At home, Remus sat at the old kitchen table with a cup of tea while his mother prepared dinner. Rowena leaned heavily against the counter while her knives magically cut carrots, potatoes, and onions and sent them flying into the pot of boiling water for the soup. He sipped his tea slowly, and his grandfather's special combination of dark tea leaves and strange spices slipped over his tongue: slippery elm, cardamom, and several other exotic herbs he couldn't put a name to. Remus didn't know how his grandfather had concocted the blend; perhaps he had acquired the recipe during his years of travel when he was a young man. This afternoon, however, nothing tasted as it should. The spices seemed as if they had been left in a closet full of mothballs for months, and the china cup felt too smooth on his mouth. Remus found himself wishing for a nick on the edge of it so that his lip would have something to feel.

The house was muffled in quiet; yet every small sound seemed to declare itself, almost rudely. Clocks continued to tick as if nothing had happened. Floors creaked and protested with more vigor than usual, despite the fact that no one had asked their opinion about being walked on in the first place. Tree branches scratched at the roof and windows, although why they would want to get into a house of mourning Remus had no idea.

Remus and Rowena, who had exhausted all speculation about the deaths of the Lupins several hours ago, finally tired of the gloomy sitting room and shuffled, ghostlike, into the kitchen, which seemed marginally cheerier. Owen had gone this morning with Ministry of Magic officials to Jonathan and Margaret Lupin's house in Wales; he said he might or might not be back in time for dinner. Rowena and Remus had wanted to go with him to the house, but Owen had insisted that they stay at home. Remus guessed that his father hadn't wanted him to see the carnage there and had asked his wife to stay behind to be with Remus. Remus thought his father should have at least allowed Rowena to accompany him, but he didn't have the energy to be upset with him. He was in a daze, as if he were viewing his life from behind a gauzy veil. Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain, Remus thought wryly. Then he remembered that that was a line from the Muggle film, The Wizard of Oz, which he had seen as a boy with his grandmother Margaret. He blinked rapidly to stop the tears from coming and took several swigs of his hot tea. He didn't care if he scalded his throat.

Remus had wanted to help his mother prepare dinner; but her jaw was set in the manner that told him she needed to busy herself, so he kept out of the way. Another interminable hush stretched before Remus while his mother cooked. He had finally lost track of the number of mind-numbing silences that had crept through the house today. Somewhere around two o'clock this afternoon he had given up counting them and merely observed them, almost as a scientist who has already proven a dreadful hypothesis will read the published works of others and nod with satisfaction when they, too, confirm his theory. He took several more sips of tea, staring disconsolately around the darkening kitchen as the sun began to set. An orange glow splashed his mother's angular profile as he sat in stillness.

Suddenly there was a clatter at the window over the sink and Rowena shrieked. Remus leapt to his feet, spilling his tea, and drew his wand.

"It's all right," his mother sighed, smiling grimly as she placed one hand over her heart. She had drawn her wand, too, Remus noticed; now she replaced it in the pocket of her old yellow apron. "It's just an owl." She opened the window and retrieved several messages tied to its foot. She gave the bird a treat and it took off immediately, its brown wings beating lazily as it soared away from the house toward the low, golden sun.

Remus pocketed his wand and took a checkered towel from the kitchen drawer, the one that always squeaked when it was opened. Today the squeak sounded like the mew of a kitten. He wiped up his spilled tea slowly, automatically. He heard his mother put the messages on the table next to him. "These are all for you," she said quietly.

Remus stared at the scrolls of parchment. There were four of them. He recognized the writing of his three friends, but the writing on the fourth letter was not familiar. It must be Lily's writing, he thought, and his heart thudded. He hadn't thought to send her an owl after his parents came for him, but surely she would understand. He opened his friends' letters first.

Moony,

Dumbledore told us what happened. He said we are not to leave the school under any circumstances, so of course we will try to get out tonight and come see you. I'm really sorry to hear about your grandparents. Let us know what we can do to help.

Sirius

Remus smiled a little. He knew if anyone would break curfew, go to Hogsmeade, and Apparate from there, it would be Sirius. He opened the next letter.

Dear Remus,

I cannot believe what's happened! I hope you're all right! We're going to try to sneak out tonight, but if we can't then we will write to you every day. Hopefully you will be back soon. My condolences to your parents.

Sincerely,

Peter

Actually, Remus half-hoped that his friends would not visit him. He didn't think he would have anything to say to them, and there was no sense in their getting into trouble. Besides, strangely enough, he was getting used to the stillness and the solitude. He opened the third letter.

Moony,

I'm so sorry about what happened. I know you were close to your grandparents. I'm sure they put up a good fight. We will put up more than a good fight when we finish school, all of us. We're in this together. This will not stand.

Between Lily and me we've got your classes covered, so don't worry if you're not back by Monday. We'll get your assignments.

Courage,

Prongs

We, thought Remus. He pushed the thought away impatiently, although he was impressed that he had the emotional energy right now for petty, boyish jealousies. But then that strange fear started to knock at his heart again, the fear he had felt when he dreamed of James and Lily dancing together, frozen and waiting for the tune that never came. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, and the fear abated somewhat. He opened the last letter.

My dear Remus,

Words cannot express my sadness. I'm sure your grandparents must have been lovely people if they are related to you. I keep thinking of the poem you quoted for me, and I wish I could have met your grandmother.

Sirius and Peter want us all to come see you tonight, but I wonder if you'd rather be alone with your family. James thinks perhaps you need some space right now. Even so, we'll come see you if we can, and you can send us away if that would be best. But if we can't make it out, just know that we are thinking of you, and we'll be here when you get back.

I'm so sorry, Remus.

Love,

Lily

Love, thought Remus. He read Lily's letter twice more and then sat down at the table and gazed at the four letters while unwelcome fear clutched at his chest; he was beginning to decide he preferred numbness instead. He lifted his teacup to his lips before he remembered that he had spilled all the tea out of it moments ago, so he wiped his lips with the towel he had used to clean up the spill. The towel smelled of his mother's laundry and his grandfather's spices, so he quickly put it down again and put his hands in his lap, trying to will them to stop shaking.

Now the soup was cooking. With nothing more to do for the moment, Rowena sat across from Remus. Her reddened eyes were too much for Remus to bear, so he continued to stare at his letters.

"New friend?" his mother asked, indicating the letter from Lily lying on top of the stack.

Remus's brow twitched and he felt himself blushing. "Yeah," he mumbled. He cleared his throat and folded the letters, thrusting them into his back pocket. "Yeah."

"That's good." Rowena said nothing more, for which Remus was grateful. She buried her head in her hands, her dark hair falling over her eyes. Remus saw a tear fall from underneath the curtain of hair and splatter onto the thick oak table. "Why?" Rowena muttered for probably the fiftieth time today.

"I don't know," Remus responded again. His voice sounded like it was coming from somewhere outside himself.

"This is killing me," Rowena said, so softly that Remus barely heard it. He felt a dull anger toward his father for not allowing his wife to be by his side today, of all days.

All of a sudden his mother burst out of her chair and ran to the back door, flinging it open and calling her husband's name. Remus no longer wondered how his mother could hear Apparation and footsteps that no one else could; she had had this ability for as long as he could remember. Perhaps it was something one developed when one became a parent, or when one had lost someone dear. Rowena sobbed as Owen fell into her outstretched arms. Remus sat in silence, feeling like a spectator as his father cried and muttered into her hair. He wondered if he should go to his room. It felt strange being here at all, like he had left some key part of himself somewhere else. He stood up, went to the teakettle on the stove, and began making more tea. Surely someone would want some.

Eventually Owen gathered himself enough to come inside. A chill had seeped into the kitchen while the couple stood in the doorway, so Remus added another log to the fireplace. He stood leaning with one elbow on the wooden mantle over the hearth and watched his father pour himself a large glass of firewhiskey, an automatic motion Remus had seen time and time again since he was a child. Remus turned his gaze away. If there ever was an occasion for drinking, this was it.

His parents sat at the kitchen table. Remus turned the heat down on the bubbling soup and poured two cups of tea. He placed one in front of his mother and sat beside her, sipping from his own cup. His father was staring into his glass of firewhiskey; the half-empty bottle sat within arm's reach.

Owen took a deep breath and let it out in a long, shuddering sigh. "Well, it seems that the Death Eaters were looking for maps."

There was a moment of silence while Remus and his mother considered this news.

"How do you know?" Rowena asked gently.

"The invisible safe in the library was cracked open, and all the spells were broken. The maps were the only things missing from it. They wanted us to know what they were after."

Owen folded an arm across his chest and tucked the hand into his armpit, rubbing his upper lip with the other knuckle, just as Jonathan Lupin always did. Used to do, Remus reminded himself.

Remus spoke quickly, to distract himself from his emotion. "How important were these maps?"

"Well, fortunately, they were ones he had made as a young man, when he was first learning the trade. They charted mountain ranges and spans of wilderness, mostly in other countries, but a few here. He kept them for – for sentimental reasons." Owen coughed once and paused, his throat working. When he continued, his voice quivered for a moment. "There – there weren't any highly populated cities or towns on those maps. Some of Dad's better ones were bought by individuals, so those are long gone. Who knows where they are now. His best maps, thank Merlin, are still in Gringotts, under lock and key."

Remus couldn't help thinking that Voldemort would find the people who had bought his granddad's maps, no matter who or where they were. And even if these stolen maps seemed useless, Remus was certain that Voldemort would find some benefit in them. Perhaps giants dwelled in the mountain ranges; perhaps werewolves roamed the forests. There was no telling what usefulness the Dark Lord could glean from those maps, what people or creatures he could put under his command. Remus worried for the safety of anyone living in those mountain ranges, people he would probably never meet.

Rowena held Owen's hands across the table and another hush stole into the room. Remus stood up and brought the teakettle to refill his and his mother's cups.

"It's good to be home," Owen breathed, his wet eyes sweeping gratefully over his wife and his son. Remus managed a small smile. Suddenly, looking into his father's eyes, a flash of Legilimency showed him the Dark Mark over his grandparents' house, the slashed and crumpled bodies lying on the kitchen floor … and he saw something else.

The kettle dropped heavily onto the table.

He saw a younger Owen hovering outside the little classroom where he taught Muggle and wizarding science to young witches and wizards before they went off at age eleven to Hogwarts. Someone was threatening him, and this strange young man towered over his father. The man wore dark robes and his hands, with their dirty, yellowed fingernails, pointed and gestured. Remus could almost smell him, a dangerous, feral scent; but he couldn't see the man's face beneath its hood. The dark figure wanted Owen to teach him about crossbreeding, something Owen had studied under Rowena's parents for several years, something that wasn't entirely legal anymore. Owen protested that he only dealt with plants and Kneazles, nothing more. The hoarse voice insisted that Owen was more talented than he realized, that there was a higher calling in crossbreeding. Werewolves, Greyback rasped.

Remus felt his hand reach for the back of a chair to steady himself.

He saw Owen and Rowena racing to his own unconscious, bloody body beside the lake, firing spells after the fleeing werewolf, Fenrir Greyback. His mother's throaty screams pierced the still night air.

He saw his parents and himself huddled together at the funeral of Rowena's parents, the famous crossbreeders, who were killed less than a year after Remus was attacked. No one spoke about their deaths, not then, not now.

A cold sweat burst forth on Remus's forehead and his mouth went dry.

He felt the guilt his father silently carried inside him all these years – the anguish over the infection of his only son, the rage at the murders of his wife's parents, the fear he carried every waking moment, all brought on by his refusal of Greyback's monstrous request. It was his father's own despicable burden, soothed only by firewhiskey and his wife's gentle voice.

Remus saw the world go red and he fainted.

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When he awoke he was in his room, lying on top of the covers with a heavy quilt thrown over him. He remembered with a dull alarm that he had passed out in the kitchen; his parents must have Levitated him upstairs to his bed. He heard them now, shuffling about in the kitchen and speaking in hushed tones. There was the distant clatter and clink of dishes: his mother was probably bringing him food, the cure for everything.

The horrors of the day splashed over Remus like an icy wave. Owen's refusal to help Greyback had caused the werewolf to attack his only child. And Remus's mother's parents were murdered because of that same choice; perhaps Greyback had approached them with his abominable demand and they, too, had refused. Now Death Eaters had targeted his other set of grandparents and they were gone. There was practically no one left. Remus shuddered violently and pulled the quilt up to his chin. He didn't want to move, or to think. And yet his brain kept forcing images into his memory – Greyback's yellowed fingernails gesturing at his father, his grandparents' bodies lying like rag dolls on their sunny kitchen floor early this morning …

He stared at the ceiling, where a few Muggle toy planes from his childhood still hung from wires from the little nails his father had hammered into the plaster. Now, years later, tiny, hairline cracks spread from each nail toward the walls like a spider's web. Suddenly Remus wanted to rip all the airplanes down and toss them out the window; but he found he hadn't the energy, so he rolled over and stared at the cracked wall instead, trying to imagine what it would be like to disappear into it.

Footsteps climbed the narrow, carpeted stairs, passed the bathroom, and approached his small bedroom at the end of the hall; he heard his parents' voices more clearly now.

"He hasn't really eaten all day," Rowena murmured.

"Yes," Owen agreed hesitantly. "Yes, that's probably all it was."

Remus heard his parents enter his room and place a tray on the bedside table. He smelled his mother's soup and dutifully sat up. There was a cheese sandwich and a glass of milk next to the bowl of soup, the same foods Rowena used to make for him after a transformation. She had always insisted that good food would help him recover more easily.

Rowena settled on the bed facing Remus, and Owen pulled the rickety wooden chair from the corner and sat in it. To avoid their looks of concern, Remus immediately picked up the sandwich and began eating.

"Thanks, Mum," he mumbled with his mouth full.

"Feeling better?" His mother pushed Remus's hair out of his eyes, a familiar gesture that, oddly, did make him feel somewhat better.

"Yes," he assured her.

"You haven't fainted since you were a boy," Owen reminded him.

"Yeah, well." Remus chewed for a moment. "A lot has happened today." He glanced briefly at his father and offered a smile. "I'm okay. Really. Don't worry about me, Dad."

Remus felt his father's eyes piercing him, but he couldn't look at him again tonight. He had already seen more than enough, and he didn't trust his ability to keep the visions away just now.

"Someone from the Ministry is coming here by Floo in a bit with some more paperwork," Owen remarked with a sigh. "I should probably go downstairs to receive them."

"Go," Remus said gently, waving his hand at the door. "I'm fine, Dad. Promise."

Remus picked up the bowl of steaming soup and heard his father's chair scrape the floor as he stood and exited the room. Remus inhaled the comforting smell of tomatoes, garlic, onions, and all the other vegetables his mother had thrown into the pot. He sat up with his legs crossed and ate ravenously while his mother watched him.

"Go on, Mum," he muttered between bites. "Go wait with Dad. I'm all right now. I'll come down in a few minutes."

"Something's on your mind."

Remus stopped chewing. Of course she was right; she could always tell. But what good would come of confessing what he had seen? It would likely only cause his parents more grief if they knew that Remus had learned how Greyback had come to choose him. They blamed themselves for the attack, and they hadn't told Remus out of guilt. They had only told Remus who attacked him, but never why. But they couldn't have behaved any differently, Remus realized; they had to refuse Greyback's proposal. How many more people would be infected by now if Greyback were able to use some sort of mass crossbreeding in addition to individual werewolf attacks? And even if the crossbreeding experiments were unsuccessful, at best his father would have been under the mad werewolf's thumb even today; at worst, they would all be dead. His father had to refuse. And yet, his decision had brought a lifelong affliction to Remus and doom to both Rowena's parents. He wished there were a way he could relieve their guilt. There was nothing to forgive; he would make the same choice his parents had made if Greyback approached him now.

But he couldn't tell his mother that he knew.

"Nothing. It's just …" What could he say? "I can't believe they're gone." This, at least, was true; and he felt a stab in his heart as he said it. Remus steeled himself and looked into his mother's eyes. He often felt exposed when he looked directly into her face, as if she were seeing a werewolf instead of her own son, and he usually looked away quickly, as he did now. "Love you, Mum," he said, as offhandedly as he could.

"Love you, sweetheart," she replied, her eyes glistening. Unable to help herself, she pushed the hair away from his brow once more and stood to leave. "Come down when you're ready."

Remus watched her narrow back as she disappeared from the doorway. He looked down at his soup again, then delicately placed it back on the tray on the bedside table. He curled onto his side, pulled the quilt over his head, and buried his face in the pillow for several minutes until it was wet with tears.

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A/N: I've always wondered what on earth Remus's father could have done to "offend" Greyback, so here is my fanciful take on the matter! Thanks to everyone who has left such thoughtful reviews. This week's bribe to reviewers: There's a werewolf who needs to be coddled and comforted. Any takers?