It was very much like being back at school, Remus reflected ruefully. The full moon came around, some excitement happened, and he missed it. The potion made his transformations easier, but it still left him feeling dizzy for days after, and he was forced to postpone the lesson on Hinkypunks he had been planning.
He had done too much too soon in searching the castle, and was disappointed to find himself too weak even to venture out to the Quidditch pitch to see Harry in action in his first match of the year. He had heard the young Seeker's talent put even James's abilities to shame - something he would very much have liked to see for himself - and was sorry not to even be able to wish him "good luck".
But when he finally felt well enough to leave his rooms the following afternoon, he found he had missed yet more excitement, though of a very different character. The Dementors had invaded the pitch mid-game, drawn by the high-running emotions and energy of the crowd. They had come to feed.
Harry's response to them had been once again to faint dead away, only this time, the boy had been flying high on his broomstick, and had fallen more than fifty feet.
Thankfully Dumbledore had intervened - angrier than anyone had ever seen him, Professor Flitwick confided - and had arrested Harry's fall and called the Dementors off him. Unfortunately, Harry's broomstick had not survived the incident, having sailed directly into the branches of the Whomping Willow.
Remus was grateful for Harry's safe recovery, but the near-accident only highlighted the irony of the situation: the presence of the Dementors was doing as much harm as good. They might protect the boy from Sirius, but they seemed just as likely to kill him as a side effect.
Remus wanted badly to speak with Harry again. He was becoming more and more concerned about the boy's reaction to the Dementors, and was curious to know how much Professor McGonagall had told him about his connection to Sirius. But every time he put his head into the hospital wing, Harry was either surrounded by his friends, or he was sleeping, and Remus was loathe to wake him. At least he seemed none the worse for his fall.
The following Monday, Harry out of bed and back in class, but Remus's pleasure was tempered by the class's grievances about the work Snape had apparently assigned in his absence. The vindictive Potions master had decided that an essay on the very advanced subject of werewolves was just the thing Remus's third year students needed.
He groaned inwardly. Snape was prevented from directly revealing his secret by Dumbledore's injunction, but it seemed he was planning to do his level best to make sure the students drew their own conclusions.
Assuring the class that they would not be expected to turn in any such essay, he found, much to his relief, that most of the students had not even started on the assignment. Only Harry's friend Hermione seemed disappointed, declaring that she had already finished it.
That was worrying. He had had two months now to get to know the students, and as was only natural, he had paid particular attention to Harry and his friends. If anyone in the class was likely to put two and two together and come up with "werewolf", it was brilliant, muggleborn Hermione Granger. He would just have to cross his fingers that she would not make the connection.
He quickly turned the class's attention to the subject of Hinkypunks and their misdirecting habits, explaining, among other things, their relation to Will o' the Wisps. To his relief, the students seemed just as happy as he was to abandon the subject of werewolves, and move on to these much less sinister creatures.
When the lesson ended, Remus called Harry back for a private word, expressing his sympathy over the fate of the boy's racing broom.
"They planted the Whomping Willow the same year that I arrived at Hogwarts," he said, unsure why he should be telling the boy such a thing.
But if Harry wondered at the reason anyone would plant such a violent tree on school grounds, he did not ask. Something else was occupying his mind.
"Did you hear about the Dementors, too?" he asked stiffly.
Remus acknowledged that he had. He could tell the subject troubled the boy deeply.
"Why?" Harry finally burst out. "Why do they affect me like that? Am I just -?"
"It has nothing to do with weakness," Remus assured him.
He was something of an expert on the subject of Dementors, having studied Defence Against the Dark Arts to NEWT level, and attained an O in the subject. Following Sirius's capture and incarceration, Remus had developed a morbid fascination with the Azkaban guards. He explained as quickly and simply as he could the nature of Dementors, glad at least that his knowledge and insight could serve this boy who was so obviously desperate for answers.
No, it was not weakness that led Harry to lose consciousness in the presence of the Dementors; it was simply their nature to drain away every positive thought and memory, leaving only the worst of a person's experiences. And the worst of Harry's experiences went far beyond those of most children his age.
Many adults, especially those who had lived through the war, had experienced things equally terrible, and occasionally much worse, than Harry had, but adults were better equipped both mentally and emotionally to face that kind of darkness. Harry himself would harden to it with age, but for now, it was a serious inconvenience to him, as well as a source of embarrassment. Remus resolved to do whatever he could to help the boy overcome his difficulty.
"When they get near me -" Harry paused, as if uncertain how much to confide to a near-stranger, even one who might be able to help him. "I can hear Voldemort murdering my mum."
Lily. Remus's mind reeled. Surely he was too young to remember -
He reached out a hand to touch Harry's arm, but drew back. The boy might be as dear as a son to him, but Harry knew him as nothing more than his teacher. Such a gesture out of context would not be appropriate.
Remus had been avoiding thinking about Lily. It was bad enough thinking about Sirius all the time, without adding her to it. But seeing this boy - looking into those emerald green eyes - it was impossible not to recall the woman who has bestowed them upon her son.
Sweet, gentle Lily. Kindhearted, but with a fiery temper when it came to defending those she cared for. She was the first person at Hogwarts to whom he had confided his secret - the first person to whom he had confessed his feelings for Sirius. She had been his truest and first real friend.
He had met them all on the day of his arrival at Hogwarts, but he had grown close to her first, when the rowdy boys he roomed with offered no understanding to the quiet, lonely child he had been. Slowly, though, he had been drawn into the Marauders, earning their respect and friendship with his cleverness and wit, and by the end, they and she had become family all together; two couples and two sets of best friends.
Only Peter had had no one within the group in whom to confide in above all others. Remus had often felt badly for the boy who had looked up to James and Sirius with a kind of hero-worship. He wondered if Peter had ever felt jealous of the bonds the rest of them shared. Poor Peter, who had died for love of James - killed by the wand of Sirius Black.
The worst of it for Remus had been, of course, Sirius's betrayal of their love and trust, but his complicity in Lily's murder had been a close second, depriving Remus of lover and best friend in one terrible stroke.
And now Harry had brought him face to face with the moment of her death, revealing an event which Remus had thought long lost, and to which Lily's infant son had been the only witness.
A small part of him hungered to find out how much more Harry might remember - if, unknowing, he held some truth that might have been missed - but his more prudent self knew that it would be better for them both not to dig too deeply into the events of that night. It was unlikely, after all, that Harry retained more that the vaguest impressions.
Harry was speaking again, asking him why the Dementors had to appear just then, in the moment when the Snitch had been within his grasp. Remus shook himself and explained about the feelings the Dementors had come to feed on.
"Azkaban must be terrible," mused Harry.
Remus nodded. His thoughts had spent much of the past twelve years inside the wizard prison. Sometimes he felt he was trapped there himself, inside his head. He had never seen the place with his own eyes - no one visited unless they had business there or, had no choice in the matter - but Sirius was there, and Remus could not help wondering what it must be like for the man he had loved. Such thoughts were his penance and his revenge.
The Dementors would have drained away every happy thought, feasting on their love - always assuming Sirius had ever truly loved him - until he was left with - what? Remus wondered what grim and horrible memories plagued Sirius, alone in his cell. Did he feel remorse for what he had done? Loneliness? Did he remember Remus at all anymore, or had he lost the last shreds of his humanity in that dreadful place?
He found himself explaining the nature of the place out loud, talking more to himself than to Harry. If he could only think about the place rationally, in the most basic terms possible, forgetting about the man for a moment, maybe the tightness in his chest would ease.
"The fortress is set on a tiny island, way out to sea, but they don't need walls and water to keep the prisoners in, not when they're all trapped inside their own heads, incapable of a single cheerful thought. Most of them go mad within weeks."
"But Sirius Black escaped from them," said Harry. "He got away -"
The bitterness with which James and Lily Potter's son spat the name unsettled Remus so badly that he dropped his briefcase. How much had Professor McGonagall told him? Obviously she had told him enough. While the idea of an escaped murderer might be interesting and maybe a little scary for any boy, only the knowledge of at least some part of the truth could engender such tones of loathing.
Sirius had taken Harry's parents from him, destroying his chance at a happy childhood, and Remus could not blame him for the way he felt. But Harry had never known Sirius, Lily, or James - not like Remus had - and he could not begin to understand the complexity of sorrow and confusion that Remus felt.
Remus longed to speak to him about the great friendship and love his they had all shared, even Sirius, but it was impossible. Harry was much too young to understand the possibility of loving someone who had done unforgivable things. To have those eyes turn their loathing and disgust on him would be unbearable. Maybe when he was older Remus would explain to him, but not now.
"Yes," he said finally, forcing his emotions back under his control. "Black must have found a way to fight them." It was incredibly hard to say the name in front of the boy. "I wouldn't have believed it possible. Dementors are supposed to drain a wizard of his powers if he is left with them too long -"
"You made the Dementor on the train back off," Harry exclaimed suddenly.
It was becoming apparent to Remus that while his own thoughts could not help but be of Sirius, Harry was much more concerned about the Dementors. He was not sure whether that was wise, but he could think of nothing helpful to say to the boy regarding Sirius. He did know a trick or two that might help against the Dementors, though.
Ten minutes later, Harry left the classroom content in the knowledge that he would soon be taking private anti-Dementor lessons with Remus, while Remus himself was once more left alone with his thoughts.
There was another Hogsmeade visit planned for the students on the last day of term before the Christmas holiday, and Remus was looking forward to tracking Harry down for another chat. He found he enjoyed talking to Lily and James's son, in spite of the strong feelings he occasionally unknowingly raised. It had been a long time since Remus had been interested in talking to anyone - perhaps a good habit to encourage in himself.
But try though he might, he was unable to locate Harry anywhere in the castle. He even walked down from the castle through the snow on the off-chance that the boy was taking tea with Hagrid, but the huge gamekeeper was not in his hut. When Remus knocked, there was a scrabbling sound and a dog began to bark inside.
For a moment - just a moment - Remus had the urge open the door for a look at the dog, just in case. But no; that wasn't Sirius's bark. It also sounded as if there might be other large animals inside the hut, and Remus had little desire to make the acquaintance of any of Hagrid's "pets" in his absence. He remembered only too well the gamekeeper's great love for "interestin' creatures".
Remus and his friends had often visited Hagrid during their school days. The big man had always enjoyed hearing tales of their pranks and adventures. Remus had not sought to renew that friendship since his return. He had meant to, but in the first week of term, he had overheard Hagrid declaring vehement hatred of Sirius, and Remus did not feel like subjecting himself to that. Hagrid was not a man to hide his feelings, and those feelings were decidedly anti-Sirius. Remus knew that his own presence would only serve to remind the gamekeeper of the old days, and inevitably of the events which came later.
As he turned back toward the castle, feet chilled by the snow melting into his shabby, inadequate footwear, his eyes were drawn to the Forbidden Forest. If Sirius was still around, and had not given up after his failed attempt, was that not the most likely place for him to lie hidden? Perhaps he was nearby even now, watching from the shadows.
Remus shivered and pulled his thin cloak more tightly around his shoulders. The snow was beginning to fall again, swirling softly around him, the wind tugging at his hair.
I could go have a look, he thought. Pawprints in the snow shouldn't be hard to find.
Similar thoughts had prodded him many times since Halloween. Sirius was nearby, he was sure of it, and he could no longer deny to himself how much he longed for another glimpse of the man. When the November full moon had come and gone, he had awoken almost hoping for some sign that the black dog had visited him again, but there had been none.
Only two things prevented him actively seeking Sirius. The first was that someone might ask or even guess what he was doing. Secondly, he had no idea what he would do if or when he found Sirius. He knew in his heart he could not callously turn him over to the law. Perhaps that was weakness, but Remus had always been one to acknowledge and accept his own limitations.
What he longed for, deep in his broken heart, was simply the nearness of one beloved. But what could be done when the beloved was in the grip of a violent madness?
He stood gazing into the forest for a long time before shaking himself and beginning the long trudge up the hill to the castle, his search for Harry forgotten.