LINER NOTES:

Well, we have a correct answer to the challenge I posted in Chapter One (which Victor Hugo story was originally called

"What There is in a Bottle of Ink"?), so my best friend, Alicia, the Victor Hugo-loving nut (LOL . . . sorry "sissie," you know I

love ya!), will have a small part in the reveal chapter. It's not too late to enter - I'll accept guesses all the way up to the posting

of the next-to-last chapter, and Merlin knows when THAT will be! (This is my entertainment - typing this and reading the

wonderful reviews you people write me!)

A/U WARNING: We're not leaving the A/U I've created (Harry is living with Remus: See Ch. 1 and 2 if you're clueless), so

I'm not posting this warning again unless I further A/U it . . .

DISCLAIMER: That's right - I'm J.K. Rowling, hiding behind wonderful Internet anonymity, doing what I'd do with these

characters if I didn't have to pander to the general public. ABSOLUTELY. Harry would get to live away from the Dursleys

and Remus would be gay (and have a car, on top of that) and one of the male characters would have the middle name

Natasha. GET REAL. (sorry . . . I'm running out of ideas for funny disclaimers . . . )

ARCHIVING: See ch. 1.

RATING: PG-13 for mild language, homosexuality, mild interspecies violence (READ: Werewolf bite scars and potential

human-hexing-werewolf violence) and eventually I'm going to stick Remus in a floral blouse (just checking to see if you were

paying attention, I'm not really )

DISTURBING CONTENT WARNING: There is a SlightlySelfInjuring!Remus in here - Alicia (yes, the best friend)

pointed out to me that in spite of the fact that Remus is cutting himself for a good reason, some people might find it off-putting,
so here is your warning: Remus cuts his hand deliberately in this chapter to set up a "mark" for Harry's protection. Unless

Remus sets up another mark for someone else, this will be the only case of deliberateself-injury in the story.

REVIEWS!:

Yulara: I'm glad you like Nate's crow! I have no idea if her genetic abnormality (the single white feather) is actually possible,

but she's a magical breed of crow, so I'm hiding behind that excuse I've got a rather powerful songfic in the works right

now, if you stay a faithful reviewer you might just get the whole thing dedicated to you . . . grin Yes, I WAS sorted into

Slytherin on account of being sneaky and manipulative, how did you know?

Eleonora1: Well, I answered your review in an email (have I mentioned I love reviews?), but I am going to say it again: You

read the ENTIRE LEXICON over my li'l scribblings? is deeply honored And you never know, for all I've said, I may just

have resurrected Sirius from behind the Veil and it's he that Remus is writing to (actually, I always come up with "Juno" as

dear Siri's middle name, so it isn't he. . . but you never know . . . I'm evil, it could be Peter too)! Honestly, for all you all

know it's Davey Gudgeon (remember, the kid in PoA that Remus says nearly lost an eye to the evil tree?) or someone

similar . . . muahaha! I'm not telling! NOT TELLING! Well . . . actually . . . Eleonora KNOWS who it is, but she's going to

be nice to me and not spoil the surprise . . . right? RIGHT? Uh . . . Eleonora? . . . .

Enjoy! (NOTE: This was originally supposed to be a single chapter with the next one to be posted, but it's already longer than

my normal chapters and it would have created a positively insane mega-chapter about 20 pages long, so I split it in a

convenient place - sorry if it seems abrupt.)

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Dear Nate,

It's two o'clock in the morning and I couldn't sleep, so here I am trying to make letters go in a somewhat straight line. It's not

going too well – the last parchment I ruined by letting my mind wander and by the time I realized I was still writing I'd filled

half a sheet with random lines from Hamlet.

How are you doing? I suppose I should have asked that straight off, but I seem to have been doing that a lot lately – mixing

questions and so on. It would help if I could get to sleep at a decent hour. Not too much going on here since your last letter.

Harry's birthday is in a week and I'm trying to plan something, Raven's furious because I told her I can't play that night

(apparently we had a gig scheduled already . . . it would be nice if she'd be bothered to tell me these things), and Harry's

irritated with me because I told him I was playing a big one. I really don't want him to know we're going anywhere until we're

there – he's never had a decent birthday in his life, poor kid. I feel bad for lying to him – it's something I really don't make a

habit of – but I don't know how else to keep him from having any idea. Suggestions?

Neverwinter seems to be a much better post bird than Iliad. I sent a letter to my mum a week and a half ago and he hasn't

returned. Mum swore over the telephone (I hope you know what those are) that he stayed a night and left, which should have

put him home two days ago, but I haven't seen so much as a feather. Leave it to Iliad. Last time I got a call from a bird

sanctuary that caught him two hundred miles from here, and then the volunteer who found him told me off for trying to teach

an owl to act like a carrier pigeon.

I'm sitting here listening to something I think you'd like on the CD player we just got (I know you know what that is) – it's a

musical called "Jekyll and Hyde," about a man who – well, it was a book, too, so I won't tell you too much in case you'd

care to read it. I rather fancy it's something you'd enjoy – it's all about the latent power of evil and how it works and how

good ideas can go very terribly wrong if not properly executed. I really feel bad for wizards who think that they can't enjoy

Muggle works just because – well, because they were written by Muggles. It's like saying Dracula is terrible just because it

perpetuates myths about vampires that aren't true and thattherefore Muggles know absolutely nothing about what they're

saying.

I just realized I'm making very little sense, talking about things like myths that aren't true – quite redundant, really. I really

ought to have answered this yesterday when I got it, but on the other hand it's rather comforting to have something to do

when you're too tired to go to sleep – an odd state, to be sure. I suppose it's really not too much of a loss, really – I'd be

getting up in three hours anyway.

I'm going to stop rambling now in the hope that I haven't completely annoyed you to death, and that possibly you'll find a

single sentence in this unbelievable drivel that's worth answering.

Best,

Rémy

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Remus rolled up the letter and whistled softly to Neverwinter, who was roosting on Iliad's still-deserted perch – he and Harry

had discovered, quite by accident, just how well-trained the odd-feathered crow really was. He had been confirmed in his

belief that Nate was either extraordinarily patient, extraordinarily bored, or a combination of both – the bird could talk

(although she really couldn't hold an intelligent conversation particularly well), she responded to basic commands (like

whistles and snapping fingers), and he'd once heard her recite a very small portion of Poe's "The Raven," though that really

could be quite by accident as well – all she'd actually said was "quoth the raven." Remus had been quite tempted after that to

introduce her to his superior and give her a slightly mean surprise – he and Raven had been on the outs just lately because of

his announcement that he wouldn't be able to play on the thirty first, and she'd been rather nasty to him about it.

Responding to his whistle, Neverwinter soared into the front room with another accomplishment Iliad had never mastered –

not knocking any lampshades or breakables onto the floor. He and Nate had been using the crow instead of Iliad, the absent

bird being quite obviously not in a position to deliver letters. Remus had spent three days in an anxious state, worried that

Nate would think he'd stopped writing. Harry volunteered Hedwig, but she was on the outs with Remus too – apparently she

didn't care much for his driving, or something, as she'd nipped at him the day he'd brought Harry to London, and she'd

refused to so much as look at him ever since. He'd tried to borrow her as Harry had suggested, and she had flown off to

Merlin knew where. Harry was frantic, at least until Mrs. Weasley managed to call him from the telephone box in Ottery St.

Catchpole. It seemed Hedwig had taken refuge with the Weasleys, and was quite haughtily refusing to go home. (Remus

suspected it might have something to do with Moony, who would be coming out to 'play' tonight.) And then Nate had sent a

note by Neverwinter, inquiring as to whether or not he was all right because he'd never taken so long to answer a letter, and

suddenly they'd had a post bird again.

Remus sighed and absentmindedly stared up at where the moon had been a few hours ago (it had set already), rubbing the

scar on his neck idly. That was another worry of Remus': what would happen to Harry tonight? He was setting up a mark for

the boy, certainly – it wasn't as though Moony wouldn't recognize him; but surely it couldn't be safe, or healthy, for Harry to

remain over the full moon. Harry, unfortunately, had set up everything with Dumbledore – in the flat Harry was, and in the flat

Harry would stay. In spite of the Wolfsbane potion and the sign he was arranging, Remus couldn't help but worry. Well, it

wasn't as though he was going to be running rabid, at least, he thought . . .

Remus slit his finger, wincing, and managed to extract two drops of blood onto the spoon before his finger closed of its own

accord (being a werewolf could have its advantages, he admitted). In a moment he heard the water in the shower turn off, and

he hurried to stir syrup into Harry's chocolate (1) before the boy came into the kitchen – it was one of Remus' small

idiosyncrasies that Harry should have his breakfast waiting for him, drink included, but he had a second reason for not

wanting Harry to catch him at it today – there was no reason to upset Harry when all Remus was doing was protecting him,

and finding Remus stirring blood into his chocolate would definitely upset the already turbulent teen. Remus had read

extensively on the subject of Dark creature protection when he was younger, and was well aware that a werewolf could

choose to mark another being by blood so that the other being couldn't be harmed by a werewolf. He'd dug up some of his

old books in the past week, and immersed himself in them until he'd found his answer. (It was a good thing he'd bothered to

check, too, he thought to himself – as he'd remembered it, Harry would have had to do the injuring part and take the blood

directly from the cut, and he knew the boy'd never have agreed to that, inconsequential as the wound might be.)

Harry trailed into the kitchen, still yawning, and shot a death glare and a resentful "thanks" at Remus as he took his chocolate

(Harry still hadn't forgiven Remus for the gig he was supposed to be playing on the thirty-first). Remus pulled pancakes out of

the oven, where he'd been keeping them warm (an odd trick, to be sure, but he'd learnt it from his mother), and put a plateful

on the table.

"Help yourself."

Harry stared suspiciously at the stack of pancakes on the plate – they were chocolate chip pancakes, and he was sure Remus

was kissing up until he realized Remus had just poured chocolate syrup on his own breakfast – then he was too stunned to

think of anything else..

"Didn't your mum ever tell you that's terribly unhealthy?"

"Mmm-mmm?" Remus looked up, surprised at Harry's initiation of a conversation (he'd been getting the silent treatment for

four days), and did his best to swallow hastily. "What did you say?"

"I asked if your mum ever told you how unhealthy that is."

Remus reached for his own chocolate before answering. "I used to have a positively enormous glass of milk whenever I had

chocolate chip pancakes. Mum didn't really care that I'd be on a sugar high for the rest of the day so long as I was drinking

my week's worth of dairy while she could sneak it into me. I really never liked milk when I was younger."

"Oh." The table lapsed back into silence.

It was close to eight o'clock that night when Remus looked outside and closed the curtains. Harry was curled up on the

couch, rereading Quidditch Through the Ages for the thousandth time.

"Harry." No response. Remus raised his voice slightly. "Harry." Still no answer, not so much as an indication that Harry had

even heard him. "Harry Potter, I'm talking to you!" Remus despised reprimanding anyone, but if Harry wanted to play the

cold shoulder games over something this important, then it would be the last time he'd stay here for a full moon.

"Oh?" Politely incredulous and subtly insulting to Remus' authority.

"Harry, go to your – our – room. And stay there tonight, okay? No leaving. Not for anything."

"And if I have to go to the bathroom?"

"Hold it."

"How considerate." Harry's barbs were getting more and more annoying, and finally Remus snapped. He knew exactly why

Harry was so furious with him, but that didn't make it any easier.

"Look, Harry, I'm trying to take care of you here. I have to keep us both in food and bills and soon we're going to have to

get your schoolbooks, and N.E.W.T. books are expensive –"

"I've always bought my own before."

"I'm very glad for you. But Dumbledore and Molly both are going to kill me if I don't at least get you new clothes for school,

and on the money we've got right now I can't afford to do that without something good coming in –"

"I thought you said Dumbledore hired you back."

"I said I applied, Harry. I haven't heard from him yet. And even if I had, spending money we don't yet have is an excellent

way to dig ourselves into a very deep debt hole. I thought I told you to go to bed."

"It's only eight o'clock."

"Harry, stop being so damned petulant –" Harry looked up, shocked, having never heard Remus curse before – "I don't care

how late you stay up as long as you sleep. But I want you out of the living room, now. It's almost moonrise."

Harry finally complied. That was to say, he let out a hefty sigh to show just how displeased he was, heaved himself from the

sofa, slid his book noisily back onto the bookshelf, and headed for the bedroom door. When he was almost there he paused.

"Remus?"

"Hmm?"

"What do I do if you try to get in?" For the first time since informing Remus that he would be staying tonight, Harry sounded

slightly nervous.

"That depends on whether or not I sound like some kind of bloodthirsty maniac. If it sounds like a dog scratching to get in and

go to bed, you're fine."

"And if you sound like a bloodthirsty maniac?"

"You have my express permission to hex me unconscious and I'll explain to Amelia Bones later why you were doing magicif I

have to."

Harry smiled a very little bit, as though he didn't really believe what he'd been told. "You'd ground me if I hexed you."

"Not if it was in self-defense.'

Harry just shook his head and slipped through the door. "Good night, Remus."

Remus and Harry both got through the full moon with no problems out of the ordinary – Harry'devenlet Moony into the

bedroomto sleep, and so was woken by an anxiously furious Remus the next morning who wanted to know how Harry could

be so bloody irresponsible. It did do one good thing for Remus, though: Harry was speaking to him again.

NOTES:

(1) A seemingly common European term for hot chocolate. (And yes, I'm using "European" indiscriminately, because I have

seen it in translated versions of French and German works as well as British ones. You can find the term in Goblet of Fire

when everyone goes to the boys' tent after the Quidditch match for one more cup of chocolate and Ginny falls asleep,

spilling her chocolate on the floor.)

(2) "Chips" is the Oxford (U.K.) word for what we Americans call French fries. Our (American)chips are called "crisps" in

British English.