Dinnertime. I've been asked by several people about the bruise today, but now here comes Professor Lupin, our Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. I love Remus, don't get me wrong; he was one of my father's closest friends and he's like a second godfather to me. Why else would I call him Remus? I even suspect that he and Sirius are close like Ron and I are, not just friends. But he's a professor, and he's a prominent figure in the fight against Voldemort. But, but... like I said, he and Sirius... well, he will know. He will know what my bruise' really is, what it means. He will know like no one else in the school knew, and he will want to talk to me about it.

Harry, my boy, how are you – His voice cuts off as he stares at my neck. I raise my eyes, pleading with him, not to notice, not to say a word, nothing, please, oh god, please. But he doesn't have Ron's practise reading my thoughts, I suppose, and he starts his sentence again. Do you mind coming to my rooms at 8 tonight? Your godfather would like to see you. His eyebrow quirks. That's his code that, this time, it's just him, and Sirius isn't here. I sigh heavily, but pretend to act pleased for the benefit of the rest of the table. Ron catches my eye; there's a question in it. I nod wearily, and he blanches.


At eight o'clock, I head out of the common room towards Remus' apartments. Ron gives me one last look. Courage, it seems to say to me. Have courage. I sigh and return his look with a smile. I will try. Always I will try.

I knock on Remus' door and he ushers me in. Sit down, Harry, sit down. He pulls out a bottle of butterbeer, opens it, and gives it to me. I take a swig, hoping it will calm the butterflies invading my stomach. It doesn't.

he begins. I hardly think I'd be doing the job properly if I didn't at least comment on your new... decoration. He laughs halfheartedly. I scowl.

Come on, Harry, it's not so bad. If you wanted it a secret, you would have been more careful.

When my voice comes out, it's a low, guttural growl. After a year and a half, you might have a moment or two that your guard slips, too.

I'm perversely pleased by the shocked reaction on his face. But why, Harry? Why keep it a secret? It's not someone dreadful, like that Parkinson girl in Slytherin, is it?

I gag at the thought. I haven't thought about women in ages, and Pansy Parkinson is unattractive to all but the most desperate heterosexual males. I sigh. No, no, no. Don't you think we might would like to tell? Don't you think it drives us crazy? You're the only person who even knows I'm in love, besides... the person. And now you have information that makes you more *valuable* to Voldemort. Information that places this person at more of a risk than they already are! Voldemort's after me, in case you had forgotten. That's reason enough to conceal it!

Remus is taken aback. I've never yelled at my godfathers before, either of them. The chance to have some semblance of a family that loves me, weird as it is, has kept me in check. But now Remus... now Remus has endangered all three of us, and I have to stop him from telling Sirius. Must stop him.

You must not tell anyone about this. Anyone! Not McGonagall, not Dumbledore... not ever Sirius. You must not. Don't you think I – we – have thought about this. We HATE it. But we know it keeps us safe, both of us. So we live with it. And now, if you'll excuse me, there's someone I need that needs me as well. Still angry, I stride from the room, heading straight for the room behind the mirror that was created when a passageway to Hogsmeade collapsed.

I walk through the mirror. He's waiting. Thank God. I cast barrier spells, locking charms, stunning spells, and a memory ward on the mirror, then step closer to him, wrapping him in my arms. Ron, Ron, oh god. I pull back from him then, softly kissing the edges of his mouth where Draco Malfoy raped his mouth. That's what it was, rape. No other name for it, no way to make it nice. I hold him tightly, like I'll never let go. I love you, Ron, so much.

I love you too, Harry, oh I couldn't bear it if anything happened. He's quiet for a minute, but then he asks. I knew he would; I knew he must. What... what happened with Moony?

Only between the two of us do we call them Padfoot and Moony. We have nicknames, too, and a new Marauders' Map. Sirius and Remus helped us last summer, when I got to go stay with Remus for a week. They wanted to call me Prongs Jr. but I told them I wasn't a bloody stag so that was out. Ron and I do want to become Animagi, but I think that's what the summer is for, so we've held off. If it's not, we have plenty of time over the summer to work on it. I know what I want to be, though. I want to be a wolf. I can pass for a dog that way, but also survive, really survive, in the wild. I wrote a letter to Moony about it, if he would be okay with it. It was too hard to ask face to face, but he stopped me in the halls later to say it wouldn't bother him a bit. So somehow I became Alpha. Ron wants to fly, he says, but everything that flies has a very small brain. So he's going to become a wildcat. Bigger than a housecat, but small enough to go about undetected at times. This desire has earned him the nickname Tiger. A pack of two. Two's enough, though.

I realise I still haven't answered his question, and open my mouth to reply. He was joking at first. I had to yell, finally, he just didn't understand it wasn't some silly game. But he doesn't know how or even gender.

A small smile appears on Ron's face, the first genuine one since breakfast on this disastrous day. He hold me close; the bite is fading, and by the weekend everything will have blown over. He is safe now; we are safe.