"Here's another one," said a voice somewhere nearby, and then someone had put a hand on his neck. "No, this one's alive. Get one of the Obliviators over here. We're going to need another memory charm in a minute when he comes around."

"Shouldn't he be questioned first? After all, he's a witness."

"No, I think we've got enough witnesses. Not much point; they're all saying the same thing, anyway."

"Hang on a second. He's got a wand. We've got a wizard witness!" There was a laugh with little humour in it. "Imagine if we Obliviated a wizard! Crouch'd wring our necks!"

The owner of the voice began shaking Remus's shoulder. "Sir? Sir, can you hear me?"

No. Go away, thought Remus fiercely. Just leave me the fuck alone.

If what he thought had happened had really happened, he did not want to be conscious. He just wanted to lie here, not remembering, not thinking, until he died.

As soon as he showed signs of consciousness, there would be questions. They would expect him to talk about what he had seen. They might give him an hour or so if he was in shock, which he undoubtedly was, but before long, they would want him to talk.

Wizard witness, they had said. And once they found out he knew Sirius -

Sirius!

Just thinking his name sent white-hot needles of agony into Remus's heart. Lily and James being dead - that was tragic, but everyone died, sooner or later. What Sirius had done went so far beyond that there was no comparison.

I'm broken, Remus had thought. I'm broken and I'll never be whole again. Half of me is torn away. A single tear slipped down his cheek.

His anguish must have showed on his face, because one of the voices had said, "Look, I think he's coming around. Here, Sir. You're all right now. Can you sit up?"

Reluctantly, Remus had opened his eyes. A kindly-looking, middle-aged wizard in Ministry robes had helped him into a sitting position and asked his partner to bring Remus a cup of water which he pressed into Remus's hands.

Remus drank deeply. His throat felt as though he had been screaming, but he was fairly certain that had only been inside his head. But he felt as if he might start if he had to think too hard about what had happened.

"There you are, Sir. Feel any better?" The man's voice was filled with kindness and sympathy.

Remus shook his head, not trusting his voice. The man looked at him, eyes full of understanding.

You think you know, but you don't, Remus had thought angrily.

"My name's Johnson," said the man. "I'm with the Ministry. Did you see what happened here?"

Remus opened his mouth to reply but no sound emerged. He closed his mouth and then opened it again with no better result.

"Poor bloke's in shock," said his partner. "And no bloody wonder if he is! Terrible thing to see." He shook his head sadly.

"Well," said Johnson slowly, "if he saw what happened over yonder we'll have to take him in anyway for questioning, being as he's a wizard."

I don't want to go to the Ministry, Remus thought desperately. They'll have hard questions. They'll want me to talk about Sirius. And when they find out I knew them, they're going to want me to talk about Lily and James and Peter as well.

But he could not make even the smallest sound of protest. Instead, he looked at Johnson pleadingly and shook his head.

"Sorry, mate," said Johnson sympathetically. "Rules are rules. We gotta take you in."

They had helped him to a Ministry van, and within fifteen minutes he was walking - or more accurately, being guided - through the doors of the Ministry of Magic. He had been in the Ministry a number of times before, but in his shocked state, nothing looked familiar. His eyes slid over people, objects, walls, floors, recognising nothing.

They had gone up one corridor and down another, past doors with important-looking signs on them that all looked the same, until at last they came to something that looked like a waiting room filled. His guide had sat Remus down in one of the uncomfortable chairs and left him, saying that someone would see him shortly. About half the chairs in the room were filled with white-faced, tired-looking witches and wizards.

Remus was not sure if he sat there for five minutes or five hours, willing his mind to think of nothing at all. One by one, the other people in the room were called through a door into an office of some kind.

At last, a thin, balding man in his mid-thirties beckoned Remus through the door. According to the sign on the door, he was MLE Detective A. Murdoch. Remus got to his feet with difficulty, amazed that he could stand at all, and wondered if he should use this surprising ability to make a run for it. Instead, he went into the office. His legs felt weak and shaky and he was grateful to be able to collapse immediately into another chair once inside the small room.

Detective Murdoch sat down across the desk from him and peered nearsightedly at a piece of parchment.

"Hmmm," he said. "You were present for the - unpleasantness in the Muggle marketplace this morning?"

Remus nodded.

"Name?" said the man, not looking at him.

Remus had tried to reply, but still no sound emerged from his throat. After a moment, Detective Murdoch looked up at him. Remus tried to say he was sorry but he could not speak. The detective looked annoyed.

"Can you write it down for me?" he asked impatiently.

He pushed a quill and parchment across the desk toward Remus, who tried to write his name, but he suddenly could not remember how to hold a quill. His hands felt clumsy and he kept dropping it.

The detective's expression of annoyance deepened. After a few moments of watching Remus fumble the long plume, he got up abruptly and left the office by a side door. Remus could hear him talking to someone in the next room.

"No, can't speak a word," he was saying. "Can't write it down either. How much of my time am I supposed to waste on this one? I've still got half a dozen others to see this afternoon."

"The poor man's in shock, Artemis," replied a woman's voice. "You have to be gentle in these cases. Employ a little kindness. I know that's not your strong suit."

"You're welcome to try, Cassandra," Murdoch replied in long-suffering tones. "Just - get him talking, will you?"

The door had swung open again, and a witch had strode into the room ahead of Detective Murdoch. She stopped short when she caught sight of Remus.

"Merlin's beard!" she exclaimed. "It's you!"

Remus looked at her without curiosity or recognition.

The witch had pulled the other chair around the desk to sit beside him and covered one of his hands with her own. "We met this morning, Sir," she said in a gentle voice. "In Godric's Hollow? I'm Detective Cassandra Clarke. I am helping with the investigation of the - incident that occurred in Godric's Hollow last night. You said you were a friend of the Potters?"

Remus nodded dully at her.

"And you were in the marketplace this morning? No wonder you're in shock!"

She clucked at him like a mother hen, then turned to Detective Murdoch, who was hovering impatiently nearby, having no other chairs in his office.

"He's not going to be able to answer any questions in this state," she admonished him. "He needs rest. Find him a place he can sleep for a bit, and bring him a sleeping draught."

Murdoch looked nonplussed. "The longer we leave this, the more likely he is to forget the details of what he saw."

Not bloody likely, thought Remus bitterly. I doubt there's a chance in hell that I'll be lucky enough to ever forget anything about today.

"Really, Artemis!" Detective Clarke was saying, patting Remus's hand absently. "You're not going to get anything out of him until he rests, no matter how many questions you badger him with. What do you suggest?"

"All right," Murdoch snapped. "There's a sofa in Jacobsen's office. He's out sick today. You can stick him in there for a couple of hours. Now, will you get him out of here so I can back to work?"

Detective Clarke tutted at Murdoch as she rose and ushered Remus from the room, leading him to an empty office a few doors down.

"Now, Sir, you just make yourself comfortable and I'll be back soon with that sleeping draught."

Remus had lain numbly on the sofa, staring at the ceiling, thinking that he was unlikely ever to sleep again. He was cold. He had not felt warm since Sirius had left the flat the night before.

I mustn't think of Sirius, he told himself. Not until they make me. It's just too - But he could not think of a word to express how it felt to think of Sirius just then. It went so far beyond pain that to call it "painful" was almost laughable.

Thankfully, it was only moments before Detective Clarke returned with not only a steaming mug, but a frayed woolen blanket.

"Here now, Sir," she said kindly. "Drink up, and then have a bit of a rest."

She drew the blanket over him as he forced himself to swallow the potion. It did not taste of anything, but he could hardly remember how to swallow.

"Now," the witch was saying, "someone will look in from time to time to check on you, and once you're awake, maybe you'll feel a bit more like talking?"

He had nodded slightly, and she had patted his hand again with a look of maternal sympathy before leaving the room. Even as the door clicked shut, Remus could feel his eyelids drooping. The horrors of the day, on top of the fact that he had hardly slept in twenty-four hours, were enough to wear anyone out, and as soon as the sleeping potion was added to the mix, he was gone.

He had dreamed of Padfoot. Of the loyal, black dog who had helped him through his transformations - had fought to be with him - for six years. Padfoot, who had run with him as pack and been his mate, had been there after every hard, moonlit night, and lain beside to him in the dawn to lend warmth to his cold, aching and torn body. Padfoot, who had existed only to be helpmate to the wolf inside, and to protect him from himself.

He woke, clutching the rough, woolen blanket, his tearstained face buried in its scratchy folds. Padfoot was gone.

He had lain for several moments, trying to get his trembling under control, willing the tears to stop falling.

Stop feeling sorry for yourself, Lupin, he had told himself fiercely. They're going to want to talk to you in a minute. You can mourn for them all later. There will be plenty of time for that.

He had managed to get himself under some semblance of control before a Ministry page had stuck his head in and seen he was awake. He was then led back to Detective Murdoch's office, where Murdoch, Clarke, and another Ministry official were waiting for him. They all looked at him grimly as he entered the office.

"Is your name Remus John Lupin?" asked the unknown wizard without preamble. He wore a narrow toothbrush mustache and a stern expression.

They knew who he was now. And probably plenty else besides. He cleared his throat. "Yes," he said hoarsely.

"Have a seat, please, Mr Lupin," he said, eyes never leaving Remus. "I am Bartemius Crouch, head of Magical Law Enforcement."

Murdoch and Crouch took turns asking him questions, while Clarke cast troubled looks in his direction and took notes on a long sheet of parchment.

"You had some association with the Potters?"

"Yes."

"What was the nature of this association?"

"We were friends."

"I see. How long had you known the Potters at the time of their deaths?"

"About ten years. We attended Hogwarts together."

"And you attended Hogwarts with Sirius Black as well?"

"Yes." His voice was barely audible.

"What was that, Mr Lupin?"

He cleared his throat. "Yes."

"And would you say you were friends with Sirius Black as well?"

The question startled a mirthless laugh from him. "Friends? Oh, yes. I would say that we were. We - lived together," he clarified without, he hoped, being too clear.

Clarke's eyebrows snapped together and she looked up at him sharply.

Looks like she just jumped to the right conclusion, he thought.

"And Peter Pettigrew? Was he a friend also?"

"Yes." Again his voice was quiet.

"Were you aware of Black's involvement with the people who call themselves the Death Eaters?"

"No."

"No? You say you lived with him. You were friends. Are you saying you had no idea he was involved with - Him?"

Remus thought it strangely funny that even Ministry officials at their most professional could not bring themselves to speak Voldemort's name.

"No," he said. "I had no idea he had fallen in with Voldemort."

He was slightly gratified to see them all flinch at the name.

"But you knew that the Potters were going into hiding. That - the person you mentioned was looking for them?"

"Yes, I knew. We all knew."

"Who 'all' knew?"

"Me, James, Lily, Peter. Sirius."

"And were you aware that it must have been someone close to the Potters passing information to the so-called Death Eaters?"

"Yes. We knew it had to have been one of us."

"Were you aware of the precautions the Potters had taken to prevent themselves being found by You Know Who?"

"Yes. They performed a Fidelius Charm about a week ago."

"And do you believe Sirius Black to have been their Secret-Keeper?"

"Yes. He must have been. James trusted him above anyone."

"Did Sirius Black at any time tell you that he had been made the Potters' Secret-Keeper?"

"I - no. No, I don't believe he did." The memory surprised him. But then, Sirius had avoided talking about many things in those last few weeks.

"Is it your opinion that he was?"

"Yes."

"Where were you between 8:00 P.M. and 10:00 P.M. last night, the thirty-first of October?"

"I was at home. My flat in London."

"Is there anyone who can confirm your whereabouts?"

"No, I was alone."

"Can you tell us at what time you last saw Sirius Black?"

"He left the house at -er - about 7:30 P.M."

"I see. And did you know at the time where he was going?"

"No. He said he was going to go get a bottle of wine."

They changed tack then.

"Have you at any time been approached for recruitment by the so-called Death Eaters, or worked for You Know Who or any of his followers in any capacity?"

"What? No!"

"You seem very sure of yourself, Mr Lupin. Please explain your answer."

"Well, it's well known that they usually only recruit pure-bloods. My mother is a Muggle."

"I see."

The office door had opened then, and the Ministry page who had brought Remus came in. He apologised for interrupting and hurriedly dropped a note onto the desk in front of the detectives, departing hastily.

"We've been running a background check on you," said Crouch, opening the note. "Your close association with the - suspect, you understand."

He glanced at what was written on the parchment and his eyes snapped back to Remus at once.

"Werewolf?!" he exclaimed incredulously. "Is this true, Mr Lupin?"

"Yes. I was bitten when I was six."

"You understand that it is a very serious offence to withhold information from Ministry officials during questioning?" said Crouch angrily.

"I didn't withhold. You didn't ask. And I didn't think it was relevant."

"Not relevant? Of all the -! Not relevant! Tell me, Mr Lupin, how is it not relevant to be a Dark Creature associated with a Death Eater and mass-murderer?"

"I didn't know!" Remus's voice had rapidly turned from dull to desperate. They could not think he had anything to do with what had happened! But people had certain ideas about the habits and personal associations of werewolves.

"Please, check your records," he begged. "I've never bitten anyone. I've never knowingly associated myself with a Death Eater. I would never had done anything to hurt Lily and James!"

He realised he was dangerously close to tears. He did not want to cry in front of these people. He wanted to be somewhere safe. He wanted someone to hold him while the sobs wracked his body. But there was nowhere he could go for comfort any longer, and there was no one to whom he might turn. A tear spilled down his cheek.

The detectives were talking amongst themselves. "I say we lock him up now - Too big a risk - Known werewolf associating with Sirius Black - If we let him go, there will be a public outcry."

"Please," he croaked in a small voice.

They did not hear him, but continued debating his fate.

"Please," he tried again a little louder. "Where's Harry?"

They looked at him blankly.

"Harry. The Potters' son. Where is he? Is he safe?"

"Oh!" exclaimed Detective Clarke. "Yes. Of course. Harry Potter. Umm - we're not at liberty to disclose his whereabouts, but we can confirm that yes, he's safe." They went back to their discussion.

Remus sagged back into his chair. Harry was safe, and as long as that was true, it did not really matter what happened to him. Three of his best friends were dead, and the fourth was no longer a friend. As far as Remus was concerned, there was not much left worth living for. He wondered vaguely if they would put him down as a dangerous beast.

I wish they had Obliviated me, he thought. Maybe they could obliterate all my memories back to the day when I first laid eyes on Sirius.

It had sounded as though they were just coming to the conclusion that they really should lock him up, just in case, when the door opened and into the room swept the comforting and authoritative presence of Albus Dumbledore.

He looked around the room, from Remus, gray-faced, hollow-eyed, damp of cheek, and trembling, to the three detectives crowded around the bit of parchment with the incriminating word "werewolf" printed upon it.

"I demand an end to the questioning of Remus Lupin," he said coolly.

"May I ask why?" said Crouch, staring at Dumbledore narrowly.

"The boy is in shock. Can you not see that? Three of his friends have been killed in the last twenty-four hours. I know Remus. He is an honest boy, and if he knew anything worth telling, he would have told you by now."

"He withheld the fact that he's a werewolf."

Dumbledore looked down his long nose at Crouch. "And have there been any werewolf attacks central or peripheral to this investigation?"

"Well - no."

"Has this man been accused of anything?"

"No, but -"

"Then I submit to you that if you have any further questions for him, they can be asked at a later date, and he should now be allowed to go home and rest."

Crouch rose and cleared his throat. "Very well," he said. "But understand we shall be keeping Mr Lupin's file open. If we have any questions for him, we shall be in touch."

He shifted his gaze from Dumbledore to Remus. "Don't," he said in tones that implied terrible things if disobeyed, "think about leaving the city without the express permission of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

Remus had nodded, then rose to follow Dumbledore numbly from the room. Once in the now-empty waiting room, he had let the elderly wizard guide their Apparition back to his flat.

They had arrived in the middle of the sitting room, and when Remus had seen dinner still sitting on the table, the bottle of wine still unopened, he had sagged and would have collapsed if Dumbledore had not caught his arm. The old wizard guided him to the couch and sat him down, carefully facing him away from the table.

Remus looked out the window instead. It was dark again. It had been a whole day since the door slamming behind Sirius had heralded the crumbling of his world.

This time, he let the tears come, and they came hot and fast. He felt a hand come to rest between his shoulders as he buried he face in his arms against the back of the sofa. The man next to him - the man who had made it possible for him to have a normal childhood, to go to school, to make friends - radiated calm, tranquility, and understanding.

"They're dead, Professor," he sobbed. "Lily. James. Peter. Me and Sirius, too."

"You loved them well, Remus. You have one of the greatest hearts I have ever known. Such a capacity for love."

He was silent for a moment as Remus continued to shake, then he added, "You should know as well as I, dear boy, that death can never truly take those we love from us. Lily, James, and Peter will always be with you, so long as you remember them. And Sirius too."

Remus rocked back and forth, shaking his head, though he did not know what he was denying. "Why, Professor? Why did he do it? How could he? Was I so blind that I just didn't see?"

"Love can make us blind, Remus. It would not be your fault if that were the case. I think this came as a shock to all of us. As to why and how Sirius could do such a thing, I do not know." He hesitated, as if unsure whether he should add the next words. "I spoke with him today."

Remus raised his head from his hands and looked at Dumbledore with bloodshot eyes.

"You saw him?" he asked in a small voice.

"Yes. They're holding him at the Ministry for the moment, but I fear they will be taking him to Azkaban very soon. There is no trial scheduled."

"Then he - he's confessed?"

"No," Dumbledore looked pityingly at him. "No, he's denied everything, up to and including the fact that he was Lily and James's Secret-Keeper. But I told them I'd do it for them, and James said he'd ask me if he had any doubts about Sirius."

"How can he deny it?" asked Remus despairingly. "I saw him do it - kill Peter and all those Muggles. Professor, I was there!"

"I don't know, Remus. He seemed very wild when I saw him - as if there were some madness in him." He hesitated again before adding, "He asked me to tell you - he wants to see you. He wants you to come to the Ministry and hear what he has to say. Will you see him? Perhaps he will tell you something."

Remus had stared at him for a moment, speechless.

"No!" he said at last. "I won't! I can't! I can't see him. I can't talk to him. I can't look at him after what he did. How could he ask that? Does he mean to kill me, too?" Then he added, with a conviction he did not feel, "I never want to hear the name of Sirius Black spoken again."

"Of course you don't have to see him," said Dumbledore in reassuring tones. "It's entirely understandable that you would want to stay away. No one would blame you. In fact," he continued, "it might be better for you to avoid contact with him. The Ministry will most assuredly have you under surveillance for some time, and the less you do to arouse their suspicions, the better."

Remus nodded. "Professor?" he asked after a moment of silence. "Is there - is there a spell you could do? Something to make me forget, or - or hurt less?"

Dumbledore laid both hands on Remus's shoulders with a look of absolute sympathy. "There are spells and spells. But memory charms would have to root out every trace of Sirius, James, Lily, and Peter in your mind in order to be effective. Otherwise the memories would only come back in time. You would lose half your life. And your nights under the full moon should have taught you by now that the pain is part of the healing. It would be a grave disservice to those you love to forget them, or to feel their deaths any less deeply."

Remus closed his eyes. He knew Dumbledore was right. He could never forget. And in time, the pain would lessen.

"I wished I would die today, Professor," he admitted.

"I understand the feeling, lad," he sighed. "But you won't. Because one day, Harry will have questions. He'll need you. And you are the last one left who knew his parents well."

Dumbledore took an hourglass from his pocket then. It had purple sand which flowed up rather than down.

"Speaking of which," he continued, "I fear I must go now. I have to see Harry safely to his new home."

"Can't -" Remus cleared his throat. "Can't he come live with me?" he asked.

"I'm sorry, Remus, but no," Dumbledore said sadly. "I know you love him, but you'd be raising him by yourself. The Ministry would never allow a child to be placed with no other guardian but a werewolf. No, I'm sorry, but Harry is better off with his aunt and uncle. I have my own reasons for that, as well. Don't go looking for him. When he's old enough, he'll come to you."

Remus had nodded and Dumbledore went to stand in the centre of the room.

"Thank you, Professor. If there's ever anything I can do for Harry - or for you - please, let me know."

Dumbledore had given him a last sad smile before a tiny pop signaled his exit.

Sirius had gone to Azkaban. Remus had not been to see him.

The Ministry had called him in, time and again, with more questions. Sometimes exciting, new ones, but usually just the same ones over and over, searching for inconsistencies in his story. At last they had given up, disappointed that they could not seem to find anything incriminating on "Black's pet werewolf".

Once given permission to leave the city, he had sold the London flat and moved to a small, shabby house on the edge of a small, shabby city; the first of many such moves. It was difficult to find work as a known werewolf.

He stared down thoughtfully at his copy of the Daily Prophet again.

How a dozen years can change a man, he mused, and he did not mean only Sirius. Back then, I was hurt and angry enough that I would have set the Dementors on him myself. Why should I hate him less now? Why have I never been sure?

Emerging within him now was a new feeling overwhelming his doubt: curiosity. After a dozen years, Remus wanted to hear what Sirius had to say.