy out for a walk. Right now, he needed the fresh air.

He didn't notice the small vial of lightly smoking blue potion that lay broken at the bottom of the pile as he left.

###

Sirius was sitting in his room in Grimmauld Place. There was a slight crease in his forehead and a nagging sensation at the back of his neck that he couldn't shake.

Generally, he was a man who liked to keep things simple. He was straight with his emotions, he liked to live carefree and open. When he did things, he put his whole heart and soul into it. This open-faced honesty and sincerity was probably what had allowed him to sustain for so many years in Azkaban.

He didn't like to lie. And strictly speaking, he hadn't been lying to Harry about how he had returned from the Veil. It was more of a situation of neglecting to mention a few key details (that was a pretty good Marauder twist on it, he mused). There were two reasons why he had yet to come clean: the first was that he knew what the consequences would be, and the second was Remus.

Remus Lupin had been much of an enigma to Sirius in their first year of Hogwarts. The werewolf had appeared to be such a shy, indrawn boy, hardly socializing at all. It took a year for Sirius, James and Peter to really pull Remus from his shell and discover his secret. After that, Remus had seemed like a completely different person, living up to the Marauders' name.

Sirius wouldn't be able to pinpoint the exact moment he fell in love with him; it happened gradually, like building bridge, bit by bit it grew until one day, the bridge connected and he woke up with a new realization. He remembered the time in their fourth year when he had swooped Remus from the ground and flown him around the Quidditch pitch, the feeling of the other boy's body pressed close to his. Was that when it started? He couldn't tell. He only knew that when he found out, there was no going back. When he did things, he put his whole heart and soul into it. And he loved Remus completely.

There had been bumps along the road, of course. But they had come through all of it, and without Remus, Sirius would never have survived the house arrest Dumbledore had put him in during Harry's fourth and fifth year. And then they had started talking about the future – a brief, shining light in the darkness, before Sirius had fallen through the Veil.

He finally had the chance to make things right. Then he had found out Remus was married.

Sirius gave himself a shake. It was all in the past now. It couldn't be undone. And if Remus was happy, so was he.

It only seemed to Sirius like Remus wasn't.

He frowned and gave himself a shake again. Don't be a jealous bastard, Sirius.

But still, he couldn't shake the hovering sensation of inevitability that was crowding him slowly. The last time he had gotten it was the split second before he fell behind the Veil, it was the knowledge that something was about to go very wrong.

He wracked his mind, but he couldn't think of what the feeling could be referring to now.

Unless…

Today's Prophet was lying on his bed. He picked it up and starting looking for the information he wanted.

###

Harry, Ron and Hermione were back with the books and the newspaper clippings an hour later, the kitchen table littered with dusty pages and book jackets, coffee cups increasing exponentially as the time went by. Upstairs, Harry could hear Sirius's footsteps pacing back and forth on the floorboards above the kitchen. He wondered briefly what was preoccupying his godfather as he searched through past issues of the Daily Prophet for clues as to the whereabouts of Draco Malfoy. Beside him, Ron was similarly occupied, with Hermione sitting next to him with her nose immersed in a thick book, determined to root out other means of finding evidence.

There had to be a way to locate him. They were wizards, after all. They knew magic. It seemed ridiculous that a man could still completely disappear.

"Who did he keep in touch with?" Ron burst out in exasperation, an hour into their research. "Maybe we can ask one of his friends."

Hermione snorted inelegantly. "Like who, Goyle? Pansy Parkinson? Oh yes, I'm sure they'll be more than happy to help, Ron. And besides, we don't know their whereabouts either—the media only likes to keep track of the people who were against Voldemort."

"If you ask me, Malfoy only partly qualifies," Ron muttered. "And a small part at that. He changed alliances at the last minute! I dunno why people count him as one of the heroes."

"Ronald, it takes a lot of courage to turn against Voldemort—"

Harry was only half listening to their conversation, busy flipping through pages of the Prophet. His mind caught up with the conversation in delayed time and he stopped flipping.

I dunno why people count him as one of the heroes…

He finally had a brainwave.

Digging out his wand, he Accio-ed a copy of The Quibbler that Sirius had sent Remus (who had returned it a week ago, muttering something about faithless friends), and turned haphazardly to the story about the heroes of the war, tearing a few pages in his excitement. Ron and Hermione had stopped bickering and was watching him curiously.

"Come on, come on…" He was sure he'd seen it a few weeks ago, back when he'd flicked through it briefly before Sirius took it, in the list of the names of… "Aha!" Triumphant, he jabbed a finger at the entry and pushing it across the table. It was the article that discussed the whereabouts of the heroes of the war, six months later – the same article that Sirius had circled for Remus. Hermione picked up the magazine and started reading out loud:

"Draco Malfoy – Seen throughout his school years as a pure blooded Slytherin and ally of the Dark Lord, he changed allegiance just before the Final Battle"—Ron snorted—"although the alliance of his mother and father remained more ambiguous. He seems to have disappeared in the last month or so; last we heard he was training to be a Healer at St Mungo's."

Harry blinked in astonishment. "Malfoy wants to be a Healer?"

Ron shuddered. "I'd hate to be one of his patients. Remind me not to get any injuries for the rest of my life."

"This was at least two months ago, Harry," Hermione said. The exhaustion in her voice was plain. "Don't you think if he was still training at St Mungo's he wouldn't be counted as having disappeared?"

"We could at least go to St Mungo's and ask," said Harry. "Where's the harm, Hermione? He might have actually told them where he'd gone."

She shot him a look. "First, I highly doubt that he would have, and second, the harm is that St Mungo's is a public place. If Minerva's theory is true, sniffing around asking for Draco Malfoy's whereabouts in the most well known wizarding hospital might get the attention of the Death Eaters, and they might attack sooner."

"We don't even know if there are Death Eaters," Harry mumbled sulkily.

"Harry—"

"Hermione. We agreed we need proof. And at the moment, we still haven't got any leads as to where to look. So we're either going to St Mungo's or we're forgetting this entire theory altogether." He saw the skepticism on their faces and attempted his best puppy-dog look."Please?"

Hermione exchanged a long look with Ron. Finally, she threw up her hands in exasperation. "I'm sorry Harry, but have you thought about the fact that Malfoy might be back on the dark side now? We already took a risk going to Spinner's End. It has been eight months, Harry. And his life isn't really in peril now. He could be hiding under the cover of a Healer while making other connections for all we know, and looking him up—assuming we do find him, which I still think is highly improbable—might make everything worse."

"We have to try," he said stubbornly. "I don't think he has. My gut feeling says he hasn't."

He could tell exactly what she thought about his gut feeling, but thankfully didn't choose to voice it. He watched as she let out a sigh of defeat, tugging on strands of frizzy hair. "Oh all right. We said we'd help. And you're right, we shouldn't do this without proof."

He waited.

"We'll go to St Mungo's tomorrow," Hermione said finally. "And take it from there."

He turned to Ron.

The redhead looked like he was completely convinced that there was no way on earth this would lead to a good result, but to his credit, still managed to sound sincerely supportive. "Let's do it."

He nodded gratefully. "Thanks, both of you."

Hermione grumbled something about being the golden trio, beginning to stack the books back together in one neat pile.

Just then, he heard Sirius's footsteps approaching the kitchen. He made to reach for his wand, but Hermione was faster: the research and the newspaper clippings vanished before he even moved. "Must improve your reflexes, Harry," she said smugly.

He let it go. She had just agreed to go hunting for Draco Malfoy with him, after all.

Sirius wandered into the kitchen seconds later, a copy of the day's Prophet tucked under one arm, trying and failing to look casual. He sat down at the table without preamble, cleared his throat, and said, "Have you spoken to Remus recently?"

Harry glanced sideways at his godfather in surprise, wondering if he had suddenly developed the skill to be an Occlumens. He shifted from one foot to the other. "Er, why?" He said, carefully avoiding the question altogether.

Sirius was frowning as he flipped through the Prophet, finally arriving at the page he wanted and spreading it on the table: the astronomy page. He was jabbing his finger at the calendar of full moons. "It's supposed to be the full moon tonight, starting at six. And I haven't seen him for over a week… I mean, I know he doesn't need me there anymore, but I don't know, I have this feeling…"

Hermione looked up sharply at that. "You can't go, Sirius."

Harry saw his godfather's shoulders tense, and winced. Hermione still had the tendency to snap into bossy demands when she was under pressure, and often forgot that when she spoke to people that way who weren't Harry and Ron, they resented it. But he couldn't help feeling just the slightest tinge of relief at not needing to provide any extra explanations.

"Something's wrong," Sirius said. "I can feel it."

"Oh, you men and your gut feelings!" Hermione snapped. "Why can't you make decisions based on facts? If Remus needed you to be there, Sirius, he would have asked you. He has the Wolfsbane now, he's fine."

"His transformations can kill him if something bad has happened to him!" Sirius yelled, causing all three of them to recoil. "Even if it's emotional trauma, it can cause his wolf side to destroy the human when he's not in control of his body. It might overcome the potion."

Hermione opened her mouth, possibly with the intent to provide a long and overdrawn explanation of the technicalities of the Wolfsbane potion to Sirius, but Harry interrupted.

"Hermione," he said sharply.

She wavered, then sighed. "I'm sorry, Sirius. Just a bit tense. Things at work have been stressful recently." She shot Harry a pointed look.

His godfather shrugged noncommittally. "It's fine. It's just… something isn't right here. I'm not sure what."

Harry was frowning, thinking back over the conversation he'd had with Remus yesterday.

"I might find Dora and talk to her again tomorrow night. Maybe we can work something out – for Teddy's sake."

He'd said that yesterday… that meant he had been planning to talk to Tonks today.

So what if Remus had talked about making plans for tonight? Harry thought. That didn't mean that he had necessarily forgotten about the full moon.

Did it?

You're reading too much into it, Harry. He'd never forget about a full moon when he's himself. The last time he did was in your third year, and there was a lot going on then, with Sirius's escape from Azkaban and Pettigrew alive…

But that was just it, wasn't it?

He's not exactly himself now either. And there's even more going on now than then, if that's possible.

He thought about the house Remus lived in. If he actually transformed, the werewolf might find a way out of the house and onto the streets of London. If there was a passerby just walking past the house at that moment, or a mother, or a child…

Teddy.

"Harry? Are you alright?"

Harry realized he had gone completely still. His blood felt like it had turned to ice.

He shot up from the couch and hurried to the window, peering out. The sun was just starting to set. The minute hand on his watch ticked to 5.45pm.

He couldn't take the chance.

"Sirius, you have to go to Remus's house," he said urgently.

Sirius turned to him, eyes wide. "What?"

"I—" Harry stopped, feeling desperate. A promise was a promise. "Remus… I think he might have forgotten to take his potion tonight," he said. "And… I know he's had some really upsetting news yesterday and he's still a bit of a mess. I can't tell you any more than that, I'm sorry, I promised I wouldn't, but you have to go over there because if he does transform without the potion, Teddy is there and—" He didn't have to continue, Sirius was already heading towards the front door.

"Harry, he can't just walk there!" Hermione cried.

He turned and looked at his best friends. Ron's brow as creased in confusion and Hermione looked like she was about to chew her lip off. He realized how desperate he must have sounded for her to skip over any demands of explanations and jump straight to problem solving.

"We'll Apparate," he said firmly. "I won't go in the house, just drop you off outside."

He didn't wait to see Sirius's nod. Grabbing his godfather by the arm he turned on the spot, feeling his blood pulsing through his veins. For the second time that day, he landed on Remus's doorstep, coming face to face with the faded blue door. It remembered feeling desperate that morning. That was nothing compared to what he was feeling now.

He could see the last rays of burning amber peaking between the buildings of London.

He spoke quickly. "Okay, listen. Teddy's room is upstairs, first door on the left. Tonks and her mother aren't home right now so it should just be Remus in there. You need to find him. Usually he takes his potion and locks himself in the basement, so check there first – if he's there then everything should be alright, and you can leave. If he's not, you have to try and get him to take the potion before six." He hesitated, one eye pinned to his watch, and added urgently, "Sirius, if he's in the basement and he's taken the potion… don't go in and talk to him, okay? Send me a message and let me know. If he sees you while he's transformed, even under the influence of the potion, I don't know what effect you'll have on him right now."

His godfather had been nodding up until the last remark. Sirius paused, searching Harry's face. "What happened, Harry?"

Harry shook his head. The sun had almost disappeared, a tiny sliver of pink and gold was visible behind some buildings. "If he hasn't taken the potion in time…" He paused, feeling his throat close up. He was sweating, and he couldn't remember feeling such a strong sense of fear since the start of the Final Battle over six months ago. He cleared his throat and tried again. "You need to get him in a room and magically seal all the exits. It could be a pretty rough transformation. I can't tell you why, Sirius. But you have to go in, now. Here, take these." He fished in his pocket for the spare key, then grabbed his wand and handed both items to Sirius. He gave his godfather a look. "Be careful."

Sirius nodded. A moment later, he had disappeared inside. Harry heard the door lock.

He watched the last rays of sunshine get swallowed up behind the buildings, and the street lights spring on. He checked his watch again, heart pounding so hard it felt like it would pound right out of his chest. 5.55pm.

He'd never wished that he was wrong harder in his life than he did now.

He was so preoccupied that he didn't notice the man leaning on the brick wall a little ways across the street, arms crossed, watching closely for sometime now. If Harry had turned around, he would have noticed that the man was dressed in the best and most prestigious wizarding robes found in London, and that even in the darkness his blond hair gleamed like a halo, framing a narrow face that carried a very familiar smirk.

But he didn't turn, and by the time six o'clock chimed and Harry spun on the spot to Disapparate, Draco Malfoy had gone.

See that cliff? We're dangling off it now. Couldn't help myself! There's exciting times ahead...

Please review!