Chapter 5
"I walk a lonely road, the only road that I have ever known."
Green Day – Boulevard of Broken Dreams

Tiny sparkles, like the spray of the ocean surf, reflected in the deep purple of the coming night. Harry loved it up here, sprawled out, alone and quiet on his building's roof, set on the edge of the city. On some evenings when the air swelled a little thicker or perhaps the Muggle electricity grew a tad dim, the lights from the city seemed faint, almost muted, and the stars stood out in vibrant contrast against the expanse of the universe.

Harry cherished the night, a veiled realm where he didn't have to put on a face, had nobody to impress, nobody to report to. He felt insignificant, yet at peace. It was the velvet darkness and himself. No lies to tell and no expectations he would fail to live up to. The night demanded nothing.

With a twitch of his will, Harry built up the shadows. The last trace of light faded and the utter blackness, magically untouched by the city lights, embraced the young man and he sighed in peace.

He had plenty to ruminate over tonight. The three of them left for Hermione's flat after Draco dropped his little bomb at their feet, leaving Crookshanks behind to watch over their friend. They scrutinized the scroll, both magically and physically, and found no traps hidden within.

The information, now that was another story. Could it be anything but lies? Some false message left behind to tempt them; a cryptic note that hinted at much but illuminated nothing. Did it really come from their cherished friend or was it all part of one of Malfoy's sick games?

As the three unraveled the lengthy roll of paper, Harry's eyes jumped over the page. The writing was in neat, precise print. It was Hermione's, in full, living colour as if she'd just jotted down a note to Harry, Ron and Remus and it wasn't some final hint calling out from beyond a comatose grave.

…it just doesn't add up.

Perhaps my old contact could shed some light on this new development. M seems to think it might have something to do with her old alliances, though her proof was thin at best.

After further tests I still cannot determine what has happened to her magical stability. It seems to fluctuate and I have not yet found a pattern. It has nothing to do with anything naturally physical such as her hormone levels, the food she has eaten or her daily activities. This curse is old. I believe with enough study I can prove that it is far older than even our current form of Magic. It fascinates me, though I worry for M's declining health.

I want to bring in Harry, but she won't trust anyone else. If I can get some information from my old contact, perhaps I can develop a case to earn M's trust. I hope he will answer my request. I hope I can find him, for that matter.

Other avenues: Check into ancient artefacts. Perhaps talk to Arbormore at the Museum in Cairo; see if Bill can help with that. Go to Hogwarts and review the Restricted Section again, I might have missed something. Speak to Hexine to see if she is aware of this type of deep magic.

My next course of action is to start developing my own…

"That's it?" Ron had whinged.

Harry didn't disagree, and now as he sat on the roof, enveloped in complete dark, he admitted his own frustration. They had many possibilities to check out, but which ones should they try first and was this really, truly something from Hermione's own hand?

He didn't think that Malfoy would be sadistic enough to taunt them with this hope, but then who was he kidding? Did he even remember the git back in school? It was amazing how just a few years skewed perception and muddled old hatreds. Malfoy used to torment Harry and his friends. He would purposefully get them into trouble, not to mention Umbridge's little Inquisitorial Squad where Malfoy docked points from anyone for anything, including Hermione for being a Muggle-born. How could he trust him?

The truth became evident. He didn't. But he had to do what he could for Hermione, even if it meant playing this dangerous game with Malfoy.

The grit and gravel on the roof dug into Harry's shoulders and the back of his head where he lay out flat on the rough surface, but he paid it little attention. It was the emptiness he focused on, within and without.

Strong hands, normally sturdy in action, shook as they reached down to cradle the glassy ball between them. The man suddenly felt whole, complete like nothing he could even comprehend before he discovered the orb. Looking deep into the swirling mass of colours within, the man lost himself. Nothing else mattered but the orb and its blaze of power.

Yes, my wizard. Feel the power. All of it yours. More of it to be yours. Obey your promise. Obey the promise you made to me, wizard.

The man continued to stare into the crystalline sphere settled between his palms, no emotions on his face, only a thin line of silver drool trailing down his chin.

Remus felt like utter shite. Every bone, every sinew and muscle in his body ached from being ripped apart and rebuilt twice in one night. His body couldn't take this anymore. He didn't know how long he was going to last. Each transformation became harder and harder to shake off, the wolf holding more and more control even after the moon's light faded away. Did werewolves eventually become frozen in their canine form? He hadn't uncovered such a horror in any of his research, but most werewolves didn't live that long either. Without dwelling too much, he let his mind briefly acknowledge how easy things had been with the Wolfsbane Potion. But the only man who could brew it was dead, so it was a wasted effort to even think about such things.

And sometimes, niggling in the back of his brain, he wished he could just stay the wolf. Run free, away from his pointless life; die in some horribly, fantastic way, just like Sirius did, just like his friend would have wanted for Remus. None of this rotting away business. None of this shadow of an existence.

But the responsible core of Remus would never allow that. He would end his own life before the wolf took hold of the reins, ruling him in complete abandon. The thought of infecting another caused belly cramps and increased the blood pulsing in his temples. His only true fear.

His employer at Blumgeower Books, an old wizard named "Toots" Tulain, let him have the full moon off no matter where it fell in his regular schedule, but the day after wasn't a guarantee.

The morning was cold and faint, edging towards the shortest day of the year, and though he diligently opened the shop at 7 am sharp, he didn't receive a customer until 9:15. During the first two hours Remus just sat there, still and empty, sipping cold tea laced with a pain killing draught and trying to forget the hurting. He wished he were with Harry, working on unlocking the other scrolls in Hermione's home, or even out with Ron in Mexico, striving to take in the dark wizard. But he was at Blumgeower instead. Warming a chair with his half dead body, taking up space just in case a customer came by, alive and functioning only during those few moments where the patron either scans a few rows of books and leaves disgusted or finds some random text and buys it out of pity for the sorry man waiting behind the counter.

He lived as a shadow, only active in the activity of others.

While he hated his job and he hated the books surrounding him, moldy and speaking only dead words, his hidden self knew if he did not have Blumgeower he would have already dried up and blown away in gloomy winds, succumbing to the constant whispers he thought he could hear when the air rustled from some unknown origin. Sometimes he would strain to listen to the words, but they were never clear, and eventually he gave up, sure it was only his addled brain, twisted with grief. They were always stronger during the full moon, and they kept getting stronger over these past few months. Remus knew it was proof of his slipping sanity.

He pulled a flask out from under the counter and took a swig, chasing the sorrow away, making the shadows retreat.

With the sound of the door opening, he quickly returned the flask and appeared attentive as a small mob of red-robed Aurors walked in.

Remus sighed. While the Aurors hadn't bothered him much in recent years, some would come in to poke sticks at the tame werewolf from time to time. Harry and Tonks often spoke for him and his lack of trouble making seemed to waive these little social visits, but Tonks had been gone for years and now Harry could offer no more help either.

Sirius would have blown up with indignation for him, he knew. He tried to do his best to watch out for Remus, even leaving him everything in the will. But Remus' status as a werewolf disallowed him the honour of inheriting the Black holdings, so they went to Harry. Harry did what he could to look after Remus too, but the last thing he wanted was to be taken care of by his inherited godson. Remus could take care of himself. He always had.

He didn't have much, but he had his pride.

"Remus J. Lupin?" asked one Auror, a short man with a round, jowly face.

"Yes, that's me." He had established an agreement with the Beast Division of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures that they wouldn't check on him at work, but apparently they were not going to play nice today.

"Can you come with us, Mr. Lupin?" another asked. This Auror had a pointed nose and a thick head of light brown hair. But perhaps the most noticeable feature was a cruel twist to his lips. "Your presence is requested by the Werewolf Registry."

"Excuse me, but I am working. I can't just leave the store unattended. Perhaps I can come by after I close the shop or tomorrow before 7 a.m.?"

"I'm terribly sorry, but I am afraid that is not possible. You must come with us now. Apparently, you haven't been reviewed in four years. That's a terrible lapse in your paperwork, grounds for incarceration."

The two Aurors were switching off, one asking one question, the other asking the next. Three other Aurors, noticeably younger than the speaking two, watched in awe, eyeing Remus with sick fascination.

"I have been reviewed regularly; the reports should be in my file. They were done by another Auror, Harry Potter; we conduct interviews every six months. Isn't that in the file?"

"Well yes," the jowly man said, "However, Harry Potter is no longer with us and we've reason to believe he might have not performed a full inquiry and investigation during his interviews."

"Can I at least make a fire call? I can't leave the store unattended," he asked, words tumbling over themselves.

The two men looked at each other. The cruel one went to open his mouth, sadistic glee evident on his face, but was interrupted by the jowly man.

"Yes Mr. Lupin, you may make one call."

And Remus knew it had to be a good one. As he turned, flanked by the two men, to enter the back room and make the call, he debated on whether to call his boss or Harry. Once he reached the fireplace he had made his decision.

"Hermione Granger, London. Harry, are you there?"

"What, you can't call him!" sputtered the pointy nosed Auror.

Remus prayed to gods he really didn't believe in that Harry was even there and would answer the call. "It's Remus." Desperate, he stated the obvious. Remus knew that Harry was spending more time there trying to decipher the other pages without going to Draco Malfoy to do it for him. He crossed his fingers for added luck.

It paid off.

"Remus. Come in," came Harry's welcoming shout.

"Can't. Being taken in by two Aurors due to lack of review." Remus tried to keep his tone steady, but even he recognized the hint of panic to it. Those interview cells were horrors he never wanted to return to again. Torture chambers really, with their silver plated doors and walls and windowless suffocation. He hadn't had to be interviewed in one of those since Harry's final year in Hogwarts and he knew he just couldn't go back there. Not now. It was enough to make even the sanest werewolf chew through his arm in anxiety.

"What? I'm coming through."

"Wait! You can't just let him through, what…" the jowly Auror seemed at a loss for words.

"Why can't he, Agent Savage?" Harry asked, none too pleased as he dusted off soot from his jeans and shirt. "What is going on here?"

The other Auror stepped forward, aiming his pointy nose a little in the air. "Mr. Potter, you have no reason to be here, this is Ministry business, and as you're not with the Ministry anymore—"

"Oh yes, Agent Wilkes, so you come to harass a man the minute I'm no longer an Auror? Keeping an upstanding citizen from performing his job for stupid paperwork issues? Anyway, how the hell could you miss the very detailed reports and interviews that were conducted with Remus in his file?"

"Interviews conducted by you. Don't you see there is some conflict of interest here?" explained Agent Savage.

"Perhaps you missed the fact that they were co-signed by other Aurors just in case my making the interview might have been an issue," Harry said.

"Ah… well… I hadn't found those documents in the report, Mr. Potter." Agent Savages' jowls quavered.

Harry's eyes narrowed. "You can speak with Agent Shacklebolt about if it you need to, he was one of the co-signing Aurors."

Agent Savage glanced over at his partner, who refused to meet his eyes. He looked back up at Harry and Remus, "Perhaps that is true, but we still need to conduct the interview, one that hasn't been conducted by one of your friends. You are due anyway."

Harry's stiff posture relaxed as some tension eased out of his shoulders. Remus suddenly felt hopeful. "Do you have to drag him away from his job for it? Remus isn't going to run and he loves this job, it would be very unfortunate if he was fired due to a little excitement about an interview. Perhaps you could do it here, and I could watch the store. Is that unreasonable?"

Remus watched Harry work his charm on the older man. It was obvious Savage looked up to Harry in some way, or at least valued his opinion. Wilkes, on the other hand, was barely concealing open hostility. The air reeked, almost causing Remus to sway under the swath of venomous fumes emanating off the Auror. He often valued his ability to sense emotions, his wolf's power of smelling pheromones, but right now he wished his nose was blind.

And then he sensed the magic, the tiny tingle he had learned was Harry's so subtle touch. It wasn't so much that he was casting a spell, more like Harry decided he wanted something and the universe worked with him to grant him his wish. Remus figured that Harry didn't perform magic, it was like he was magic. If it was any other man with this power, Remus would fear for the world.

"Well, as long as we can continue with our interview, I see no problem completing it here," said Agent Savage jovially. Wilkes looked momentarily confused, continuing to glare at Harry, but eventually conceded.

Remus sighed with relief.

"Well, I'll leave you to it. Remus, I'll watch the shop for you." Harry waved as he walked back to the front of the store.

The interview was pointless, consisting of the same old questions Harry always bombarded him with as he replied with the same dry responses. However, some were new and rather insulting. No, he hadn't left Great Britain. Yes, he was holding down a steady job. No, he hadn't bitten anyone. Yes, they had his address correct. Yes, he was still going through his change at Kildrummy castle in Scotland. No, he didn't intend to leave the country. Yes, he knew he had to contact Werewolf Registry if he intended to leave the country. Yes, he knew he wasn't allowed to have children. And on and on. He answered dutifully; relieved he wasn't in an interview cell at the Ministry. Relieved he wouldn't lose his boring job.

As the interview concluded, Savage stood to shake Remus' hand, apparently happy to have done his duty while Wilkes seemed obviously annoyed he didn't get to drag Remus through the streets of Knockturn Alley…preferably by his hair. They returned to the main shop where Harry was busy chatting with the younger Aurors, regaling them with some exciting chases he'd been in under his capacity as an Auror.

"So, Mr. Potter, could you tell us about how you did it?" asked one excited young man.

The temperature dropped in the room as Harry's relaxed form pulled tight. "Did what?" he drawled.

"Well, killed He-Who-Must… you know, Voldemort." It was obviously an effort for the junior Auror to stay the name, even after all these years.

"I don't like to talk about that."

"Oh." The young man finally realised he stepped onto a topic that wasn't welcome by The Man Who Killed Voldemort and began to busy himself by twiddling his wand.

"Well, thank you for your time, Mr. Lupin. I see that there really wasn't much for us to worry about. We will be in contact with you in six months to set up your next interview. Have a nice day." Agent Savage walked out of the door to the little bookshop, followed by the three junior Aurors. Agent Wilkes remained.

"Yes, Mr. Lupin, have a nice day. I am sure we will be seeing each other in the future." His cruel smirk left Remus with a welt of worry and a sigh of relief as he walked out the door.

Impatiently, Harry waited in the stiff, wooden chair. The terrible chairs of the Auror Division were one thing he definitely didn't miss. He twirled his wand in his hand, mind combing the mental images of the other scrolls that also held a small algebraic equation in the lower, right corner of the page.

While he finally accepted his current unemployed status, sure that he had made the right decisions, Harry hadn't thought of how his actions might affect those he cared about. How those blood thirsty Aurors, especially Agent Wilkes, descended on Remus worried Harry. His friend was already living in a precarious balance; he didn't think the added stress could do anything good for him.

"Harry, sorry to keep you waiting." Kingsley shook hands with Harry, his other hand holding a thick, tan file. "I heard about what happened." Kingsley didn't look happy.

"You should have seen how shaken Remus was, Kingsley. I know he isn't the same as he was, back when he taught… well ever since Tonks really. But he was on the edge. What set Savage and Wilkes off on him? Why this sudden interest in his interviews now?"

Kingsley set the file down on the desk and opened it. He pulled out a piece of paper and slid it across the table towards Harry.

Harry scanned the page; saw the list of Remus' interviews, his signatures followed by another Auror's signature, sometimes Kinglsey, sometimes Ron, often another uninvolved party. This was all familiar to Harry.

Kingsley pushed across another pile of papers, these also familiar, but Harry flipped through them anyway. They were all scheduling forms setting up Remus' interviews. They also had Harry's signature on them, as well as Mr. Gruper, the head of the Werewolf Registry. The most recent one didn't have Mr. Gruper's signature on it. Instead it was signed by Agent Ted Riley, an Auror in Harry's old division.

"What? Why is Riley's signature on this one? That makes no sense."

"I looked into that. Apparently Riley not only works under the Auror Division as an undercover agent, but also the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. He has been working in that Division for about five weeks now."

Harry stared at Kingsley, confused.

"Another thing, Harry. Riley's younger brother was killed by a werewolf."

Ted Riley looked up from a set of papers on his desk and smiled congenially at Harry. He was a wiry man with thin lips, rather nondescript except for the stiff way he held himself, as if always ready to be jumped. His only other distinguishing feature was his very short hair, an anomaly amongst wizardkind.

"Hey, Harry, what brings you to the Ministry. Couldn't handle being away could you?" He grabbed a mug and took a long sip, draining it dry.

"Hi Ted, pretty good. And no, I don't plan on coming back. But I did have a question for you."

"Oh yea?" He pulled out a bag from his desk, dumped some powder from the bag and poured milk over it. With a flick of his wand he started mixing and warming the contents. "Mexican hot chocolate. Good stuff. Got a batch of it when I was down in the Yucatan. Wanna try some?" He started digging around his desk for another cup, pulling out drawers and rifling through papers.

"Ah no, thanks though." Instinct told Harry that something was up. Riley was never this friendly with him before, never babbled. Harry assumed Riley knew why he had come by. "Listen, I want to talk to you about Remus Lupin."

Riley stopped rummaging around in his desk. He looked up at Harry with a less amicable expression. This is the Riley I remember, Harry thought.

"He was almost dragged to a silver lined interrogation cell, now only used with violent individuals, from his job, practically ensuring that he would be canned. He hadn't broken any laws and isn't a danger to society. It was your signature that instigated the investigation. Is there a reason why?"

"Potter, you know very well why I pulled up Lupin's file. While I'm sure you did an adequate job questioning him, you are his friend. Perhaps there was something he was doing wrong that you were blind to because of your friendship," he said matter-of-factly.

"You didn't think I would do a good job because I know him?"

"It wasn't that I thought you wouldn't do a good job… sometimes when our emotions get caught up—"

"Like the fact that your brother was killed by a werewolf," Harry interrupted.

Riley stood and slammed his hand to his desk, suddenly exploding in anger. "That's uncalled for Potter, and you know it."

"Remus is a celebrated war hero. If it wasn't for his actions during the war we might not have won against Voldemort. Please treat him with the respect he deserves. And from now on Kingsley will be handling his case." Harry turned to walk out, but Riley called him back.

"You can't do that Potter, it's my jurisdiction."

"Not this case." And Harry left.

Fresh air. Open space. Running, running free. A scent on the breeze, it hung there, thick and welcoming. He turned to the smell and there stood his friend, his companion. Large, black dog tackled him, pulling him to the ground, and a tussle, a roll and friendly nips and yips. Howling. Howling at the moon. Celebrating life.

Often, as dreams unfurled, the images faded in and out of clarity. Some were so thin, barely an image or a sense and some came in crystal clear like a photograph, in full colour.

Black dog turned to gray wolf and laughed, lolling his tongue in happiness.

"Miss you." It was more a sense of a loss than actual words and the dreamer remained unsure if the sentiment was from him or the dog.

A nuzzle, a lick. A soft, contented grunt.

"Run with me, Moony."

"You're gone. Dead." Sharp pain ripped through his chest, the loss totally overwhelming the dreamer.

"No. Not dead. I just fell." And the dog slowly, insidiously slid into the earth, sucked under, and the gray wolf howled, howled. Howled. HOWLED.

"Agghhh!" Remus screamed as he escaped from the dream; tore himself from the terrible reminder and pain. He thrashed amongst his blankets, tangled and winded until he finally realised it was a nightmare. Just a dream.

"Sirius," he whispered into the dark side of midnight.