Disclaimer: Harry Potter is life, but it isn't mine.

Remus remained impassive for days, acting oblivious to everything and everyone around him. No one fell for the façade, but played along anyway, for their own sake mostly. The werewolf did not look like one willing to sprout into a spontaneous conversation anyway. No, he looked more like one fully capable of murdering you on the spot with just a glare.

He never spoke to anyone. He did not move, nor did he eat either. He could only be found staring up at the ceiling, as if seeing something that the rest of them could not. His eyes were still, unblinking; they never shone like sparkling emeralds anymore. What lay instead were dark green rocks that showed the deadness Remus felt but could never express. They were the eyes of one who had seen too much, dealt with too much in too short a period of time; they were lifeless, like a dolls eyes.

Remus never slept either. It emerged from the fear of those beautiful yet unhinged grey eyes, which constantly visited him while he slept. They taunted him, mocked him. They consumed him and fatigued him both physically and mentally. It was this that, that had caused his deliberate insomnia.

He had heard Dumbledore once say that in dreams people entered a world that was entirely their own. This was not all entirely re-assuring for Remus as he was lead to believe that even from Azkaban, Sirius could control his life; control how he lived.

The days passed and even on the day of the moon he still refused food and sleep, although that did not stop Madam Pomfrey forcing various potions into him when exhaustion finally took him. The potions consisted of a dreamless sleep, and one in which would act as a small substitute for food (it was not recommended in large amounts, but the Matron was getting desperate).

In the evening, she accompanied the lycanthrope silently across the grounds towards the Shack. She walked at a brisk pace; a strange sense of De Ju Vu crossed her mind as she began to reminisce about the lithe, vulnerable eleven year old who used to trot along behind her to keep up, staring around anxiously with massive, distressed eyes as she lead to him towards a night of torture. However, looking through the corner of her eyes and seeing the stoic shell that remained of that young man, she knew he had changed. He was embittered, lost and desolate. She knew then that he did not care about what would become of him after tonight. He did not appear afraid, he almost looked discontent about something... Maybe it was the wolf?

Not wanting to take any chances, she saw him through the tunnel and waited while he changed and handed her his hospital gown. She caught Remus eyeing a burgundy stain on the floorboards; rubbing it with his foot. They both knew of the significance of that particular stain, but neither voiced it. Knowing the lycanthrope did not particularly want to start a conversation any time soon, Madam Pomfrey sighed and headed for the passageway.

However, at the door she felt a cautious hand brush her arm in an attempt to get her attention. She turned to see Remus, head bowed and looking up at her nervously. In any other situation, the sight of a very naked Remus looking uncomfortable while trying to address Madam Pomfrey would have been amusing. This time though, it was a melancholy sight. He looked unsure of himself, as if wanting to say something but did not know how to express it or voice it. Remus was always collected and reserved; if you ever pushed him into talking, then you were even more unlikely to gain any sort of response, and more walls would be built around himself.

Yet somehow, Sirius Black always seemed to be the one who could knock those walls down, she had observed through the years. The matron wondered if Remus knew about this strange exception... He probably did, he was just indifferent to it.

Madam Pomfrey smiled warmly at him, trying and hoping it looked genuine. Remus considered her for a moment, squinting at her as if searching for something, before speaking for the first time in days.

'I'm sorry for all the trouble I've been causing recently, ma'am. I just want to thank you I guess, for helping me all these years. I have always be grateful.' His voice was rough from dis-use.

The Matron sighed in relief at hearing Remus speak again. Surely it was a good sign, although she did not like the finality expressed in his tone. Despite this however, she was greatly touched by his words and reached out to touch his shoulder in gratitude. She stopped halfway however when Remus had begun to recoil away from her movement. Pomfrey let her arm drop, but her smile -which never reached her eyes- never wavered. She spoke softly,

'Good luck, Mr Lupin.'

They stared at each other for a moment: Remus's stolidness against Poppy's solicitude, before the Matron turned away and, with one last concerned look, left the shack.

Five minutes later, the soft, frivolous howls of a woebegone wolf could be heard, echoing from the old, abandoned house; calling for its pack that would never come.

Remus was relieved when he found that he had not woken up in the Shack. He never had liked the place. It symbolized his constant loss of control. It filled with his head with memories, like water would a broken damn.

He slowly allowed his eyes to flutter open and adjust to the blinding light. His muscles ached from being immobilized for too long as he tried to sit up and lean back on his elbows. just how long had he been unconscious? he wondered.

As if on cue, Madam Pomfrey (deeply engrossed in her patients' files) bustled over to his private wing and drew the curtains. She gave a start when she looked up from her notes to see Remus staring at her, his expression blank.

'Oh, Mr Lupin you're awake. Good, we were beginning to worry,' she hesitated as the expression turned inquiring. Remus noticed how she nervously twisted the material of her robes without noticing she was doing so; he knew she was struggling to understand why this 'new Remus' intimidated her quite so, and he knew it aggravated her. She stood at her full height and continued as if there had been no awkward pause, 'It was four days since the moon, Mr Lupin.'

This only lead to small quirk of a sardonic eyebrow and he scoffed as she came over to place a firm hand to his forehead and checked his pulse. The heat of her palm contrasted heavily against the coldness of his skin. He did not like it. Remus pressed his lips together, feeling self-concious. He did not want to be touched; it was too much, too foreign. To distract himself, he looked up at the Matron and watched as she tried to cover the worry etched upon her face with indignant huffs.

Remus could obviously see through this façade of course, he could literally smell the different emotions radiating off her like a bad stench: worry, fear, discomfort. The lycanthrope knew Madam Pomfrey was apprehensive about something, only what?

'Professor Dumbledore wished me to remind you that you have an appointment to see him is this evening at eight o'clock -in the event that you had awoken by then that is.' She paused, waiting for Remus to nod. He did not. She sighed in exasperation, 'While you were asleep, I managed to heal most of you wounds, but I must remind you that you were not in a good condition; it was a miracle you survived.'

Yes, a miracle indeed, Remus thought cynically.

'Due to this,' she continued, 'you are bandaged quite heavily, although you should be able to walk fine. Therefore, Professor McGonagall will walk you to the Headmaster's office at the given time.' Again, she waited for a nod of confirmation, which he reluctantly gave, before she departed to her other rounds.

Remus fell back against his pillow, eyes once for fixed upon the ceiling. He had almost forgotten about the headmaster's 'session's' he was about to undertake, and quite honestly, he hoped the old Professor had too. What was that word Pomfrey had used? Appointment, as if he were a patient as opposed to a friend, who did everything he could for Dumbledore and the Order: live in constant danger among others of his kind, convincing them, protecting them from Voldemort; lie to the people he loved about where he went, even though it killed him inside to do it. The list was endless.

He shook his head to clear his thoughts and sighed in resignation before falling into an restless slumber, hoping the eyes of the storm would not find him once more.

'Chocolate Bonbons.'

The Gargoyle immediately leapt aside to allow them both access to Dumbledore's office. Remus trailed after Professor McGonagall up the spiralled staircase, head bowed; not really seeing. His pulse hammered in his ears, hearing only static when McGonagall attempted to converse with him. At his lack of acknowledgement she had glared at him a lot -lip thinning- but she never shouted.

At the top of the tower, she knocked on the golden door and entered upon request, Remus reluctantly followed behind her, footsteps echoing loudly in the silence.

Why do I have to be here?

'Ah, Minerva. Remus, good to see you're looking better.' Dumbledore's casual voice called from behind his desk as he stood up to greet the two.

Remus silently snorted in response to the headmaster, but despite the lack of voice and movement he used, it was indeed noticeable to both the professors. However, Dumbledore pretended not to have noticed, and gestured a seat in front of his desk. Professor McGonagall on the other hand, glared daggers while her lip completely disappeared.

Remus reluctantly sat down on the said chair waiting. McGonagall also took a seat, albeit on the other side of the room far away from the other two; observing the scene like a hawk. Dumbledore took his original place behind his desk. He placed is elbows on the wooden surface, resting his chin in his hands and studied Remus with his sparkling eyes.

'Studied'. Like an animal? A freak? Well... that's maybe what I am: a freak.

'Tell me Remus, how are you feeling?'

His genuine smile was too nauseating for the lycanthrope to comprehend so Remus stayed silent and looked past Dumbledore and at Fawkes (who was pleasantly perched on his stand, observing the conversation with the usual uncharacteristic understanding for a bird).

You may as well spare the pleasantries, sir. I'm not eleven anymore; I know why I'm here.

'I see...' Dumbledore stated, more to himself than anyone else, and continued, knowing Remus was not going to answer. 'Remus, do you think you're ready to talk about what has happened over the past month? About James and Lily, or Peter?'

No, I don't. I'm fine.

Silence.

'Ok... How about what happened in the Shack? Do you want to talk about that?' Dumbledore's smile was gone now, replaced by a concerned expression.

Why? You don't care. You don't understand. No one does. You all think you do, but you don't!

Silence.

'What about Sirius? Do you want to talk about him?'

This caused the werewolf's eyes to fix on Dumbledore as if he intended to melt him on the spot, yet he remained as silent as before.

How dare he talk to me about Sirius!

'Remus please, we're trying to help you.' This time it was Professor McGonagall that broke the silence. She had dropped formalities and there was a slightly pleading note in her voice. 'Let us help you.'

Silence.

'Minerva, it's clear that we are not going to accomplish much today.' The old professor caught on and sighed in defeat. 'Remus, we shall continue this tomorrow, same time. Yes?'

Remus drowned himself in Professor's eyes, but his expression was as stoic as ever. He nodded once in confirmation and spoke for the first time since the night of the full moon.

'Could I please go now, Professors?'

Dumbledore and McGonagall exchanged a look. Remus closed his eyes and tried to ignore the way McGonagall nervously looked at him, like a concerned mother would. Remus would not concede to it. He couldn't. Only Dumbledore's voice caused him to re-open his eyes as he answered,

'Yes, Remus. You may go. Minerva, would you so kindly escort Remus to his room?'

'But-'

Dumbledore silenced her with a look. Reluctantly, the Transfiguration teacher huffed and opened the office door; holding it open for the lycanthrope. Remus stood from his chair and, not meeting anyone's eyes, walked out of the office, not caring where his feet lead him.

He had gotten halfway down the spiral staircase when McGonagall caught up with him and placed a hand on his shoulder to get his attention. Immediately, Remus startled and flinched away from her, backing up against the wall. This was happening a lot now. Every time someone touched him he could cower away from them. He shook himself, clearing the thought and pushing it to the back of his mind. He breathed deeply, trying in a vain attempt to try and calm himself.

McGonagall was watching him intently, appearing to be disheartened at the fact that one of her ex-students was practically petrified of her (and not in the usual thrilling way, like when she is berating a student or students, chiefly: the Marauders).

'Mr Lupin, Remus, I-' she looked up into those cold, impassive eyes and faltered, quite a feat for the legendary Professor McGonagall. 'I'm sorry.'

Her words were enough to unhinge him -Minerva McGonagall never apologized to no one- and, in a rare moment of emotion, Remus covered his face in his hands to hold back the tears that he would never allow to fall. His shoulders shook in restraint, suppressing a sob, as he slid down the wall and onto the cold floor.

McGonagall did not know what to do at this stage, he could tell, but as much as Remus hated himself for showing such vulnerability and weakness, he could not bring himself to be bothered about anything or anyone around him, even as the Transfiguration teacher went to fetch Dumbledore.

The three following sessions after that had lead to similar outcomes (minus the slight mental breakdown). Dumbledore had informed McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey that no one was to touch Remus, (unless it was absolutely necessary, given Pomfrey's profession).

Remus was beginning to realize that slowly, the three members of staff were running out of idea's on how to bring him out of his metaphorical cocoon. Even the great Albus Dumbledore. He also knew from the way the two Professor's and the Matron stared at him that he was loosing their confidence. It was sad to see them so forlorn at his lack of acknowledgement, and Remus angrily berated himself for it, but he could not let them in. Not yet, anyway.

You're testing them. A small part of his brain would continuously remind him and make him feel even worse. Remus gradually came to terms with this idea that maybe, yes, he was testing them, but not out of spite, he reasoned. He told himself that he was testing their faith in him. He did not want to let people into his life again, only to have them push him away or leave...

Like last time...

Tuesday came and yet again, he found himself placed ominously in a chair at the front of the Headmaster's desk. As usual, he stared blankly through Dumbledore as he tried again and again to get through to the werewolf. Several times, Remus found himself rubbing his still bandaged arms subconsciously. After the fourth time it had happened, he quickly made to sit on his hands when a movement caught his eye that made his eyes flicker towards Dumbledore.

The Headmaster was holding an all too familiar envelope in his hand, searching Remus's face for some sort of reaction. In response his eyes hardened and he inhaled sharply.

'Where did you get that?' He accused, his voice gritty from lack of use.

'You left your belongings at the Ministry that day, Remus; I thought it might be better if I intervened and took them before they decided to burn them all.' His mouth twitched but there was no amusement in his voice. He held the envelope firmly, ignoring Remus's eyes as they fixed longingly on the parchment. 'Remus, do you know who wrote his?'

There was silence for a moment while Remus debated in his mind whether to answer that. After some thought, he decided to let the rational side win out this time. There was no use denying it. There was no use lying.

'Yes.'

'Could you tell me who?' Dumbledore spoke slowly, as if talking to an infant. Remus hesitated, lips pursed, but finally answered in a meek, emotional voice,

'S-Sirius.'

Dumbledore murmured his agreement, apparently satisfied with the answer. He watched Remus some more, wondering whether he should do what he was about to do. Reluctantly, he stretched his arm out and handed the letter to Remus's shaking hands.

'I haven't opened it. That is up to you.'

Remus stared at the parchment in his hand. He silently thanked the headmaster with a slight nod for his consideration of Remus's privacy. The scent was still vaguely of mint and wet dog and tears brimmed in his eyes. Should he read it? Listen to the half-hearted excuses Sirius may come up with? Or dispose of the lies quickly and smoothly? He wanted closure, but he did not know whether that would be gained by reading a letter from his psychopathic lover. Remus rubbed the skin of the envelope with his thumb; eyes swimming from sadness to anger...

No! Don't let him win! Read it, and Padfoot wins, again; he always does.

He violently jerked up from his chair and ripped the letter to shreds, throwing the chunks into the fireplace, where the roaring heat engulfed them hungrily. The two professor's sighed and bowed their heads.

So close...

Remus watched the fire crackle as the pieces burned, turning to dust and ash, in the orange and crimson flames. His mind was whirling, he had beat it: the temptation, the longing. he turned and marched out of the room without another word. McGonagall hastily followed him out, taking care not to intervene with the werewolf's fit of rage, just observing should he do something unreasonable.

Dumbledore sighed and walked over to the spot where Remus had previously been positioned by the fire and extinguished the flame with his wand. He picked up what was left of the letter and examined it thoughtfully. He could only just make out the ink stain that lay etched upon the brown parchment.

The Rat.

His eyebrows knitted together in befuddlement. Dumbledore may be wise, arrogant as he was to admit it, but he honestly could not deduce the meaning behind such weird words that Sirius Black had created, and more importantly, what did that have to do with Remus?

'Why? You don't care. You don't understand. No one does. You all think you do, but you don't!'

Dumbledore pondered the helpless man's words in his mind -yes, he had used legitimacy on him, but with good reason, he argued. Maybe the wise, old Professor was going about solving this problem from the wrong angle.

'"Studied". Like an animal? A freak? Well... that's maybe what I am: a freak.'

Maybe, like Remus had pointed out, he should not act as though he was studying him. Maybe, instead, he should try to understand him. That way, he could have the slightest chance of helping Remus out of his constant misery. To his liberation...

Dear Moony.

If you're reading this then you probably hate me as much as the rest of the world probably does. If you're reading this then that god damn rat has betrayed us all, and I'm sorry. I'll admit it, things haven't been great between us these last few months and I can tell that everything is slowly falling a part. If you're reading this, then I think I owe you an explanation. I think I owe you the truth.

I'll put it straight: while I am writing this, I have to say that honestly, I don't trust you. It kills me to even think this, but at the moment it is true. I hate myself deeply Moony, but I have reason to believe you are the spy. I can not tell you how much I am sorry for thinking this if it turns out that you are indeed innocent in all of this. The truth is though, that I would not be able to stop loving you, even if what theories I have are true. I'm lead to believe that love has made me blind, if that is a reasonable excuse. You're probably wondering why I could think this of you. Well, I'll tell you...

I do not believe the spy is Peter, he doesn't have any backbone or independence unlike you, Moony. As well as this, the things he tells us, it's not looking good for you, what with your constant 'missions' and your withdrawal to talk to anyone, even me. We've never kept secrets from each other, Remus. But the only one who has ever tried to was you. I'm sorry. I don't even know why you would do this to us. What could Voldemort offer you that we could not? I would give you the world if I could, Moony.

Despite this though, one of the main reasons I'm writing this is to inform you that I have decided to switch secret keepers for Lily and Prongs. I have convinced them to change to Peter instead of myself. I am aware of the big risk I am making by even writing this to you, given my opinion of you at the moment, but I honestly believe this letter will find you only when everything is over. Only when everyone is gone, as depressing and cynical that sounds.

If you're reading this though I am also aware that I will have made the wrong decision by not trusting you. I am constantly at war with myself, trying to see sense on how I can think such awful thoughts about you, Remus. I think perhaps I am being irrational, maybe even stereotypical about this -these are traits I have always feared would consume me, but I am not my parents, Moony -you know that- and I hope I have indeed fought back their bigotry, and that there is in fact another stigma that has caused this distrust between us, besides you lycanthropy. I would hate it if it were your condition that came between us, after everything I promised you after the 'incident'.

In short: let it be known that if all is lost and the inevitable happens, know that it wasn't I who betrayed you, and Prongs, and Lily, and Harry: it was Wormtail.

The Rat.

I beg you Remus, if this is the case, please forgive me for my stupidity. I can not imagine what must be going through your mind right now. Honestly, I think that you have every reason to hate me for everything I have done to you. It's not fair what I've put you through, and I am aware of that. Despite this though, I think to myself that my Moony is not capable of that emotion: hate. It's one of the many things I love about you, Remus. You have the ability to see the light in all dark places; to see the good in all people.

I hope I haven't broken that from you. I don't know how this war is shaping us; changing us, but I know that you can beat this. You are the strongest Marauder, and the bravest man I have ever known. If anyone can survive and find the strength to see the little beauty left in life, it is you.

I don't know where I'll be when you're finally reading this. My thoughts are that either that I'm dead, or I'm in Azkaban, although I sincerely hope not, and I sincerely hope that I will see you again, soon, because let it be known that I still love you, Remus. You may not love me, but I will always love you. Everything about you just makes me light up, and always has. The way your eyes always shine and the way you touch and comfort me when things get too much. God this sounds like some sort of horrible romantic cliché, but it's all true, as well as so much more. It makes me wonder how I could ever think or treat you so little.

I know what I'm saying might not make that much sense from the way my hands are trembling like mad while I'm writing this, but remember this, Remus: no matter how bad this gets; no matter how much life treats you like crap, you will get through this, and I will find you again... I just hope I'm not too late.

Eternally yours, forever,

Padfoot.

X

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