Hi, guys! Okay so, don't kill me for coming up with another story because technically this one isn't new, it's been written for a really long time, I've just had to polish it a little bit and work out a few things. In case you haven't noticed it, I kinda have a massive crush on our beloved Professor Lupin - always have, from the moment I first read the third book in the series. I love him both in younger versions and in the original one as they all bring out different kinds of feelings. Also, and I feel like I should make this very clear, I have nothing against Tonks, I think she's awesome and I loved them as a couple, I kinda wish they would've portrayed their relationship a little more and better in the movies because I feel like a lot was left out. Having said that, me and my overactive imagination can't help creating different characters, stories and scenarios for this wonderful man.

In "I Hold the Moon", I'm going to be using a lot of passages and stuff from the book but from my characters' perspectives because, as you'll find out, Tristan is one of Harry's closest friends. There is of course a reason for that and it'll play out later on in the plot.

As usual, I'm very nervous about posting a new story. It's funny how it never stops being scary no matter how many years I've been doing it. Anyway, I hope you beautiful people enjoy it. Reviews and constructive criticism are welcome as long as you always remember to be kind. I feel like it's always good to reinforce that.

IMPORTANT NOTE - 21/03/22: I want to point out that Tonks, the woman who marries Remus in the books and bears his child, is only 3 years older than Nora, who's my OC. And also, Nora is about to be eighteen, which in my country isn't considered a teenager anymore. In fact, if you're eighteen in Portugal then you are LEGALLY OF AGE - and you can vote, go to jail and do all sorts of things.

I'm writing a romance about two people who have had really hard lives and found comfort and love in each other. It's not a perverted tale between a grown man taking advantage of an underage girl. So the offensive reviews about Nora and Remus's age difference honestly need to stop. Anyone who doesn't like or isn't comfortable with the theme of the story can simply not read it instead of accusing me of something completely untrue.

Harry Potter and The Prisoner of Azkaban Timeline

"I Hold the Moon"

ooo

"You don't find love, it finds you. It's got a little bit to do with destiny, fate,

and what's written in the stars."

- Anais Nin

HOGWARTS EXPRESS

In a remote part of Yorkshire where sea met rock, up a steep little hill sat a lonely two-story cottage facing the beach. It was built on ash-coloured stone that seemed to be cobbled together in no particular style and it had a dark clumsy-looking thatched roof that had clearly seen better days. The front porch was crumbling to pieces and the wall circling the garden was in need of a good scrubbing. The inside was in similar state. A small foyer spilled into a cluttered living room with a rundown couch, a few tattered armchairs and an old fireplace. Several tall bookstands stood against the wall, filled top to bottom with books.

Upstairs, at the far end of the hallway, an alarm clock was wailing loudly. Remus reached out from under the covers and smacked the shut off button. With a loud yawn, he swung his legs off the bed and stretched his arms above his head until the joints cracked. He raked his fingers through his hair, walking over to the window and opening the curtains. It was luminous outside, with a slight sheen of damp. Pale sunlight poured through a thin layer of silvery clouds, making the sky glow like the inside of a pearl.

It would rain soon, he thought, seeing a clear line of rain over the ocean. As usual, it made him think of his mother. Rainy days, Hope Lupin would often tell him, should be spent at home with a cup of tea and a good book.

Cold floorboards creaked under his bare feet as he made his way to the bathroom. The bathtub was an old model with bronze clawfeet and white porcelain that wasn't convenient for quick showers, but he made do with it. He turned on the tap and closed his eyes, enjoying the lukewarm water on his tense muscles. With the full moon only days away, it seemed as though his whole body was aching and feverish.

After slipping into some comfortable trousers and a red knitted jumper, he went to raid the kitchen for something to eat. Food was running low, he would have to go into town soon. He managed to scavenge a piece of old bread and settled for some toast, coating it with generous amounts of jam to make up for the staleness. Meanwhile, he waved his wand and got the teakettle heating. A nice cup of earl grey was in order, he decided. It agreed with the weather.

Remus had just sat down with the Daily Prophet when the doorbell rang. He jolted with surprise. No one ever visited him, except perhaps his father but he always sent an owl beforehand. Finding Albus Dumbledore, of all people, on his front porch was beyond unexpected.

"You're a hard man to track down, my friend," said Albus, smiling in a way that made his blue eyes twinkle. "May I come in?"

It took Remus a minute to react.

"Oh! Yes, of course!" He blinked through his surprise as he scrambled backwards into the hallway to allow Albus in, quickly closing the door and guiding him past the living room and into the kitchen. "Please excuse my lack of hospitality, I'm a bit out of sorts. I don't usually have visitors and, well… I certainly wasn't counting on you showing up at my doorstep."

"I imagine not."

"Can I offer you some tea, or coffee maybe?"

Albus pulled out a chair at the table. "I've never been one to turn down a nice cuppa."

A few minutes later, they both sat facing each other with their hot beverages. Remus drummed his fingers on the table, watching anxiously as the old man lifted the chipped mug for a sip.

"I was very surprised to know you've been living on your own all these years," Albus started casually. "I assumed you would've wanted to move back home after your mother passed to be with your father."

Instinctively, Remus glanced toward the muggle polaroid pinned to the refrigerator door, where Hope Lupin was smiling brightly at the camera with the lake behind her. A soft breeze ruffled her blue dress, and her hair glistened like spun gold. He clearly remembered the day he'd taken that picture. It was summer time and he'd been moping around the house because he desperately missed his friends. His mother decided he needed some cheering up, so she'd taken upon herself to drag him all the way down to the lake for a picnic. They'd spent the afternoon eating finger sandwiches and reading poetry.

Thinking about those happy days brought an ache to his chest. He had to look away and clear his throat. "I did stay home for a while, but it was too painful. Besides, a grown man shouldn't have to impose on his family, much less one with a condition like mine. My father doesn't need me disrupting his life again."

With a contemplative hum, Albus reached inside his eccentric robes and pulled out two pieces of yellow candy. He offered one to Remus, who declined politely.

"Don't take this the wrong way, Albus, it isn't that I'm not happy to see you, but what are you doing here?"

Albus popped a sherbet lemon in his mouth. "I trust you've heard the news about Sirius escaping Azkaban."

Remus felt his stomach plunge. After the First Wizarding War, he'd tried his hardest to keep Sirius out of his mind, but the thought of him was never gone for long. He just didn't get it. He had gone through all his memories with a fine tooth comb and he couldn't remember a single moment where Sirius had given any indication of having switched sides. Sirius never would've betrayed James. He never would've killed Peter. They were brothers, all four of them.

At first, he'd wanted desperately to believe Sirius was innocent. But then, he confessed. He told the Aurors that he'd killed them. And why would Sirius confess to a crime he didn't commit knowing fully well where he would end up in?

Reading in the newspaper about Sirius escaping had shaken Remus quite a bit, but he couldn't exactly say it surprised him. Sirius was always very ingenious when he put his mind to something. The real wonder was that it had taken him twelve years to master a plan.

"I did hear, yes."

"You should know, then, there's a very good possibility that he might be going after Harry."

"He wouldn't." Remus tightened his grip around the porcelain mug. "Sirius would never harm Harry. He adored him, would hardly leave his side whenever we went to visit."

"I understand why you would want to believe so," Albus said placidly, hands gathering in front of him. "Sirius is no longer the same man you knew, hasn't been for a very long time. Several people in Azkaban heard him talking to himself, whispering about Hogwarts. Whether those whispers were simply the ramblings of a lunatic or Sirius actually plans to have his work finished, the Ministry finds best if Harry is placed under protection until they capture him."

"Seems reasonable enough," Remus sai slowly, still failing to see what any of this had to do with him.

"Come September, they'll be stationing dementors in Hogwarts."

Remus paled. "How could you let the Ministry send dementors to a school?" he asked hotly. Hogwarts was a safe place for young students. To have it taken over by some of the vilest, most dangerous creatures on earth was deeply unsettling.

"I'm afraid they were quite insistent." Albus ate the other sherbet lemon as if to sweeten the bitter taste in his mouth. "When I expressed my concerns to the school governors they outvoted me, which unfortunately left me with no other choice. And that brings us to the reason of my visit. The Ministry believes the dementors will keep Harry and Hogwarts safe, but we both know dementors are of a ruthless nature. I can't trust them with the safety of my students. What I do need is someone capable, someone who can protect them while also teaching them how to protect themselves."

At last the pieces of the puzzle connected. Remus stared at the man in astonishment. "Albus, you're not serious."

"Would I be here if I wasn't?"

"That's madness!" Far too agitated and emotional to sit still, Remus stood and went to busy himself by washing his mug and the dish he ate breakfast with. "You know I have no business teaching children in my condition, it's too dangerous."

"It doesn't have to be," replied Albus cryptically.

"What does that mean?"

"Severus has agreed to brew Wolfsbane every month if you were to accept the position. This way you wouldn't need to leave the castle, you could spend the transformation in the comfort of your office without endangering anyone, including yourself."

Remus scoffed, "And why would Snape ever agree to anything that might benefit me?"

"Because I asked him." Remus wasn't quite as sure about that as Albus sounded, but he wisely decided to keep his doubts to himself. Albus caught on to his skepticism and changed tactics, "You are one of the most brilliant men I have ever had the pleasure of meeting, Remus. You're dedicated, kind, passionate... and let's be honest, you excel at the Dark Arts. There's really no one better to fill the position."

"You're flattering me, Albus," Remus said with a small smile, mind already mulling over the offer. It was almost too good to be true. He loved children. And he loved teaching. He had personally trained some of the youngest members of the Order during the war, as well as his friends when they lagged behind in some of their classes because they were otherwise too distracted with causing mischief.

However, he never so much as allowed himself to consider a teaching job. No one would hire him with his condition and regardless, he was always too afraid of hurting someone by accident. With the Wolfsbane Potion on the table, it was a different story. He could retain most of his faculties while fully transformed. Some symptoms were impossible to suppress as the wolf was inherently part of him, but he wouldn't be a danger to others. Like Albus pointed out, he could simply spend the night quietly in his quarters.

Remus closed the tap with a sigh and crossed his arms, leaning back against the sink. "Isn't the position cursed?"

"Perhaps you'll break it," Albus grinned victoriously behind the brim of his mug. "A curse for a curse, seems like a fair trade to me."

The 1st of September rose dark and gloomy. Soon after the break of dawn, it started to rain. First, only a gentle late summer drizzle that coated the extensive gardens of Cavanaugh Manor in shimmering layers. Then, the sky blackened and split open with lightening. Flashes of white and blue burst with loud, thunderous uproar.

Nora sat by the window in her bedroom with her knees drawn to her chest watching rain pour and flog violently against the glass. She loved storms. The wind, the smell of wet grass and moist earth, the beautiful explosions of light. It was one of nature's most hypnotising and dramatic displays of impetuous force.

The booming of thunder droned out the sound of her father who was screaming at her grandmother downstairs. Her grandmother wasn't by all means a pleasant woman, but Nora couldn't imagine what she had done to anger him. Then again, it didn't take much for her father to lose his temper. Maximus Cavanaugh was a cruel and cold man who often thought the answer to his problems lied at the bottom of a whiskey bottle. Nora was just glad she wasn't the one at the end of his wrath this time.

Even as a little girl, she'd never received love or compassion from her father. For the most part, she had to raise both herself and her brother, and the only affection they ever truly experienced since their mother's death had come from each other.

When the antique clock in the foyer struck nine, she walked up to the full-length mirror in her wardrobe. Clear blue eyes stared back at her. They were too big, Nora decided, and far too expressive, but she had a pretty face with sharp cheekbones, full lips and a delicate chin. Her pale skin was sprinkled with freckles that gathered at the bridge of her nose like stardust. She was of average height, willowy and elegant in her figure. She'd lost weight over the summer as was seen in the way her collarbone slightly jutted out, but that was nothing new and Nora wasn't very concerned. Usually she gained the weight back during the first few weeks of school.

The circles under her eyes were darker too, and the bruise on her cheek was still faintly visible if she squinted hard enough, even after she had it covered with foundation and powder. Self-consciously, she ran her fingers through her raven locks, styling them in way that partially hid the right side of her face before turning away from her reflection, grabbing her purse and leaving the room. She made her way down the main staircase and into the foyer, where her brother was already waiting for her.

Tristan had inherited the same raven locks as Nora, which were long overdue a good trim, and eyes that were a deeper shade of blue, with tiny speckles of gold. His youthful face was starting to show some resemblance to their father's, mainly in his angular jawline and wide lips. However, Tristan's warm and cheerful disposition softened some of the harsher lines.

He flashed a big, toothy grin when she reached him, "Took you long enough!"

The rascal had gotten taller over the summer again, Nora thought; he was almost at her height now. Thirteen years... Where had the time flown to?

"All set?" she asked, bringing her fingers to his unkempt hair, smoothing it back from his forehead.

"Yeah, of course," Tristan replied at once. "That new manual for Care of Magical Creatures was a challenge to pack, though. The thing's a menace."

Nora chuckled, "I told you not to open it on your own."

"Couldn't resist." His grin broadened and his eyes sparkled. "I finally got the hang of it. Ron nearly had his nose bitten, he wrote me about it the other day. Wish I'd been there to see. Who do you imagine decided on it?"

"Definitely not Professor Kettleburn, that's for certain," Nora said thoughtfully. "He wouldn't risk losing another limb when he's got so few left. But do you know who would have a field day with it? Hagrid."

Tristan barked a laugh.

Approaching footsteps put an immediate end to the carefree mood. They recognised the heavy dragging, and they knew their father wouldn't be very happy to find them standing around in the hallway goofing off. After an urgent nod from Nora, Tristan flung the front door open and slipped out just in time before Maximus Cavanaugh stepped around the corner.

Maximus was tall and imposing, with long limbs and broad shoulders. Many would say he was a handsome man due to his regal bone structure, but Nora didn't think someone who never smiled could be considered good-looking. He often kept his true nature hidden by playing the part of well-educated, highbred pure-blood for his colleagues at the Ministry — a polished façade that crumbled as soon as he was home.

Pitch black eyes zoomed in on her, sharp and cold. She suppressed a shiver; he was even more frightening when he was sober. At least with alcohol in his system he was sloppy and easier to run from.

"Where's your brother?" Maximus asked with as much ice in his voice as he had in his stare.

"Helping Charles load the car," Nora answered curtly, knowing he wouldn't bother with going outside and checking.

When he began making his way toward her in slow strides, she struggled against the urge to recoil from him. It would be worse if she did.

"Well then, remind him I expect perfect grades, less than O's in every subject is not acceptable. It's bad enough he goes around school with those blood-traitor friends of his. He needs to spend more time studying and cultivating friendships with people who matter. And as for you, Evanora, your grandmother has made it very clear you are to be married off as soon as you're done with school. If I am to find you a suitor, its best I don't receive another letter from your professors because you cannot carry yourself like a Cavanaugh."

Nora bowed her head. "Yes, father."

Last year, she had landed herself in a bit of trouble while doing a favour for Tristan and his friends, when Professor Snape had seen fit to let her father know that his daughter abused her Prefect privileges to sneak into his pantry and steal potion ingredients from his private stash.

"Look at me when I'm speaking to you," Maximus demanded.

Teeth gritted tightly, she did as she was told. He raised his hand and she prepared for the familiar sting. But it didn't come this time.

Taking her chin, he grazed his thumb along her jaw, over her cheek, then lower, down the curve of her neck. The sweet caresses made Nora nauseous and sick to her stomach. She would've preferred a slap.

"So much like your mother," he uttered quietly to himself, eyes out of focus as they often were when he dived deep into memories of her mother. He brushed her hair, threading his fingers through the silky strands, choosing one and twirling it with a frown. Disappointment settled over his face. Nora didn't dare move, not even an inch, too afraid the smallest of movements would set him off.

Eventually, Maximus stepped back and let her hair go.

Soon as he was gone, Nora released the breath she'd been holding. Her whole body convulsed, broke into cold sweat. She rushed out of the house, feeling dirty and sullied, and had to hold herself against the front door for a minute to keep her breakfast from finding its way out and all over the porch. Her fingers closed over the locket around her neck trying desperately to seek comfort from it.

"Nora?"

Her brother's voice reached her as though from far away. He was at the bottom of the stairs, watching her worriedly. Nora squared her shoulders and climbed down the steps, keeping one hand lightly over the railing just to be safe. Her legs were still a bit shaky.

"What did he do?" Tristan demanded angrily.

"Nothing, don't worry," she tried to reassure him.

When he pursed his lips tightly, Nora tossed an arm over his shoulders and steered him to the sleek Rolls Royce parked in the driveway. Tristan slid in the back while she sat in the passenger seat next to Charles, the caretaker. She let her head fall against the leather headrest with a heavy sigh, forcing her tense body to stop trembling.

"Something wrong, Miss?"

Because the old man sounded concerned, Nora put on a smile. "No, Charles, everything's fine. Let's just go, please."

In the back, as the car pulled out of the driveway, Ophelia let out a loud, frustrated meow.

"She really hates this thing," said Tristan, poking his fingers through the crate to pet the cat. "Can I let her out?"

"Sure." Nora shifted in her seat, watching with a smile as he wriggled the crate open. Ophelia leaped gracefully onto Tristan's lap, purring loudly in demand for affection, and he was glad to comply.

The ride to King's Cross Station was quiet and fast. When they arrived, Charles helped them load their trunks and school supplies onto the trolleys. He gave Nora's shoulder a friendly squeeze, patted Tristan on the back, then vanished into the throng of people. They drove their trolleys through the crowded station, easily finding their way to and through the magical barrier between platforms 9 and 10.

Platform 9 and three quarters was buzzing with energy as usual. Children dashed up and down, laughing and shouting at each other. Students gathered in small groups, eager to share tales of their summer holidays. Witches and wizards cloaked in lavishing robes bid goodbye to sons and daughters while helping them load their belongings inside the scarlet locomotive that sat patiently in the railways.

Nostalgia prickled Nora in the heart as she recalled the first time she'd stood there — a small eleven year old, bony and gangly, scared out of her wits yet so full of hope. For seven years, Hogwarts had been her home, her safe haven, the only place she was ever free. But that was all going to end next June, and the uncertainty of the future terrified her. She hadn't a clue as to what she was going to do with her life. The only thing she knew for sure was that she was going to leave Cavanaugh Manor and she was taking Tristan with her. No matter what.

The Hogwarts Express released a shrill whistle, a warning that it was almost time. Nora hurried her brother along to drop off their trunks in the loading wagon, and then they parted ways, Tristan heading out to find his friends and Nora to the Prefects carriage.

The Prefects carriage was like one big compartment with benches along the windows on both sides. There were twenty four Prefects total, twelve boys and twelve girls, eight of each team and two per year from the fifth year up. The Head Boy and Girl were responsible for coordinating all of them, distributing patrol rounds, assigning jobs and providing guidance.

Nora still couldn't quite believe Dumbledore had appointed her Head Girl. She'd gotten beyond herself when she found the golden badge tucked inside an envelope attached to her Hogwarts letter. Her enthusiasm had manifested itself into a slightly embarrassing dance around the room, which Tristan had found very entertaining. He'd teased her mercilessly about it, although he was all too happy to sneak out of the house with her and buy some ice cream to celebrate.

Nora wasn't the least bit surprised by Percy Weasley waltzing into the compartment with a similar badge proudly pinned to his robes. Percy was an overachiever by definition. As a Prefect, he'd also been a strict enforcer of school rules. A tad too much, in her opinion as they'd had several arguments whenever he caught Tristan and his friends out of bed after curfew. The way she saw it, a little rule breaking never hurt anyone, especially when for a good cause.

As the meeting kicked off, it soon became apparent that the title of Head Boy had gone to Percy's head. He had the whole agenda planned out to the last detail. When Nora tried to get a word in, he shushed her with a finger and went on as though nothing had happened.

The prat, she thought, crossing her arms and glaring at him from her seat.

Laura Prescott, a seventh year Hufflepuff Prefect who was sitting next to her, found the whole thing incredibly funny and very nearly choked on her spit, laughing her head off. Nora had to jab her with an elbow to shut her up.

Halfway through the meeting, the door slid open again. Nora felt a lump form in her throat when Caito walked in. She'd forgotten he was a Prefect. He froze in the archway, eyes glued to her — it seemed he'd forgotten too.

As a Chaser, Caito was tall and fit, muscles designed for speed and agility. There used to be a certain gentleness to him, even in the way he moved, but to Nora, who had known him since they were children, he seemed harsher, colder, and much more guarded than before.

"Are you going to stand there all morning or do you plan on actually joining us?" said Percy, annoyed. "You're plenty late as it is, Dearborn."

Caito rolled his eyes and tucked his hands in his pockets, stepping fully inside. "I was dealing with something for my team. Sorry."

"Let this be the last time it happens," Percy replied, puffing his chest out to show off his Head Boy badge. "Being Quidditch Captain doesn't excuse you from your obligations, you know."

"I've already apologised, Weasley. Get off my case," Caito snapped as he took the only vacant seat left on the far end of the carriage.

Percy stuck his nose in the air. For a second it seemed like he would launch into a lecture. Luckily, he thought better of it and moved on with the meeting. Finding the sound of his voice grating, Nora tuned him out after five minutes. She picked Ophelia up when she rubbed against her legs and brushed her silky fur to distract herself. She could feel Caito's stare, but every time she lifted her head he quickly looked the other way. Though she'd expected the distance, it still hurt.

"What happened between you and Dearborn?" Laura asked, leaning close and keeping her voice low. "Did you have a row over the summer?"

"Something like that," Nora answered vaguely.

"That's too bad, I always figured you'd end up together."

It wasn't the first time Nora heard someone say that, and she had a feeling it wouldn't be the last.

Tristan was huffing and puffing by the time he finally found his friends in the very last compartment at the end of the train. They all looked up as he leaned against the doorway trying to catch his breath — Ron, freckly as ever; Hermione with her long, bushy hair; and Harry, the boy who lived. The four of them had been friends since first year.

"Had to choose the last bloody compartment, did you? And where were you anyway? I thought we were meeting at the barrier," Tristan wheezed, flopping down next to Harry.

"This was the only compartment left," Ron explained. "And the Ministry drove us, that's why we were late. Here, mum sent this for you—" He produced a small bag from his coat and tossed it to Tristan.

"Brilliant!" Tristan beamed, pulling out one corned beef sandwich and taking a big bite.

Ron scrunched his freckly nose. "Dunno how you can eat that crap…"

"'Cos it's great," Tristan said through a mouthful. He noticed a man fast asleep under a cloak by the window on the other side of Harry. From what little he could see of him, the man looked terribly ill and exhausted. "Who's that?"

"Professor R. J. Lupin," Hermione answered, fixing Tristan with a disapproving look. "Lower your voice, will you? Can't you tell he's sleeping?"

"I have eyes on my face, don't I?" But Tristan did lower his voice as he studied the man's profile with vague interest. "Must be the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. Think this one'll last the whole year?"

"Let's hope so," Ron said doubtfully. "He looks like a good hex could finish him off, doesn't he? Anyway… We're all here now, Harry, so what did you want to tell us?"

Tristan polished off the rest of his corned beef sandwich while Harry got them up to speed about an argument he had overheard between Mr. and Mrs. Weasley regarding Sirius Black escaping from Azkaban and the very near certainty that he was planing to come after him. By the time he was done, Tristan and Ron were staring at him with their jaws open. Hermione had her hands over her mouth.

"Sirius Black escaped... to come after you?" Tristan repeated dumbly.

"Oh, Harry…" Hermione lowered her hands. "You'll have to be really, really careful. Don't go looking for trouble—"

"I never do! Trouble usually finds me!"

"How thick would Harry have to be to go looking for a nutter who wants to kill him?" Ron said in Harry's defence.

"I think we should go looking for him actually." Tristan rolled his eyes when both Ron and Hermione looked horrified at the suggestion. "Well, think about it, we'd definitely have the jump on him, wouldn't we? Bet he wouldn't expect that."

"Because it's totally mad," Hermione hissed.

Ron nodded, shifting uncomfortably, "Who knows what he's capable of? No one's ever gotten out of Azkaban before, no one has any idea how he did it. He was a top-security prisoner too."

"I know, Nora's been reading about it all summer." Tristan stuffed another sandwich in his mouth, chewing vigorously. "She was obsessed with figuring out how he escaped. You know how she gets with mysteries, doesn't stop until every piece of the puzzle fits. She had to with this one, though. It's looking damn well unsolvable."

"But they'll catch him, won't they? I mean, they've got all the muggles searching for him too," Hermione offered earnestly.

"I wouldn't count on it. He killed twelve muggles before the Aurors got him the last time, I'll bet my right arm he can do it again..." Tristan trailed off when a faint, tinny whistle reached his ears. "What's that noise?"

"What noise?" Hermione looked frantically around the compartment.

"I think it's coming from your trunk, Harry."

Ron stood and reached for the luggage rack. He pulled out from Harry's robes a small object that resembled a glass spinning top. It was ringing loudly and glowing red and blue while spinning very fast on the palm of his hand. Tristan's eyes brightened with fascination.

"A Sneakoscope!"

"Yeah," Ron nodded. "Mind you it's a very cheap one. Went haywire just as I was tying it to Errol's leg to send it to Harry."

Also interested, Hermione stood to have a better look. "Were you maybe doing something untrustworthy at the time?"

"No! Well… I wasn't supposed to be using Errol. You know he's not really up to long journeys… but how was I supposed to get Harry's present to him?"

Tristan inspected the Sneakoscope. "Wonder why it's going off now..."

"Just stick it back in the trunk," Harry nudged his head toward Professor Lupin as the device let out another piercing whistle, "before it wakes him up."

Ron stuffed the device into a pair of old socks to muffle the sound, closed the lid on it, sat back down. "We could have it checked in Hogsmead. They sell that sort of thing in Dervish and Bangles, magical instruments and stuff. Fred and George told me."

The new change of topic had Hermione perking up. "Do you know much about Hogsmead? I've heard it's the only entirely non-muggle settlement in whole Britain."

"Yeah, I think it is," Ron replied in an offhand sort of way. "But that's not why I want to go. I just want to get inside Honeydukes!"

"What's that?"

"It's a famous sweetshop," Tristan told Hermione. "Nora says they've got every candy you can dream of."

Ron sighed dreamily, "Pepper Imps…"

"They make you smoke from the mouth," Tristan elaborated.

"… great fat chocoballs…"

"Which are obviously chocolate balls filled with strawberry mousse and clotted cream."

"… and really excellent sugar quills you can suck in class and just look like you're thinking what to write next…"

"But Hogsmead's a very interesting place, isn't it?" Hermione pressed on, ignoring both boys. "In Sites of Historical Society it says the inn was the headquarters for the 1612 goblin rebellion, and the Shrieking Shack's supposed to be the most severely haunted building in—"

"… oh, and massive sherbet balls that make you levitate a few inches off the ground while you're sucking them," continued Ron, who was plainly not listening to a word Hermione was saying.

"Those are loads of fun, aren't they? Nora bought me a box last year," said Tristan, doing much the same, if only to irritate Hermione. He turned to Harry and elbowed him lightly, "It'll be exciting to leave the castle and explore a bit. I'll buy us all a round of butterbeers at the Three Broomsticks to celebrate our first trip."

Harry frowned, "I can't go. The Dursleys didn't sign my permission form, neither did Fudge."

"You're joking!" Tristan was outraged. "You should've blown them up too, or at least threatened to if they didn't sign it. I can't believe Fudge refused. I mean, who does he think he is?"

"He's the Minister," Hermione deadpanned. Tristan shot her a peeved look.

Ron tried to stay positive, "I'm sure McGonagall will sign it if you ask!"

When Harry let out a hollow laugh, Tristan had to share the sentiment. He doubted Professor McGonagall would ever agree to it; she was the strictest teacher in school. One would think she could go a bit easier on the members of her house, Tristan thought with a huff.

"We can have Fred and George sneak you there. They know every secret passage in the castle, there's got to be one or two that lead outside."

"I don't think Harry should be sneaking out of school with Black on the loose!"

"I expect that's what McGonagall will say when I ask for permission," Harry said bitterly.

"But if we take Nora with us, Black wouldn't—"

"Oh, Tris, don't be silly. Didn't you say so yourself? That Black's already murdered a whole bunch of people right in the middle of a crowded street. Do you honestly believe he's going to worry about attacking Harry just because we have your sister with us?"

Hermione fumbled with the straps of Crookshanks's basket as she spoke. Seeing this, Ron darted with his hands forward to stop her.

"Don't let that thing out!" But it was too late, Crookshanks was already leaping from the basket. The orange cat stretched and yawned, then leaped onto Ron's knees. He covered his coat's pocket, shoving Crookshanks away with an angry snarl, "Get out of it!"

"Ron, don't!"

"C'mon, mate, it's only a cat!"

Ron was about to fire something that was certainly rude when Professor Lupin stirred. They all froze, watching apprehensively, waiting for him to rouse. However, he simply turned his head the other way, mouth slightly open, and remained asleep. There was a collective sigh of relief.

"Well, that was exciting," Tristan grinned, grabbing Crookshanks off Ron's lap so he could pet him into submission.

While Crookshanks settled under his ministrations, the cat's yellow eyes stayed stubbornly stuck to the pocket of Ron's coat where Scabbers was hiding. Tristan was trying not to laugh because Ron could be very sensitive about his rat, but he really didn't see the point in all that fussing when Ron spent a copious amount of time complaining about how useless Scabbers was anyway. If it was up to Tristan, he would've fed the pest to Ophelia ages ago.

As the train exited rural England and ventured into darker, wilder sceneries, the storm continued to rage without mercy. Harsh wind rattled the windows and rain poured with renewed vigour. Outside, the sky was pitch black. It wasn't long until the lights flickered to life.

At around one o'clock, the old lady pushing the food cart stopped by their compartment.

"Do you suppose we should wake him up?" Ron jerked his chin toward Professor Lupin, who was still sound asleep. "He looks like he could do with some food."

Hermione approached the man carefully. "Err… Professor? Excuse me, professor?"

The man didn't move, not even an inch.

"Don't bother," Tristan told Hermione. "He's out like a rock."

"It's all right, dears," said the old lady as she handed Harry a large stack of cauldron cakes. "If he's hungry when he wakes, I'll be up front with the driver."

Humming quietly to herself, she slid the door closed and moved along to the next customers.

"I suppose he is asleep, then? I mean, he hasn't died, has he?" Ron asked quietly

"Nah, he's still breathing." Tristan tossed a cauldron cake in his mouth after Harry handed one to him. "I'm surprised you can't hear it from there, it's really heavy."

Heavy-breather as he was, and overall not very good company, Professor Lupin's presence ended up having its uses. Particularly when, around mid-afternoon, their three least favourite people decided to pop by the compartment for an unwanted visit — Malfoy and his croonies, Crabbe and Goyle.

Perfect, Tristan thought sourly, just what they needed.

"Well look who it is," Malfoy said in his usual drawl, pulling open the compartment door, "Potty and company."

Like two dumb trolls, Crabbe and Goyle sniggered.

Malfoy was a slim boy with a pale and pointy face that seemed permanently set in a sneer. Tristan had loathed Malfoy since the moment they met, at a party thrown by the Minister that he was dragged to by his father, one year prior they both came to Hogwarts. After becoming friends with Harry and Ron, Tristan's dislike for Malfoy grew exponentially.

As for Crabbe and Goyle, they seemed to exist solely to do Malfoy's bidding. They were both wide and burly, Crabbe slightly taller. He sported an ugly pudding-bowl haircut, whereas Goyle had short, bristly hair.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" Tristan bolted to his feet, dropping Crookshanks, who complained loudly, on the seat next to him.

"Oh, nothing much," Malfoy sneered arrogantly. "Just wanted to see how you'd faired this summer, Cavanaugh. We had a bet on it, you know? Us Slytherins, I mean. I heard your father had you on house arrest and I was almost sure you'd come back with another black eye like last year."

Tristan curled his hands into fists, ready to pounce. Ron, sensing a fight, had a similar reaction, standing from his seat so fast that he knocked Crookshanks's basket to the floor. The noise drew a snort from Professor Lupin.

Malfoy eyed the sleeping man and took a step back. "Who's that?"

"New teacher," Harry answered as he too stood up in case he needed to hold back his friends.

Malfoy's eyes narrowed; he wasn't a fool to pick a fight right under a teacher's nose. Tristan flashed a cocky, daring smirk. They held each other's stare for a minute. Finally, Malfoy gritted his teeth and walked away, his croonies hot on his tail.

"If Professor Lupin wasn't here…" Tristan let the threat hang in the air, sitting back down. "I swear I'm not gonna put up with Malfoy this year. I've had enough of him talking rubbish of me and my sister."

"Honestly, when have you ever put up with anything? Last year you hexed him in the courtyard because you heard him call Nora ugly," Hermione said with only the smallest hint of disapproval.

"Served him right. Nora's not ugly."

"That's not the point, Harry."

"The point's that Malfoy needs a lesson learned," Ron replied angrily while rubbing his knuckles. "I mean it, if he makes one more crack about Nora or my family, I'm going to get a hold of his head and—"

He made a violent gesture mid-air.

"Watch it, Ron," Hermione hissed, pointing sharply at Professor Lupin.

"I'll hold him down for you, mate," Tristan offered. The primly look Hermione sent his way greatly improved his mood. He loved Hermione, but she was too easy to provoke, and it was much too fun to resist.