Definition of a Wolf, part two.

Disclaimer **Points at J.K. Rowling** She did it again!

Dedication: This chapter is dedicated to Mad Purple Nikki, my Partner in Crime. MWUhuhuhu!

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Remus Lupin had tamed the wolf for another night. But still he could not sleep. Strange images danced in front of his vision, visions he could not identify at first, but soon morphed into easily identifiable characters. He could see James, Lily and Harry, standing together as they had the last time Remus saw them; the day of Harry's first birthday. They laughed and waved at him. He shook his head, trying to dislodge the hallucinations, but they were merely replaced by more. These ones weren't memories. These were of Sirius, gazing into Remus' eyes, leaning closer, closer, smiling all the time, saying something which Remus wasn't listening to because he was too immersed in Sirius' deep black eyes to care what he was saying . . .

And then it was gone. Sirius was gone. Remus blinked back the tears (and what were they doing there?), and turned away from the window, where he had been watching the forest.

Memories . . . James Potter's face flashed in front of Remus' eyes again. And Lily. And Peter. Remus waited for Sirius, but he didn't come.

Remus reached for the thick black book on the desk. A photo album. He thumbed through it idly, eyes taking in every image of Sirius' face. There was a picture of Sirius and Lilly, several with James, one with Peter, one with -

The werewolf froze. He had never seen this photo before. Sirius with a tall, blonde haired girl, both of them waving at the photographer. The girl had startling green eyes, a wide, even-toothed smile, and she was extremely familiar. Her name was Felicity. She had died five years ago. And she had been married to Remus.

Felicity had been the turning point for Remus. At school they hadn't spoken much, she was in a different house, a year below him. When they left, they hadn't seen each other for years. After Voldemort's fall, Remus had been given a job at the Ministry for Magic, some paper-pushing job, minimum pay, flexible hours. And there she had been, working with him. Felicity Chandler. Two years later, Felicity Lupin.

She had been the turning point for Remus. A new start. He could at last let James and Lily rest in peace, not forget them, but stop thinking about them constantly. He knew even then it was wrong, he had never had a relationship with a woman, and his luck with men was non-existent. He had no confidence. He knew nothing about romance. He did not love her. But she said all the right things, and he responded, and things just happened. Things like Claire.

They had planned for Claire - no, Felicity had planned for her. Remus had been on auto-pilot ("yes, dear, of course, dear, that would be wonderful, dear"), and she had been born three years into their marriage; a werewolf, but they could handle that. Remus was still on auto-pilot. Beautiful wife and daughter, adequate job, house they could afford, car, friends . . .

Felicity had said to him once, "Remus, we're absolutely perfect, aren't we? We've got everything. There's nothing we want. " Remus had said "of course, my love". What he had meant was, "you're perfect. I've lost everything, now you're my last hope." And he loved her, after a while. And he loved his daughter. And he looked after her at full moon, and he helped her wither school work. And he never thought of Sirius, the boy he had loved at school, and he seldom thought of Lily or James or Peter. Sometimes he wondered about Harry, but didn't everyone?

Then he was called away, he couldn't remember where to, somewhere abroad. France or Spain or Belgium. He had still been on auto-pilot and hadn't taken very much notice. And then he had come home again. And witnessed his own private Hell.

Claire was dead. That was instantly obvious. She had been dead for at least a day. It was no mystery how it had happened; they left their calling card. Literally. Werewolf poachers. They claimed it was sport, and no one could stop them because wolves were game. But it wasn't sport, not really. They all bore grudges against werewolves for some reason or another, and so dedicated their lives to eradicating them, even to the extent of killing an eight year old girl who's father was out of the country.

And Felicity . . . She was gone. The poachers would have kidnapped her upon finding her to be human. Her body turned up several weeks later. Remus made sure his girls were buried together.

But the worst part? By far the worst part was that empty feeling Remus got inside. Not pain, not sorrow, not grief, he'd long since used up his supplies of those. Just emptiness. A huge, gaping hole in his life. No more lovely stability. Auto-pilot disengaged. And then nothing but loneliness.

It had been five years now. Remus had tried living as a hermit, but that didn't work. No one can totally disown the human race, or even the lupine race. He had tried the extreme alternatives with distinct distaste, sampling bars and clubs, but always coming to the same conclusion; they were not his place. Girlfriends came and went. Boyfriends were easier to pick up, then discard, but were no fun because none of them were Sirius. Remus had struggled through, day by day, until finally that letter had come from Dumbledore, offering him a job. Less than a year after that, Sirius was backing his life.

And now he was gone once again. Remus didn't know where he was or if he was coming back. All he knew was, if and when Sirius did return, Remus was going to tell him how he felt. He was going to admit his love. He put a hand on the sacred photo album and swore it. Sealed.

A sudden bashing at his chamber door made him jump. He threw his cloak around him, shut the album, and marched towards the door.

On the other side was Sixth Year Head Prefect, Hermione Granger, looking flustered and mildly annoyed, not to mention exasperated. Remus raised a eyebrow questioningly.

"Professor!" Hermione gasped. "You'd better come quick. There's trouble in the Prefect room, and you're the closest teacher, and I definitely think *you* should handle this one . . . I hope I didn't wake you, but it's quite urgent - "

Remus raised his hands calmingly. "Lead the way," he told her.

They walked quickly towards the Prefect common room. Remus tried to figure out why there would be anyone in there at this time of night, then remembered his time as a student. Of course there would be people awake at one in the morning.

It turned out to be down to a rat. Someone had caught it in a jar and was claiming it had tried to turn into a human. Remus was about to take charge when he noticed another adult had got there first; a mall, slender, auburn- haired lady, smiling cheerfully at him.

"High spirits," she said, reaching for the rat-in-a-jar. "Making all this fuss about a rodent, I don't know - "

"Who are you?" Remus interrupted, brushing her had away from the jar.

"Professor Linda Garland. New Care of Magical Creatures expert. I arrived just a few hours ago, and I can assure you that this is a perfectly ordinary rat - "

"I can assure *you* it isn't," said Remus gruffly, reaching towards the jar. He was lifting it when the new Professor Garland snatched it from him.

"I'm an expert - " she began. Then the jar exploded, raining glass down on the prefect body. A man replaced the rat, a little scrawny man with a bald head and screwed-up eyes. Peter Pettigrew, Lily and James' murderer.

Remus launched himself at the little man, but Wormtail was ready. He swung a fist, catching Remus on the temple, then kicked him in the stomach. The last thing Remus saw before blacking out was Peter becoming a rat again, and vanishing out of the window.

To be continued . . .