Author's notes: First, a quote, from the mistress herself:

"He (Remus)'s been disliked so often that he's always so pleased to have friends, so he cuts them an awful lot of slack."

J.K. Rowling, (RAH 2003).

Of course, that is no excuse for me to mess with his fragility, but you know? I'm far from being a nice person. I worked on this in a busy job afternoon, and couldn't stop because I had the bug ... you know how that is, to be inspired and having to simply write. Well, go figure. Update: I polished this chapter as carefully as I could. That last scene wasn't properly completed.

Also, did you notice I'm blissfully ignoring Nymphadora Tonks and the events in Book Six concerning Remus? Yes? No? Good. I'll probably tie his present adventure with those events in the future, but don't count me on that.

Disclaimer: Remus Lupin does not belong to me. Sadly. And every mention to the Potterverse is only possible thanks to Mrs. Rowling's truly genial mind.

T H E

R I G H T

T H I N G

ooo

Chapter Three: Moral issues

"Uncle Remus, look! I can pronounce your name!"

A small and vivacious girl ran down the stairs and hopped up into her smiling godfather's arms, shouting herself hoarse with joy about her newly acquired ability.

"Listen, I can say your name properly now." Four-years-old Constance Leery said, with an overall serious air. "Remus." She added, looking up at him for approval.

"Very good, Connie!" He said, beaming at her. "I'm very pleased with this, and you know what?" He added, a small mischievous glint showing in his eyes. "What do you say if we celebrate with a huge cup of ice-cream?"

The girl went crazy with delight and applauded merrily among shouts of glee, not totally unlike a bird's joyous chirping. But suddenly, she stopped in her demonstrations, and turned gravely to look at her mother, smiling from a small distance.

"Mother, is it okay if I go?" She asked with a solemnity many adults would love to be able to show.

"Of course you can go, Constance. Uncle Remus is going to buy you ice-cream, you should be thankful." She added, hastily folding a small jacket and pushing it in the wizard's arm. "Thank you so much for getting her off my back, Remus." She said, walking them to the door. "There's so many things I need to do here, mostly housework, you know. And Timothy has just fallen asleep, so that should give me a couple of hours. Are you sure this is not an inconvenience?"

"Oh, not at all, Alice." He said, picking Constance's little hands out of his pocket, into which they had dived to find his wand. "I'm very pleased about spending time with my goddaughter. So, we should be back in two hours, then?"

"Yes, please. If there's anything you need, just send me a note, OK?"

Remus nodded, and headed out and into the lazy street of a summer afternoon, with the precious load of his only source of peace and rest.

They had had ice-cream. They had laughed and talked, especially Constance. Remus spent the better part of the next two hours sinking into the purest pool of innocence a four-year-old can be. She brought comfort to his weary mind and heart, and made him forget of his perilous way with her questions and her little conversation, in which she showed to be a very bright and intelligent person already. It showed through her acts that she was eager to achieve perfection in anything she tried. He had imagined how it would be for people with the ability to lead a normal life to have a child of their own, and in little Constance he could, at least, glimpse what it was to be happy and typical. And for a fleeting, devastating moment, he felt bitter against his lonely destiny, against the people that, in one way or another, felt - and probably, even were - superior because they didn't have to carry with an irreversible condition, as dangerous as it was loathed.

His werewolf condition.

"Remus, what is a werewolf?"

The wizard snapped back to reality at the mention of such word in his goddaughter's lips. For a moment, he froze, not knowing what to say to her. Should he go with the standard and highly-prejudiced explanation that was common lore in the Wizarding World? Or perhaps, he should soften it (in fact, 'correct it' were the right words) for her? What if she got freaked out and, one day, when she discovered his condition, wouldn't want to see him anymore? This single relation, Remus thought, the knowledge that there was someone out there who looked up at him with admiration and high esteem was something he wasn't keen on losing. For he had discovered that, as long as there were a single person who loved or liked him enough to remain a friend, the cold grip of loneliness would not be completely unbearable. And to think he would lose Constance's appreciation was too hard to bear, just as it was hard to even conceive the notion of lying to her. She, as well, deserved his respect and consideration, even at such tender age, and if there was a decision to be made, in regards of their relationship, Remus saw it just to let it be hers.

"A werewolf, Connie, is the thing a wizard or witch transforms into every time there is a full moon-"

"That would be one week a month, right?" The girl asked, interrupting him.

"Precisely." Remus said. "As I was saying, they have no choice but turning into a werewolf if they have been previously bitten by one."

Constance fell silent for a moment, pondering and assimilating this new piece of information. "And ... are they any bad?" She asked, upon frowning slightly.

"Werewolves are dangerous to humans, yes." Remus answered, gravely. "When the witch or wizard transform, they lose their human mind and become a hunting animal, specially interested in human victims, but harmless to other animals." He said, inspecting closely his goddaughter's reactions. Constance nodded, understanding it clearly.

"But why would they be left out to harm people?" She asked, deeply concerned. "Wouldn't it be safer if they were kept in isolation, so they cannot hurt anyone?"

Remus smiled as he very often used to, a sad streak of despair crossing his prematurely wrinkled features. "Do you think a wizard or witch deserves to be isolated from his or her friends and family forever, just because they happen to suffer of a very grave condition one week at a month?"

Constance's face showed uncertainty. The girl pondered the thought for a good while in silence, as her godfather peered at her face with a marked interest, and if slightly, a silent plead.

"Not all the time," she replied, after what seemed to be an eternity. "Only on the week of their transformation, and in the night, when the moon is up." She concluded with a very serious face.

Remus sighed inwardly with relief. It would seem that the words of his goddaughter had been his final sentence, and that he had been hanging on them to either shut himself away as a guilty convict, or breathe sweet freedom as an innocent man.

"You know? I think that, too." He said, smiling with a very deep contentment, something he hadn't felt for a very long time.

Many years had passed from the time of his memories, and Remus Lupin regretted not having scared his goddaughter away from him. Sitting at the barely-illuminated park, he ignored the chilling wind, an omen of rain, and sunk into his worries, into his manifold and hard decisions. Constance's words still rang in his ears, mercilessly prodding the very centre of his deepest insecurities.

... within his arm's cowardly reach...

If anything, Remus had never liked people thinking of him as a coward. But as hard as it might be for him to have them doing so, the piling evidence on his incapability to make himself be heard when his voice was clearly contrary to popular opinion put a discomforting stop to all his arguments.

It trailed back to his days as a Prefect, in which he had clearly been appointed such task to put a stop on the stream of school unruliness from James and Sirius. But instead of steering them into the right direction, he had taken himself out of their way, and let them do as they pleased. He had even given in to their insistence to join their mischief, pushing the inherent guilt into the deepest corner of his mind and following on their schemes. And all the time, as he had done so to keep his friends close, he had battled fiercely to maintain his sentiments of inferiority away from interfering with his normal humour, knowing that his personal opinion would never be good enough to stop his friends from misbehaving. And he had pondered largely in part of his teenager's life and most of his adult's life if such behaviour was not the same as being a coward; if, later, when Sirius escaped Azkaban and he had not wished to inform Dumbledore about his friend's ability to perform the Animagus transformation for fear of losing the trust of one of the very few persons willing to do so, he hadn't acted like a real coward and placed knowingly, though wrongly, a large amount of people in the way of danger.

Looking in retrospective, he despised himself for not being brave enough to do the obvious right thing, and wished he had been able to extract himself from his need for company in order to do what was the best for everyone. He wished his emotions wouldn't have overcome him in the worst moment, and that he had had a couple more things to be proud of, because only then, he would have enough courage to put his foot in on the present situation.

Constance. The very name was dear to him. How had he been so blind about the girl's feelings? He had regarded it as a natural thing to be so close to one's godfather. After all, he had had friends for whom he would have gladly given his life, and had known love and the tender feeling it was to look into a face full of laughter and beauty. He had always seen the girl like a bond to a happier life, like the peaceful resort his tired existence was in need, even if he had not seen her for a long time. Her letters were always full of such a stainless bliss, impossible to find in older and wiser people. Her insightful words, always tinged with compassion for the human condition had been a relief to him; after the immense fear he had been in upon her discovery of his werewolf condition - it simply would not have done to tell her at a very early age, so he saved it for the day after her eleventh birthday, the year in which she'd start attending Hogwarts - she had surprised him by flinging herself into his arms and swearing, amongst streaming tears, that she would never, ever, think less of him or treat him badly for that, no matter how ill the rest of the world spoke of werewolves. He had not been able to articulate a word properly for a good while, his eyes filling with tears as she wept unrestrainedly against his chest. He had patted her back awkwardly, searching for the words to ease her pain, until only a small phrase occurred to him.

Hey, let's be good friends, alright?

Her round face had illuminated at his voice, and she had picked his right hand and shaken it forcefully, as though closing a proper deal.

The best friends. She had said, sealing perpetually their little pact.

Remus couldn't help feeling he had ruined it. For some reason, all the weight of his wrecked relation with his goddaughter was on him. He should have known better, he was the adult somewhat in charge. What would a sixteen-year-old know about love or relationships? It was true, though, that Constance had seen more of human's true nature than a regular teenager of her age, and that her sharp intelligence had made her mature quicker and understand how the human mind worked, but still, her knowledge should be only theoretical, or at least, Remus expected her to have kept herself whole and untarnished. Although then, he remembered his own adolescence, when he was about to turn seventeen. He had long nursed a soft spot for Lily Evans, and had never done anything about it, for fearing of rising to James' dislike. He had, too, felt that it would be an awful backstab to their friendship to make a move on the girl the capricious boy nearly adored, and had, once again, moved himself out of James' way. But all the nights and days he had dedicated to recall on her beauty and kindness, and all the varied things he had known he would do for her, provided the universe would get rid of James presence and memory, had been indeed many. And even if the force of his juvenile passion had been outweighed by his fear of losing his best friend, he had known exactly what he wanted, back then, and all the steps it'd take to achieve it. And never in his life had he doubted that, had he been brave enough to carry on with his plans, the results would have been satisfactory. But again, that was another thing he had against him: his lack of courage to pursue his heart's desire, and, as Constance had so painfully suggested it, it did, indeed, make him a coward.

The very thing he never wanted to be.

But, could Constance be really wrong? Wasn't she, then, old enough to know what she really wanted? The rebellious thought whipped like fleeting lightning into his mind, and made his stomach churn. It was not as though Remus would hurt her; in fact, he had vaguely envisioned having her under his tutelage for the rest of her education, in order for her to be able to present her final exams and get an official qualification of her education. He was concerned with the way her life seemed to be falling short to her own expectations; she had always shown a deep interest in acquiring knowledge and using it in practical ways, and that was certainly something that needed not to be hindered by her retirement from school. Wouldn't it be, then, most convenient for her intellectual development and well-being if he held certain influence on her life, if only through a mildly romantic relationship?

The mere thought of actually fulfilling the girl's desires made his heart beat faster. It was an insane idea, and his initial reaction was to recoil from it, but from his former train of thought he could easily deduce it was the only possible way to benefit her at the moment. Clearly, she wouldn't give up to her crush, and he knew her quite well to have that as an understatement, and if she was to be left alone, now that she had expressed her will to leave her house, chances of having any contact with her grew slim.

Remus leaned back on the bench and breathed deeply on and on, his eyes closed, trying to gather enough courage to go in her search. But when he opened his eyes, an odd sight met them. The sky had gone completely black, and there was an unnatural mist above and around him. Feeling suddenly wary, he rose and took out his wand, tip illuminated as soon as it was visible.

Could it be dementors? He thought, walking slowly along the path, wand at the ready, and as an answer, he felt a sudden distress gripping his chest. Undoubtedly, there must be at least a couple of dementors swarming nearby, in search of a victim. Remus felt the weigh of responsibility on him, as he had to be the only wizard around to take care of it, and walked to where the mist was thicker. Soon enough, a couple of black figures loomed to meet him, bringing the chill to his every bone.

He muttered the Patronus incantation under his breath, concentrating on the moment Constance had smiled at him for the first time, as a baby, and a steady jet of silver shot from his wand. The two figures halted, and seemed bewildered about having encountered an opponent. But as the silvery charm died on, they advanced closer, bringing a whole set of unpleasant memories to his mind... The wizard wasn't going to let them win, so he tried again, this time placing his mind in the very moment he had seen Constance smiling the first time after she had discovered his condition, and said the incantation louder.

"Expecto patronus!" He said, and the silver jet knocked flat the two of them, sending them hurtling backwards. More dementors had gathered around, and upon recovering from the initial shock of finding resistance, they hurried towards him, their resolution to win the present match clear as water.

The load of regretful memories that their combined attack brought to Remus' mind was too heavy to bear. People's rejection, the guilt he never got over along the years and finally, the word 'coward' in Constance's lips ... It was all too much.

Fearing for his own life, Remus got hold of the last, and most recent memory he had: the very moment Constance's lips had touched his and the instant he had been too dumbfounded to reject her, and shouted the incantation.

"EXPECTO PATRONUS!"

A streaming shot of silver erupted out of his wand, and shaped itself as a charging wolf. One by one, it tackled on every dementor and fought them all away, rounding Remus protectively and seeing all the nasty creatures off. Panting heavily, Remus walked in the direction of his Patronus only to see it rush away and getting lost between the trees. Wondering what would such an odd occurrence could mean, he followed at a steady walk into a clear, and saw the sight that would have qualified as the first runner-up on his Boggart form.

There, lying limply on the floor was Constance's body. The silver wolf had vanished as Remus reached the girl, and he lost no time in getting to her side, and lifting her face.

"Connie, no, please, wake up!" He said, pulling out his wand again. "Enervate!" He cried his voice breaking with sheer horror.

Luckily, the girl was merely unconscious. She shifted slowly into Remus' arms, and tried to open her eyes.

"Wha ...?"

"It's alright, Connie. I'm here, with you, don't be afraid." Remus said, hugging her tightly and feeling the warm blanket of relief falling all over him. The girl lay still in his arms, and didn't say a thing. Probably it was awful, whatever they made her remember, Remus thought, and pulled away to see her face. "Thank goodness, Connie, I thought you w-were … d-dead …"

A look of dazzled confusion adorned her face, as he pulled her toward him once again. Feeling the warm and desperate embrace of her godfather, she got drawn out of her stupor, and wrapped her arms around his mid-section with all the strength she could muster, as though she was about to fall into a dark and deadly abyss.

"D-Don't l-leave me, please, R-Remus …" she stuttered, shaking uncontrollably into his arms.

And it was too much for him. His rightful reasons forgotten, he couldn't resist the way she clung on him as if he was her last resort, and threw himself in the pulling whirlpool of thoughtless emotion that rebellious idea burning him from inside had opened ever since their lips met for the first time.

He pressed his lips against hers, with the desperate anxiety of a stranded man to whom a glassful of fresh water had been offered.