Author's note:

Many of you have probably been searching for this story… I am so sorry! grovels> I am completely and utterly stupid and accidentally copied a chapter. That's why some of you got notices that chapter 3 was up. It wasn't… but now it is grin>. So, after I accidentally copied chapter 2 and made it chapter 3 I got confused and accidentally deleted the whole dad-gum story! Ducks out of the line of rotten cabbages and tomatoes> I'm SORRY! Please forgive me! I will definitely… um… try ducks> to keep it from happening again. Here's a longer chapter to make up for it. And some Lupin-type goodness :D

Also, I have been out of commission for the last couple of days… Percocet is fine if you like to sleep a lot and don't mind doing it all day. Unfortunately, it doesn't do much for the pain (yes, Percocet is a pain pill… e-mail me if you're really interested) but it does knock me out. So, I've cut back from 2 a day to trying to go the whole day without any. As long as I don't move much, I'm fine. It's the moving thing I have a problem with. shudders> I will definitely try to update more often than I have been. That all being said, enjoy the show!

Again, I do not own Harry Potter… much as I wish I did. Evil Grin … What?

Lupin's Cottage

Remus and Hermione found themselves in the middle of a dark wooded area. The only sounds she could hear were the night rustlings of the woodland creatures they had disturbed with their rather abrupt appearance. The sparse underbrush was alive beneath their feet as they walked towards a destination known only by Remus. The leaves of the trees blocked out most of the light during the day and all light from the stars and moon at night and made the forest cool even in the heat of the summer.

Following a path, mostly hidden by the fallen leaves of the last couple years, Remus led her through the gloomy darkness. They were quick and silent, uttering not a single word to each other as they made their way through the night. Every now and then, Hermione thought she saw a small animal cross the path in front of them and scurry off to dive into a hidden burrow or to climb the trunk of a tree.

Finally they found themselves at the edge of a moonlit clearing. Hermione could see a small brook feeding either a rather large pond, or a rather small lake at the far end. It reflected the half-moon light in a way that made the water sparkle like it was filled with rare gem stones. Near the edge of the water, a small, rotted pier with a partially sunk canoe remembered summers gone, when laughing boys used to jump off the end, screaming, "CANNON BALL!"

At the edge of the clearing, a once cozy looking cottage hunched over an over grown flower garden that held more weeds now than it ever had flowers. Hermione thought it looked cold and uninviting with no lights on and no sign of inhabitation, but they rushed towards the house anyway, ready to be out of the darkness. Remus knocked on the door and led Hermione about ten feet away from the sagging porch. She looked at him quizzically, and her curiosity was peaked further by his silent refusal to so much as meet her eyes.

Suddenly, a small, graying, exceptionally wrinkled and hunched wizard stood before them. There had been no crack of apparation, and for a moment Hermione was completely confused. She watched as Remus and the old man shook hands and exchanged pleasantries. The older man had a thick French accent and made deferential gestures towards Remus.

Watching her so closely, Remus could almost tell what she was thinking, nearly smell her confusion and hear the wheels turning in her agile mind. Her emotions played across her face and he was able to read them as well as any book.

"Hmm," she thought, "he didn't apparate, he's not carrying an invisibility cloak… How did he …" She stopped mid-thought and turned to stare at her former professor. "No," she denied to herself, "we wouldn't be able to see the house!"

"Figured it out yet, Hermione?" His words snapped her out of her internal battle.

"Partly," she admitted, "though I don't know why we can see the house still, it seems to be under the Fidelius Charm." At Lupin's nod, she continued, "as I said, I can't quite figure out why we can still see the house."

"My dear," the wizened old man spoke to her for the first time, "you didn't think Master Lupin would live in a place like this did you?" He tut tutted for a few minutes more until Remus quieted him.

"Really, Maurice," Remus said softly, "I have not lead her to believe any different." He gestured to his frayed robes and smiled a bit ruefully. "What else would you expect her to think?"

Maurice looked disdainfully at his master's robes and, as only a long-time servant can do, said, "Yes, about your robes, Master Lupin. I do wish you would either replace them or let one of the maids mend them. They are really not befitting a wizard of your stature."

This was obviously a long lived argument between the two men and just as obviously, Remus had no intention of giving in. "Maurice, I've told you before and I will say it again, because you seem to need reminding every time I stay here for a few days, I like my robes. They're finally comfortable and if I can't wear jeans and a t-shirt in the wizarding world, at least I can be comfortable in my robes. I like them, holes, frays and all. That and I don't feel like breaking in another set at this point."

Maurice looked like he wanted to say more, but held his piece. "Very well, sir. Your chambers and the young lady's are ready for you and there are fresh towels in the bathrooms. Will you be requiring anything from the kitchens tonight?"

Remus answered in the negative and Maurice disappeared again as suddenly as he had appeared before. Remus then turned his attention on Hermione. "As you know, my cottage is protected by the Fidelius Charm. Thankfully, Dumbledore made me my own secret keeper or there's no telling how I'd be able to get into my own house."

He paused for a brief moment as if thinking of the correct wording. "Ready?" At her nod, he leaned close to her and whispered in her ear, "Remus Lupin lives at the cottage in the glen."

No sooner had she thought the words back to herself with a wry smile than something that was decidedly not a cottage materialized right in front of her eyes. The run down cottage with the over grown garden was still there, but it seemed even smaller than it had before. The small lake with its dilapidated pier and sunken boat were still there, but the clearing had become almost three times the size it had been.

Behind the run down cottage a sloping lawn led to an impressive Chateau complete with well tended gardens with sculptures and fountains and greenhouses with, no doubt exotic flora to be used in rare potions and floral arrangements. Several windows had warm, welcoming lights in them and Remus led her toward the building without hesitation.

When she was slow to follow, he turned with a questioning look in his eyes. "Hermione?" When she turned wide eyes on him he moved to her side. "What is it?"

Unsure how to voice her question, she settled for one that sounded less invasive, "Where are we?"

Reading between her carefully chosen words, Remus continued leading her to the front door, chuckled at her astonishment. "Where do you think we are?" He asked her quietly.

"I think," she began hesitantly, following him, "that we are at your home." At his encouraging nod, she continued more confidently, "Maurice has a strong French accent and that would suggest we are in France, but I haven't heard any of the other servants, and I'm assuming there are some," another nod, "therefore, it would be foolish of me to assume that we are in France, though I seem to remember you mentioning your mother was French."

When they reached the front door, she halted in her monologue and noticed that he was trying very hard not to laugh outright. "What's so funny, Professor?"

Smothering the last of his chuckles, he opened the door and allowed her to precede him into the house. Not answering her yet, he once again took the lead. Opening a pair of double oak doors, he ushered her inside and smiled at her appreciative gasp. Thinking he may have lost her interest in the face of his family's library, he finally replied with a deceptively straight face, "You are, my dear." At her confused look he elaborated, "You have a keen mind, but you don't always trust your instincts."

He held up a hand to keep her from saying anything. Instead, he waved his hand in the general direction of the fireplace and went over to a side board near a large mahogany desk. She heard ice being dropped into glasses with a chink, chink. She heard what sounded like a cupboard opening and the sound of bottles being opened. When Remus joined her, he held two glasses of a rich, bubbling amber colored liquid. He seated himself comfortably in the over stuffed wing back in front of Hermione's. Staring into the flames for a few minutes and taking small sips from his glass, he began telling her what she didn't realize she wanted to hear.

"You were right," he started, "we are indeed in France. Southern France, to be exact. My mother's ancestral home to be even more specific. Maurice has been our butler and caretaker since I was very small. At times he can be a bit too familiar, as you saw outside." Hermione smiled encouragingly at him.

"My parents were pure bloods," he said, "did you know that?" Hermione shook her head, but remained silent. "Well, they were. My mother was French, you knew that already. Father was English. They met during the war against Grindelwald. As you know, witches and wizards live longer lives than muggles. My mother thirty and thought to be quite young when she married my father. He was older by about three years and they naturally waited until the end of the war to start thinking about starting their family.

"For as long as this Chateau has stood here, there has always been a member of my mother's family living here. I was actually born here, like many of my relatives. Mother would have been considered quite old to have had me if she had been a muggle. As it was, she was no longer young. She had me with very little fuss. Quite a lot of pain, I'm sure, but nothing went terribly wrong."

His emotional shutters were visibly pulled into place. "I was made a Werewolf in this very forest." His eyes had grown distant with memories and his voice seemed far away. "My father and mother were well off, to say the least, but no matter how much money one has, terrible things can still happen." He smiled ruefully as he said, "Sometimes, it can even be the reason some things happen.

"One of the scullery maids had seen me go off into the woods alone. I was only four years old. Not nearly old enough to be going into one of the most dangerous forests in Europe, second only to the Forbidden forest of Hogwarts, by myself. She did not feel as if it was her place to tell my parents directly, so she ran to tell the House Keeper who in turn told Maurice, the butler. He was the one to tell my Father, but of course, when so many people are involved, time tends to get away from you."

He paused to take a sip, the firelight dancing in his eyes made them seem as if the fire was inside them rather than in the fireplace where it belonged. Taking a deep breath he continued with his story, "Father ran to the woods. He arrived at the edge of the tree line just as I let out a blood curdling scream! I don't remember it, but father thought that might have been when I first saw the Werewolf.

"Luckily, father never went anywhere without a sword strapped to his waist, it was very fashionable, you see, and also very useful. He wanted his weapon to be fashionable, functional and, above all, expensive, as many men of means did and still do. Many wealthy men would have a sword or cane fashioned completely from gold. The more practical men who also wanted to be able to use the weapon, would have it fashioned of steel, but over lay it with gold. Father was nothing if not practical and, luckily for me, father didn't like gold, but rather silver.

"He found me primarily by the noise I made, apparently I was quite scared and making quite a racket. When he came upon us, the Werewolf had just sunk his teeth into my left shoulder, missing my throat and jugular by inches. Father came up behind the beast and plunged his sword into it. He may have thought it was an ordinary wolf, but the hiss as the silver entered the wolf's body rid him of any delusions he may have had.

"My mother was devastated, of course, and I don't blame her. Father kept assuring her that everything would be alright, but she wouldn't listen." He ran his fingers through his graying hair as he gave voice to the memories assaulting him. "She locked herself in her rooms for days at a time. When she finally came back out, she looked right through me. It was awful. She acted like I had died that night instead of merely being bitten.

"That first full moon was terrifying. No one knew what to expect. I had forgotten about the attack by then. They call it trauma induced amnesia. All I knew then was that my father took me down to the cellar and chained me to the wall. I was scared, but he stayed with me until I started to change. He couldn't stay after that. Not only was it dangerous for him, but he couldn't bear to see me in such pain.

"The next morning, Mother had tears in her eyes as she woke me and began going over my injuries. I suppose she had a change of heart when she realized how badly she had treated me. Perhaps my wounds caused her maternal instincts to overcome her fear and revulsion. I think my father's actions the night before helped show her how a parent is supposed to act.

"Each month after that first one, both Mother and Father were there for me. They stayed until they couldn't stay any more and hurried back as soon as they could. The transformations were never easy, but with my parents there, they were tolerable, at least.

"Mother eventually developed a sense of humor about my condition. She started calling me wolf cub when I would do something cute or wolfish." He smiled fondly at the memory of his childhood nickname. "They both worried about how I would learn when I showed my first spark of 'talent'. Mother knew that I would never be allowed at Beauxbatons and Father was just as certain that I would not be accepted at Hogwarts."

"She found out she was pregnant when I was almost seven years old. She and Father joked about naming the baby Romulus if it was a boy." He smiled with a gentle humor shining in his eyes.

Hermione, of course knew the legend of Romulus and Remus. They were brothers abandoned shortly after birth and left to die. A she wolf found them and instead of killing them, nursed them with her milk. When they grew up, they founded the city of Rome.

A fleeting look of pain overcame Remus's suddenly haggard face. He spoke with difficulty, "Mother was older than she had been when I was born. Though still healthy and full of life, her second pregnancy had taken too much out of her. She didn't sleep well and she could barely eat anything. When the time came for her to deliver, she had no energy to do anything." He passed a shaking hand across his face, "She lost a lot of blood and was unable to give the final push. The Medi-witch helped, but by that time, it was too late. The baby was indeed a boy and with her dying breath, my mother whispered his name. "Romulus."

"Father was beside himself. He loved my mother very much and went quite suddenly stark raving mad. He locked himself in their chambers, leaving me and my brother completely alone." He was quiet for a few moments, just watching the firelight dancing on the stone walls of the fireplace.

"Maurice was the one who took us under his wing. He found a woman among the staff who had just had a baby and asked if she would be Romulus's wet nurse. Knowing, of course, that our mother had just died, she said she would. Romulus was raised alongside her daughter, Kiera. They were as close as twins those two. Perhaps she should have been named Remus." He smiled ruefully at his lame attempt at humor.

"It didn't take long for Father to follow Mother. When people love as deeply as they did, it sometimes happens that way. I think he blamed himself for her death."

Minutes passed with only the crackling of the fire in the hearth breaking the silence. She knew that he wasn't done and that he needed her to hear all that he had to say before he lost his courage to tell her. She sat and watched him. His emotions weren't written all over his face as hers would be, but rather in his mannerisms. The way his fingers stroked the beveled edges of the glass he held, how his eyes followed the erratic movements of the fire. He was not as easy to read as some people, but she could discern some of the emotions running rampant in his mind.

"Maurice became like a second father to me. I never called him that, it was always Maurice, but that was fine with him. Maurice, of course, knew of my condition. He, like my parents despaired of me ever being accepted into a school of witchcraft and wizardry. He began to teach me what he knew. I was young for some of the things he taught me, but I was always bright and eager to learn.

"On my eleventh birthday, we received a visit from Dumbledore. He talked to Maurice about the possibility of me attending Hogwarts. I suppose Maurice thought Dumbledore didn't know about my affliction, so he started to tell him. Before my adoptive father could get halfway through, Dumbledore said he already knew! So, that day I got the best birthday present I have ever received in my life. I got my first Hogwarts letter. Dumbledore and Maurice worked out where I would stay for my transformations and how we would keep it from the other students. A few days later, Maurice and I made our first trip to Diagon Alley."

Remus's eyes shone with the pleasure of his memory. Gone were the mournful eyes that told of his hardships. Gone were the worry lines and the fatigue that had plagued his features. In their places were joy, hope and happiness. Hermione marveled at the change it wrought in the man she had known for so long, but was only now getting to know. She vowed to herself to be the reason for this marvelous transformation some day.