LINER NOTES:

I meant to post this in the last chapter, but I forgot. Oh well, here it is:

As of CHAPTER FOUR, I will be borrowing part of a plotline from another writer whose name I don't remember. (It was a story that wasn't particularly realistic to begin with and they abandoned it more than a year ago, so I don't feel bad for borrowing.) Although I don't remember the name, the story was called "A Personal Affair" and is posted somewhere on this site. So I'm hereby alerting everyone to the fact that yes, this is a borrowed idea. Most of the storyline has changed from the original, though - in fact the only thing I'm truly using is the classifieds ads idea.

A/U WARNING: This is still in an A/U, though not heavily so. See Ch. 1 or 2 for an explanation of the A/U, because I'm not writing it all out again. I'm sure you get tired of it too.

DISCLAIMER: Remus' wacky family belongs to me. Nothing else in this chapter does (except for Remus' tattoo, which was kindly translated by gary-stu).

ARCHIVING: See Ch. 1 please.

RATING: This has gone up to PG-13/T for mentions of homosexuality (personally I don't feel that merits a rating change, but a lot of other people feel otherwise, so I bent to the masses. This time.) and . . . nothing else, actually. So it's essentially still PG/K+ with a twist. Oh, well.

DEDICATION: This fic is dedicated to Eleonora1 and ImmortalFlick, with a nice dash of kudos to my best friend Alicia (She of Harry's box, yes, that's the one. She's my unwittingsounding board for a lot of this stuff, and it without her we would not have the Lupin tribe or the circumstances involving Remus' being in it).

Harry paid little attention to Remus or Percy, preferring to sift through the box Aunt Petunia had given him. There were far more pictures in the albums than he had ever imagined – some moved, some didn't, and there were many people in the old photographs that he didn't know. One group of them seemed to be related to Remus, who was also in the photograph – four of the women in the picture had a slightly more feminized version of his face, framed by the same sandy blonde hair. A fifth retained the same small build and the habit of tipping her head downward as she smiled, but she was a redhead. It was about the time Harry found this picture that Percy got out of the car, thanking Remus for the ride, and Harry scrambled into the front seat. He didn't mince words.

"Remus, is this your family?"

Remus glanced at the picture and a grin stole across his face. "Those are my sisters – the ones your parents knew, anyway."

"There are more?"

Remus laughed – a loud, ringing, carefree tone that made the woman in the convertible to their left look over in slight consternation. "Harry, my family is related to the Weasleys through my mum. That should tell you a lot right away."

"Big family?"

Remus laughed again. "Enormous. There are twelve children, and only two of them are boys – well, I suppose I'm too old to be classified as a boy anymore. But Ty's not."

"Ty?"

Remus peered into the rearview mirror for a moment before answering. "Tycho. Tycho Gabriel Lupin. I should feel lucky for getting away with a half-normal name."

It was Harry's turn to laugh. "There's nothing wrong with your name, Remus."

The werewolf shook his head. "You sound as bad as my mother. I suppose it could be worse. We've got a female Gabby too. Mum started recycling names years ago, so a lot of us share our first names as middle names. It drives Dad and Rachael crazy."

Harry blinked. "How many of you did you say there were again?"

"Twelve. But only three still living at home – Raena, Melody and Ty. Get this – the oldest could be the grandmother of the youngest. Rachael was nineteen when I was born, and I was twenty-seven by the time Ty came along. Poor kid. It can't be easy being the baby in our family, that's for sure. Actually, I know it's not – I was the baby for twenty-three years."

"Must make for some pretty wild holiday dinners."

Remus fairly howled with mirth. "Oh, you should see Christmas dinner at my mum's house, Harry – have you ever tried to fit thirty-nine people around one table?" Harry shook his head in disbelief. "Well, we have - we have to do it every year, actually. It's tight, but we manage – usually. Once in awhile someone shows up with a broken leg or something and then we have to split or there's not enough space. I told Mum I was bringing you for Christmas if you wanted to leave Hogwarts for the holidays, and she was just about in tears. Kelly's youngest just turned six and he's a complete klutz - I've seen the kid walk straight into a doorframe when he was looking right at it - so he ends up with more food on the floor than he gets in his mouth. Nobody likes sitting next to him. We always have to make more space for somebody or other. Poor Remus."

Harry shook his head and blinked. "Remus?"

"Hmm?"

"No, I mean – your sister's son is named Remus?"

"Oh – right. It's a family name."

"Did you sell the rights to it?" Harry teased, expecting Remus to laugh with him. He was stunned when Remus groaned and let his head thud down jokingly onto the steering wheel (they were sitting at a stoplight). "Why does everyone keep asking me things like that? Does it – bother everyone, that I didn't get the 'need to be prolific' gene?"

Harry blinked hard, startled. "Sorry. I just – well, I mean – I – er –"

"No, I can understand why you'd ask that. I'm the only one over thirty who doesn't have any kids – except you, now, but you're going to be the single black haired boy in a sea of blondes. But I've never even been engaged. It drives Gabby crazy."

"Gabby's the oldest one?"

"Second oldest. Rachael's the oldest. She hasn't got it through her head yet that I'm not interested in any of her girl friends – Gabby, I mean. Rachel doesn't pay much attention in one direction or the other."

"Why not?"

"Because she minds her own business, and she thinks that if I'm happy unmarried I should be allowed to remain happily unmarried. All her friends are in their sixties and seventies anyway."

"No, I mean – never mind."

"Why does it drive Gabby crazy?"

"No. Well . . . I mean . . . why are you not interested? You're only thirty-something, it's not like . . ." Harry trailed off, confused.

Remus laughed again and shook his head. "I suppose you'll have to find out sometime." As they came to another stoplight, he leaned over and rolled up the right leg of his pants about halfway up to his knee. Harry saw a small shape outlined in black, and for one wild moment of insanity he thought Remus had the Dark Mark tattooed on his calf. Then his mind cleared, along with his vision, and he brought the miniscule symbol into focus: an upside-down pink triangle, about half an inch from apex to apex, rimmed in black. A short Latin motto resided beneath it (also upside down), and Harry tilted his head to read it.

"'Fastosus in me.' What's that supposed to mean?"

"Pride in oneself. I nearly drove Madam Pince crazy trying to get a decent Latin dictionary so I could do it – you'd think with almost all the spells in the Wizarding world being in Latin I'd be able to find one, but no, I had to search the entire library one book at a time to find one. That's not even the exact correct translation, but I couldn't find anything else."

"Wait a minute. You did this yourself?"

Remus nodded. "I've done a few for others, too. All better than that, thankfully," headded, rolling his pants cuff back down. "I suppose I shouldn't have used myself as a guinea pig. That's why the words are upside down. I forgot my leg was upside down too and – well, there you have it. I did it backward thinking I was putting it on so it would face properly, but now everybody thinks the whole thing is upside down by accident. I really defeated the entire purpose."

Harry snorted. "So – what was the purpose?"

Remus rolled his eyes. "A statement of self, Harry. A rebel call, I suppose you could say. An expression of my individuality.You can't tell me you don't know what a pink triangle is, especially one that's upside down."

Harry racked his brains. "Marauders' symbol?"

Harry was certain if Remus rolled his eyes any harder they'd get stuck, and Remus laughed softly at Harry's confusion. "Merlin, Harry, how over-bloody-innocent are you? A pink triangle is a gay pride symbol."

It was Remus' turn to worry about the state of Harry's eyes, which currently bore a great resemblance to Moody's overlarge magical orb. "You – you're –"

"Cry and get over it, Harry," Remus replied cheerfully. "Then we can start discussing who gets to do the dishes."

"You don't think it's – a big deal?"

Remus just looked at him in slight incredulity. "Is it?"

Harry paused, considered, concluded. "No, I guess not, but – why didn't you tell me, I mean, why didn't you –"

"Was there any real reason for me to tell you before now?"

"No. I guess not."

"I don't consider it a big deal, Harry. I don't even date. It's just a matter of preference. Like preferring chocolate to vanilla."

"Do you compare everything to chocolate, Remus?"

The werewolf grinned as he pulled into a McDonald's so they could stop for lunch. "Just about."