A/N: This chapter is brought to you by the letters "S" for SortingHat47, and the letter "Z" for Zarathustra.
Thanks to you who review so faithfully: remuslives23, Wolviesfan, PopstarJ01, cherry-s-twin, allycat1186, Liv Naravul (even if you've been busy!), and sonoralie. And thanks to all of you who have put this story on alert! I'd probably be suicidal by now if it weren't for you all!

(And Alaramine? This chapter won't be too depressing. Honest!)

Disclaimer: As someone else in another disclaimer said: If you recognize them, they're not mine.

Chapter 15: Truth is Painful

9 September, 1985—11:13 a.m.

The first thing that Moody saw when he stepped onto the first floor was Healer Weimer. The big man was leaning against the reception desk, intently studying some papers spread out on the surface in front of him. Two of his assistants were standing beside him. One of them, a young woman in Trainee robes, looked very unhappy.

"Healer," Moody said, adding a nod to his greeting.

"Ah, Auror Moody." The man smiled. "It is good to see you. How are you this day?"

"Fine. How's Lupin?"

Weimer started to motion toward the room directly across from where he was standing when he stopped and gave Moody a thoughtful stare. "Actually, Herr Moody, I wonder if you could help us with something."

There were several things that Alastor Moody had learned in his life. One of those things was that if something appeared innocent, it more than likely full of Dark magic. Another was that it was never a good idea to agree to help with something until you knew exactly what it was.

"Will it take long?" he asked. "My partner is upstairs getting some information, but we need to get back to Headquarters."

Weimer glanced in the direction of the room he had started to motion to. "I do not think it will take long. It all depends on Herr Lupin, I think."

"What's the problem?"

Before Weimer could speak, there was the sound of a woman screaming and then loud sobs.

"Well, that didn't go well," Weimer's male assistant muttered.

Weimer sighed. "She has just found out that her fiancé has been infected with lycanthropy," he explained to Moody. "He wished to tell her himself. I had wanted to be there with him, to help him break the news to her, but —" He shrugged then gestured to his assistant. "Paul, perhaps you could go talk to them —"

Weimer's assistant nodded and walked quickly away.

"Now, about Herr Lupin." Weimer motioned for Moody to step closer. "It was my plan to heal his hand today. But there is a small — problem. I thought I would have to send for Herr Dumbledore, but I think you will — suffice."

Moody snickered to himself to think of himself as 'sufficient.'

"His hand has been badly broken — shattered." Moody nodded and Weimer went on. "The potions we have for broken bones will not help. The small pieces may heal together in the wrong way. There is more I must do. But it will be very painful. It would be much easier to have him sleep through der Ablauf — the procedure, but he resists this. So, all that can be done is pain-blocking spells and charms. I fear they may not be enough."

"So, you want me to get him to agree to be put to sleep for this?"

"If you can."

Moody gave a curt laugh. "You don't ask much, do you?"

Weimer's smile was almost sheepish.

The Auror took a deep breath, shaking his head. "I'll do what I can, but don't expect much. When that boy gets an idea in his head, it's damned near impossible to get past it."

x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x

Remus was lying on his back, staring at the ceiling. His bandaged right hand rested on his chest. He turned his head to look at the Auror as the older wizard entered the room.

"Well, you look a hell of a lot better," Moody growled.

"Still feel like hell," Remus replied. His voice was still lacking volume, but at least he could finish a short sentence without gasping for air.

Moody dropped heavily into a chair next to the bed. "Weimer's going to heal that hand today, he says."

Remus turned his eyes back to the ceiling. "He sent you to talk to me."

"That he did."

Remus shuddered. "Can't do it."

The Auror rubbed the arms of the chair with the palms of his hands. "Sounds as if sleeping through it might be the better of the two options."

"Bugger that," Remus mumbled, closing his eyes.

"You'd rather have the pain?" Moody asked.

There were several things Remus could have said in reply, but they required a lot of breath — and a lot of strength. So, he'd keep it simple: "Yes."

"Can't say I agree with you," the older man said, his tone implying that he had given it a shot, and was now giving up the argument.

"Don't expect you to."

The Auror got to his feet. "Well, then, Lupin, I'll see you soon. I've got to find my partner and get back to Headquarters."

Remus opened his eyes. Was that all?

Responding to the unspoken question in the younger wizard's eyes, Moody said, "I'm not going to try to convince you to do something you don't want to do. I'll tell Weimer I tried, but you've made your decision."

He walked out before Remus could say anything.

Minutes later, Weimer came in with his female Trainee at his heels. She carried two small bottles which she placed on the table near the bed.

"Herr Lupin, are you ready to begin?"

Remus suddenly felt unsure. But what were his options? He couldn't bear the thought of voluntarily drinking a potion that would take away his consciousness…

But then, cold realisation slashed through his thoughts, and he remembered several long, lonely nights in November and December four years ago, when he couldn't sleep without either a dosing of Sleeping Draught or inordinate amounts of firewhiskey… That had been voluntary.

But this is different…

He drew in a deep breath. "I'm ready."

They made him swallow the contents of both bottles. While the potion worked to numb his arm from elbow to fingertips, he watched them extend a portion of the bed from near his right shoulder out.

After a few moments, Weimer touched his hand, and grunted in satisfaction when Remus said he didn't feel it.

But then the Trainee leaned over him. "Here, Mr Lupin, we'll have to restrain your arm so it doesn't move while the healing is taking place."

"Restrain —" Before he could get another word out, she had gently, but firmly taken his right arm and positioned it over the extension that the healers had created. A flick of her wand, and his arm was immobilized, pinned to the bed by an invisible force.

He could feel the panic rising and he closed his eyes. They're healers. They're healers. But the images flashing through his mind were of being pinned to the ground — and syringes filled with potion that made him forget who he was…

"Herr Lupin, look at me," demanded a voice harshly.

He drew a deep breath then obeyed.

Weimer looked relieved. "Blau," he muttered. "This is good." He paused to whisper some orders into the Trainee's ear and then smiled at Remus. "Are you ready, then, Herr Lupin?"

Remus felt his stomach heave, and he swallowed hard. He didn't dare open his mouth, so he nodded curtly.

"If at any point, you feel any pain, you must tell me," Weimer told him.

Again he nodded.

The Healer whispered something, and the bandages disappeared from Remus' hand. The young man couldn't help but look — and instantly regretted it.

There's no way they can heal — that. Despair washed over him and he clamped his eyes shut. It was bad enough that he'd probably never walk well, thanks to the damage to his leg, but to see his hand like that…

There was the noise of someone entering the room, moving to stand on his left.

"Did I ever tell you about the time that one of my partners was attacked by a 5-year-old?"

Remus looked up at Alastor Moody. "No," he whispered.

Moody grunted. "I'm surprised. It's a good story." He grabbed the chair he had recently vacated and pulled it closer to the bed. "It all started when some woman sent her teenaged son to tell us that she was being attacked by her neighbour in her backyard…"

x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x

Moody had seen many gruesome sights in his life —his leg before it was amputated, for example. So it didn't bother him to watch the healers work on Lupin's hand while he kept the younger man distracted. One story followed another, and he had the reward of actually seeing Lupin smile once.

The healers worked quietly, but no smile betrayed whether they were paying attention to the Auror's stories. Occasionally, they would interrupt to ask if Remus was feeling any pain, but at the quick shakes of his head, they'd return their attention to their work.

After a while — Moody wasn't sure how long it had been — as Weimer struggled to straighten Lupin's ring finger, the younger man closed his eyes and inhaled sharply.

"You all right?" Moody asked.

Remus swallowed hard then nodded.

The Auror caught Weimer's eye. The healer touched the palm of Remus' hand. They all saw the muscles in the younger man's right shoulder spasm, as if he were trying to jerk his hand away from Weimer's touch.

"Hells, Lupin, if it hurts, it hurts," Moody said. "We're not going to think less of you if you say you need something for the pain."

"How much longer?" Remus whispered.

"Quite a bit, I'm afraid." Weimer informed him.

Remus shifted uneasily in the bed, whimpering slightly.

"More of the pain potion, I think," Weimer said to his Trainee, keeping his tone light. The young woman nodded and left the room quickly. "In the meantime, I could try this..." The healer waved his wand and muttered a spell. Almost instantly, Remus sighed in relief.

"Remember: we are here to help you, Herr Lupin. I do not want you to be in pain."

The young man opened his eyes and looked at the healer.

Weimer bent over the injured hand again, pretending he didn't see the scepticism in Lupin's face.

Moody cleared his throat. "Now, where was I? Oh, right…" He continued with the story he had been telling, but he knew the younger man wasn't paying attention.

Weimer crooked a finger, his lips moving silently, and Moody saw the bone beneath the skin shift…

"Fuck!" yelled Remus, his body arching off the bed. His left hand crossed over his body, reaching for the invisible bonds holding his arm strapped to the bed, as if he could physically break them and free himself.

Moody and Weimer both grabbed his left arm and pushed him back down until he was again flat on his back, breathing heavily.

The healer kept offering apologies over and over. "I thought that charm would hold," he said.

Remus shot a look of pure loathing at the healer.

"I suppose I deserve that," Weimer admitted with a short laugh. "I will not do anything else until Tatiana returns, ja?"

A moment later, the Trainee returned with a small bottle. Moody helped to support the young man's shoulders as he drank the contents in one quick swallow.

When Remus was again settled, he closed his eyes and exhaled deeply.

"Why didn't the charm work?" Moody asked quietly.

Weimer seemed surprised that the Auror had asked. "I am not sure. It could be that the pain was stronger than I had thought. It could be that the stress makes it wear off more quickly." He paused to gingerly touch Remus' ring finger. There was no response from the werewolf, so the healer went back to work.

"Moody." The young man's voice was weak. "Tell me –"

"Tell you what?"

"— why Sirius did it."

No question could have taken Moody any further aback than that one. "Lupin —" He stopped. "I don't have the slightest clue. I always thought you would know, if anyone did."

Haunted blue eyes met his. "I would have liked to have known why — before I die."

"You're not going to die any time soon, Lupin. You're doing well. I know, you still feel like hell, but you're not at Death's door like you were two days ago."

"They keep telling me — he didn't do it."

Moody sat motionless, staring at the younger man, whose eyes seemed to be glazing over. "Who tells you that?"

Remus' eyes closed for a second then slowly reopened. "You'll think I'm mad."

The Auror chuckled humourlessly. "You think I'm not?"

Again the suddenly heavily lidded eyes slid shut. It seemed that Remus had to make an effort to open them. "James and Lily," he finally mumbled.

Moody leaned forward and rested his crossed arms on the edge of the bed. "What do you think?"

Remus blinked slowly once, then twice, and just when Moody thought he wasn't going to answer, the younger man whispered, "I want to believe them."

"I'm sure you do," Moody said. But before he could say anything more, Remus had closed his eyes and fallen asleep.

The Auror looked across the bed at Weimer and Tatiana. The Trainee shrugged. "So I added a few drops of a Sleeping Draught to the pain potion."

Weimer stared at her for a moment before saying, "I understand what you were thinking, but you knew he did not want that. You and I will need to have a Diskussion about die Sittenlehre — the ethics of this."

Moody stood up. "How long will he be asleep?"

The German healer cast a glance at the young woman. She didn't look him in the eye. "I only put three drops in, so maybe an hour."

"Is that enough time to finish this?" the Auror asked.

"It should be," Weimer said. "If there are no complications."

"Then I'll go back to Headquarters. I told 'em I was taking some personal time, but I should go check in about the other case I'm working on. I'll be back later." The Auror covered Lupin's hand with his own for a moment, then left the room.

3:04 p.m.

He was slow in waking. He had been having a dream — a pleasant one for once — and he didn't want to let it go. Consciousness demanded more from him, though, and the dream faded quickly away, leaving him nothing, not even the memory of what it was about.

He was lying on his right side, and his right arm was numb because he'd apparently been in this position for a while. He rolled himself onto his back, and without thinking about it, brought his right hand up, ready to rub his still-tired eyes.

And then he froze. For a long moment, he stared, unblinkingly, at his fingers. There were no words, no thoughts capable of expressing anything that he was feeling at that moment.

Slowly, he closed his hand into a fist then opened it back up. One by one, he bent his fingers: thumb, index, middle, ring, pinky… Newly repaired joints and muscles complained at being forced to move, but the resulting ache was no worse than what he normally endured after a full moon.

Tears rose in his eyes, blurring his sight, and he wiped them away with the back of his left hand.

Movement caught his attention, and he let his focus shift from his hand to the healer standing in the doorway.

Weimer smiled broadly at him. "It is good, ja?"

"Very," Remus agreed hoarsely.

Wednesday, 11 September—10:02 a.m.

Albus Dumbledore peered around the doorframe. Remus appeared to be sleeping. His right hand was resting on his chest, and his left hand was covering it protectively.

Quietly, the older wizard went in and seated himself in the chair next to the bed, but almost immediately, Remus opened his eyes.

"Hello, Remus," Dumbledore greeted him.

There was a few seconds as the younger man came to full awareness of where he was and then acknowledged the Headmaster's greeting.

"Healer Weimer said things went very well with your hand."

Remus' face brightened slightly. "At least it looks like a hand now." He moved his left hand away and flexed the fingers of his right hand demonstratively.

"Wonderful! Obviously, Healer Weimer did a remarkable job. All you need now is for your leg to heal, and you'll be ready to take on the world again," Dumbledore said with an encouraging smile.

Remus gave a snort of disdain.

The Headmaster put his elbows on the arms of the chair and steepled his fingers. "You know, I was thinking that when St. Mungo's has done all they can for you, perhaps you can stay at Hogwarts to complete your recovery. Hagrid could always use another pair of hands, and there are some charms and defences you could strengthen for me."

The younger man's eyebrows lowered, and he stared intently at Dumbledore. "Alatza hired someone else, then?" he asked after a moment.

The abruptness of the question took the Headmaster by surprise, though he shouldn't have been shocked that Remus would ask it. Remus was quick-witted enough to hear what was said, and what was implied. He and Moody had known the question would be asked — and would have to be answered — fairly soon. He hadn't expected it this morning, however.

"Yes, Remus, he did," the older man replied gently. There was no way to sweeten it.

"I thought he might," Remus admitted, darkly.

"If you'd like, I can start asking if there's anyone with the need for a tutor," the Headmaster offered. "I'm certain that Pindar Alatza will give you a fine recommendation."

Remus shook his head. "No. I'll — find something."

There was a slightly uncomfortable pause during which Remus closed and opened his hand several times. "Alastor went to the Alatzas' and got your things."

Remus said nothing.

"If there is anything of yours that you need, you can tell me and I can relay the message to Alastor — though I think Alastor will be stopping by often." Dumbledore watched the young man closely, waiting for some kind of response.

"He was here a couple of days ago," Remus finally said, apparently realizing he should say something.

"He mentioned that to me. He also mentioned that you might appreciate having this." The Headmaster smiled as he produced a small moleskin bag from the pocket of his robes.

"What is it?"

"Open it and find out," Dumbledore said, holding it out to him.

It took Remus a minute to get the bag open and withdraw its contents: some folded clothes and a long, brown wand. His reaction was not exactly as Dumbledore had expected it to be. In fact, it was safe to say there was absolutely no reaction whatsoever. At least, not at first.

"He thought you might find it useful, having your wand here."

Remus just stared at it.

"Remus?"

The young man blinked then looked askance at Dumbledore. "Oh, yes, great. Thank you."

"Mr Alatza gave those to Alastor the morning you were — taken."

"Good of him." Remus suddenly thrust the clothes and wand back into the bag and jerked the drawstrings tight.

"Remus —" The Headmaster began.

The deep blue eyes that met his were bright with barely contained fury.

"It's understandable that you're angry and upset by what's happened. You've had much taken from you. But you must remember that there are people who care for you very much, and we will help you in any way we can. Just — don't close yourself off from us."

"'Don't close myself off?'" Remus repeated harshly.

Dumbledore smiled. "Alastor was out of his mind because you have been so close-mouthed about what you do or where you've been. No one even knew the name of the family you were working for."

"'Close-mouthed —'" Remus stared at him in disbelief.

"Alastor even went as far as to accuse me of helping you cut yourself off from everyone."

The younger man made a move as if he was going to sit up, but gasped with barely concealed pain and lay still. "I didn't have much choice! Everyone pushed me away after – James and Lily died –" He broke off and took a deep breath. "Yes, I isolated myself! What else could I have done?"

"You did exactly what I helped you to do," Albus said quietly.

Remus stared at him uncomprehendingly.

"I have had three months to think about Alastor's accusation," Dumbledore went on. "And I will admit that I did help you to isolate yourself. You needed the time to heal. Everyone else needed the time to forget."

"But they haven't forgotten," Lupin said. "They still know who I am. They still talk when I walk through the Leaky Cauldron — and I can't stand going to Hogsmeade…"

"They haven't forgotten, no," Dumbledore agreed. "But what happened was so terrible that it can't ever be completely forgotten. Would you want them to forget James' and Lily's sacrifice? Or Harry's victory?"

There was a long pause before Remus replied quietly: "No."

"I was wrong in thinking the world would forget about your friendship with Sirius Black." He paused while Remus caught his breath and looked away. "But you are wrong in thinking that they condemn you for it. They have had four years to realise that you were not an accomplice in his nefarious crime."

Remus rubbed his face with his hands. Deliberately not looking at the Headmaster, he asked, "And four years to realise that I wasn't the spy in the Order?"

"That was quite obvious on the first of November four years ago," Dumbledore replied, with a sardonic twist of his lips.

"Not that obvious," the young man muttered. "It took three days to convince the Aurors I had nothing to do with it."

Dumbledore was silent.

"Why didn't you just tell them I wasn't the spy?" Remus suddenly asked, meeting the Headmaster's eyes. "The Order, I mean."

This time, it was the older wizard who looked away first. "Because, Remus, I wasn't certain that it wasn't you."

He felt the younger man's shock.

"You sent me on those missions, and I did exactly what you told me to do," Remus protested. "I brought back every bit of information that I could get my claws into. And you still thought it was me?"

Dumbledore shook his head sadly. "I hoped that it wasn't. As much as I hoped that it wasn't any of the others. But, as time progressed, it became patently obvious that someone close to the Potters was revealing their secrets to Voldemort."

"And it could never be Sirius," Remus whispered bitterly.

"No. No one would have ever thought it was Sirius," Dumbledore agreed quietly.

"And so it had to be me." Lupin said with a sighing finality that made Albus think that the young man had gone over that argument many times in his head already.

"I confess it seemed — wrong," the Headmaster admitted. "I make no excuses for myself, Remus. Or for the others. As unlikely as it seemed, it had to be someone who we all trusted, cared for, loved. Unfortunately, you appeared to be the only one who could have had the most to gain by believing Voldemort's rhetoric."

"It was all lies!" Remus hissed, glaring at Albus. "I knew that! You knew I didn't believe it!"

Dumbledore spread his hands apart in an almost helpless gesture. "I knew someone was lying. You brought back information that I knew you could only have gotten through being a capable liar. And I knew you were quite capable of dissembling if the need arose. You used that ability for the sake of the Order. How could I not suspect that you might use that ability against the Order?"

"What would I have gained?" Remus demanded hoarsely. "I'm a half-blood and a half-breed!"

"There were other half-blooded wizards and witches taken in by Voldemort's promises and propaganda," Dumbledore said. "And if he could have seduced one such as you to serve him, he would have counted himself lucky."

"I'm no Fenrir Greyback."

"No, we know that. Voldemort, however, did not. He believed that a werewolf's basic nature was more Greyback than Lupin. He would have underestimated you, Remus. As, to my regret, I did."

1:30 p.m.

Now that Dumbledore was gone, Remus could mull over the conversation they'd had. He had to admit it surprised him that Dumbledore hadn't completely trusted Remus at the end. The reasons why hurt even more.

When had Remus ever given less than his best for the sake of the Order? He had done exactly what he'd been asked — no, ordered — to do. And because of that, he was to be suspected and feared?

He picked idly at some fuzz on the blanket.

Underestimated.

The word kept flitting in and out of his thoughts, and he found it nearly laughable, in a sarcastic, self-deprecating kind of way. How many times had he planned pranks for the Marauders and never suffered the consequences of detentions because the professors hadn't believed he was capable of being so — devious? That was Sirius Black's and James Potter's bailiwick — not Remus Lupin's.

Underestimated.

He had always given his best effort when it came to things that were important. His parents, Hogwarts, his friends, the Order — there had been nothing he wouldn't have done for any of them. And yet, they had found him lacking. They had underestimated him.

It hurt it more ways than he could have ever thought.

He sighed and reached behind him to readjust the pillows.

They had all known that Sirius was clever and sly. They had all known he could plot and scheme like no one else. No one had underestimated Sirius.

And I thought Peter was the underestimated one…

Oh, there was no doubt that Peter didn't have the same brilliance with charms or transfiguration. There wasn't any question that his defensive spells were based on fear more than skill. But he had been braver than anyone would have ever believed, going after Sirius all by himself. Sirius, who was never underestimated…

We underestimated Peter's bravery. But Sirius… We overestimated his loyalty, his friendship, his truthfulness — all because he had broken his ties with his Dark magic-using family. Or so we thought.

Remus pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, his long fingers entangling with the shortened strands of hair.

And they underestimated and mistrusted me because at the full moon I cannot control the Dark Creature that I am.

That's what it all came down to. They had said it didn't make a difference, though Remus could name at least four Order members who had been uncomfortable around him.

As if I was going to transform at any given moment and rip them limb from limb…

He had known Dumbledore was right: that he was the only one able to get into the meetings in which Death Eaters would try to convince whatever Dark creatures happened to attend that Voldemort would give them freedoms and powers that the Muggle-loving Ministry never could. He had gone to the meetings. He had come back with information: how many had turned, how many were uncertain, and which ones would agree when Remus whispered that freedoms granted now would only mean chains later…

And yet I couldn't be trusted.

His head ached.

And it was all pointless, really. Did it matter that Dumbledore hadn't trusted him? That Moody hadn't trusted him? No. He had said as much to Moody months ago. It was all water under the bridge, spilt milk…

You've just learned that the one man who you trusted more than anyone, who gave you an education and tried to give you a life, for Merlin's sake, didn't trust you, and you're thinking in terms of pathetic metaphors.

Gods, I'm pathetic.

James would have laughed and said, "Moony, you're crippled and sick. Of course you're pathetic!" But he would have smuggled something edible to Remus all the same.

Peter would have frowned and said, "Moony, don't say that. You're not pathetic. You're just not feeling well right now." He would have brought Remus some chocolate.

Sirius would have rolled his eyes and said, "You're such a git. Stop talking like that and tell me how I can get into Anna Hargrave's robes instead." Remus would have then been presented with a book that Sirius would swear he had had for years — but Remus would know was new.

Don't think of Sirius, who we overestimated…

Unless… The dreams of Lily and James, and their words to him resounded through his thumping head…

"He loved us, Moony." What if…

What if we hadn't overestimated him? The thought turned him cold.

"He wouldn't have betrayed us." What if he hadn't…?

But try as he might, Remus couldn't imagine a scenario in which an innocent Sirius Black could have ended up on a street in London, laughing maniacally, with the bloody remains of Muggles and Peter Pettigrew splattered around him…

So he gave the whole thing up as impossible and went back to sleep.

Don't underestimate how much a review means.
Even two words (such as "Love it!" or "Like it!") will make a writer walk on sunshine for days. TRUST ME!