Notes: And, in this section, there are more spoilers for the book 1984 than any of the Harry Potter books. *bows* I used the term "thought crime" in the previous chapter, and I figured, "Hey! Why not just keep it going?"

Also… there's a tiny, tiny fact in this that I also used in "Werewolves of London". Can you figure out what it is? Ooh! It's like a mini-mystery! ^__~

He sits beside me, the small, bunny-like creature clawing frantically at the fabric of his sweater. I feel like a fraud suddenly, a shameful and unhappy fraud; to combat the feeling, I pull my knees up to my chin and sink, a carefully contained little ball, into the softness of the couch. "You know, Harry," he says quietly, placing one innocent hand one my shoulder and cradling the pet with his other, "I think one of my greatest fears after… after Lily and James died… was that you would grow up amidst unhappiness or conflict." He smiles and hands the small, furry creature to me. It has the body and head of a rabbit, but the legs and tail of a very bright lizard. I take it gingerly and place it in my lap. "He's a Lacerta Diabolus… I just call him Fortinbras."

I nuzzle the soft fur between its ears with my fingertips. "Fort?" Professor Lupin smiles.

"Yes… 'Fort'. Young Prince of Norway, successor of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark." He gives the base of the bunny-lizard's tail a little scritch.

"Shakespeare?" I ask, although I know it is obviously the case. He nods, happily.

"Of course… have you read Hamlet yet?" I shake my head. "You really should. A very beautiful play." His eyes glaze over with the sheen of someone remembering something they learned long ago. "'What a piece of work is man… How noble in reason.. how infinite in faculties… in form and moving, how express and admirable… in action how like an angel…'"

"I saw the version with Mel Gibson," I offer, eager to break his trance. Really, he can be a bit spooky sometimes. "The Dursley's had it on one evening."

"Mmm…" He is unmoved. "You really ought to see it performed onstage. Shakespeare is always best live."

"I read that other book you gave me, though." I interject before he can say anything more. "The George Orwell one?"

"Ahh…" he nods. "1984. What did you think?"

I tap Fort on the nose. "I don't know. The world isn't really like that…"

"No," he agrees, "But the book is meant to serve as a warning of a world that could be if free thought and liberty are oppressed."

"Yeah, but…" I feel my brows scrunch together with the effort of the debate. "But that can't happen in real life. Someone, somewhere, will always resist. There will always be… y'know… rebels."

"There were rebels," he says calmly, and damn if he isn't right. "Winston and Julia were both rebels and thought-criminals."

"Yeah, but…" It's not quite the same thing; he knows this. But he's trying to prod me into thinking and putting my thoughts into words. "But they didn't actually do anything to undermine Big Brother. They just… existed."

"Wasn't that enough?" His face is bland and emotionless. I hate it that way.

"No!" I exclaim. "No, because it didn't accomplish anything!"

"Didn't it? Didn't they find love together? Isn't that an accomplishment?"

I am silent for a moment. What is real love? Do I really love Professor Lupin in a romantic way? Or is it only sexual? "It wasn't real love," I whisper. "It wasn't; they betrayed each other." And would I betray you if I was cornered?

"And in the worst way possible." He leans back and suddenly we are sitting side by side, shoulders and upper arms touching. I begin to blink rapidly. "What do you think was Julia's greatest fear?"

"I don't know," I murmur. He nods thoughtfully.

"That's always bothered me. Winston's was rats… but what was Julia's?" He pauses, as if expecting a reply. But I have none to give. "I think it would be death by fire."

I raise my head in curiosity. "Why?"

He shrugs. "Why not? Why are people afraid of anything?"

"Sometimes because of something in their childhood," I offer. "You know… Ron's terrified of spiders because the twins magicked his teddy into a great hairy one when he was little." Professor Lupin smiles, but stays quiet. "What is your greatest fear, Professor?" I ask. "Is it really the moon?"

"No," he shakes his head sadly. "I wish it was that simple."

"So what is it?" I'm filled with a sudden renewed interest. If not the moon… then what?

"Muggle crosswalks," he says, face giving away nothing. We sit in silence a moment before I can gather the courage to challenge him.

"Why?"

"I saw a man get hit by an auto and die at one." His voice is completely steady; he might as well be talking about the weather. "A random, blameless accident… it frightens me."

I can only nod. "Yeah… it's scary."

"Mmm…" He makes a noise, not of agreement of disagreement, but of acknowledgement. "And you? You are afraid of…?" He turns to face me, and I can barely stand to look in his eyes.

"You think it's Voldemort, don't you?" He gnaws at his bottom lip.

"I did… until you told me during third year that you feared the Dementors more. Is that still true?"

I shake my head. "I don't know why… I'm not as afraid of outside… forces. Like, the things I can't control, I can't fear. I can't find reason to be afraid of them."

"Really?" He raises an eyebrow. "That's what scares me most."

My hand trembles as I pet Fort. "No… I'm more afraid of the things I think about-" Like rape and torture and orgasms and blood, blood, blood. "You know… I can't really control them, but they're also a part of me…"

He blinks. "Yes… I understand that feeling quite well." Abruptly his voice is cold and distant and frosty. Almost as if he doesn't want to be talking about this anymore. But now… now I'm feeling nosy, and something about the way he is staring straight ahead and gritting his teeth makes me wonder whether his thoughts have anything to do with me. What a shot in the dark of course… such hopeful thinking. But I don't really mind.

"So," I say as casually as I possibly can. "What do you… uh… think about?"