As Professor Slughorn had suggested, Remus had donned his mahogany velvet dress robes, which were slightly less worn than his Prefect's robes. Being unfashionable didn't bother him, but he worried about his parents' ability to live well as they got older. His family, like the Greybacks and many others, had used much of their meager savings to pay renowned witches, wizards, and potions masters for research into a reversal or a cure. Not a one had been able to come up with more than a sleeping draught.

Remus stood in front of the mirror of the boys' bathroom and assessed his appearance, something he did very seldom; he preferred not to scrutinize the scars on his face too regularly. The last time he had spent any amount of time in front of a mirror was before last year's Yule dance in Hogsmeade. He had taken as his date Elphaba Carnes, a very straightforward Ravenclaw who was two years his senior. During a walk outside, she had commented on his "sensitive mouth," then had begun devouring as much of it as she could in a potent kiss. They had ended up snogging the rest of the evening against the wooden colonnades of a pergola. The romance had fizzled a few weeks afterwards when she realized that Remus wanted to spend his study hours actually studying, with dates reserved for the weekends.

Truthfully, if Remus were honest with himself, he hadn't really known what to do with her. She was older, and more experienced, he supposed; and, quite frankly, she frightened him a bit. And then there was the fact that he was a werewolf. He couldn't take the chance of her finding out – or, worse, getting hurt. In the long run, it was easier not to get involved.

Thinking of the Yule dance, he was reminded of Lily. James, of course, had asked her to go with him; but she had refused. Instead, she had gone with a chap named Xavier Rossi, a dark, brooding Ravenclaw whom Remus didn't know at all. The couple had sat at a table all night, never dancing, never holding hands, never even speaking, as far as he could tell. Lily seemed to be having such a horrible evening that when James had asked Lily to dance, she had agreed – to the rage of James's Hufflepuff date, Luisa Bainbridge, who, fully aware of James's crush, had stormed out of the Hogsmeade Town Hall with two friends. Remus never knew how this story panned out; to his relief, this was the precise moment when Elphie had invited Remus to take a stroll on the grounds, and she had managed to distract him from thoughts of Lily and James rather nicely.

Suddenly, a fantasy of kissing Lily against the colonnade burst into his head. These thoughts had been happening more and more often lately, for some reason. He had to make a conscious effort to stay away from her, he resolved for the hundredth time.

But still he found himself leaning towards the mirror, trying to observe what Lily might see if she were to look that closely at him. His skin was a bit too pale, and of course there were the scars over his left eyebrow, on his left cheek, and above his lip. His hair, a warm shade of light brown, was reasonable enough, he decided. Was that a grey hair? He pulled on it to examine it more closely and, confirming that it was indeed grey, smoothed it back down with the rest, deciding to ignore it. His nose was a little large; but, nevertheless, it had a sensible, nearly Romanesque profile as he turned his head to one side and the other. His lips were indeed rather sculpted, as Elphaba had pointed out, and not too shabby, he thought. Over the past year he had noticed a few wrinkles around his eyes, which he chalked up to the physical toll of the monthly transformation. In his eyes, flecks of many colors burst outward from his pupils. Sometimes they appeared blue, or brown, or grey; "hazel" his mother had once said, but he wasn't so sure. Would Lily like looking into them? Upon closer inspection of his irises, he saw the golden ring encircling each pupil; it looked as if there was a solar eclipse occurring in each of his eyes.

"Oy, Moony!" James burst into the bathroom and smacked Remus good-naturedly on the back of the head, making Remus nearly knock his forehead into the mirror. "Still waiting for that beard to grow?"

"Ha ha, no," Remus retorted, backing guiltily away from the mirror and straightening his robes. Remus had finally told James and Sirius in detail about his upcoming meeting with Adelaide Honeyduke, and James leaned against a sink and surveyed him approvingly. He still hadn't seen Peter to tell him.

"Listen, mate, I've been looking for Peter for two days," James said, almost as if he could read Remus's mind, "but I haven't seen him outside of class. What's he been up to?"

"No idea. I haven't seen him either," replied Remus. "Girlfriend?"

James stared at Remus as if he had just sprouted six extra arms. "Peter? With a girl?" He burst into throaty laughter. "I admit that the possibility had never occurred to me," James snorted. His cackling echoed on the stone walls and the porcelain fixtures. "Wow, wouldn't that be something? Wormtail gets some action, at last – "

Suddenly Remus was angry. "Don't you think he deserves a girlfriend, just like anyone else?" he demanded, wanting the laughter to stop. James only laughed harder. "Ridiculous," Remus muttered, feeling quite put out for some reason. He turned on his heel to leave the bathroom.

"No, no, wait," James sputtered, jogging in front of him. "I need to talk to him. Sirius and I have got something in the works – "

Remus exploded, advancing on James. "Bloody hell, didn't you do enough to Severus before Christmas holiday? If he's involved with the Death Eaters, there's not a thing we can do to stop it. What's it going to take for you two to grow up?"

James was so taken aback by Remus's uncharacteristic outburst that he stopped talking at once. The two stared at each other for several moments, Remus breathing rather heavily.

"Remus, we're not going to do anything to him," James said quietly, rationally. "I told you on the train, mate – and a promise is a promise. Sirius has learned his lesson. And frankly, I have no desire to step anywhere near the greasy git anymore. I don't want to get expelled, with only one more year to go."

Remus, relieved though he was that Severus wasn't about to be tormented again, was only slightly mollified. He shoved past James and headed toward the stairs, muttering over his shoulder, "Whatever it is, leave me out."

He didn't wait for James to protest as he let the door slam behind him.

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Professor Slughorn's rooms were an uncanny display of opulence and public relations. Remus had never seen so many photographs of famous witches and wizards in one place; they were hung floor to ceiling on each of the walls of the sitting room. In many of the photos, a miniature Slughorn winked as he shook hands with the famous (or infamous) party next to him. Beneath each photo was a small caption educating the reader about the event depicted. If Remus lingered too long over any photo, the miniature Slughorn in the photo would begin talking about the occasion in more detail. Remus quickly learned to keep moving.

Never having had any real experience with small talk, or "networking," as some called it, Remus stuck to the fringes of the room with his glass of pumpkin juice, chatting with the odd person who made his or her way toward the photos, watching the goings on, and waiting for the appropriate moment to speak with Slughorn about Madam Honeyduke. He was fairly certain he had not spotted her yet; she was supposed to be very old. There were several witches and wizards that he didn't know in the sitting room, as well as a few junior faculty members he recognized. He saw several Slytherins, two Ravenclaws, and no Hufflepuffs. Remus was the only Gryffindor in the room, and he didn't know the other students very well. As he scanned the room, he saw a small, chubby boy enter – Peter! He was looking a bit bewildered and searching the room, probably looking for a familiar face. Remus immediately approached him.

"Oh! Hello, Remus," Peter grinned. "I didn't know you were going to be here."

"We haven't talked for a couple of days," Remus replied. He didn't want to discuss his reasons for being here just now, in case someone were to overhear them. "James was looking for you tonight, for some prank he's planning. Where have you been?"

"Oh, here and there," Peter blushed. Then he leaned forward and whispered importantly, "Actually, I've been helping Professor Slughorn clean out the cabinets in his classroom. There's some pretty dangerous stuff in there."

So that was how Peter had gotten an invitation. Remus smiled and ushered Peter toward the drinks table. Peter took a butterbeer for himself and surveyed the milling guests. At that moment, Slughorn made his way across the room toward them. Peter's face lit up, but it was Remus's hand that Slughorn shook first when he reached them.

"Ah, Mister Lupin! Mister Pettigrew! So glad you joined us," the professor gushed. "Mister Lupin, I promised I would introduce you to Madam Honeyduke. This way, please. Follow me, follow me …"

Remus looked back at Peter and shrugged as Slughorn ushered him away, and he saw the smile drop from Peter's round face.

Professor Slughorn steered Remus toward a small, round table in a shadowy corner of the room. The dark wooden surface of the table was accented with lighter wood inlaid in the design of an astrological chart. On it was a small wine bottle and an empty goblet. In the center of the table a burgundy candle glimmered. Two high-backed chairs upholstered in a lush, midnight blue flanked the table. In one of the chairs, holding a large goblet of dark red wine, sat a very striking witch.

This couldn't be Madam Honeyduke; the woman appeared to be in her mid-forties. She had thick, jet-black hair, which was tied back with a strip of purple cloth, and her large black eyes were lined heavily with black kohl in the style of the traveling fortune tellers Remus had seen when he was a young boy. She had painted her thin lips a deep crimson; and when he approached she smiled, revealing long, straight teeth. Flowing robes in layers of black and indigo made it difficult to tell where her body actually was beneath all the fabric. Many silver rings adorned her long fingers, and there was a heavy silver necklace around her neck. Each earlobe had three long, silver hoops dangling from it.

Remus was utterly flummoxed.

"Madam Adelaide Honeyduke, meet Mister Remus Lupin," Professor Slughorn bowed obsequiously, gesturing toward his student.

"Greetings, Mister Lupin." Madam Honeyduke smiled, offering her hand palm down, as if Remus should kiss it. The voice was deeper and more resonant than he expected from such a small lady. Her assessment of him was intense as her dark, glittering eyes flitted across his face.

"Hello, Madam Honeyduke. P-pleased to meet you," Remus stammered, taking her hand and shaking it as matter-of-factly as he could manage. Her hand was cold and dry, and the skin felt strangely papery.

"As I mentioned to you yesterday, Madam Honeyduke," Slughorn went on, "Mister Lupin has expressed an interest in research for a cure for the bite of a werewolf. He's quite curious about what your family was able to accomplish."

Madam Honeyduke smiled again toothily at Remus.

"I'll leave you to it, then. Perhaps I'll fetch the chocolates you brought and place them with the other desserts. Or perhaps I'll keep them all to myself," Slughorn chuckled, taking his leave.

"Please, sit," Madam Honeyduke offered, smiling.

"Thank you." Remus placed his glass of pumpkin juice on the table next to the wine bottle and settled into his chair.

"Well, Remus," Madam Honeyduke purred, "what can I tell you?"

Remus had hoped to ease into the conversation, rather than simply jumping headlong into it. He folded his hands in his lap. "Er, let me say first that I in no way want to discuss a topic that would be painful for you –"

"Nonsense," she interrupted. "You are here for information."

Remus didn't know what to say. She blinked her large eyes at him and suddenly smiled again, showing him those abnormally long teeth. He noticed they were a bit yellow.

"At my age, I don't waste time with prologues," she explained.

Remus realized that he would have to get used to her candor, and quickly. "Sounds like a wise plan for anyone," he commented.

She gazed at him and took a sip of her dark wine. They stared at each other for a moment. Finally she raised her dark eyebrows at Remus.

"Oh! Right. Well, then," he sputtered. "Erm, I've looked into what history I can find about lycanthropy, and the attempts to find antidotes or remedies. From what I can tell, the Greybacks invested quite a bit of effort –"

"And money," Madam Honeyduke interjected.

"Er, yes," he blushed, "into the search for a cure. But strangely enough, there is no written record of what they attempted in any of the research journals. No one wrote about it, no one talked about it. I don't even know which witches or wizards were involved in the process."

Madam Honeyduke appraised Remus with a gleam in her eyes. "Very astute," she said simply.

Remus returned her gaze, waiting for more. When it became apparent that no further comment was forthcoming, he inquired, "May I ask why?"

"Yes, and you should," she replied, sipping her wine, her dark eyes never leaving his.

Another moment of silence ensued, during which Remus began to wonder why he had bothered to come visit this strange lady.

"Do you read the Quibbler?" she asked abruptly.

Remus groaned inwardly; but, blinking several times, he managed to keep his expression neutral. "No, ma'am, I can't say that I do."

"The old Quibbler was a bit more reliable than the current issues," Madam Honeyduke opined. "It might be worth your while to peruse some back issues."

"Thank you," he said, wishing fervently that he could extricate himself from this bizarre conversation.

"Now I have a question for you, young man," Madam Honeyduke whispered, leaning toward him. Remus leaned forward so that he could hear her. He smelled sour breath and spotted silver streaks throughout her hair.

Finally he saw, all at once in the dim candlelight, the hundreds of wrinkles on her waxen face.

"Why are you here?" she croaked.

Her eyes suddenly looked both desperate and threatening, and Remus felt compelled to run. But something told him that now, at last, he was getting somewhere.

"You know why," he whispered back, returning her look with one that he hoped was as bold and frightening, not caring what she would make of his reply. The words crossed his lips before he had time to consider them.

Her eyes bored into him for several seconds and, for a time, the noise in the rest of the room seemed to disappear. Then quickly she leaned back and, in a perfectly natural voice, said, "Have a drink." She poured from the little bottle into the other goblet and handed it to Remus.

His fingers closed on it before he could think properly. The musky, nutmeg scent rising from the goblet was irresistible, and he felt saliva bursting forth inside his mouth. Remus kept his eyes on her and took a sip of something acrid and pungent. It was at once the most wonderful thing he had ever tasted and the most horrid. His thoughts immediately became dim and confused; he couldn't seem to formulate a sentence. Licking his lips, still trying to find words, any words, he forced himself to set down the goblet … and suddenly felt a rush of blood to his extremities, a surge of adrenaline such as he'd never felt before. At the same moment he felt bile rising in his throat; he nearly retched, and came close to toppling out of his chair. Everything, everyone in the room seemed more vivid, more fleshy, more … vulnerable. He could see where veins lay defenseless under skin, inferior blood coursing beneath tender human hides. He heard sounds he had never heard in the past: the scratching and tittering of rodents in the walls; the inconsequential conversations of students in their Common Rooms, although he could no longer understand the language, and no longer cared to; the thudding of hundreds of heartbeats, deafeningly insistent in their regularity, begging to be silenced. His own body felt larger, more powerful and defined; and every millimeter of his skin that touched cushion, wood, or clothing ached to feel the wind instead. Muscles cried out to be flexed and stretched … and yet he remained where he was. Scents began to declare themselves inside his nostrils; he began to salivate, wanting to devour each and every thing from which such titillating odors emanated. He was filled with an overwhelming impulse to run, to strike, to slash, to bite. Everyone was only an arm's reach away, baiting him, flesh waiting to be torn. And still, somehow, he remained. His eyes darted around and he gripped the arms of the chair to keep from leaping up in a frenzy. A groan escaped his lips as he struggled, through what seemed like minutes, to maintain control.

Suddenly the woman was forcing Remus to drink something bitter from a flask she produced from her robes. The effect was instantaneous, and he felt his rapid heartbeat slowing, his breathing returning to normal, his hands loosening from the chair. He looked around the room; thankfully, no one seemed to have noticed a thing. Remus glared at the witch in disbelief. What had she given him? Why had he taken it so blithely?

"The goblet held a concoction containing, among other things, human blood," she smiled, watching him with what appeared to be satisfaction.

Remus's stomach heaved. He leapt to his feet and backed away from her, unable to comprehend what he was hearing. His hands found the wall and he began edging away from the old woman watching him inquisitively from her chair.

"Don't you want to know what was in the flask?" she asked quietly.

Remus froze. He couldn't decide what was more dangerous – sitting with a woman who had given him such an enticing, sinister potion, or leaving without knowing what the antidote had been. Slowly, he approached the chair and sat down again, trying to steady his shaking hands.

"How dare you – " Remus began, his voice quivering.

"Haven't you always wondered what it was like when you were in your werewolf state?" Madam Honeyduke asked curiously.

Remus felt all the air leave the room. "Wh-what did you say?"

"If you had been, pardon me, a regular human, the potion would have had no effect on you whatsoever. But you managed to hold yourself in check longer than any werewolf I've ever seen, even the oldest ones. Don't worry. I wouldn't have let you make a scene; it's not my style, as the young people say. I do hope you will forgive me. When Horace told me someone wanted to speak with me about a cure for lycanthropy, I had my suspicions – not many people are as interested in a cure as you and I. But someone – Headmaster Dumbledore, I suspect – has had your Ministry of Magic Werewolf Registry records sealed during your time here at Hogwarts, presumably to protect you from nosy parents. I had to see why I should share the secrets of my family with you. I trust you understand."

Remus was speechless.

"I must say you carry yourself quite well, for a werewolf. And I've met quite a few," she added, almost sadly.

"Madam Honeyduke," Remus whispered hoarsely, finding his words at last, "what did you give me?" He was unable to tear his eyes away from her now, however much he might try.

"The latest research, my dear boy," she replied, with no trace of a smile now. Her face looked old and haggard in the flickering light. How could he have thought she was so young?

"And no," she went on, "we haven't had it published. The first potion I gave you is merely, shall we say, a truth serum for those we suspect might be werewolves. We're calling it Lycanthromorphus. If I hadn't given you the antidote, you might have tried to attack someone. But you wouldn't have transformed."

"And the antidote?" Remus prodded.

"Ah, the antidote," she sighed. "The antidote is not quite the antidote for which you had hoped. It can bring you out of the primitive state you entered when you drank the Lycanthromorphus. But it is too weak to counteract the strength of an actual transformation at full moon. We call this potion Wolfsbane, because that is the key ingredient. But we haven't yet found the right combination of elements."

"Who is we?" he asked.

"Why, the Greyback and Honeyduke family trust, of course. We have all the best potions masters working for us. I would think you'd have guessed that we were still looking for a cure, especially since it was Fenrir who attacked you."

Remus was shocked again. "But how did you know –"

"Fenrir's signature," she muttered, tracing the scars on the left side of Remus's face with a cool, tender hand. The look in her eyes was one of intense remorse.

Remus felt suddenly emotional and turned away, watching the people milling about Slughorn's sitting room – people that, moments ago, he had wanted to rip to shreds. He slouched in his chair, feeling as if someone had kicked him in the chest.

"I will tell you what I know, if you are still interested," Madam Honeyduke said in a strangely gentle voice.

Remus slowly turned his gaze toward her, feeling the flickering candlelight warming his face. "How can I refuse?" he murmured.

Madam Honeyduke took a long sip of her wine, which Remus now realized was not the same liquid that she had poured him from the small bottle. She settled back in her chair and heaved a long, rattling sigh.

"Armand and Lavinia had tried for many years to have a child," she began, resting her head back against the chair. "They spoke to seers, healers, and potions masters of varying authenticity to help them with their problem. They even visited some Muggle doctors for a time. Their house was full of amulets and all sorts of devices and potions that were supposed to increase their fertility. They even had some items that simply predicted whether or not they would have a child. Everything confirmed that they would indeed have one child, eventually. But, as they grew older, they became impatient. They sought the help of a Dark wizard and conceived immediately. Lavinia gave birth to a boy."

"Fenrir," Remus breathed.

"Yes. But the Dark wizard had put an unfathomable price on his services. He wanted the child to be given back to him when he was seven years old. If the parents broke the contract, a horrible tragedy would befall them all. When the time came, Armand and Lavinia naturally refused to give the boy up. They went into hiding in a cottage deep inside a forest. No one, not even the rest of the family, knew where the three had gone. Then one day, about six months after they disappeared, they returned to their manor without a word. Fenrir was very ill; clearly, a werewolf had bitten him. The Dark wizard had found them and had had one of his minions attack the boy."

Remus shivered. He couldn't imagine the beast that had attacked him ever having been a small boy.

"The Greybacks then focused all their energy on trying to find a cure for Fenrir. You already know that they hired the best potions masters money could buy. And you would think they had learned their lesson about dabbling in Dark magic. But they were desperate. They tried everything, and they tried it all on their son – against the advice of the rest of the family. The three secluded themselves inside the manor, refusing to see all but the closest family members. Over time, Fenrir became more and more withdrawn from his parents, preferring to spend time in the woods by himself. And eventually he never came home at all. The last time I saw him he was seventeen. He barely looked human."

Madam Honeyduke's eyes were wet, and she was silent for a moment. "I don't have to tell you that ours is a prominent family. It simply wouldn't do to let it be known that the family was falling apart, that Fenrir was slowly and certainly turning into something – something other than human. And that his parents had very probably pushed him into the creature he was becoming. It was our job to pretend to the public that everything was fine at home. It was the Honeydukes who gave reports to the press when Armand and Lavinia were killed."

"Then it – it wasn't a robbery?" Remus felt his chest tightening.

Madam Honeyduke sighed and looked at Remus sadly. "No, my boy," she whispered. "It wasn't a robbery." She took a long sip of wine and set the goblet down on the table with a soft thunk. "It was Fenrir."

Remus's head was reeling. Fenrir had murdered his own parents, then disappeared from the world of men forever. There was another question niggling the back of his mind, one he needed answered.

"Who was the Dark wizard? The one the Greybacks hired to help them have a baby?"

Madam Honeyduke's eyes glittered in the candlelight. Was that fear he saw? "Someone you have probably heard of by now; he has become more famous of late. His name then was Tom Riddle."

"Voldemort," whispered Remus.

Madam Honeyduke nodded. "Who knows what Riddle had planned for the boy when he turned seven. But I have no doubt he is making use of him now, perhaps in a different way than he had intended."

Remus had to know. He leaned toward her and asked, "Why are you telling me this?"

Madam Honeyduke looked at Remus for several moments. Finally she leaned forward and said in a whisper, "You might not know it to look at me, but I won't live forever – despite popular opinion to the contrary. Someone needed to know. Someone who might eventually be able to do something about all this. I have it on good faith that you're the one."

"But how –"

"You'll know when the time comes," she smiled. "Don't worry. You've got plenty of time to mull this over." And she winked at him.

Remus stared at her, his thoughts a whirl. He looked away and saw some of the last of Slughorn's guests being escorted to the door. Madam Honeyduke stood up unsteadily, her knees cracking. Remus rose with her, lost for words. The two studied each other for a moment, then she produced a small package from her robes and gave it to Remus.

"Have some chocolate. You'll feel better."