AN: This story gets updated less often but it seems to be more popular. SO here ya go everybody. More stuff! Warning: this chapter contains semi-adult themes of abusive family drama angsty melodrama stuff, so beware.

Morning sunlight streamed in the windows of the Shrieking Shack. From his spot on the wooden floor, teenage Lupin sat up with a groan. His friends were standing around the room chattering, but they all turned to him when he sat up. Harry turned as well and walked over to him.

"Morning, Moony," said Sirius cheerfully.

Lupin opened his mouth to speak, but instead made a disgusted face and spit on the floor. There was dried blood caked all over his face, running down onto his chin and neck.

"Eww," observed Harry, to no one in particular.

"Gah…" Lupin made a gagging noise and spit out more dried blood. Suddenly, he realized what he was spitting out and looked alarmed. "Ah—! What the hell happened last night?" He pulled his robe off the bed next to him and began frantically wiping his face, only pausing to make retching noises and spit more blood onto the floor. His friends sniggered, looking completely unperturbed by his distress.

"Do you remember anything from last night?" asked James. He was about Harry's own height, perhaps even his own age. Much to Harry's displeasure, he rumpled his hair. Lupin wasn't around to ask, so he just had to guess.

Lupin looked pensive. "I—I remember we went towards Hogsmeade," he began.

"And?"

Lupin furrowed his brow in concentration. "Eh…it gets kind of hazy after that…"

"Well, we went a little too far into the village for you, apparently," offered Sirius, smirking.

"Yeah, you caught the scent of people, and well…" explained James.

"You went bonkers," chirped Peter. Lupin stared at them each in turn as they recounted the events of the previous night, all looking supremely amused—except for Lupin, who looked distressed.

"Yeah, so we dragged you back the Shack."

"But you were still all blood-lusty and completely nutters."

"So Padfoot nipped out into the Forest and nicked a rabbit for you."

"What!" said Lupin disbelievingly.

"A rabbit," said James, shrugging.

"You totally ate it," said Sirius in a highly amused voice.

"Tore it to bits actually," clarified James merrily.

"It was gross," added Peter sincerely.

"I ate it?" Lupin looked mortified. He continued to scrub his mouth frantically, even though it was pretty much clean by this point.

"Yep."

"Then you went over there and passed out."

Lupin still looked upset, which caused his friends to burst out laughing. Also, he was still on the floor. They eased him up onto the bed. He looked a little shaky and exhausted.

"It was a rabbit Moony. You didn't eat anyone." James clapped him on the back, smiling reassuringly.

"Yes but—" protested Lupin. He paused and considered for a moment, then covered his face and joined his friends in laughing stupidly.

"Moony, terror of innocent rabbits," chided Sirius.

"Hide your cats and toads!" said James in a tone of mock warning.

Lupin continued to laugh. "Shut up Prongs!"

There was a shuffling sound from outside the door.

"Oops, that'll be Pomfrey," whispered James. He pulled out his invisibility cloak and the three of them huddled underneath it, leaving Lupin alone on the tattered bed.

"See you at lunch, mate," said Peter quietly as he disappeared under the cloak next to his friends.

"Yeah, we're having rabbit stew!" said Sirius. Harry couldn't see the look on his face, but he imagined he was grinning evilly.

"That is not funny, Padfoot!" hissed Lupin in a low voice, but he was smiling. There was a chorus of snickers from the empty air that faded towards the door. Mere moments later, Madam Pomfrey appeared in the Shack.

"Remus dear!" she said in a concerned voice. She rushed forward to help him up off the bed. "How are you?"

"I'm fine," Remus assured her. He smiled gently at her astonishment when he was able to stand up on his own.

"My, my," she said, shaking her head. "You certainly have come a long way. I remember when you were small, I honestly thought I might walk in here one morning and find you had bitten your own head off!"

Remus chuckled. "It wouldn't have surprised me either, Madam Pomfrey."

She produced a blanket and insisted on draping it around his shoulders. Apparently realizing resistance was futile, Lupin accepted the blanket and followed Madam Pomfrey out of the shack, walking entirely on his own power.

The matron smiled. "Perhaps we can chalk it up to age and maturity?"

"I hope," said Remus sincerely.

000

"Right—Harry. Find Harry," thought Lupin. He was still in the middle of a roaring, black void. He shut his eyes tightly and concentrated on finding Harry. Was it working? He opened his eyes, and was consequently rewarded with another glimpse at the endless void. Apparently not.

"Bloody Pensives," grumbled Lupin. He concentrated harder. "Harry Potter! Take me to Harry Potter, you bloody void!" Suddenly the roaring stopped. Sounds and lights crept slowly out of nowhere and began to solidify. Lupin looked around as the scene grew clearer.

"Harry?" he called hopefully. No answer. "Bugger."

He paced around the now fully formed memory. He was in the Shrieking Shack. Again. Oh joy. A pale Ron Weasley was huddled in the corner, clutching a squealing rat and whimpering in fright, blood pouring from his mangled leg. Lupin turned, coming face to face with the back of Harry's head. "Harry!" said Lupin in relief. "Oh, Merlin, I'm sorry about getting us separated—" Harry ignored him. He looked shorter than usual, thought Lupin.

"The dog!" screamed Ron frantically. "He's an Animagus!"

Harry and Hermione whirled around and stared in horror at the leering, sunken face of Sirius Black.

"Expelliarmus," croaked Black.

In a last ditch effort to prove Harry wasn't actually Harry, Lupin reached out to grab his shoulder, but only encountered empty air. Well—he had found Harry. Quite possibly his own memory—of Harry. Not the actual Harry, who was probably still floating around somewhere around in the collective memories of the Order of the Phoenix.

"Fantastic," said Lupin dejectedly. He sighed and walked away as Harry jumped on Black and attempted to strangle him with his bare hands. Maybe he would have better luck elsewhere.

000

Harry was in the middle of a crowded London street, people bustling rapidly past—well—through him. Across the street, a very fat, very young boy was throwing a temper tantrum in the middle of the sidewalk and a tall, bony woman was trying desperately to comfort him. Passersby walked deliberately around the obstacle, either ignoring it completely or throwing reproachful looks at the woman.

"I w—w—want the p—pony," screeched the boy, rolling around on the pavement like a swollen, peachy beach ball and bawling. He pointed a flailing, fat fist at the store window, in which a shiny, red rocking horse gleamed seductively.

"No, no, no, Dinky Diddydums!" begged the bony woman, exposing her large, horse-like teeth. "Mummy will buy you the pony, just stop crying!"

Behind her, a slight little boy with untidy black hair was standing patiently and holding a stack of packages that were, collectively, larger than he was. The boy looked sad, lonely and very unobtrusive. Harry recognized his younger self with some degree of sadness. He was probably about five or six. In retrospect, Harry mused, he probably should have dumped the packages all over Dudley's sniveling head and bolted for freedom. He was pretty sure the Leaky Cauldron was around here somewhere.

An obvious thought struck Harry. Whose memory was this? It certainly wasn't his own—who else in the Order…He looked around. A tall man in a trench coat was standing next to him, staring intently at the scene across the street. A very shabby trench coat. People streamed by on either side of him. He was wearing a hat pushed down low over his face. A few bandages were just barely visible behind his upturned collar. Apparently he did not want to be recognized, but Harry wasn't sure by whom. His shadowed eyes and pallid complexion indicated that he was probably recovering from another 'rough' night.

"Lupin?" said Harry in disbelief. Lupin of course, didn't respond. He stared across the street at Harry and his surrogate family, a look of acute pain registering in his amber eyes.

So, Lupin had seen him at least, before he had received his letter. Harry found that he was somewhat irritated that Lupin hadn't even said 'hello'. He knew for certain that other wizards had, even if he had no idea who those strange people were at the time. By this time, Dudley stopped screaming, thanks to the soothing braying of Aunt Petunia.

"Which one do you want, Duddy dearest?" cooed Aunt Petunia in a sickly sweet voice. She stroked Dudley's fat head as they both looked into the store window.

"That one," said Dudley. He raised a chubby finger quite violently towards the window, smashing into an unsuspecting Harry and knocking the precariously balanced packages in his small hands all over the sidewalk.

"Harry!" screeched Aunt Petunia. "Don't be clumsy! Pick those up, now! And if anything is broken—ooh, you—will be scrubbing the entire kitchen floor!" she huffed. Dudley grinned smugly in Harry's direction as Aunt Petunia turned and quickly ushered him into the store.

"He so did that on purpose," muttered Harry, glaring as his past self crouched down and obediently picked up the packages. Next to him, Lupin flinched. He seemed to be struggling internally about whether or not he should cross the street.

Something stirred in Harry's memory. He remembered this day, despite his young age. He was pretty sure it had been one of the rare occasions he had performed magic unintentionally. Sure enough, little Harry picked up one package and opened it, revealing a shattered glass vase.

From beside him, Lupin drew his wand slowly out of his coat pocket and held it loosely, tip pointing towards the ground.

Little Harry emitted a whimper and closed the box, looking around hopelessly.

Older Harry looked on in amazement as Lupin gave a stealthy, barely noticeable twitch of his wand and pointed it at the box in Harry's arms without raising his own arm.

Little Harry opened the box again, revealing a perfectly normal, though hideously ugly, pink vase that was now once again fully intact. His eyes opened wide in amazement.

Lupin looked at little Harry, very glumly, and replaced his wand into his pocket. The people on the street continued to hustle past, oblivious. Lupin flinched again. He made a move, as if to step forward across the street, but changed his mind mid-step and froze.

Teenage Harry shook his head. What the hell was he doing? Did he just want a glimpse of his best friend's son after a particularly difficult night? Why didn't he say anything to him? It seemed to be one of those ridiculous connections between the magical and Muggle world that lurked just below the surface, waiting to be realized…Remus Lupin, an old friend of his father's and his future Professor, had passed him on a crowded London street, and helped him repair a vase without saying a word to him. He looked at Lupin again, the look on Lupin's face stirring sympathy within him. Perhaps he wasn't allowed to speak to him, or some bullock like that, thought Harry bitterly.

Lupin stared miserably at little Harry for a long time, then finally tore his gaze away and pulled his hat lower over his face. He turned and slunk away, his shoulders hunched, staring down despondently at the street.

000

Lupin was in a dark, sinister looking room that reminded him strongly of Grimmauld Place. It somehow looked gloomy and unwelcoming, despite the fact that it was spotlessly clean. No Harry in sight. He wasn't even close this time, bugger all.

A teenage Snape was curled in a deep green velvet armchair, his greasy, beak-like nose buried a book. He looked to be about 13 or 14.

"Oy," said Lupin when he saw him. This must be his childhood home. Lupin looked around. There were a quantity of shrunken heads sitting in the glass case next to the book shelf, surrounded by creepy looking silver instruments. The bookshelf was house to a number of large, heavy volumes, most of them relating to the Dark Arts and a number of which he had spotted in Grimmauld Place. In fact, the entire house looked rather like a museum for the Dark Arts. How quaint.

Snape's eyes flitted towards the clock on the wall, then back to his book. He was nervous—he was waiting for something. He closed his book and set it on the end table. Rising from his chair, he set off down the darkened hallway. Lupin trailed behind him, hoping dearly that the adult Snape wouldn't stumble upon the pensive anytime soon.

There were angry shouts and quite suddenly an unsettling crashing noise from behind a door at the end of the hall. Teenage Snape frowned and tentatively pushed open the door, revealing a man and a woman involved in an argument. The man had Snape's cold, jet black eyes and greasy, but deep brown hair. He seemed to have pushed the black haired woman into the dresser with some force. The both stared at Snape in the doorway, the man with cold fury and the woman with abject fear. The man straightened up and released the woman's shoulders, causing her to slide down the dresser onto the floor. Her face was tearstained and there were bruises in various stages of healing up and down her pale arms.

"Severus," she said in a trembling voice.

"Silence!" roared the man. He lifted her up and flung her backwards onto the bed with a wave of his wand. She flew backwards and slammed into the headboard, whimpering.

Snape looked at both of them silently for a moment. "I thought you said you were going to stop this," he said quietly.

"Stop what?" growled his father. He drew himself up menacingly and advanced upon his son, who drew backwards uncertainly. "You are weak," he spat. He placed his palm against Snape's chest shoved him violently backwards against the door. The door slammed shut as Snape's head collided against it with a sickening crack. "Weak. You are just like her."

Lupin grimaced. He should go. This was really none of his business. Unfortunately, curiosity got the better of him and he stood transfixed. It was rather like watching a car crash in slow motion.

Snape's mother seemed to have found her voice again. "S—Septimus," she said in a small, trembling voice. "Septimus, I don't want him practicing that—that anymore. It's dark—dangerous, I—I don't like it…" The man silenced her with a glare.

"No son of mine is going to be weak!" he hissed venomously. "Isn't it enough, with your weakness polluting his blood already?" He turned to Snape, who was still pinned up against the door, his eyes wide with fright.

"Dark is just a label that weak people use, do you understand that, boy?" He was practically shouting. He grabbed Snape's collar and shook him violently. "We are powerful. We are strong. I do not tolerate weakness!" Septimus flung open the door and threw Snape onto the floor in the hallway, where he crashed into the wall and sunk down, terrified.

"Get out of my sight!" bellowed his father. Snape scrambled to his feet and raced down the hall, into another room. There was another crashing sound, punctuated by a woman screaming. He flung himself onto the bed and sat, staring forward into total darkness, his jaw clenched. Tears poured silently down his face.

Lupin swallowed hard. It was different, he already knew, to have a family that cared about you. He looked at Snape mournfully, wondering how someone so obviously broken inside could be so unwilling open up to let anyone help him. But then again, he wasn't alone in his practice.

AN: That was kind of weird, I don't know. Did you guys like my eh…'take' on Snape's shadowy past. Too weird? Too angsty? Let me know!