Remus stole through the Forbidden Forest silently. It was a bit warmer today, although still cold; the sky was pale blue with a few plump clouds dotting the sky. He cast a warming charm on his cloak as he walked, then pocketed his wand, wrapped his scarf around his neck, and pulled on his gloves. It had been five days since his last transformation, and he was just beginning to feel like himself again. He felt blood coursing into his muscles as he walked, loosening them up; and the cold air felt good against his cheeks.

It was March tenth, and he was seventeen years old today. Fortunately, James, Sirius, and Peter hadn't attempted any practical jokes at breakfast or lunch today due to the fact that the three were frantically finishing a huge assignment for Defense Against the Dark Arts, four feet of parchment on dementors and Patronus Charms. Remus had eaten his meals leisurely and chuckled at the cursing and scribbling going on around him, answering the questions they hurled at him but trying not to make it too easy for them. They should have done the assignment over the weekend, but they didn't need him to tell them that. Remus always tried to finish his homework ahead of time whenever a transformation loomed ahead; he never knew how he was going to feel afterwards, so it made sense to work harder on the days leading up to the full moon. His friends knew the reason he planned his schedule this way, but it didn't stop them from cursing at him when he got to relax while they panicked over assignments left too late.

Now, after classes, Remus headed alone to one of his favorite spots near Hogwarts. It was a mound of earth the size of a small hill inside the forest, and not many people knew about it. Hagrid had told him that a dragon had been killed and buried there long ago, which explained why the earth was warmer there than on the forest floor. He climbed the mound, and soon he stood on the low summit. The trees around him were short in this part of the forest, and he could almost see the astronomy tower at Hogwarts. He turned around and looked toward the rest of the forest. It was quiet today, and the trees rustled gently in the soft breeze.

He lay down on the ground, placing his gloved hands behind his head as a pillow. From his prone position, he could squint so that the trees on the outskirts of the hill seemed to disappear. He could pretend that he was lying in a vast nothingness, just him and sky and clouds. It was rather a pleasant sensation, although his friends would accuse him of being melancholy. That was probably why he had never brought them here; he wanted this place for himself alone.

Remus stared at a cloud and reflected on the last ten years of his life. Ten years of lycanthropy. Ten years. Over a hundred transformations. Sometimes he was astonished that he was still alive. His life seemed abruptly divided between the time before he was bitten and the time since. He could hardly remember what it was like to be carefree, to sleep easily, to laugh without self-consciousness, to have no dark secrets. There was a third milestone in his life, though, when he met his friends here at Hogwarts. They had encouraged him once more to cut loose, to trust, to make fun of himself. Sometimes it worked, and he loved them for trying.

Remus closed his eyes. The heat from the earth beneath him was beginning to warm him up, although it was odd to think of lying on top of a dragon's bones. At one time, that majestic creature had flown above Hogsmeade, hurling fire onto crops and houses, terrorizing the villagers, roasting powerful wizards alive. Now its carcass provided warmth to a gloomy teenaged werewolf. Suddenly a memory burst into his mind of watching television with his grandmother in America during one of his family's many trips outside of England to find a cure. His parents and grandfather had been out, visiting with the shaman of the Native American tribe they were visiting. It was Saturday morning, and there was an old 1950s Bugs Bunny cartoon showing on a dilapidated television set in the small kitchen. Bugs had just met a character called the Tasmanian Devil who whirled and spat and ate and destroyed. All Remus could remember now was one line, spoken by the Tasmanian Devil: "What for you bury me in the cold, cold ground?" His grandmother had hooted with laughter at the character's eloquence and poetry, but Remus had felt sorry for the beast. The Devil couldn't control what he was. Could he?

"Hi, Remus."

His eyes flew open and he sat up. Lily. How did she know about this place? Bundled in her cloak, she traipsed up the hill and sat down next to him, breathing hard. His heart had begun its ridiculous hammering again; he wished he could rip it out and hurl it over the treetops. He should probably head back to school this instant. But before he could find a polite reason to go, Lily had reclined on her elbows, looking up at the sky. He saw clouds reflected in her clear eyes and suddenly he thought better of leaving.

"What were you dreaming about?" she asked, still gazing upward.

Remus smiled at her odd question. "My grandmother," he answered truthfully, wanting, in spite of his better judgment, to be near her. "She would love this place."

"Yeah?" Lily turned so that she was leaning on one elbow, her cheek resting in her hand.

"Yeah," Remus replied, hardly hearing his own voice as he looked into her eyes. Just keep talking, he thought. "She's traveled nearly everywhere with Granddad. But her favorite spots are ones where there are no people, where you can just sit and 'reflect on your own insignificance within the hugeness of nature,' as she likes to say." He managed a pretty accurate imitation of her sweeping, dramatic voice, if he did say so himself.

"I'll bet she'd love knowing that there's a dragon just underneath us."

Remus lay down on his side and rested his head on his fist, facing Lily. "Hagrid told you, too?"

Lily nodded and looked downward, picking at some dead grass. "This is one of my favorite spots to come and think about things. I sort of feel like the dragon is protecting me here."

Remus felt strangely moved by this confession. He spoke rapidly to cover his emotion. "My grandmother would probably go mental if she knew there was a dragon inside this hill. She's a Muggle."

"Really?" Lily's face lit up.

"But she'd love the view from here, dragon or no," Remus amended, lying on his back once more. "If you screw up your eyes you can pretend you're floating in the sky."

Lily joined him, lying flat on the ground. He didn't see her squint, but he knew that must be what she was doing. "You're right," she said softly.

The two were quiet for several minutes. He became acutely aware of her hand inches from his, her body being warmed by the same earth on which he lay. He closed his eyes, trying to work up the willpower and the excuse to leave before he lost all common sense and threw himself on Lily's body.

"Why don't you show your grandmother this place?" Lily offered. "What do you think she'd say if you brought her up here?"

Remus thought for a moment, a smile forming on his lips. "I will be the gladdest thing."

Lily propped herself on her elbow again and faced him. "What's that?"

"Edna St. Vincent Millay. My grandmother loves poetry." Remus gazed into the sky, determined not to look at Lily if he could possibly help it.

"Can you remember the whole thing?" Lily asked.

Of course he could. He recited it quietly, still not looking at her. "I will be the gladdest thing under the sun, I will touch a hundred flowers and not pick one. I will look at cliffs and clouds with quiet eyes, watch the wind bow down the grass, and the grass rise. And when lights begin to show up from the town, I will mark which must be mine and then start down."

Lily was silent for so long that finally, out of curiosity, he had to look at her. He buttressed himself on his elbow, turning his body towards her again. Her eyes were wet and she was smiling. Oh, no, he thought. This is bad, this is bad, this is bad. Never quote poetry to Lily ever again. He took off a glove and, with the backs of his fingertips, wiped a tear from her pale cheek, even though he really knew better. His hand suddenly ached for more, so he immediately put his woolen glove back on.

"Remus Lupin, undercover poet," she declared. She blinked and the tears were gone, but the smile remained. Her gaze danced over his eyes and lips, and his pounding heart felt close to leaping from his chest. He smiled back at her, wanting and not wanting this moment etched in his memory forever: Lily with bits of grass in her hair, Lily gazing only at him, Lily waiting (was she?) for him to kiss her. He could imagine himself leaning into her now, tasting her smile with his own, his fingers memorizing the cool smoothness of her cheek, the warmth of her neck underneath her hair. If she were any other girl, he could close the distance between their faces and kiss her. It would be perfect.

"Poet, indeed. You've found me out," he said, trying to make his voice sound light as he forced himself to stand. His feet, those trusty soldiers, carried his protesting body down the hill. "Just don't tell anyone," he called over his shoulder, too miserable to congratulate himself for his moral fortitude.

He didn't allow himself to look back to see if she was disappointed.

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A/N: The poem is "Afternoon on a Hill" by Edna St. Vincent Millay