Beware. Lots of Lycanthropy lies within. Sorry it took so long to get this chapter out -- the life of a Junior is madness, I tell you, madness. Unfortunately, so little of it involves Remus and Sirius. But, here she is; as always, read and review, or I shall sick my wonderful minions on you. Or something.

No, seriously. R&R. Oh, yeah, and...enjoy!

Chapter XIV: La Loup-Garou

The owl came as one of many, on a day where the sky was cloudless, on a day where the air was cool and crisp and you could see the pinpricks of tawny owl bodies coming far before it was time for the Owl Post. Because it was only one of many, it went completely unnoticed, as the Great Hall was filled with the fluttering of wings and the general excitement the Post brought always. Sirius Black continued to argue vividly with Lilly Evans as James Potter occasionally tried to get a word in edgewise, as Remus Lupin watched and tried not to smile at the inevitable nature of the animated conversation, as Peter Pettigrew tried desperately to ignore the entire thing, as he was hardly a part of it. When the owl landed, though, on the table in front of Remus, dropped a pristine letter down before the boy, and began to preen haughtily, as if it were waiting for an immediate and impending response, the three who were speaking fell quiet. All five stared at this unusual and unexpected occurrence, not knowing what could be made of this, for Remus never got letters at this time of year; the only ones he ever received were from Etienne, the day of Christmas, every year, and the evening of his birthday, within the hour of his actual birth.

Besides: it was obvious from the flourishing, important handwriting that whoever wrote the letter, it was decidedly not Etienne, who wrote in plain, simple script, as if even his handwriting were trying to go by without comment.

"Well." Peter was the first to break the foreboding silence. "That's unusual." Remus simply blinked.

"Go on." Sirius spoke next. "Just, open it." Remus leaned forward easily, lifting up the heavy envelope and slitting it open, unfolding the letter within with perfectly steady hands. It was hard to convince himself that the others weren't leaning forward, on the edge of their seats, waiting to be told what the contents were, waiting to know what this was all about.

The letter read:

Dear Mr. Remus J. Lupin,

Headmaster Albus Dumbledore, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, has recently informed this Office that you are a Werewolf soon to reach sixteen years of age. According to the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures Act of 1811, Beast Section, Werewolf Subsection, Procedure No. 194C Initial Werewolf Registration, "All those cursed by the bite of the Werewolf shall be registered with the Werewolf Registry Office, Beast Division, within three full moons of the act or, in the case of a minor, within three full moons of the attainment of the age of sixteen years." Therefore, your examination and registration is scheduled for the thirteenth through the fifteenth of November. You are to report directly to the Werewolf Registry Building by 9 A.M. on the former date.

Part of the registration process is the assessment of the state of your Lycanthropy and your ability to safeguard the public during your transformation. The result of the assessment will be duly recorded in your permanent file. At this time, you will also be informed of the current laws and regulations pertaining only to Werewolves.

Failure to appear at the scheduled registration time, the thirteenth of November at 9 A.M., will be deemed as nocompliance to Procedure No. 194C Initial Werewolf Registration and will result in a fine of up to 500 galleons and could include incarceration for up to one year in the Fortress of Azkaban. Should you wish to dispute the information provided by Headmaster Albus Dumbledore, you must do so in person at your scheduled registration time.

Sincerely,

Mr. Samson Dujardin
Werewolf Registration Specialist
Ministry of Magic, Beast Division

Remus folded the letter neatly, trying not to let the vision of that handwriting burn too deeply in his thoughts, and bowed his head for a moment. He hated the feeling of the others pressing close to know, for once; hated the reminder in this so-human part of his life that he was anything but human, and he would always be this way.

It took a few moments, and then he moved on to the next page, which was obviously another letter, though it was contained in the same envelope. The script of this one was blunter, seemed almost more inviting, more kind, than that of the first, but Remus read it with numbed fingers and helpless eyes despite that strange kindness within. The kindness seemed forced, as well, and far from truly comforting.

Mr. Remus J. Lupin,

We have recently been informed by Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry, of your Lycanthropic nature, and, per this information, must request your presence at the Center of Werewolf Support Services, from the fifteenth through the twenty-first of November.

At the Center of Werewolf Support Services we are interested in Lycanthropes' daily lives as human beings, their social interactions, and their physical wellbeing. It is necessary that those of a Lycanthropic nature are allowed to live day-to-day as any other man or woman is able to. As of yet there is no cure found for the bite of a werewolf, but we are trying to make life with the strain of monthly changes more bearable, life with the bite more livable, an intolerable world more tolerable. All unregistered Lycanthropes are subject to persecution without proper protection, are more likely to develop such diseases as are only found in those of a Lycanthropic nature, and may or may not be a menace to society at large. We wish to provide you with the information and tools to ensure that you are as safe as possible.

The Werewolf Registry Office shall provide for your transportation the day after your change. No preparation is necessary; it is, in fact, discouraged.

Sincerely,

Mr. Aubrey F. Burl
Werewolf Support Specialist

Ministry of Magic, Being Division
Office 18, Building BW

"Let me see the letters, Remus."

Sirius voice echoed against the corners, all the angles, of Remus's silence. He had been staring at the blank parchment beneath the signature on the second letter for a full minute, now.

"Remus, please, let me see them?"

He was stunned into the sort of silence that usually erupted, volcanic, into a terrible, great scream. This one did not, could not; they were in the middle of the great hall, in the middle of Hogwarts, in the middle of so many people, so many normal people, so many lucky, normal people. Still, Remus wanted desperately to scream.

"C'mon. Remus." Sirius's voice was worried, now, and closer, as if he had leaned forward in his seat, trying to snap the other boy out of it, whatever 'it' was. This was not the behavior of a normal boy, this was not the situation of a normal boy, this was none of it normal, none of it right. That Albus Dumbledore had told his secret was a knowledge that slid its way like shards of glass behind Remus's eyelids.

With slow but deliberate movements, Remus folded the second letter, placed it atop the first, and slid both across the table. Sirius snatched it up quickly, and nearly tore the first as he unfolded it to read. Remus watched him but looked right through him to the wall behind as he read, as his brow knitted up in anger and disbelief and the scenery changed behind him, a few students passing by, a great tawny owl preening itself on a table a few rows away.

Sirius slammed the first letter down ­ Lilly picked it up after him, and she and James began to read ­ and started on the second, while a girl made blurry by distance leaned over to whisper something in a friend's ear. It would have been better, maybe, to focus on the flecks of gray anger in Sirius's eyes but Remus could not bring himself to watch him, his emotions so real, so human, and so oddly alien. For the first time in his life Remus harbored the real possibility of what it would be like to run.

Peter pushed out of his seat and moved over to stand behind James and Lilly, reading over their shoulders but watching Sirius and Remus just as carefully. The sound of his feet clapping on the hardwood floor slammed Remus back into the real world, the two of them colliding with each other and sending everything off its original axis.

With slow but deliberate movements, Remus stood, pulled away from the table, watched Sirius's face go blank in question, and then bolted from the room with surprising speed.

"Oi!" He could hear Sirius cry from behind him, "Oi, Remus, wait!" But if he listened to Sirius and stayed in that place he would suffocate. There was something about running that cleared a person's senses, that sent fresh air pounding through their lungs and a slight, waking chill against their skin. The rhythm was soothing, drummed by the sound of his feet against the floor. The idea that he could run and run with no direction and no place to hide was, for a while, a comforting one; he could move until his legs gave out beneath him and he collapsed, and maybe then whatever was chasing him would have fainted of exhaustion, too. Then, then, there would be a net of safety, dark and cool, the adrenaline fading from his system, the blood slowing in his veins. Then, then, there would be a shield of weariness wrapped all around him, and perhaps he would live the rest of his dormant life in a corner, where only the cobwebs would find him.

It was possible. Or perhaps it was not possible but if it were possible it would be perfect. You thought strange things when you ran, strange rhythmic things that followed the beat beat beat of your footsteps trailing along behind you, trying to chase your speed, managing only to echo off the walls.

"Remus, where in Merlin's name are youwait up, Moony, slow down!" Remus was running from him, deep breath in, Remus was running from him, force legs a little faster, Remus was running from him, just up ahead, just a few steps up ahead. Sirius had longer legs, had a frame better built for this, and though Remus was stubborn and strong and had the advantage of a head's start on Sirius, the bigger boy would not give up, and somewhere, he prayed, Remus had to know that, would have to stop. Or, simply, Sirius could, would, catch up to him, if need be.

This wasn't all right. He'd already closed most of the distance between them, but Remus wasn't looking back, wasn't, probably listening to him. Maybe he didn't even know that Sirius was there, that Sirius was putting on enough speed to catch up. Remus was a pale thing, pale on black, streaking away before him, as fast and untouchable as light shifting in through a window. Blink, and he'd be gone. Blink, and you'd lost him forever. It was tremendously important for Sirius to catch up to him now, and he didn't know why, just knew that it was.

"C'mon, Remus, Remus, just wait for me! Just slow down for a second!" Sirius needed to get through to him. Sirius was content to run for as long as was necessary, so long as he was running with Remus, and not chasing after him. Sirius was fine with this pace, fast and desperate, so long as he had Remus by his side and not some ethereal glimmer, an oasis, a mirage, far off in the wavering distance. Just a few more steps, he told himself, and you'll be closer. It was like a nightmare, running and running and not getting where you wanted to be, where you had to be, where you needed beyond need to be.

Sirius gritted his teeth, and bowed his head, and put on a burst of inhuman speed, wanting for a moment to drop down on all fours, and bound towards the boy. Four legs were faster than two, after all. But he was far from so very foolish, and simply pounded on, the sound of his feet slamming the hard floor beneath, mixing with the sound of Remus's own footsteps, and driving him steadily on.

He had no idea where they were going. He knew only that he had to stop Remus before they could get there.

Not much further, now. Not much further. Remus could hear another set of footsteps behind him but he had to ignore it, had to, though they came closer, though the voice with them was familiar, almost made him want to stop.

And he could feel the closeness of them, now, the breath behind him loud enough to hear, loud enough to disturb the crisp, untouched air. Was he this easy to catch? Was he this easy to be found? Apparently so. Plagued with helpless indecision, Remus turned suddenly, eyes widened, feet almost giving out from under him. Sirius caught him, stumbled with him, pressing them both up against a cool wall, and felt the way Remus's body burned with heat, the way his shoulders trembled with each quivering, ragged breath.

"Jesus, Remus," he whispered, glad to feel the boy at last, though somehow afraid that he had not, in fact, done the right thing by giving chase, "Jesus, why d'you have to run from me for?" Remus had been truly afraid of being found. No matter that it was Sirius, that he trusted Sirius more than anyone else in the world, that he invited Sirius to be parts of things that Sirius knew no one else had ever been or ever would be, besides him. Remus had not listened to his voice, had not turned to look at his face, had been afraid that he was being followed despite who it was following him.

Remus opened his mouth to speak, then shut it, burying his face against Sirius's shoulder, hands fisting in the front of his robes.

"...it's all right," Sirius mumbled, cupping the back of the smaller boy's head gently, fingers tangled with that silky hair.

"It isn't all right." It was the first time Remus had ever said such a thing. Sirius felt ill.

"We'll talk to Dumbledore. He'll explain this. It's gotta be what's best for you, Remus, or he wouldn't have done it."

"What's best for me." Remus sounded pained, incredulous. "What's best for me!"

"You could get sick, you could get hurt, people whoidiots, like my brothers, maybe, could hurt you. That's what it said in the letter." Sirius swallowed down the roughness in his throat.

"You don't understand."

"We'll talk to Dumbledore. He'll tell us, he'll show us both, we'll understand"

"You don't understand!" Remus pulled back, wild-eyed. "You don't understand, you can't understand, it isn't something to be understood, he told people, he told people!"

"He had to have had his reasons, didn't you read thewhat they said, what they said, Remus, you have to"

"I don't have to anything! You don't understand. You don't!" Something angry flared in Sirius's belly at the words.

"It's not because I don't want to! It's not because I don't try! I don't understand, I can't understand, because you don't tell me anything! You don't let me, I ask and I try and I never learn anything about you no matter what I do...!" Sirius grasped Remus by the shoulders, holding him far enough away so that he could get a good look at him, so that Remus, in turn, could get an equally good look at the other. Maybe, just maybe, the hurt anger in Sirius's blue eyes would explain more to him than Sirius's stumbling words could. "Now we're going to bloody go to Dumbledore, and talk about it, because Christ knows you're not going to tell me anything, you're never going to tell me anything." Sirius drew in a breath. His hands on Remus's shoulders were shaking. "And he'll explain everything to you, and I'll be there for that, and then I'll go. I'll just go, so you can choose to talk to Professor Dumbledore or not, but it doesn't have to hurt anymore that you never choose to talk to me."

Remus was silent, his eyes fixed on Sirius's face.

"Now come on," Sirius muttered, not looking at him, not wanting to touch him, suddenly, "you're going to Professor Dumbledore's office, and he's going to explain it to you so it does make sense. He's probably just trying to take care of you, or something. I don't know. I don't know anything. I don't know."

"Sirius."

"Save it, Remus."

"Sirius, I'm afraid."

Silence.

"You know what I am, Sirius."

"And you know that I've never once hated you for it. You know that I've only ever"

"But it makes things different," Remus whispered, "it makes me different."

"It doesn't make me the enemy." Remus looked away, face drained of all color. For the second time, Sirius felt sick to his stomach.

"No," the smaller boy said, wearily, "it makes you everything in the world to me, and I don't want to ruin that with what I am. It does mean that I, that I'm trying, I'm trying so hard, and it all seems right and then I get those letters and I remember what I am and how I got this way and what I could do to you, what it is that makes me wrong"

"Don't say that! You're not wrong, I'm not wrong, we're not bloody wrong, don't say something like that, you don't know what you're saying."

"I know what I'm saying! About me! I know what I am, I know what I am, I know what I am and I hate it, I hate it" Sirius clamped a hand savagely over Remus's mouth, pressing him back against the wall.

"Be quiet!" He said it wildly, desperately, his eyes screaming out their wrath. "Stop saying that, stop it, I hate it when you hate you because I, I can't..." A shaky breath. The feel of Remus's lips against his palm. "ÖI can't imagine that. Come on. Just come on. I can't talk sense into you. I can't talk to you." It hurt, more than Remus could say, and once Sirius spoke the words, he began to regret them. "I don't mean it that way," he muttered gruffly, smoothing a lock of hair out of Remus's eyes.

"Yes," Remus replied, voice echoing hollowly, "yes, Sirius, you did."

"Let's talk to Dumbledore." Now, Sirius couldn't meet the other boy's eyes for fear of facing his own shame.

"You're right."

"So let's go."

"Not about Dumbledore, not about that. Aboutthat I don't let youunderstand."

"Stop it," Sirius whispered. It was weak. He was too tired, too afraid, too unhappy to fight. And maybe that's how Remus feels, he thought somewhere, in the very back of his mind. He was a right git, he was, for ever saying any of those things, for ever being so careless, as he always was, and hurting Remus when all he wanted to do was to make things right.

"It was my mother," Remus went on, ignoring Sirius's plea, perhaps not even hearing it. "It was my mother. I wanted to go with her; it was her; my father saved me; I've never told anyone, only me and my father know. Our secret." Sirius lifted his head, eyes wide, horrified, fixed on Remus's face. He didn't have to ask what the other was talking about. It was too clear, in fact, far too obvious, far too blunt for the subject matter. "But now you know too, Sirius. That's what trust is. Learning things you don't want to know. A present, but it isn't, it's learning too much, knowing too much, and hating it."

Sirius was silent.

"We should go to Dumbledore's." Remus's voice sounded old. "You're right about that, too. Let's go."

"No."

"You wanted to go."

"Not yet. Please, not yet." Sirius swallowed the hoarse thing in his throat smooth, wanting to be comforted, wanting to be held, but unable to ask for it, when he wasn't the one who deserved it most. "I'm sorry," he said, after that, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

"Don't be." Remus rubbed at the side of his nose. "I just don't want to go to this place. I just don't want to. I just don't want to be what I am, and what I am is who I am, now."

"Well." Sirius felt his heart break. It wasn't the first time Remus had done this to him, but it was in a new way, now, one Sirius was hardly old enough to be prepared for. He needed his mother, his own mother, Sirius decided at last, he needed to curl up against her and have her call him Poppet as she only did when he was terrified or miserable, that close to crying. "I want you whatever way you are, and that's going to have to be enough, for now." Sirius was not expecting what came next.

"It is." Remus grasped at Sirius's hand with both his own, and held it. For a full minute, neither of them spoke.

"Oh," Sirius said at last, "oh." He couldn't possibly manage to be more coherent than that. "I'm a right git, you know that?" It took him at least a minute more to get that out, and then he gave up speech altogether, grasping Remus up into a tight, promising embrace. "I keep promising myself never to be stupid about you again, and I always am. I always am."

"It's enough," was all Remus said. "It's enough, Sirius. It's enough."

And then Sirius had to open his bloody stupid mouth, because somewhere in him, he was too afraid to trust:

"...is it?" Sirius asked softly. "I don't know. Am I enough?" And the silence descended between them again, questioning, without trust, and filled with trembling, grasping pain.

"You must forgive me." Albus Dumbledore sounded and looked tired as he apologized, his usually bright, ever-vivid nature muted in the dejected atmosphere of the room. Naturally, this did nothing to improve the moods of the two boys seated across from him, one sullen, silent and angry, the other lost and miserable, his eyes stumbling through unconnected thoughts. "I was called away on some very unexpected yet very important business, almost immediately after I sent out the letters to the Registry and the Support Services, and was unable to inform you of all this. In fact, I have only just arrived back on the grounds a little more than a half-hour ago, which is perhaps fortunate, in this case. I can only imagine your shock and your dismay at receiving the Owl Post today. For that, I am terribly sorry." Naturally, Professor Dumbledore had had his reasons. While Sirius did not feel in any way comforted, he at least felt that, once all the shock and hurt of the past hour had faded from his system, he would be.

"As for my original motivation, of passing on the information to the proper departments of the Ministry," Dumbledore was continuing, "I do hope you at least understand me, and my desire to do what is best for you, Remus; for your safety, for your well-being, for your entire future."

"I do," Remus said, his eyes fixed on his hands in his lap.

"You understand, but you simply weren't expecting such news," Dumbledore added, after watching him thoughtfully, "and it seems to have had more of an impact than I would ever have thought. Would you like to speak with me about all this? Perhaps I can do something or another to ease your mind, or your spirits?" It was no surprise to the man when Remus did not open his mouth to speak at that; it did seem rather uncharacteristic, though, that the boy kept his eyes fixed on his lap, and did not so much as lift his head to acknowledge those words. Barring all else, at least Remus Lupin was always unfailingly polite, even in the face of that which he by no means wished to do.

"Maybe I'd better go for this," Sirius mumbled, starting to stand, and it was then that it all became glaringly clear to Headmaster Albus Dumbledore, who read people more avidly than books, and expressions as simply as if they were monosyllabic words that people wore.

"Aha," he said, softly, and lifted a hand. "No, Sirius, I think you'd better stay, so that we may, proverbially, kill two birds with one well aimed stone. Now. Shall we begin?" Still, Remus was silent, almost stubbornly, childishly so, though he lifted his eyes, unsure and almost afraid, to fix upon Albus's kind blue eyes, the color winking behind his glasses' crescent shape.

"He doesn't want to talk about this in front of me," Sirius whispered, watched with deep, fake intent the movement of Albus's writing quill as his paperweight bounced agitatedly beneath it. Sometimes, Albus had cause to note, his paperweight was far better at judging the atmosphere of a mood and the anguish of those within it than most people had the capacity for being able to do. It was uncanny, really; which was why his paperweight was a particular pride and joy of his.

"I'm sure that he doesn't want to talk about it in front of anyone, Mr. Black," Dumbledore replied kindly, "but perhaps with a slight bit of coaxing he may find that he does wish to, after all."

"I'm sorry I've been such trouble," Remus said, speaking for the first time since he'd arrived, "for both of you. For everyone. I really am."

"Now, now, Mr. Lupin," the headmaster murmured, brow furrowing, "you aren't really sorry at all or, if you are, you most certainly shouldn't be. It is only natural for people to feel things and to express them; it is only natural for other people to react on impulse, and then, later, on understanding."

"But I'm not natural," Remus explained before he could stop himself, and, sensing how important a sentence the one he had just spoken was, he shook his head, and curled in on himself in his seat.

"Well," Dumbledore said, watching Sirius wince, and go a little green around the edges, "that certainly is a start. Mr. Black, have you anything to say to that?"

"Yes!" Sirius, as he always did when faced with something that saddened or pained him, had grown defensive, seeming almost angry, when it was easy for anyone in their right mind to see all he was doing was trying to protect himself. Though Remus nearly jumped in startlement at the sound, it was clear from the gravity and the lack of luster in his deep brown eyes that he knew, and hated himself for causing such pain in one he cared about so deeply. "Yes," Sirius managed after that, calming himself, "yes, I do have something to say to that, but he'll just say I don't understand, and maybe, maybe I don't. Maybe I shouldn't say anything at all."

"On the contrary, Mr. Black. I wholeheartedly think you should. It is not in Mr. Lupin's natural nature not to listen to people, so I think you had better give it a shot, after all. But do make it a good one."

"I," Sirius said, and looked towards Dumbledore, then towards Remus, entreating, pleading, "I just want him to trust me, but he doesn't. And I don't think he knows ­ I don't think he understands ­ that I'd do anything for him, anything at all, so he can tell me, he can just tell me, what he needs, when he needs it."

"Or you'll only feel unnecessary." The headmaster's brow was furrowed in thought once more, and his voice was somber, as if he were trying to translate all the emotion behind Sirius's words into sentences that were blatant enough for Remus to have to understand. "Or you'll feel unwanted, perhaps? Unimportant?"

"Exactly," Sirius agreed, hands clenched into fists on the arms of his chair. "Exactly how I feel. Now. All the time." Two pairs of eyes, both different shades of blue, turned to focus on the small boy, curled up in defense in his chair, waiting for some sort of answer. Remus struggled for a while with the words, opening his mouth, then closing it again, unable to form anything remotely coherent while the sheer despair pulsed through his veins. Sirius did not think he was enough. Sirius did not think he was everything. Sirius did not know ­ but why should Sirius know? Had Remus ever told him, ever even tried to tell him?

No.

"That isn't how it is," Remus began, helpless.

"Isn't it?" Sirius asked.

"Ah, Mr. Black ­ you've had your chance to speak. I believe now it's his, and you must listen, before you reply." Dumbledore fixed his eyes once more on Remus's face. "Go on, Mr. Lupin," he said, encouraging. It was hard to continue once he had been cut off, but from the look on Dumbledore's face, Remus knew he simply had to try.

"That isn't how it is," he began again, swallowing down a thickness, a fear in his throat, "that isn't how it is, and it's my fault you think so. I can't say things. I can't. I know you want me to, but I can't. I can't, for anyone." He dug one fingernail in underneath the other, and the sudden jolt of pain gave him clarity enough, strength enough, to go on. "And I want to," he said, "I want to, Sirius. If I could, I would, but I can't."

"Then I guess that's that, then." Sirius's voice was flat. Sirius's eyes were not looking at him.

"No!" Remus said, and the force of the one word was more than the other two had ever expected. It was enough to startle Sirius into turning around. To truly watch Remus's face. "No, you can't say that; you can't mean it. Please, Sirius. Please. I need you not to." I need you. "I just need you to listen, without...without listening for words." I need you. "Please. Sirius. Please." It was the first time, Sirius realized, that he was really listening, not to what Remus was saying but how he was saying it, not just how he was saying it but how his hands were clasped tight and pale in his lap, how his eyes were fixed with burning anguish on Sirius's face, how his shoulders sagged and the rest of him tensed and he waited ­ a man awaiting the gallows ­ on every bated breath for the wood to go out beneath him, for the breath to be stolen from his body. It was the first time, Sirius realized, that he was really listening to Remus feel, and not listening to him as a boy, but as one far older and wiser in such ways.

"...your finger," Sirius said softly, "your finger. It's bleeding." There was a bare few inches in between their two armchairs and, as if they were the only two in the room, Sirius leaned over to take Remus hands and keep them away from each other. "I just need you to stop hurting yourself," he said, after that, "I just need you to know how much it hurts me, when you do."

"I'll try to be more careful." It was a real promise. "Sometimes I'm not. I'll try. I don't even know when I'm hurting myself; I don't."

"I," Sirius began, after that, but Dumbledore cut him off.

"I think," he said calmly, "that the rest of this shall be better gone over in private, as my work here has quite obviously been done." Sirius flushed just slightly, looking younger again, but there was sudden understanding in his eyes.

"You're right, Headmaster," he murmured, showing uncharacteristic and suddenly sober deference. "Thank youI guess, forfor wanting to help him."

"I shouldn't have been angry," Remus spoke up quietly. "Because I was. I wasquite."

"My dear boy," Albus Dumbledore replied with a saddened smile, "you had every right to be absolutely livid, and I am so glad you have finally admitted you were. That is, at least, a step. Carry on, now. The both of you." The headmaster noted with some relief that, when the two left, they left shoulder to shoulder and hand in smaller hand, which was quite a good deal better than they had come in. Then, they had been separate, and it had suited neither of them for a single instant.

Later on, when they went off two be alone in the shack, Sirius held Remus and they did not cry, just held each other, and touched each other's hair, and felt their own vulnerability at the napes of their necks, the shudders of their breaths, the long, aching pauses between each, and the comfort pressing their bodies in closer, closer, closer brought.

After Remus had packed, Sirius actually helping, for once doing more than simply trying to, and the snow had begun to fall, the world ­ or at least Sirius's scope of the world ­ seemed to be engulfed in cobwebbed grayness, cruel and unflattering and dull. Any amount of dread he himself felt could not, he knew, measure up to whatever it was Remus was feeling, and so he was quieted, handing off sweaters he had folded.

He had never known balling socks could be so bloody ominous.

"Please don't say you'll miss me," Remus said, snapping the suitcase shut. The brass clasps gleamed, portentous.

"Why in bloody hell not?" Sirius scowled. If they were going to start all this again he'd just have to throw himself out the Astronomy Tower right then and there.

"Because I don't think I'll be able to bear it, if you do."

Sirius had to admit, heartbreaking as it was, that was a very good reason for him to keep his mouth shut.

"Oh," he said, not looking up.

"Sorry I have to go," Remus murmured after that, touching Sirius's cheek.

"It isn't your fault," Sirius mumbled.

"It really is," Remus said, "but not in the way you mean it isn't, no."

"I got you some chocolate," Sirius was still mumbling, thrusting forward a box, "so that you wouldn't be hungry, or anything, on the way there."

"Thank you, Sirius."

"You're welcome, Moony."

Remus unsnapped the clasps on the suitcase ­ it sounded so final, he thought inwardly, and cruelly so ­ and put the box of chocolates on top of his two sweaters, his surprisingly neatly balled socks. The box was gold and red, for of course Sirius would see fit to make it reminiscent of Hogwarts in some way or another. There was a little foil-covered card tucked beneath the ribbon that wrapped around it.

"Don't read it 'til later," Sirius said, as if sensing Remus's thoughts. "You don't have to read letters from people if they're right there with you."

"Thank you, Sirius."

"You're welcome, Moony."

"I, I guess I'll"

"I'm going to miss you like hell, Moony, like hell, it's going to be without you." Sirius leaned forward and swept the smaller boy up into his arms, pulling him closer and burying his face against his neck. The world didn't smell right without Remus Lupin there beside him, something wild and something so cultured al at once permeating Sirius's air. The very air he breathed, in fact.

"I told you not to say that, Sirius, pleaseÖ" But it felt good to hear it: good, and devastating.

"I'm sorry. Christ. Moony. Christ. I need you. Christ."

There was no reply, but it was because Sirius had begun to kiss Remus. Sirius kissed him and kissed him and kissed him again, glad that Lilly had been intelligent enough to keep Peter and James out of the room for this. (The other three would say their goodbyes later, their own worry dwarfed in comparison to Sirius's, and forgotten, no doubt, in desire and hope to cheer him up, no matter how short a time such cheer would last.) Sometimes, he got the very distinct feeling that James was made very uncomfortable by this display, and he didn't like the idea of Peter being witness to something so intimate. Lilly was different; Lilly was a girl and sometimes Sirius wanted to throw her off a cliff or drown her in a bog; but she understood things, and she knew things, and Sirius loved her like a sister and loved her like a lifeline.

After all, she always managed to help him, when no one else could hope to.

They kissed for a while and then Sirius pulled back and ran his fingers through his own hair, scuffing his foot on the ground.

"You're going to miss your train," he said, quietly. Remus drew in a deep breath, kiss-moist lips closing, Adam's Apple bobbing as he swallowed. All of him straightened, changed; so that he was no longer, as he moved out of the boy's dorm and into the Common Room, the warm creature that thrummed with life in Sirius's arms, but the frail, brittle thing that pained him so.

When Hagrid led Remus off ­ because Hagrid always was best for comfort and cheer, and knew just how to talk to almost anyone to brighten their eyes just enough ­ Lilly kept one arm wrapped firmly around one of Sirius's, almost as if she were trying to hold him up.

"I can't watch," Sirius whispered.

"You're damn well going to," Lilly hissed back.

"I can't watch him walk away," Sirius replied, lifting his free hand, trying to smile as he waved. Remus did not wave back. Remus was not so casual in such times; did not try to be so casual in such times.

"You're going to bloody have to, and you know it." Lilly gave his arm a squeeze, and they stood there that way for a very, very long time.

"It's all right, Puppy," Lilly said at last. (Peter had left first, then James, in a grudgingly awkward way that suggested jealousy on some level, jealousy that was not understood or particularly acknowledged.) "It's all right. It's going to be okay."

"Christ," Sirius said, "Christ, he's gone, and here I was thinking I'd never let him get away."

"He's going to come back, you damn fool Puppy," Lilly soothed, in words that should not have been kind, but ultimately were. "And the time will pass, and you'll forget it easy enough when he's come back."

"What if they hurt him?" Sirius found he kept looking, looking to the places where Remus had been, hoping he would suddenly, inexplicably be there again. He didn't like missing something so essential to himself. Saying 'he didn't like' it was by far a horrid understatement. "If they hurt him I'll kill them."

"Every single one of them?"

"Every single one."

"That's a silly plan, Puppy."

"You know I would, Lil."

"I do. Lucky for you they aren't going to hurt him, and you won't have to. Azkaban isn't pleasant this time of year, after all." Sirius closed his eyes, and let out a low, helpless laugh, and Lilly was there, arms outstretched, to pull him against her as he cried.

The chocolates were Muggle, an assortment, and Remus found himself picking out the ones with caramel and the ones with nougat first, savoring each small nub of sweetness. He tried to postpone reading the note that came along with it but found he couldn't, suddenly young, suddenly impatient, and desperate for the company even Sirius's handwriting would bring.

Remus-

(And heavens how he loved that familiar scrawl.)

I'm missing you already.

(Like I'm missing you, Sirius. Of course.)

And I know this because I'm missing you while I'm writing this.

(Of course you are.)

I hope you like the chocolates. They're Muggle, and mum said they're the best.

(They're very good. Thank you. Very much.)

And if you can write me from there please write me. I'll try to write back, if they'll let you have letters.

(If only. I'd love that. Of course I'll try.)

Be safe.

(You, too.)

Love,
Sirius

It was the 'love' that threw him, that shocked him out of a cocoon of Sirius's handwriting, which was beautifully safe, and into a word where suddenly, his heart was pounding impossibly fast, and he could barely breathe.

(You too, Sirius.)

The Registry was a tall gray building erected in what could only be described as the middle of nowhere, bleak and dour and monolithic. Even the grass barely dared to grow op around it, but grass was a hardy sort, and somehow -- brown and brittle and unwelcoming -- managed it. It seemed, too, as if the Registry building leaked grayness into the air and surrounding scenery, so that when Remus arrived by the scheduled bus (one which had picked up him and two others who were bound fix the same desination in the early hours of the morning. driving through the gray dawn without stop) he could not help the chill that permeated his entire being. It was an eerie place, eerie and cold and cruel.

The other two passengers were as different as any two person could ever be: one scraggly and gay-haired and pale, his eyes like charcoal smudges in his face and his lips twisted into a helpless, rebellious frown, and the other a swarthy young woman with a lofty, challenging smile and a fall of auburn hair She had immediately taken a liking to Remus for some reason or another and fed him sweetmeats because, as she told him, he looked too bloomin' thin for a young lad his age, that he did, and someone had to fatten him up else he'd never make it through the winter

Her name was Nyree and she was a comforting, curvaceous figure, every inch of her feminine in an imposing, busty sort of way. She was hardy as the grass and strong as rock, and smelled friendly, like moss

"Well I s'pose this is our stop," she said with a low chuckle, watching the scraggly man bolt out the open doors as soon as the bus had ground to a halt in front of the building.

"What other stop is there?" Remus asked, voice hushed and grave. It was the first thing he had said all day, other than a few polite thank yous. Suddenly, the food in his stomach made him feel uncomfortable, ill, as the sense of foreboding the place instilled began to flood his system.

"Nothin' for it but t'go in," Nyree returned bravely, and she bustled off easily as if this were just another building, and she ready to do battle with whatever dust bunnies might lurk inside. She reminded Remus, he formulated later, of Aquila Black, for sheer force of her good cheer.

"Name," the pale man at the front desk said.

Why are we so far away from the Ministry, Remus wanted to ask, why is it so gray here, so colorless, so dank?

"Remus J. Lupin," Remus replied softly, holding his suitcase tighter to his chest.

"Age," the pale man said immediately after he got his response, scribbling something down onto a piece of parchment.

Why is it that I've been sent here, Remus wanted to ask, why is this who I am?

What I am.

"Fifteen," Remus replied calmly and easily, and watched as the man wrote that down, too.

"Sent by Albus Dumbledore?" Looking over wireframe glasses, the man in equally drab but pristinely clean robes at last looked down over the bridge of his long nose to survey the specimen that stood before him. It was supercilious; it was condescending; it did not deign to care, that look. Remus firmed himself against it, wishing for some of James's strength, Sirius's charm, Lilly's daring and Peter's unsettling self-possession. He had none of those qualities, though. He was merely Remus. And it was going to have to do.

"Yes," Remus answered politely, "from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

"Right this way, then," the man returned in a clipped and uncaring tone, and started off, quill set aside but parchment held before him. He did not look back to see if Remus was following, his feet clacking curtly and filling the empty hall with the impersonal sound. For a while, Remus kept up after him, moving through archways and doors and up staircases and through side corridors ­ the building was far bigger on the inside than it seemed from the outside, no matter how looming it had seemed even then ­ and was at last stopped before a door in the midst of a great, long stretch of doors. The number hung up upon the one before them was, in cutting, precise handwriting, 152. It was the sort of room that locked from the outside.

"You'll stay here for the night," the man said, slipping the parchment into a folder attached to the front of the door, even as he swung it open ­ every movement designed to get this unsavory business over with as soon as possible. He was not a man who loved his job. "Tomorrow the examination will begin. Lunch will be brought in, in a few hours. We suggest, after eating, that you rest." He looked near to yawning as he ushered Remus in, and stepped out behind him. "If you need anything, there's a bell, but you aren't to leave your room." From the look on his face Remus assumed the man's job was also to make sure no one could leave their room, even if they wanted to.

Without a goodbye, the door clicked shut; a lock was slid into place moments later. Remus was left in the white room, all to himself.

He set his suitcase on the bed, and tested the creaking springs out of a curiosity he felt he should have. He sat down on the bed after that ­ it was the only place he could sit ­ and looked around, as somber and silent as the place itself. There was a bedside table, upon which were a few heavily bound volumes arranged in a neat and untouched stack, and there was a window across from him with a pale curtain drawn over it, filtering in the meek sunlight.

He opened the first of the books after what must have been an hour of simply sitting there, trying to combat the chill of the room itself. It was heavy, rested like a stone in his lap, and the pages were brittle, as if they were unused to being touched. THE HISTORY OF THE LYCANTHROPE, it stated proudly upon the cover, and, beneath that, THE STUDY OF THE NATURE OF THE WEREWOLF. Remus knew before he even began to read that it was going to bore him, or at least make him ill, but he knew that he had to at least try it, or go mad from boredom.

The werewolf is, the book began, after the author's note, the preface, and the editor's note on the Most Recent Edition, all three of which Remus chose to skip, a misunderstood creature, more so than any in the Wizarding World. It is a beast of unrivaled strength and bitter anger, passionate as only an animal can be, and to this day the nature of the beast is uncontrolled. But those of a Lycanthropic nature cannot be viewed solely as a wolf, as a creature, as a dangerous beast. In order to better understand the Lycanthrope, it is true that one must first begin to comprehend what the animal is. Equipped with that basic, background knowledge, one can then go on to explore the nature of the man - the Lycanthrope himself.

There is some dispute as to how and where Lycanthropy began, if it can be treated as a thing rather than a state. On the whole, it should simply be considered as one of many evolutionary morphs or - if you are to view the condition from religious perspective - as another creation of God, or the gods

When, then, did the plight of Lycanthropes - for no matter the argument one makes as to the nature of men versus their werewolf state, it is indisputable that the condition is a curse, bringing about misunderstanding, disease, pain, mistrust and, at worst, prejudiced hate and fear - originate? The answer to this question can hardly be concluded with the scant historical evidence presented to any Lycanthropy scholar. For the most part, the history of the werewolf is a tangle of myth and legend, the lines between truth and fantasy blurred. The two have been, in fact - at least up until recent discoveries and advancements - assumed to be interchangable. Thus, the great, cruel beast of folklore and old wives' tales is warped in many minds with the idea of the modern day Lycanthrope when, in reality, such thoughts could not possibly be farther from the truth.

No Lycanthrope would ever choose such a nature. Shortened life spans, prejudicial treatment, and cruel discrimination are only a mere handful of the drawbacks to Lycanthropic lives. Lycanthropes are prone to diseases that have not, as of yet, been found to be curable. Friendships are hard; romantic relationships harder. The path a Lycanthrope takes is not one of a wild and thoughtless beast, but of a lonely man or woman, destined to isolation, be it imposed by society, or by the Lycanthrope him or herself.

There was no hope of Remus putting the book down; he'd barely passed the second page, but, sick in his stomach and desperate to know, he could do nothing but read on.

Later, when lunch came, Remus was nearing the end of chapter three and, haunted by nightmares, which were only the facts of his self, he did not sleep for a moment during the long and tired night.

"How long's it been now?" Sirius had, Lilly noticed, developed a nervous habit of toying with his hair, pushing it out of his eyes, letting it fall back over them, pushing it out again. For a while it had been endearing, but Lilly's patience was easily worn thin.

"A day," she replied, "no doubt he hasn't even gotten to the Registry yet."

"Christ," Sirius said, fidgeting, "you can't be serious." But Lilly was serious, serious enough not to respond to that, and Sirius went back to fidgeting in silence.

"You know, it's really hard to work with you squirming around over there, like that." Lilly peered up over the edge of her book. Perhaps, perhaps, if she distracted Sirius by a fight, he might stop looking as if his entire world was collapsing about his drooping ears. There was, however, no response; save that Sirius fell dejectedly still, hands folded in his laps, his eyes still fixed before him. It was true that he didn't look quite right ­ as if a piece of him were missing, perhaps ­ when Remus was not there, by him, or watching him, or smiling every time Sirius tried to make him laugh. "You need to get out, or do something," Lilly murmured, feeling best always when she was giving advice, though she knew this time her words fell short of useful.

"Get out and do what?" Sirius asked, calmly, though it was a direct challenge of the foolish suggestion.

"I don't know." Lilly shrugged, not looking up. "Something. The longer you sit and think about it the more you're going to be miserable, and the less pleasant everyone's going to find you."

"Fine." Sirius stood. "I'll go for a walk."

"I'll come with you," Lilly said, without thinking, and then sighed a very bereaved sigh, setting her book down. "Just let me get my cloak. It's cold."

Later, as they trekked across the barren, crunchy frost, dirt hidden beneath the near hoary substance, Lilly stored the images as those of desolation, and knew she was going to be of no help.

"So tell me something," she said.

"Tell you what?"

"Anything you want to. Get your mind off it."

"I'm not going to be able to." Sirius was holding himself as he walked, arms wrapped around his chest. "Forget it, that is. Wherever he is I'm sure he's cold and I can't stand it."

"Stop being so down all the time." Lilly puffed gray clouds of heat out onto the air before her. Her cheeks were turning a ruddy pink; occasionally, she lifted her mittens to rub at them, to keep the circulation going. Something her father had taught her, years ago.

"You don't understand what it's like, Lil; to need somebody you're not supposed to, who keeps getting taken away from you all the time. No matter what in Merlin's name you try to do."

"He'll come back," Lilly sighed, scowling as her mittened fingers in her hair snickered with static. "He'll come back and then you'll stop worrying again."

"True. But what about the next time? When he leaves again. When he gets taken away, again."

"Well you've just got to figure out if it's worth it," Lilly murmured. During all this time they had not made eye contact; something about the conversation was too adult for them to do anything but stare at their feet.

"'Course it's worth it. Don't be silly. Just wondering if maybe he'll find someone who can"

"Well, well, well." Lucius Malfoy had the most cutting voice of any mere boy Sirius had ever had the misfortune to know, and the tone worked to his advantage, as he could use it, work it, to make anyone's skin crawl. Lilly bristled and Sirius stiffened ­ now was not the time, he thought, for anyone to push him closer to the edge, for he very well might go over. It was comforting, too, to feel the wand he'd tucked into the sleeves of his robes, as if it might have made him feel very much better to blast Lucius Malfoy off the face of the earth, despite the repercussions such actions would bring.

"Don't mess with me, Malfoy." His voice was a low growl, canine, fierce.

"Don't mess with you? But these are free grounds." Lucius examined a fingernail, coolly, easily, voice unruffled. He was getting better at this, certainly. "I would think you'd be out here with your other repulsive mudbloodÖfriend, but it seems you've exchanged one unpleasant specimen for another. What would Potter think, to see you two here?"

"I said, don't mess with me, Malfoy. It's not the right day. It's not the right time."

"Sirius," Lilly said, touching his arm, but Sirius shook her off.

"Really," Lucius went on, smirking bemusedly, "is that any way to treat a lady? Though I doubt you have any capacity for chivalry, a great, stupid lug like you." It was hard, very hard, not to see stars. Luckily, Lilly saw what was going to happen before it could, and grabbed Sirius's arm, clutching it hard.

"Another time, maybe," Lilly hissed, "when you can't get yourself expelled."

"It'd be worth it, if I wiped that bloody smile off his sorry little face," Sirius ground out in reply, but he relaxed, slowly, letting go of his wand.

"I'd like to see you try," Lucius murmured, and gave a soft, confident laugh. "I suppose you'll find a way to make as many chances as are possible. Practice makes perfect, you know." He turned on his heel, crunching the frost beneath his boots, and walked off, straight and proud and revoltingly triumphant.

"That was the last thing I needed," Sirius muttered, face flushed. "Thanks, Lil, this was a brilliant idea."

"Then spend your time waiting for Remus making a plan," Lilly suggested, trying to smile. "A Wipe That Bloody Smile Off His Sorry Little Face plan."

"You know," Sirius murmured, "I just might, at that."

Remus had always helplessly loved his privacy, cultivated it, and kept it close to himself in a strange, hungry sort of desperation, because so much of himself was a secret he was too afraid to tell. The idea that anyone other than his father would be able to see him change was a painful one and, throughout the physical checkup, the day of the full moon, it was as if something was gnawing its way out of his stomach from the inside.

"Age?"

"Fifteen."

"Height?"

"Five feet, five inches."

"Weight?"

"One hundred and seventeen pounds."

"Underweight." The quill scratched something extra. "Place bitten?"

"Stomach."

"Is that the scar?"

"Yes."

"Werewolf's bite: lower stomach, just above the left hipbone, and a little to the right. Do you know the name of the wolf that bit you?"

"Dalila Lupin."

"Related to you?"

"My mother."

"Bitten by mother. What's that scar, right there?"

"I did that. To myself."

"Are all the other scars the same?"

"Yes. No. Not that one."

"How was it acquired?"

"I was bitten by a dog."

"Dog bite on neck. How long have you been a werewolf?"

"Since I was seven."

"Describe the change."

"It hurts. I'm tired the day before, and the day after. I miss school for it. I don't remember anything that happens, when I'm aÖ"

"When you're in wolf form."

"Yes."

"Have you ever hurt anyone?"

"Ino."

"Who knows about your Lycanthropy?"

"My father. Albus Dumbledore. Madam Pomfrey ­ Poppy Pomfrey ­ the head nurse at Hogwarts."

"That's all?"

"That's all."

"Right this way, please."

"I wonder where he is now." Sirius sprawled himself out over Remus's bed, the smell of him still lingering there, and took all the comfort he could in that scent, sighing deeply. He hadn't slept recently; there were dark circles under his eyes, and he hardly looked like himself.

"Just think," Lilly muttered to herself, though watching him fondly, "just think, that when he comes back to you and sees you looking like some sort of Halloween decoration, he's going to be absolutely terrified, and run directly in the opposite direction." Sirius snorted.

"Thanks. You do know how to cheer a bloke up, don't you."

Night fell.

Remus changed into the wolf on a sterile white floor and it screamed its rage, the force of denial ripping through it. It was kept contained. It hated the white, the blinding white, and tore into itself more than it ever had before, teeth and claws, angry, furious. Where were the others? Where was the forest? Why was it that it had again been denied? It could not voice the questions, and took them out upon its own flesh and fur, blind and desperate for the copper taste of blood. Its tongue lolled from its mouth; it was a beast; it was a beast and it was a trapped one, at that; there was no worse a fate in the world, it thought, if that white, white hot rage in its mind could be called thought. Selfishness was the mark of the wolf, overwhelming, devouring selfishness.

Throughout the night two tireless men in official robes took notes, while the wolf threw itself again and again against stinging magical barriers, and begged the moon for something other than loss, loss, and ever again loss.

Outside the window the moon was pregnant, full. Sirius could not sleep; naturally, Sirius could not sleep. His head rested on Sirius's pillow, on the windowsill.

He was watching the dappled flank of the moon in the darkening sky, watching the clouds pass over it and knowing that the wolf was miserable, that the wolf was hurting the boy, and that he was not there to stop it.

You can't save everyone, Sirius Black, he told himself.

Too bad he couldn't even save the one person who mattered most.

The Center of Werewolf Support Services was, while not being a particularly enjoyable place to spend time at, was a place that at least attempted to be hospitable, as hospitable as it could manage to be. He was asked questions by a round looking female with water blue eyes, in a room with a too-soft bed and a too-heavy comforter.

"And what's your name?" she asked him, leaning back in a rocking chair, while Remus sat in a smaller one, across from her. It was a chair that was trying too hard to be comfortable.

"Lupin. Uhm. Remus Lupin."

"How old are you?" She smiled at him from over the edge of her scroll.

"Fifteen years."

"When's your birthday?"

"January."

"So three months from now, you're going to turn sixteen."

"Mm. Yes." Remus was getting the feeling that this woman wasn't very bright, no matter how awful it was to think that. She continued to scrawl something on the parchment before her, then smiled very brightly, and very emptily, and went on in her line of questioning.

"Right," she said cheerily, "right. You've been Lycanthropic for how long?"

"Since I was seven." Now Remus felt as if he were stuck in some sort of ironically repetitive time loop, going about and about in circles and never getting anywhere.

"Tell me a little bit about your mother," the woman said, and flashed a brilliant smile.

"She's dead," Remus replied, remotely, "she was the werewolf that bit me." The woman visibly blanched.

"Oh," she said after a few moments, swallowing thickly. "Oh. I see. Well." It took her a little while to recuperate, but she did so with brave determination. "Now, then, who do you live with?"

"My father," Remus informed her.

"And where?"

"A flat. In Canterbury."

"And I hear you go to Hogwarts," the woman said suddenly, brightening, realizing that she had not, in fact, exhausted all possible outlets for bubbly conversation. She had quite obviously been taught that information was a byproduct of unfailing, smothering kindness and therefore did not know why to do, when all her efforts slammed headfirst into a barricade and were smashed into smithereens.

"I do," Remus said.

"How do you like it there, then?" Her smile had returned, like a faithful dog.

"It's very nice," Remus answered truthfully. "I like it very much."

"Does anyone there know about?" To say the word now, she had also obviously been told, was a breach of trust and of the formally established friendship between herself and her 'patient.' While she invariably meant well, not saying the word was what made Remus's skin crawl.

"About my Lycanthropy? Only Headmaster Dumbledore, and Madam Pomfrey, at the Infirmary." Remus toyed absently with the edge of his shirtsleeve. It was too warm in the room, while at the Registry, it had been far too cold.

"No friends, then; very wise of you." Remus's face didn't change even a centimeter in expression. "Er. Right. Well. How are you, at your classes?"

"Doing well, I think," he said, carefully. "You can ask Headmaster Dumbledore about that; he'd know better than I do."

"Oh." The woman went back to her parchment. It was the name barrier, Remus concluded at that point; that she knew his name, but to him, she was just a wandering, nameless, fumbling creature, was the stumbling block for this entire, failing conversation. Well, that, and the fact that Remus could not bring himself to speak to strangers, much less to smile at them, especially when they seemed so falsely, vapidly friendly. "So; sixteen," she was quite obviously talking to herself, "almost sixteen, excuse me; five foot five and a hundred seventeen pounds, dear me; mother, deceased, living with your father" She trailed off, and then positively beamed in desperation. "Hobbies!" she said, triumphantly, "do you have any, then?"

"I read," Remus offered.

"Oh, that is nice," the woman replied, relaxing again in her chair. "What sorts of books?"

"All sorts."

"All sorts?"

"Well, anything I can find to read, I read," Remus murmured and, then, after a pause, went on. "I go to the library, a lot; in Hogwarts, andand during summer vacation." The woman blinked rapidly, and said nothing. "It's quiet," Remus ventured, "and I can study. I like that." It seemed as if the woman didn't know whether to take note of this, or to simply ignore it, and she sat there, frozen, torn in indecision.

"All right, well" she said at last, scrawling down a few more words onto the parchment, "I'll be back with you to ask more questions later, all right, dearie?"

"All right." Remus nodded, once, and wondered if his eerie politeness was distressing the woman in any way, as she seemed rather more ruffled than need be. Perhaps she was unused to children with such lack of emotion, he figured, and bowed hi head just slightly so that she would not be spooked by the calm lack of emotion in his eyes.

"And in a little while there'll be a man in to check up on you," she murmured helplessly, as if she could not understand why he took no comfort from her convivial cheer. "He's going to make sure you're in prime health."

"Yes," Remus replied, guardedly, though he was trying to smile. If only to make her feel slightly better.

"Er," she said, and then stood very quickly. "If you're hungry or anything - and really, you should eat more, such a small thing you are! - then do ring the bell, right there by the bedside, and I'll come in to see how you're faring." Remus couldn't bring himself to reply with another 'yes' or 'all right,' both short and deadpan and completely unhelpful, so he simply nodded, sighing in relief as the door clicked shut behind the poor, beleaguered madam.

Remus sat there for a while, and listened to the silence that crept through the room, and drew his knees up to his chest, and waited. After a little more than an hour and a half a respectable man in plain robes entered the room after knocking lightly. He had wire-rimmed glasses, and his hair was a dusty sort of read, threaded with gray.

"Good afternoon, there," he said, and offered up a kind smile. Remus focused his eyes on the man, judging him in the blink of an eye, and then looked down for a moment, swallowing, remembering how it was speaking operated.

"Good afternoon," he murmured.

"And how are we today?"

"All right. How are you?" It was almost comfortable, the formula by which they were speaking.

"Quite good, I must say; quite good. I'm here to examine you, d'you know."

"Ah."

"See if everything's in ship shape." People who said ship shape were always trying to prove how good natured they were. Remus hid a sigh behind one hand. This man was just like the woman, and probably worse, because at first glance he had seemed far, far better.

"Oh." The man was only momentary phased.

"Lie down, then," he said carefully, gesturing to the bed, and Remus stood, sitting cautiously on the edge. "All I'm going to do is check up on your scars, your physical health, and see if there's anything we here at the Support Center can do for you, to facilitate the change; to make it less hard on you." Remus nodded. "It's best also to know," the wizard went on, "how your heart is holding up against the strain of the monthly changes, whether or not there are any a-rhythms, or any warning signs for future troubles that might now be seen to." He motioned to Remus sweater with his wand, and Remus moved his fingers to the hem, tugging it off. The lighter shirt beneath came off next, and the wizard knelt down beside his bed, tucking his wand into the side of his belt. He inspected each scar with the occasional tap of his wand and noticeable murmur, almost as if his hands were not there for safety or for wellbeing, but for mapping Remus out.

It was horrid, having hands other than Sirius's on him, but Remus kept himself still and thought of other things, tried to think of other things, placing his mind as Somewhere Else as he could manage it. The time passed as slowly as it could have, with the occasional question, or commentary.

"This is the Bite, is it not?"

"Yes."

"On his stomach; obviously, the wolf went for the underbelly first."

Silence.

"And this, this isn't self-inflicted, it can't possibly be."

"Which?"

"The one on the neck."

"No. A dog bite."

"Has a scar from a dog bite on his neck, right above the collar bone. Looks to be fairly recent, I believe."

And more silence.

"These are fairly new."

"They're from this past full moon."

"When you were being supervised at the registry?"

"Yes."

"They're job was to observe you. We might have something to reduce the scarring of these cuts; certainly, to ease the pain in the bruises."

"Thank you."

"I'll see to that as soon as possible."

And silence again, only this time, there were no more questions, a few "hm"s and "oh"s and one "dear me" before the man pulled back, raking his fingers through his short hair.

"The assessment is quite done," he informed Remus, tugging out his wand and a blank piece of parchment, tied into a roll. "I'm simply going to place down the information here, for our information, and I believe a few more tests shall be conducted; then, it would seem, you will be quite free to go. The other tests are simply to see if any Potions can be concocted to ease your particular form of Lycanthropy. Oh, and, of course - you are also to attend a talk with one of the Staff. Nothing too trying; it's merely for him or her to explain a few basic concepts about Lycanthropy, some of which few Lycanthropes themselves even know."

"Thank you very much."

"Please," the wizard said, but he looked incredibly chuffed, "don't for a second mention it." He tapped the scroll with the tip of his wand and it unfurled; and, moments later, something dark, inky, shimmering leapt from the wand and onto the face of the parchment. It was like writing, while at the same time being like a picture; perhaps, the most effective way of documenting Remus's condition, visual and yet clinical. "And there we have it. Lunch should be along shortly."

And the door clicked shut behind the disappearance of the man, swathed inside his comfortably clean robes. Remus tugged his shirt back on, and then folded his sweater. It was far too hot to wear it now. In the stagnant silence of the room, Remus Lupin drew his legs once more up to his chest, wrapped his arms around them, and rested his forehead on his knees.

He did not cry.