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Chapter Four: Vois-tu Que J'ai Decouvert?
What happens
: The second year ends; you see into the mind of Voldemort a little, as well as into the minds of all of Remus's friends. Sirius and Remus are both starting to understand what it is they're feeling for each other.
Main Characters: Remus J. Lupin, Sirius Black
Subsidiary Characters: James Potter, Lilly Evans, Peter Pettigrew; Severus Snape, Lucius Malfoy; Professor Voldemort, Professor McGonagall; Etienne Ibert
Couples You Will Find In This Fic (Whether You Like It Or Not): Sirius Black/Remus Lupin; James Potter/Lilly Evans; Severus wanting Remus's body; a hint or two of Lucius Malfoy/Severus Snape; other relationships of both a homosexual and heterosexual nature
Dedication: This fic is dedicated to Lins, who continually rekindles my joy of SiriusxRemus whenever I am losing it.
This is: chapter four of a work in progress. Like all my works in progress, it is possible that you will be waiting a very long time between installments, or they could come out daily in a psychotic and rather frightening fashion. Do Not Worry! Just take it as it comes, and feel free to send me demanding fan mail (all demanding fan mail should be sent to IremusJLupin@aol.com) if you feel you've been waiting an egregiously long time. Demanding fan mail is annoying sometimes, but on the whole it makes me feel incredibly cool. And that's what it's all about, right? Oh yes. And I am also constantly updating chapters that have already been uploaded, whenever I find a hideous spelling error or a problem with grammar. So check back often.
C&C: is demanded. Or, you know, desperately longed for, in a rather pathetic sense. Just gimme some of that good ol' fashioned R&R, and let me know you actually do want to see more of my work.
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Chapter Four: Vois-tu Que J'ai Decouvert?

After Potions Remus stayed late, as usual. The other second year Slytherins and Gryffindors filed out of the classroom, Sirius lagging behind for as long as he could manage before Ellen Abbott took his arm and escorted him cheerily out. Remus watched them go with an expressionless face, though his stomach writhed within him.

"Remus," Professor Voldemort said, beckoning to him and effectively shattering his thoughts.

"Mm," Remus said, "sorry."

"Quite all right." The professor smiled his unsettling smile. Remus sat across the desk from him. "I should be forever in your debt, after all you've taught Sirius Black." That part deep inside of Remus snarled.

"I didn't think I'd made much of a difference."

"I haven't had to put out any fires in a month. I'm quite impressed." Professor Voldemort laughed softly, and the sound was far from companionable. It was trying to hard. Remus felt his skin crawl. He bowed his head like a wolf showing deference to a more powerful counterpart. Even with his eyes on the desk before him, he could feel that terrible smile spreading between them. He said nothing. Remus didn't want to be friends with this man. All he wanted was to be taught the lesson so he could get out as fast as he could. "Right," Voldemort said finally, coughing softly. He slid a book across the table between them. "Page forty three."

"All right." Remus flipped the book open. They had never worked out of it before. it was written in neat, precise script, but there was something to the writing that suggested an intelligence and a creativity Remus could admire.

"These are some newer formulas," Voldemort was saying, "which will soon become quite controversial, if I read the tea leaves correctly." They both knew he had. Remus ignored his comment and turned obediently to the indicated potion. Page forty-three. Across the top, in that tight but friendly script, was written 'Wolfsbane Potion.'

Remus's hands stilled. The color drained from his face. He felt something clench around his stomach.

"Those nights of the full moon are hard, aren't they, Remus?" When the boy said nothing, Voldemort went on. "I thought as much. And so, I came up with this back at the beginning of the year. Just for you."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Remus said, lips pressed tightly together. Was he supposed to be flattered? Could he possibly be anything other than absolutely terrified?

"Come now," Voldemort murmured, "lying does not become you."

"I said, I don't know what you're talking about."

"I thought," Voldemort murmured encouragingly, bravely continuing as planned, "today we might try mixing that potion, and see how it worked next week. It is the full moon next week, isn't it?"

"You know when the full moon is."

"Ah. Yes. Well." Voldemort smiled thinly. "Why don't we give it a try, then?"

"How?" Remus lifted wary eyes to Voldemort's face, watching him as he would watch an enemy.

"You're not asking how the potion works."

"No."

"But, rather," Voldemort continued, "how I knew. Correct?"

"Yes."

"It was really quite simple," Voldemort said. "All I had to do was watch you, and check all the signs. You've been out every single afternoon before the full moon, and the entire day after each. And I saw your eyes, Remus." Voldemort leaned forward. His own eyes flashed an inhuman and unnatural green. "They are the eyes of a Beast of the Darkness." His words sent chills down Remus's spine. Had he not been frozen to his seat he would have pulled away, as far away as he could, from those slitted eyes before him. "So I've known since our very first class together what you are. I merely had to wait for the right opportunity to let you see how much I know about you."

"You've known..."

"For a very long time, yes." Voldemort pushed the book closer to the boy. "It would make life much easier."

"I'd owe you something." Remus's eyes narrowed. The scared side of him had hidden itself behind the angry wolf. He didn't feel right, even to himself. "If I made this potion, right now-- I'd owe you something."

"You belong in a world only I can give you," Voldemort said.

"Why?"

"Because you are a Beast of the Night," Voldemort murmured, "and a Beast of the Darkness."

"I'm nothing like you think I am."

"I know what you are, Remus." Fear sunk its teeth into Remus's chest. His hands trembled. He set his jaw firmly, and faced Voldemort eye to eye. Somewhere inside of him, he was strong. Without the wolf. He was not a Beast of the Darkness. The moon pulled his body and that anger, but he was not what Voldemort thought he was. He was not that simple, nor was he that easy to fool.

"No," Remus said, "you don't."

"I know what you are. Perhaps not who you are -- but that is what I wish to remedy."

"What is it that you want?"

"I have seen things," Voldemort said, and he said no more.

"Oh." Remus felt caged. There was nowhere to run, because no matter what he did, Professor Voldemort knew. Remus couldn't run from knowledge. No matter where he went, no matter how fast he ran to get there, the facts would still remain. He felt suddenly like he was going to be ill.

"You are important to me, Remus," Voldemort said suddenly.

"I don't want to be."

"That is not an option." Voldemort ran his fingers through his dark hair, his green eyes almost hypnotic. Remus pulled back, the feet of his chair scraping along the dungeon floor. "Neither is running. But you are a smart boy, and you know that already."

"I don't want to make the potion." Voldemort sighed softly.

"Our lesson for today is over, then." The professor waved his hand absently, and then leaned over, closing the book. "You don't have to worry, Remus. Just remember what we've discussed. You do not belong in this world."

"You don't know," Remus said, his teeth pressed tight together, "anything about me."

"I know more than you think."

Somehow, Remus managed to stand on shaky feet. He couldn't turn his back to the man, keeping his head held high and defiant, despite the sinking terror he felt like a lump of lead in his stomach.

Severus Snape held his books tight to his chest and plowed through the crowd of students. He knew the rules of the hallway well. You kept your head down, you kept quiet, and the most that could happen to you was you got bumped into or knocked aside. It was hard to see ahead of you this way, because you were focusing on your feet, but in the long run it was a lot better for your health and safety.

He had a very good view of his feet, from the way he was walking.

Lucius didn't walk that way, kept his head held high, his blue eyes glinting, daring anyone to tell him he wasn't carrying himself right. Sirius Black did the same sort of thing, only with a less regal sort of swagger. His friend, Remus Lupin, did the same as Severus did. Kept his head down. Let the blows come. Took it in silence, which Severus sometimes imagined to be the strongest way of doing things.

Sometimes, though, he did think he was a fool for not looking where he was going. It made for a lot of otherwise easily-avoided accidents.

Both Severus and whomever it was he had crashed into went down to the ground with a loud thud. Severus himself dropped his book and it went skittering across the floor, kicked about underneath the students' feet.

"Sorry," he said, on automatic instinct.

"Sorry," said another, half-distracted voice, that he recognized immediately to be Remus Lupin's.

"It was my fault," Severus said.

"No. I wasn't looking where I was going." Severus's dark eyes took in the other boy's smaller form. After the inspection, the Slytherin boy stood, brushing himself off, retrieving the lost book.

"Neither was I," he said.

"It wasn't your fault."

"Then I suppose it was just an accident?" Severus looked towards the door Remus had just stepped out of. An involuntary grimace passed over his face. The other boy had come from potions, with Professor Voldemort.

"Right."

Remus stood, eyes distracted, face pale. Severus paused for a moment, wondering if he was sick, or if something had just happened to him, or if he'd just seen a particularly frightening ghost.

"Are you all right?" Silence for a few seconds. Remus turned the panicked eyes of a wild animal too-often attacked on Severus. He hesitated, then relaxed, looking apologetic.

"Yes."

"Are you sure? Because you look a little pale--"

"I'm sure." It was unusual that one of Lucius's bunch was so polite. It was, Remus assumed, the lack of Lucius that caused such a change in personality.

"Perhaps-- you ought to-- the infirmary...?"

"No." Severus studied his face. A frown played across his own as he saw the frightened, skittery way Remus's brown eyes moved about, the way his skin looked oddly gray, the way he seemed haunted, afraid of his own shadow. The boy, Severus knew, was not easily frightened.

"Are you sure you're all right?"

"Yes! Yes, I'm sure. I'm sorry. I'm sure." Remus winced as his voice raised higher. If only he would stop asking questions!

"He didn't--" Severus paused. He licked his lips. It was taking a long shot, and probably foolish to ask, but the way Remus looked was indicative of something quite terrifying. And that, Severus knew, was exactly what Voldemort was, when he wanted to be. Terrifying. "Professor Voldemort didn't-- do anything?" Remus swung his head up, eyes fixed brightly, almost burningly, on Severus's face. The Slytherin boy shrunk back from the gaze.

"No."

"That's a lie."

"He didn't do anything."

"Just wanted to see if you were all right," Severus said, scowling, staring down at the ground. Remus was silent, his heart pounding fiercely in his chest. He felt like a beast in a cage. "I just know that-- that sometimes, Professor Voldemort can do-- do things. Intimidating."

"Oh."

"Don't worry about them."

"What?" Their eyes met.

"Don't worry about them, that's all. And--"

"Yes?" Remus felt his heart slow, his shaky breaths grow less ragged.

"And about yesterday, with your bag-- I am sorry, about that." Remus blinked.

"It's all right."

"Not really."

"I understand." Severus nodded gravely.

"Good." The awkwardness between them was suddenly less awkward, because they both felt it, and knew they both did. A few seconds passed. Severus smiled, half-sided, and Remus returned it, the expression much the same on his own face. "I'll-- I'll see you, then."

"Mm-- thank you." Severus shrugged, looking away.

"He's a lot of talk. Can't do-- can't do half the things he says."

"That's-- that's good to hear."

"Right."

"...right." Remus ran his fingers awkward through his bangs, shoving them back from his eyes. The other boy wasn't quite as bad, when he wasn't in the presence of Lucius Malfoy. In fact, he was rather decent. It seemed suddenly as if all Voldemort's threats were unimportant, as if his knowledge of Remus's secrets had no power in the brightly-lit hallway.

Remus barely noticed as Severus hefted his things, squared his shoulders, and hurried off, looking back over his shoulder at the other as he left.

It took a moment for him to square his shoulders. He managed it. He'd have to remember to ask the others to let up on Severus Snape, if only a little bit.

Remus began to fail potions.

It wasn't that he couldn't do well in the class, because he could, and the entire class knew it. He'd been top of the class at the beginning of the year.

By the end of it, he was very near to the bottom.

He quit his tutoring and lost interest in the subject. He avoided Voldemort's questions, avoided doing even the assignments. It was the only class in which he allowed himself to do poorly, almost as poorly as Sirius himself. He was still careful. He had just lost the desire to excel.

The second year passed quicker than the first. The classes were familiar, though they had increased a level in skill requirements, and Remus grew used to the simple routine he fell into as the days and the weeks and the months passed by. Sirius was a part of his life like the sun rising and the moon swelling in the sky. James, Lily and Peter were also parts of his life, but less so, like supports on the edge of a little circle he had made. Sirius had once been like that; now, he was made of the very life force that pulsed through Remus's veins.

As the weeks rushed by, Remus added noticeable physical growth to his list of achievements. Sirius and James, too, were growing, and much faster than Remus himself, but by the end of the year Remus no longer looked three years younger than his actual age. Next to Sirius and James he was still left behind, smaller and a good deal less hearty, and was therefore an easy taget for those who wanted someone to pick on.

Anyone who tried to do so, though, had Sirius to reckon with. No one but Lucius, Crabbe and Goyle came back for more.

Professor Voldemort never revealed Remus's secret, though there was something buried in his jade eyes that told Remus always I know. The two of them stayed away from each other, held secrets that neither of them could afford to have revealed to the world of Hogwarts. At last, after a while of paranoia and terror, Remus began to ignore that voice in his mind that told him he was no longer completely safe, no longer as protected as he would have liked himself to be.

Severus Snape, though he was ever faithful to Lucius Malfoy, became as time went by an odd sort of friend to Remus. Sirius hated him with that fiery temper and hot-headed passion that awed Remus so; James disliked him immenseley and took all opportunities possible to torture him; Peter, as always, did what Sirius and James chose to do, and persecuted the Slytherin boy when backed by the other two.

Remus and Severus kept up pretenses and appearances to satisfy their friends' adversarial relationships but were quite amicable in private, sometimes working together on extra-curricular projects on weekends in the library. Circumstances, Remus reasoned, did not have to make enemies of two people who would otherwise get along just fine.

For reasons Remus could not fathom or comprehend, Severus worshipped the proud and cruel Lucius Malfoy; for reasons equally confusing and baffling to Severus, Remus looked up to Sirius Black, loud and foolish as he was, as his hero. Because of these two cases of hero-worship, though focused on two completely different sorts of people, Severus and Remus grew to understand each other in a periphery fashion.

Before the end of Remus's second year, the Slytherin and the Gryffindor had to say their good-byes in private over their final Charms project in the library one night.

"...and I think that's all," Remus said, finishing the last sentence from a six hundred page book on 'Advanced and Applicable Charms.' There was an air of finality to the moment: pride at the completion of of their task, hollow emptiness from the end of a long, hard job finally over. They looked from their own writing to the heavy-handed script of the book, and then Remus closed it solemnly, nodding to himself.

"It is," Severus said, quill scratching over the piece of parchment on the table in front of them for one moment more, before falling still.

They looked at each other, silent, emotions mixed.

"Have a nice summer, Remus," Severus finally murmured.

"Thank you. You, too."

"And I'll see you next year," Severus added after a moment, staring at his feet.

"Yes."

"Yes." Severus nodded. Remus did the same. It was too solemn, like a pact, like they should shake on it. It didn't feel right. It took a few seconds of awkwardness before the both of them simultaneously began to smile. They didn't pretend they were going to write each other. Somewhere, in their loyal sensibilities, they knew this would not be fundamentally right. This did not mean, though, that they could not wish each other well.

They left the dark library without speaking further and walked the empty, silent halls without breaking that silence. As always -- together, on nights such as these, they had formed a routine from which they had never yet deviated, and never would deviate -- they went back to the Gryffindor common room, first, and parted ways there.

They lingered by the Fat Lady, who slumbered on, oblivious to their Capulet and-Montague presences, for a moment longer than usual. Remus ran his fingers through his hair which, Snape noticed, was a dusky red-brown when bathed in the hall's lowered lamplight. It seemed to be threaded with flashes of gold, just as those hidden, precious glimmers could be found echoing deep within his eyes.

"Goodnight," Severus said after a while of simply enjoying the company they gave each other, unable to take the silence any longer.

"Next year," Remus said, with an oddly sage, trustworthy tone, complete in its surety. Severus had to nod, unable to disagree when the other boy sounded so sure of himself. "And you'd better leave, now, so I don't get in trouble for giving away the password to a Slytherin."

Nodding once, Severus turned on his heel and left, feeling alone but elated in the secrecy of their forbidden friendship.

It was nice to have enemies as friends.

They were alone because James and Lilly had gone off to be alone, themselves, and Peter was not an idiot, knowing when he was not wanted and knowing even better when was a good time to leave people to themselves.

Sirius was torn between end-of-the-year bliss and the miserable, lonely incompleteness he would feel without Remus.

Remus was not torn. He knew the loneliness that was soon to come and permeate his entire being. He was beginning to recognize it, and would soon attempt to understand it, the forces behind it. There was no happiness battling with depression for control of his emotions.

"Miss you," Sirius mumbled, face buried in Remus's hair, against the side of his neck. Such intimacies between them were not uncommon. Remus sat very still, feeling Sirius's breath and his words against his own skin and the base of his scalp.

"I'll miss you, too."

"It was so lonely, without you, last time."

"Mm," Remus sighed, eyes shutting lazily. He was starting to realize why he felt so comfortable only against Sirius's body, only just starting, but it was coming to him, at least.

"I'll write you. I promise."

"Will you?"

"I said, I promise."

"Then I'll be waiting for your letters." Remus could feel Sirius grin against him. He shivered.

"You'll write me back?"

"Of course."

"And longer, too, knowing you." They both smiled.

"Naturally." Sirius ran his fingers through Remus's hair, fingertips curling against Remus's cheek. It was hard to breathe, suddenly.

"They'll be better, they'll be less messy."

"Mm."

"What're you going to do, over the summer?"

"Read." Remus smiled faintly, and shrugged. "Not much else."

"Should do more."

"Mm."

"Michael and da promised they'd let me down into the mines, though mum's still against the whole idea." Sirius let his fingers wander down Remus's shoulder, the bone beneath the robe enticing.

"That's," Remus sighed softly, breath catching, "that's nice."

"Mm. I'm excited about it." His fingers against the side of Remus's neck, which was soft. Touches like this, aimless, just for touching. There was nothing odd or wrong about it. It just was. Sirius liked it. He got the feeling from the way Remus was relaxed in his arms that Remus liked it, too. It wasn't like touching Ellen Abbot -- it was better because, after all, it had to do with Remus.

"Be careful."

"Just like you to say that."

"I know."

"Well, I will be."

"Good." Remus felt too content to worry. Remus felt too content to care. Remus was too close to Sirius and too happy with Sirius to give a galleon about anything else going on in the whole world.

"And," Sirius said, but he trailed off.

"And?"

"Nothing."

Remus turned his head just enough so that his face was buried against Sirius's shoulder. Sirius cupped his head in one hand.

"This is nice," he said after a moment or two of silence.

"Yes," Remus said, "it is nice."

"You know," Sirius said, "you smell familiar. Like-- like something nice, but I don't know what." The compliment was awkward and not particularly well thought out, but Remus felt wonderful over it, all the same. "When I get home I think I'll just write you letters all day."

"No," Remus murmured into his neck, "you won't." But it was a nice thought, anyway. Sirius sighed, and then laughed.

"You're right," he admitted. "You know me too well."

"Just be more careful about the sorts of things you say, next time." A pause. "I'm on to you, Sirius Black."

After that they fell quiet. They found each other's hands after that, and twined their fingers together, interlacing them against Sirius's thigh. With one thumb Sirius rubbed the back of Remus's hand, and their breathing moved slow, their breaths moving against each other's bodies.

The silence passed with the scenery, slow and pleasant. Sirius curved around Remus's smaller body, protective of it, not too close for comfort -- though with Sirius, Remus knew his privacy would never be invaded, nor would his skin ever crawl at any touch. Their heads rested close together. The minutes were respective of them, and grew slower, longer, so that their time would not speed by as the train seemed to.

Their chests rose and fell together, following the steady rhythm dictated by the clacking of the train tracks.

"Remus?"

"Yes?"

"No-- nothing."

The rest of the trip was passed in the companionable quiet, which spoke of something more, and something shared between them, and things that could not be fitted into words when vocabulary was so limited and useless.

There was no reason to speak.

Their connection ran deeper than words.

They parted the instant they got off the train, Sirius going in one direction, Remus in another.

"You've grown," Etienne said softly to his son. The way he said it meant, 'I missed you. You've changed. I've missed seeing you change.' Remus smiled faintly up at him. His father had changed, too, the gray hairs whiter in his mustache, his hairline not receding, but growing grayer. His face was lined, though it was still kind, softened, impossibly glad to be seeing his son again.

"Mm. I did. An inch and a half." He let his father take his suitcase, stretching his arms above him. He was cramped from the long train ride, and his body, which had grown used to dozing off against Sirius's chest, was missing that previous warmth quite a good deal. "What time are we taking the train back?"

"We're not."

"We're not taking the train?"

"No. We're driving." Etienne's blue eyes sparkled and his lips twitching, longing to grin childishly. Such expressions, though, had long since faded from his face. Now, only the shadow of mischief remained, flickering deep in those pale blue depths.

"We're driving in...?" Remus looked at his father skeptically.

"Our car." Etienne smiled beneath his mustache. "You think you're the only one who knows how to make changes?" Remus returned the smile. "Let's go."

They didn't take each other's hands. They walked side by side instead, perhaps wanting secretly to touch but finding the distance between them too great. Remus had grown, Remus had changed, and something suggested to both their subconscious's that they could not hold hands any longer. Etienne felt proud and despairing, but said nothing, glad that his son was back with him at last.

If only for a little while.

The first letter came within a week, and was followed by quite a few more.

Remus,

It's the same here as it's always been. Mum says I've grown another inch since I came back from Hogwarts, but that it's only natural, since she's the only one who can feed me right. Obviously she's never seen what they feed us at breakfast, let alone during the holidays.
Bet you've bloody gone and lost weight again. I'll start sending chocolate bars, maybe?
Told you I'd write, anyway. More later -- when something actually happens.
Miss you.
Sirius

Sirius,

I should have expected as much. I'm expecting more next time, you know. I am eating, and I happen to have a chocolate bar with me this very moment, as I'm writing to you.
Nothing of any importance has happened here, either. My father bought a car, but aside from being driven to and from the Hogwarts Express, it barely affects me at all.
Miss you, too.
Remus

Remus,

I've never been one to write the Great American Novel. That was more your style, don't you think? Besides, if I blathered on about nothing I'd bore you half to death before you even got halfway through the letter.
Isn't it better to keep things short and sweet?
The twins have been sick for the past week. It's non-stop crying through the day and night both. Me and Michael spend most of our time outside, down by the lake, when he isn't working in the mines with Da, which is more often than not, these days. The noise is enough to drive you crazy. Mum's gone sick with worry. I have to admit, I hate seeing them like that, too.
I still miss you.
Sirius

Sirius,

I'm sorry about the twins. I hope they're better soon, for their sakes, as well as for yours.
I finished 'The Sound and The Fury' last night, though I doubt you'd care. Nothing else has happened. I went to the museum a few days back with my father, and as always, it's nice to be back with him.
I still miss you, too.
Remus

Remus,
Now look who's writing short letters?

The twins are better. Thank God for mum's sanity, my sanity, and their health.
Sometimes, I feel so bloody left out around here. Michael and Da are down in the mines. William's turning fifteen and Da said he'd let him go down after his birthday. Cassy and Mum aren't exactly the type to include me, and the twins are the twins.
I miss you more, now.
Sirius

Sirius,

I'll try to write you more often, to keep you company as best I can. Papa's starting to wonder who it is who's mailing me so often. He's guessed it's "that Sirius" I'm always talking about, and I think he's glad that at least I'm keeping in touch with my friends.
He's trying to get me out more.
I know you'd agree with him on that.
Still -- it's not as simple when you're not here, with me.
I miss you more, too.
Remus

Sirius folded the latest letter after the third reading. So far, this summer had been much better than the last, it was obvious to the rest of his family the letters brought daily by Owl Post were the reasons why. With a hidden but wonderfully bright grin he folded it back up and slipped it inot the haphazardly carved wooden box that housed Remus's other letters.

"Got another letter, I see." Michael flopped down next to Sirius on the back porch, arms stretching out behind his head. "You're quite popular. I had no idea." He grinned the famous Black grin, eyes fixed on the sky, and not his brother.

"Yeah."

"You've been getting a lot of 'em, lately."

"I've been writing a lot of 'em." Sirius fingered the edge of the box protectively, watching Michael from the corner of his eyes.

"Unlike you. Not," Michael continued quickly, "like I'm complaining. You've been doing a lot better this summer."

"Mm."

"...who're they from?" Sirius had seen it coming. He scowled faintly, then relaxed, nudging the box closer to himself. The wood was rough. Together, he and Michael had made it, three years ago, and it told of Sirius's inexperience and Michael's lack of patience. Still, it served its purpose well enough.

"A friend." Michael paused for a while, rolling a cigarette carefully in his fingers. It took concentration to make it just right, just the way he liked it. Sirius had tried one of Michael's cigarettes once and it had made him ill for two days.

"This Remus you're always talking about?" Sirius nodded. Couldn't lie to Michael. He'd learned that a long, long time ago. They sat for a while in silence after that, Michael taking long drags on his cigarette, the smoke curling up into the air, which was hot and heavy. "I hear also," Michael said after a while, "that you're popular with the girls in school, too."

"Who from?"

"Does it matter, if it's true?" Sirius shrugged. "Is it true?"

"S'pose you could say that." Michael laughed softly around his cigarette, the smoke coming out in short little bursts from between his parted lips.

"Can't imagine my little brother having the girls lining up just to be noticed by him, that's all." It dawned on Sirius suddenly that Michael must have been talking to James at some point to get this information, and he scowled.

"I'm going to kill that bloody Potter." Again, Michael laughed.

"Thought it'd take you longer to figure out, than that."

"I'm not stupid."

"Right." Michael's eyes twinkled, and he nudged into Sirius with an elbow. "Where'd you get that bloody necklace, anyway? One of the girls?" Sirius opened his mouth to yell out a protesting 'no!' and then shut it.

"Not like that," he settled on saying.

"Who was it?"

"Someone-- someone special," Sirius mumbled looking down at his lap helplessly.

"What's her name?" After receiving no reply, Michael sighed softly, stubbing out his cigarette in the dirt, beneath his bootheel. "Not going to tell me?"

"No. I'm not."

"All right. If you must be that way. ...at least you could tell me about her? Come on, Sirius, you're turning out to be such a disappointment..." Once more, Michael nudged Sirius in the side with his elbow. "C'mon." Sirius felt oddly ill.

"Well," he said, "she-- she's got these-- brown eyes, only when you look deeper, they're not brown, they're sort of this gold..."

"You've got it bad, haven't you," Michael murmured, sympathetic, though he was grinning from ear to ear.

"Guess so," Sirius said, the weight of Michael's supposedly light-hearted words hitting him full in the stomach. He did have it bad, didn't he. And it wasn't for Ellen Abbott, or for Maeve Zabini, or anything boring and stupid and as wrong to his chest as they felt, whenever he thought about them. No, he had it bad, and he supposed he'd had it bad for a while, only he hadn't fully understood. He felt very calm. Very stupid, and very afraid, but also very calm.

"Well? You gonna say anything more than what color her eyes are?"

"Well," Sirius said, beginning to smile. A great weight had been lifted from his shoulders, or so it felt. "I feel sometimes, like she's a little too smart for me, you know?"

"And you don't think mum's too smart for da?" The both of them laughed at that, and then Michael nodded, encouraging Sirius to go on.

"She's always got the answer for everything. 'S why she's so amazing -- always knows what to do, and when."

"Mm." Michael nodded sagely, as if he knew just what Sirius was talking about. Sirius closed his eyes, picturing Remus before them. He opened his eyes again, and continued.

"And she has this hair that can be the same color as the gold in her eyes. You know, when she's in the sunlight."

"What a poet my little brother's turned out to be. I never knew."

"Thought about it a lot," Sirius mumbled, cheeks flushing.

"You writing letters to her?"

"Yes," Sirius answered. That was true, too.

"Good luck, Sirius." Michael winked, standing, stretching. His unruly brown hair fell into his eyes, and his face looked satisfied, content with himself. "Make sure you make your move while you've still got the chance, if you like her all that much." Sirius looked down at his knees, old jeans torn and fraying. "Or else you'll regret it," Michael added after a moment, before turning and trotting into the house.

If only, Sirius mused, it were that simple. If only things worked the way Michael reasoned them out.

With a sigh, he took out his pen and a piece of paper, and began to write Remus back, lingering on the letters of his friend's name with a fondness and a patience he showed for nothing else in the world.

It hurt.

Remus closed his eyes and felt his muscles tense, felt the blackness pound through his veins. The earth was alive, and he could feel it calling to him through the bars. He hated the metal scent of the bars, their firmness.

Just outside, Etienne sat. His eyes were closed and his hands were clutched tight in his lap.

I'm sorry, his body said. I am so sorry.

Remus licked his dry lips, gnawing at them. Outside the window the sun was sinking, slowly, too slowly, and he was terrified of it. He reared back, eyes wild and inhuman, widening. It was easier to close his eyes to everything, and block out the blood red color of the sun. Easier, but he couldn't manage to do it. The wolf had to look at everything face to face.

He whined, deep in the back of his throat.

As dark fell he could feel it, rather than see it, with golden eyes that fixed in despair on the glass window-pane.

First his fingers, fingertips turning to fingerpads, nails elongating, changing shape. He kept his own nails short. These were long, the weapons of his furry animal body. He stared down and watched them change, watched the way his flesh morphed and grew fur and stretched and shrunk. It was revolting. He recoiled from himself.

Then his whole hands to paws. It began to hurt, bones and flesh melting and reforming. He closed his eyes and the tears came, hot and wet down his cheeks, choking up in his throat so that he made ragged, panting sounds deep in his chest.

His arms next. He lifted himself up on his knees and screamed and the sound came out ragged and broken. All the sinews in his thin arms were twisting, all the bones coming loose at the joints to grind against each other. He tried to hide his face, but knew that sort of weakness would not hide him from the pain that pounding through his body with his blood.

Through his shoulders. He could feel it as if his bones were breaking, being stretched like putty. All down the center of his back. His spine twisting, aching, his gut clenching so that he doubled in on himself. Every vertebrae was housing his spinal cord, a livewire of agony. He wasn't screaming anymore but he was howling, a sound that was half human, half animal, and terrifying to even his own ears, which pressed flat against his head, trying to block out the sound.

Down through his legs. Over the muscles in his thighs, ripping them to shreds. His knees, growing, crunching. His calves, the tendons snapping, new tendons growing.

His body hurt.

His mind screamed out for release.

And last came his feet, which merged into his hindpaws, completing him as a wolf down to the last inch of soft skin melted into coarser skin and thick, russet colored fur.

He lifted his head and he was a wolf suddenly, seeing in wolf black-and-white, seeing only the lines across his vision which meant pain and entrapment. Another night, and he was still caged. It would be another night of throwing himself against the bars, knowing he'd wake bruised and broken. It would be another night of giving up finally on the bars and clawing himself, biting and tearing at his own flesh, in punishment.

Why can't I get out?

Etienne watching, his fingernails digging into his palms, his face pale. He sat through it always when Remus was with him. It was why he had not given his son his name, once Dalila died. Because he could not be a part of this. Because he could not help his son through this. Because this was the loupe-garou and Etienne was distanced far, far from his son on the night of the full moon, no matter what he did.

He put his son in a cage.

He was not a father.

Papa.

Against the bars the wolf crashed, once, twice, three times. Meeting, as always with painful defeat, he crawled away, gave up, pulled back, head low and ears flattened to the back of his head. The wolf and Remus trapped inside him felt themseves bare the wolf's teeth teeth, glinting against his black lips in the darkness. A whining sound. Coming from their -- the wolf's -- own throat, but Remus could hear it from the wolf's ears.

Leave, Papa.

That pale look on Etienne's face, pale and worn and drawn. Every night like this put it there. In the morning, Remus would look just as tired, just as broken. In shadows and grays the wolf could watch Etienne and hate him, snarl at him, scrabble at the metal as if he wished to kill the man.

Killed her.

Because after all, after all, this was the enemy, who took him from the forest, who took away his mother, who put him in this cage and would not let him out no matter how he pleaded.

The wolf raged as if he would kill him.

Were he to get out, he would.

Please, Papa. Leave.

And it began again, a steady, thumping rhythm of his body meeting with the metal. Again, again, again. Over and over and over, jolting through his body, one bruise for the morning, two bruises for the morning, three bruises for the morning, four -- until he lost count, until his brain swam with fuzzy rage and pain.

Taunting him was the completeness of the moon. Through the window and the bars and his own eyes he could see that great white form, perfect and whole, in the dark night sky. It was surrounded by a circle of mist, which meant, his wolf eyes told him, tomorrow would rain.

He would sleep through it, form curled up tight in the comfort of his soft bed.



Remus,
I woke up late this morning, and I missed you.

Despite mum's protests I went down into the mines today with Michael and da after they broke for lunch. It was dark down there, and my hands are still black, especially underneath the fingernails. I came up coughing, and I missed you.
The twins, Michael and I tried rebuilding our old treehouse yesterday. I know I'll sit in there alone and miss you.
Sirius

Sirius,
I went to the museum today with papa, and I missed you.

I spent the day after that reading, and thought about how you never let me 'waste my day' like that, and I missed you.
Not that much time left, but I miss you.
Remus

Remus,
Michael's starting to make fun of me for all these letters.
Today, I'm going to the mines again.

Something to do to keep me busy, anyway. Maybe I'll see if anyone here has a copy of the Count of Monte Cristo. We haven't finished it yet. I want to know how it ends, at least.
Sirius

Sirius,
Today we went shopping for the new school supplies needed.
I can't believe it's almost third year already.

Time does fly, when you're having fun, as they say. I never used to believe people when they said those sorts of things. But it does explain why summers pass so quickly, now.
Remus

Remus,
Nothing else matters.
Hogwarts Express.
Two days.
Sirius

Severus could not concentrate on the book opened before him.

It was the end of summer. School would start soon. It was a beautiful day, the bright sky and the crisp air and the light breeze all combining to paint a perfect picture outside his window.

He half dreaded going back to Hogwarts.

There would, first off, be Lucius. He couldn't help himself for tagging along behind the boy. They were best friends -- at least, it seemed to the world that they were -- but whenever they were apart, Severus hated himself for taking the blond's every word as gospel truth.

There was, though, Remus Lupin.

The secret.

The friend, the real friend.

If Lucius ever found out, there would have been such trouble for the both of them. But Lucius wouldn't find out. They were too careful for that.

Remus was like him. They laughed at each other's jokes, they respected each other, and, most off all, they understood each other better than, Severus reasoned, anyone else could, because their personalities were so alike. Remus was one of the reasons Severus was excited to be going back to Hogwarts in two days. Professor Voldemort was the main reason why he was dreading it.

He ran his fingers through his black hair, frowning slightly to himself.

He didn't like it.

"Something wrong, Severus?" His mother's voice was nice, was smooth like silk, but had the terribly annoying habit of cutting through his thoughts.

"Nothing, mother," he murmured softly.

"You're not concentrating on your book." Severus shrugged. "Is it going back to school that's bothering you?"

"It's not bothering me," Severus said, detached, "I'm just thinking about it. That's all."

"Mm." Vespasia Snape watched her son for a while, his pale face and the black hair he'd gotten from her, the aquiline nose and thoughtful mouth that were without a doubt directly from his father's side. There was obviously something bothering him, though, in the way his jaw was set and his eyes were lost, focusing on the world outside his window. She shook her head slightly. "Are you sure everything is all right?"

"Yes, mother," Severus lied. He waited to hear her leave, and then scowled again, staring straight through the book as if he could burn holes through it.

When enemies were friends, and friends became enemies, things got complicated.

Severus had grown up with Lucius Malfoy by his side, Vespasia and Cyril Snape best friends with Septimus and Delphinia Malfoy ever since their own days at Hogwarts. It only seemed natural, then, that his loyalties would be to the blond, and to his own family -- who, when they spoke of Voldemort, spoke of him in the most celebratory terms. His secret dislike of Voldemort, his secret discomfort when around Lucius, his secret disaffection for all that his family and his family's kind stood for would all cause complete disappointment in him. Above all, befriending a poor half-muggle such as Remus Lupin would make Vespasia and Cyril sick with disgust.

He squared his jaw.

What did they know of anything? They looked down on certain 'types' of people, set impossible goals for Severus himself, and tended to treat everyone as if they were worthless. He had harbored this resentment in his chest for quite a while now, but in the past few months it had surged up, stronger, more powerful. He wanted to break away from his family, to have nothing to do with them. What he wanted most was a new life, was to disappear from his cold, comfortless house and be raised somewhere else smaller, warmer, less empty.

Hogwarts was going to become an escape, he realized, his scowl relaxing into a mere frown.

Hogwarts was going to become an escape, and those weekend nights in the library were what he looked forward to most.

James Potter had never been happier in his life.

It had been an entire summer without Lilly Evans, and, though Quidditch had done a lot to improve his moods and distract him for whole hours at a time, James was about to go crazy from missing her.

They had talked a few times on the telephone -- muggle inventions could be so helpful sometimes -- and the last time was two days before the return trip to Hogwarts.

"I can't believe," Lilly murmured, half incredulous and half wry, into the phone base, "you're so excited about going back to school again."

"Come on," James said, and she could hear that familiar grin in his voice, "this year, I'm definitely going to beat Sirius at Quidditch so bad, he won't know what's hit him!"

"How terribly exciting." Her voice dry. "I'm glad to see competition has never gotten in the way of your friendship."

"And I'm trying out for the Quidditch team," he added on a whim, hopeful.

"They're bloody stupid if they don't make you seeker," Lilly muttered, in a moment of fierce loyalty to her friend, to her maybe-more-than-friend. James swelled up with pride, face going bright red to his earlobes. He was glad that Lilly wasn't there with him, for once, so she couldn't see him blush like that.

"Be lucky if I make chaster," he mumbled, grinning wider than he ever had in his life.

"Seeker, or they're fools," Lilly replied, firmly, her tone final and assuring. She was a girl of her convictions, and through her sarcasm, she was unerringly faithful and devoted.

"It'd be great," James admitted. Lilly sighed to hide the fact to even herself that she was smiling.

"I suppose," she said finally, "it'll be all right to go back. Even though the tests do get harder, and the classes'll be, too."

"Besides," James managed, after gathering up all his courage, "it'll be nice to see you again, too."

"Yes," Lilly said, startled, pleased, "yes. ...it'll be nice to see you, also." All the terror faded from James's body.

"Right," he said, the grin in his voice unmistakable.

"Right," Lilly echoed, allowing that smile to show through. James relaxed back into his chair with a hidden, deep sigh of relief. After a moment, he queried softly,

"Lilly?"

"Yeah?" James licked his lips, visions passing before his eyes, a stadium cheering and the golden snitch right before his eyes and his hand closing around it. It made his heart pound in day-dream excitement.

"You really think I could make Gryffindor seeker?" he asked.

"James Potter, you are incorrigible," Lilly muttered, and hung up.

The streets were dirty and the houses were crowded tightly together, like the people inside them. On the haphazard and broken cobblestone the children played in bright bursts against the grayness all around them. Dora Pettigrew stood in bed slippered, house-dressed glory, hands clasped before her chest, calling to her son through the scattering of smaller boys and girls, calling him to dinner.

"Peter!" She lifted herself up on the balls of her feet, eyes scanning for her boy without success. "Peter!"

Peter Pettigrew heard his mother's voice lift on the humid, dirty air and cringed, pressing up against the cartons he used as a fort away from the rest of the world. After a while, his mother would give up, and when he returned home later she'd be in bed, his cold dinner left out on the kitchen counter. All he had to do was wait.

And he was so, so patient.

"Peter? Peter!" His mother's voice clawed out at him, and he grimaced. Soon, he promised himself. Soon.

Here was the place where he felt this aloneness not as a burden, but as a blazing badge. Here was the place where his solitary became solidarity. In this world of cobblestone and old shipping crates, he was not his mother's son, not Peter Pettigrew, who had no father and no special talents of which anyone spoke, who got pushed around and left behind and left out. He was as strong and as confident as James Potter, as brave and as daring as Sirius Black.

His shoes were not one size too small, with holes worn into the heels. His robes and clothes were not the neighbors hand-me-downs.

"Peter!" But he didn't answer to the name Peter when he was sitting amongst the crates.

He didn't answer to anybody.

With his eyes lighting up, he imagined himself on the sleek line of a brand new Nimbus. Though Peter was no good at riding a broom, this hidden side of himself, this person buried deep in him, was a better player than both James and Sirius combined. On this broom, in this place, was where he won Gryffindor the house cup by winning the Quidditch match, catching the golden Snitch in a daring moment of impossible speed.

In this place also was where Ellen Abott loved him, and he had his choice of all the girls as Sirius did in reality. He would walk down the halls of Hogwarts and all eyes would be on him, but he wouldn't feel embarrassed, he'd just keep his chin up and hold his back very straight. Everyone would envy him. No one would think of sticking a foot out to trip him.

"Peter..." His mother's voice faded out, sounding exasperated and feeble. A little smile played over his lips. He would have to hear his name no longer.

"Not like," he muttered softly, "she really cares."

So what if he was prone to talking to himself? Everyone did it -- especially everyone who had no one else to talk to. When he talked to himself, he sounded sometimes like Sirius, sometimes like James, and sometimes even like Remus, always having the answer to a problem or the solution to a messy situation. Remus, though quiet like Peter, always had his place amongst the other boys, because he was so smart about everything.

"Not like," he murmured, scuffing his worn shoes against the cobblestones, "anyone really cares."

He knew that wasn't true. James and Sirius stood up for him, and he and Remus talked a lot, and Lilly was even quite fond of him. But here, when he was home, there was no one who acknowledged his existence, beyond calling him to dinner.

Everyone, he thought to himself, looks for where they belong.

But most people find it.

He leaned back against the splintering wood behind him but he didn't wince, lifting pale green eyes to watch the clouds move slowly by in the sky. Not many people noticed the clouds, but if only they thought about how important the clouds were!

"Someday," he murmured, voice firm, "someday I'll show everyone."

Septimus Malfoy looked very carefully at his son with eyes that focused like ice. The boy looked like himself, the way he held his back, the way he tilted his chin up, the way he looked down on things with no effort at all. Septimus nodded, content and proud. Beside him, his slight wife's gray eyes lit up, but she remained quiet, just touching his forearm lightly.

"Hogwarts is the only school to which the Malfoy family will attend," Septimus began softly, "despite its change of headmaster and of requirements for students accepted." Lucius scowled.

"They're letting anyone in," he said darkly, huffing up beneath his breath.

"Luckily," Septimus continued, shooting his son an approving but silencing glance, "there are still some amongst the staff who are thinking sensibly and clearly towards Hogwarts' future." From where he sat, Voldemort nodded slowly, acknowledging the compliment.

"We are honored," Delphinia Malfoy said, pulling away from her husband, "to have you as a guest in our house."

"As am I honored to be received here," Voldemort said, speaking for the first time since he had arrived in the Malfoy mansion. He stood with a determined grace, running his fingers through his dark hair, a striking figure in the middle of the cold room. He was terrifying, but no one could place a finger upon why. Part of it was the ambition which filled him like a burning aura. Part of it was the fire inside him, hidden behind all the cool ice. No one could judge him, gauge him, test his motives or understand his actions. No one knew exactly what it was he wanted. He was a mystery -- and those things that are mysterious are all the more frightening for their unpredictable mystery. "As it is always an honor to be received with the support I have so desired to cultivate."

"You have our support," Delphinia said, lowering her lashes, "and all else that we can offer."

"And again -- you spoil and flatter me!" Voldemort's lips curved into that smile, that pleasing, clawing smile. People fell prey to it. It was the smile of a serpent. "I do not deserve such kindnesses as your family has shown me."

"The world is changing," Septimus said. "We must do all we can to preserve the ways with which we have grown accustomed, without letting ourselves grow obsolete." Voldemort's reptilian eyes sparkled.

"Yes," he said softly, like a tiger purring. "And, I must say, I take it always as a mark of success when those of the younger generation are so eager to be loyal to me." Lucius's lips pulled back into a self-satisfied, pleased smile. "The future is all that matters -- everything else is unimportant. And the next generation is the future, is it not?" Septimus and Delphinia nodded.

"We hope," Delphinia murmured, "that you shall come to stay with us again."

"Madam," Voldemort replied, bowing low, "I shall avail myself of every opportunity to visit your delightful home."

"We consider it an honor to have you as our guest," Septimus added. Voldemort laughed softly, and though it was not an unpleasant sound, Lucius felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. It sounded like snake scales against more snake scales, dry and mirthless.

"I consider it an honor that you consider it so," the dark haired man said. He saw a joke in something, and Delphinia smiled nervously. "But now," Voldemort continued suddenly, "I really must take my leave, or I do not know what else shall be done in Hogwarts during my absence."

"We thank you for choosing to spend so long a period here," Septimus said as Voldemort's surprisingly warm hand shook his own.

"I thank you for putting up with me and calling it an honor," Voldemort replied as he kissed Delphinia's own hand, moving down with surprising grace to his knees. "The world is changing, and it is nice to know there are still those willing to change with it."

"We are a dying breed," Septimus said, "but some of us are too strong for death."

"Mm," Voldemort murmured, one brow lifting smoothly. "Yes." He nodded once to Lucius before he swept out, leaving the room behind him as silent and as frigid as a mausoleum.

"I think that went well," Delphinia said, smirking slightly.

"He's amazing," Lucius breathed.

Septimus was silent, satisfied, hands burning.

Outside the towering mansion, Voldemort paused. Most people disgusted him. Most people did not understand. The boy was too young to understand, and Septimus too old. Delphinia was another case altogether, trying too hard to please a cause she knew nothing about.

Time was moving faster, and the world on its axis was spinning just quickly enough for him to imagine he could feel it. He had no delusions. He did not lie to himself, for all he had to do was too important to be ruined by the foolishness of human nature. It was true that he had supporters, but not a single one of them understood what it was they were doing. That was why they remained so loyal to him -- they all thought he was working towards what they wanted, and worked towards it too, with a fervor only expected from men fighting for what they want to possess.

It was, in Voldemort's opinion, all a very big, very amusing joke, one to which only he knew the punchline.

Living was a set-up for it.

The sky was a delicate blue and the Malfoy Estate grounds were beautiful, if not a bit chilling in their design. Nature should be nature, cultivated by man, but not controlled by it. Voldemort did not want to reign, though if that came into play in his plan then so be it. A ruler truly had no power, and was doomed in thinking that he did. No, what he wanted was for the world to be his joke.

That way, he could take himself lightly, and he would never fall prey to pride or illusion. That way, passion would give way to laughter, and he would be stronger for it.

He bent down by a red rose bush and ran his fingers over the velvety petals. The color was exquisite.

"Lovely," he murmured to himself.

"Thank you, sir," said a coarse but proud voice behind him. He turned slowly, looking up over his shoulder. Behind him stood a stocky man who was no doubt the head gardener.

"You are very welcome. You have done an excellent job. The blooms are superior to any I've seen in all my lifetime." The man's sunburned face puffed up with that pride, and Voldemort smiled to see it. The world, with all its people and all its emotions, was fascinating to observe, and never to be fully understood.

"Don't do nothin' but water 'em an' make sure th'dead blooms ain' gettin' in th'way of the newer'uns."

"Very clever," Voldemort murmured, thoughtful. Was that the way of the world? You made sure the older and the less productive did not stunt the growth or drink up the sunlight that could be used for the stronger and more youthful. "Very clever, Mr....?"

"Dobbins, sir."

"Mr. Dobbins. You have done an excellent job. Perhaps, one day, I shall have to ask you for advice with my own roses. Perhaps I shall even have to steal you away from your lovely and kind employers and set you to use in my own garden."

"Sir," Dobbins scoffed, fingers tightening on his rake.

"Please," Voldemort murmured, not unkindly, "don't call me sir. Call me Riddle."

"Riddle, sir?"

"Just Riddle." Voldemort smiled faintly. "Mr. Riddle, if you must, but beyond that, I feel 'sir' doesn't quite fit me."

"Yes, Mr. Riddle."

"Might I have a bloom, for the road? It is a long journey, to where I am going."

"Well -- if yee're th' Malfoy's guest, Mr. Riddle, I don' see why no'." Voldemort nodded, plucking the largest bloom in the center, like a blood red bruise against the leave green foliage, and then against his gloved fingers.

"Pure elegance, the rose. Don't you agree, Mr. Dobbins?"

"Aye. Tha' I do, Mr. Riddle." Voldemort watched the petals, soft and delicate in the light, end-of-summer breeze. Soon, the rose would lose its beauty. That was the way of all things. "An' tha'un's a beauty."

"Yes, I thought so. Especially in this light." Dobbins nodded, peering around Voldemort's shoulder as he inspected the blossom in his hands. "Pity I had to pluck it," he murmured after a moment, soft, under his breath. Dobbins blinked, and frowned faintly.

"S'what roses is for," he said softly. Voldemort paused, and then smiled widely.

"Yes," he said. "Yes, isn't it."

"We can't trust him," Professor McGonagall said, sitting stiffly in her chair. Her hands were folded, tensed, on her knees.

"We don't know that," Albus Dumbledore murmured, toying absently with a half-broken quill.

"We've always known we can't trust him," McGonagall pressed, frowning deeply, "and everyone knows what it is he's doing. We can't allow him to teach here, with access to the children."

"We have no proof, Minerva. We can't fire him without proof."

"And we can't simply let him stay here!"

"I'm afraid we have to." The paperweight on Dumbledore's desk skittered nervously back and forth across it, as if it were pacing in thought.

"We don't have to do anything. You are, after all, the headmaster of this school." McGonagall gave Dumbledore a withering look, and Dumbledore shrugged, smiling faintly.

"All the proof we have is hearsay. I can't fire a teacher on such a feeble platform of proof."

"The man," McGonagall said through clenched teeth, "is using his position here to twist the children's minds."

"Minerva," Dumbledore warned. He was frowning, now, behind his dark beard, tugging at it in thought. It was quite a predicament, he had to admit, but there was nothing he could do about it, yet, despite the worry that gnawed at his chest.

"I know," McGonagall muttered, leaning back and pursing her lips up tight. "I know there's nothing we can do. I hate it. We're losing time. He has the upper hand."

"Yes," Dumbledore said. The paperweight made a squeaking sound against the broken quill. Dumbledore was too lost in thought to notice it. "We seem to be caught between a rock and a hard place, don't we?"

"Mm," McGonagall snorted.

"There's really nothing we can do, Minerva."

"Except for keep a close eye on him, Albus." Minerva's golden eyes focused on Dumbledore's face.

"Not spy on him," Dumbledore protested.

"No," McGonagall said calmly, firmly, "just keep a close eye on him. In case."

"He's careful."

"Then we just have to be more so." The paperweight thudded down against the desk with another squeak against the quill.

"Stop that," Dumbledore muttered, swatting at it absently. "All right. All right, we'll...we'll take a closer look into this. Just to err on the side of precaution, naturally."

"Naturally." McGonagall nodded, not content, but as satisfied as she knew she was going to get from this conversation. "Now," she continued, sighing deeply, brushing a few stray strands of hair out of her eyes, "I have a lesson to plan."

"Yes, yes, go on," Dumbledore murmured, waving her out. It left him alone, with many serious things to think about and an uncharacteristic from playing over his usual cheerful features. He had never trusted Voldemort -- known when he was a boy as Tom Riddle -- when he had taught him as a student.

He trusted him even less, now.

But there really was nothing he could do.

Remus stared straight ahead, out the window of the car, feet dangling over the seat edge. They almost touched the floor of the car. Almost. His suitcase was a pleasant, not-uncomfortable weight on his lap, half as big as he was.

"You're excited to go back?" Etienne asked softly, eyes on the road.

"Yes." Remus traced the lines of his suitcase thoughtfully, watching the scenery fly by.

"You miss it -- your friends -- during the summer. Don't you."

"Mm. Yes."

"Perhaps..." Etienne licked his lips. "Perhaps you could ask a friend to come and visit you, next summer." Remus's hands stilled.

"Really?" His eyes lit up the way Dalila's once had, when Etienne had first kissed her, or when Etienne had first shown her the little band of gold and asked her to be his wife.

"Why not?" Another secretive glance towards his son.

"Oh," Remus said, "oh." His breath was coming a little quicker. He knew without a moment's hesitation whom he would ask to stay. He knew without a moment's pause that Sirius Black would say yes. His eyes sparkled golden.

"Would you like that?"

"Very much," Remus murmured, eyes moving to meet his father's. Understanding passed between them, loneliness and affection and the love that flowed deeper than that, strong and simple.

"Then feel free to invite someone."

"Thank you."

"Mm." Etienne smiled faintly, mustache trembling with the expression.

"The-- the cage," Remus said, after a moment of silence had passed. "What about...?"

"We'll put it in-- storage, or something. For the visit." Remus nodded.

"All right," he agreed.

The rest of the drive passed slowly, Remus's eyes lit up from within in secretive joy. If Etienne could read his son's mind, he would have liked to at that moment, the way he bit lightly at his lower lip, and kept his shining eyes focused on his small hands pressed against his suitcase.

His son was a mystery to him. He loved him more than anything, but there was a wall erected between them. Beneath the wall, which did not go deep, their lives were intertwined, and they depended on each other, loved each other intensely. But the wall was built high, and he could barely see the workings of his son's mind through it. His motives were foreign and his person was just as estranged.

They parked outside of the station and Etienne helped his son with his bags. As he watched the boy disappear through the solid stone he had to restrain himself from reaching out to him, chest tightening around his heart.

"Mon fils."

He knew he was talking to himself, left with his car, his son gone into the distance -- somewhere he could not follow. There was hardly anyone around who could see or hear him, though, and that was comforting.

"Et maintenant..." He bowed his head, sighing softly, running his fingers through his graying hair.

He still wore his wedding ring.

"Et maintenant, je suis seul," he murmured to no one at all.

After that, he turned and got in his car, driving home without the comforting but silent presence of his son beside him.

The platform was just as crowded as he remembered it to be. He recognized certain faces, of course, and was surprised that a few people even came up to him to say hello. There was something nagging and cruel in him that told him, however he was accepted by his peers, and his friends, they would shun him and hate him, if ever they knew what it was he was.

But they didn't.

And Remus would make sure that they never would.

He stood by his suitcase, toying with the hem of his t-shirt. He was fully prepared to wait as long as he had last time; on a sudden whim, he took out the latest book he was reading and sat down on the edge of his suitcase, starting to read while he waited. Remus had just discovered Shakespeare, and was unable to put him down.

"Remus?" Startled halfway through the second scene of Hamlet, Remus turned around to face the owner of that familiar voice. The half-smile he flashed to people came easier to him, now, and it tugged lightly on his lips.

"Peter." The sandy haired boy flopped down beside Remus, smiling in return.

"How was your summer?" Peter questioned softly, wrapping his arms around his knees.

"It was all right," Remus replied, just as soft, head inclining to the side. "How was yours?" It was good to see any one of his friends again, and he did have a soft spot for downtrodden Peter Pettigrew, but he was still waiting eagerly for Sirius to arrive, late as always, loud as always.

"It was...all right, I guess," Peter murmured, shrugging, making a face. "Could've been better."

"Sorry."

"S'all right." Peter flashed a worn smile. "What're you reading?"

"Hamlet."

"S'Shakespeare, right?" It was at that moment that Severus Snape chose to sweep by them both, and pause to catch Remus eyes. That understanding passed between them, fleeting but strong as ever. Peter made a face when he had gone.

"Yes," Remus said quickly, before the other boy could insult the Slytherin, "it's Shakespeare."

"That's nice," Peter said dubiously, and the both of them fell silent, companionable, but waiting for the others to arrive.

Remus's senses were heightened, his nose sniffing for that scent he could recognize out of a million others. His eyes were narrowed slightly, scanning the crowd for that one figure racing through to him. His ears, had they been on the wolf, would have been cocked forward, waiting and listening intently.

It made sense, then, that he smelled and heard Sirius coming before he saw him, and stood just in time to be caught up right where he belonged, in Sirius's arms.