*Insert standard do-not-own disclaimer here*

Chapter Two: Lost

It was dawn before Remus could calm down, dry sobs shaking him long after his physical tears were spent. It was much longer before he could rouse himself from the corner of the couch he'd curled into. He really didn't see much point in doing anything other than staring at the blank patch of wall he was facing. He didn't see much point in anything anymore. However, when the sun had risen high enough that it was visible through the living room window, he dragged himself into the bathroom for a shower. Normally, a long hot shower helped him focus and work through his current troubles. Now, however, he simply tried to avoid thinking about anything whatsoever, which was difficult as phrases like James and Lily… Peter… Sirius… traitor… Harry with Muggles kept floating through his head. Each time they did, a violent tremor seized him. Following every one of these, he wished for nothing more than for it to have been him in Godric's Hollow last night.

Remus remained in the shower for a long time, despite the fact that even the bodily pleasure of his muscles untensing under the hot water was lost on him. He just didn't know what else to do. What did one normally do after their entire world had come crashing down around them? Eventually, he noticed that both his fingers and toes had started to prune, and turned the water off. When he got back to the living room, he found an owl sitting on the table, a letter attached to its leg. Coming closer, he saw that it was from Hogwarts. He removed the scroll, and the owl stretched, but didn't take off. He supposed it had been instructed to wait for a response. Remus read another note from Dumbledore. This one said that he had recovered James' and Lily's bodies from the wreckage of the house, and had them preserved under spells in a heavily locked room at the castle. He added that he would be more than happy to make the funeral arrangements if Remus didn't feel up to it. As with the note last night, Remus had to re-read this one several times to take it in, each time focusing on words like bodies and funeral. Finally, he found some parchment of his own and wrote a brief reply, thanking Dumbledore for his concern but saying he would make the arrangements himself. Besides the fact that he owed James that much, he was desperate to have something to do.

He jumped into making the arrangements almost as soon as the owl had flown out the window. He wrote the necessary letters to get a presiding wizard, and Apparated to Godric's Hollow to talk to the minister at the church there about having graves dug and if they might use the building. He was extremely grateful that he could not see the cottage from the main road, at the end of which were located the church and graveyard. It caused him enough pain to see the village at all. Nonetheless, the preparations for the funeral had a strange, surreal quality to them. The same thing had happened when he'd made the arrangements for his mother's funeral a few years earlier. It was as if he were discussing dolls instead of actual human beings whom he had loved. When his mother died, he'd been a bit disturbed by this detachment and blamed it on the fatigue the approaching full moon caused him. Now, however, he was simply grateful for it. He did not want to feel anymore than was absolutely necessary. It already hurt so much that it took every ounce of his self-control not to start sobbing as he conferred with the minister, and he did not like to think what would happen if he allowed himself to apprehend the full reality of the situation.

On the way home, he stopped at the post office in Diagon Alley to send an owl to the Daily Prophet with the information about the funeral, so they could publish a notice. It was to be held on Thursday, 4 November, in three days' time. When he had noticed the calendar date in the church office at Godric's Hollow, he had seen the tiny print that identified it as All Souls' Day. While the Wizarding world did not observe this, the Christian one did and Remus remembered enough from his churchgoing days as a child to know it was a day meant to commemorate everyone who had died in the past year. He was devastatingly aware of the irony. Back at his little country house, Remus found another letter waiting for him. This one was from Mrs. Pettigrew, inviting him to the private memorial she was giving for Peter the following night. With no body, there could be no proper funeral. It was the last thing he wanted to do, because it would force him to face the reality of Peter being gone, but he wrote a yes as his reply and sent it back with her owl. With nothing else to do or distract him, Remus undressed slowly and climbed into bed. It was quite some time later that he fell into an exhausted sleep against his soaked pillow.

The sympathy visits began shortly after Remus had dragged himself out of bed the following afternoon. Order members and old schoolmates alike started showing up at his door, sad faces and hushed voices all offering condolences. The first time or two Remus wondered vaguely why they were coming to him, but through his fog he remembered that he was the only family James and Lily really had left. Unless you count those magic-hating Muggles who have taken Harry, he thought viciously. His reason noted that this was not really fair; Harry had been thrust on them, and for his own safety. But the anger toward Lily's sister helped him feel something other than grief, so he was all too happy to seize on it. He'd given up on trying not to think about James, Lily, Peter, and Sirius at all and now was just grateful for any emotion that helped him wade a bit out of the sea of despair he was currently flailing in.

This was the reason that during the visits, when people wanted to talk of Sirius, Remus seized on it. Being able to call Sirius every foul name he could think of while listening to others rage about him distracted Remus. Besides, as long as he was focusing on his utter fury and hatred, he could not feel the crushing betrayal hanging over him. As long as he was calling Sirius names, he didn't have to think about how he hadn't even known the man he'd happily called brother. But it couldn't last. All too soon, someone asked the question that Remus had run away from every time his mind peeked down the path; a surprising number of sprints in less than 48 hours. It was a fellow Gryffindor in their year, Samantha Dawson, one of Lily's good friends and the first person Remus had seen who looked nearly as bad as himself, who ventured to say it out loud.

"When do you think he started working for You-Know-Who? I mean, at school he seemed like the last person in the world you'd expect…"

You have no idea. Even after that stupid prank in fifth year, I would never have dreamed he could do something like this. When did our friendship become pretense? How did he hide it from us? How could he do that to us- to James? Out loud, Remus said hollowly, "I really couldn't tell you. I would never have believed he was capable of something like that." Understatement of the decade.

Samantha shook her head sadly. "I guess in the end he just wanted to be accepted by his family. The need for the approval of your family will cause people to do the craziest things."

"I suppose." Except James, Peter, and I were Sirius' family more than the Blacks ever were. Whatever made him do this, it was not the need for parental praise. It had to have been the power. He always liked being in control, liked hexing other people just because he was talented enough to do it. Could I really have trusted him all these years? Did he ever care for any of us? And if he did, how could he have changed so much without us realizing it?

Samantha leaned forward and squeezed his hand, saying softly, "I have to get going. I just want to say, though, that you're holding up remarkably well given- everything. If you ever need to talk or anything, please come find me." She stood, then leaned down to give him a brief hug before letting herself out.

When she was gone, Remus smiled humorlessly. He couldn't think of a time when he'd ever held up less well. He had simply learned very early in life to mask his feelings. Although the cause for this was something he'd much rather had never happened, he was very grateful for that training now. If he were acting how he felt, he'd still be rocking back and forth in a corner weeping. Or throwing breakable objects with great force. It alternated with what he was thinking about, but at this exact moment he'd probably go with the weeping. He didn't have long to brood in peace, however, because within a quarter hour the next well-meaning visitor was knocking on his door.

Late in the evening, his manager from Flourish and Blotts stopped by. He offered the usual I'm-sorry-for-your-loss speech, then said very kindly that Remus would not face any repercussions for not showing up to work the past two days and that he could take as much time off as he needed. Remus blinked at this; it had not even occurred to him to contact his employers, much less go into work. He'd pretty much forgotten that a place called Flourish and Blotts existed. During his shock at this and guilty apologies to the manager, it was the first time, if only for a few moments, that he completely shook off his grief. A few minutes later, after the manager had left, it was the first time he realized fully just how much he had shut down since Halloween. What he couldn't force himself to do was care. What did the rest of the world matter when his was shattered?

He didn't cry at the funeral. Remus Lupin did not lose control in public. He calmly accepted hugs and handshakes, tears and whispers, standing alone at the back of the church as mourners filed in. Once more alone in the front row, he listened to the quiet and not-so-quiet sobs behind him with only an imperceptible tightening of the shoulders. He did feel slightly guilty for the empty space on either side of him, because people were jammed up against each other in the back, even spilling out into the foyer. But no one challenged his sole right to the pew traditionally reserved for immediate family. When he stood up to give the eulogy, his voice did not even waver; the crowd before him did not know how many times he'd had to re-copy portions because his normally neat handwriting was illegible or the ink had run so badly as to be indecipherable. A few people, like Samantha, commended him for his strength, but only a few. Most on approaching him seemed like they did not know what to do, and compensated by reacting with everything from awkward hugs to stilted, trite words of comfort. He was unused to this outright gentle concern of a world he had held himself distant from. Even at his mother's funeral people hadn't treated him like this. It was during a much-later conversation with Albus Dumbledore that he learned that no matter how collectedly he held himself, everyone who looked at him could see the devastation in his eyes. James' and Lily's funeral broke his spotless record for hiding his emotions from the world.

Transparent devastation notwithstanding, Remus was quite alone before the single marble headstone he'd ordered to stretch over both graves when the tears started to burn. Unable to face the names and dates, he found himself reading the epitaph over and over again: The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death. He didn't really get it; Dumbledore had requested it and, unable to come up with anything he thought really did his friends justice himself, Remus had agreed. The words began to blur and Remus relished the physical discomfort of the wind stinging his wet cheeks and the cold November seeping through his threadbare cloak. They were mercies compared to the stinging and cold he was sure he would never stop feeling within. He would never know how long it was before the epitaph came into focus once more (he still could not look at the names or dates). He only knew that it barely had when a soft voice behind him very nearly made him tumble into the freshly-turned, already stiff earth at his feet.

"It means learning that death is not an enemy at all. Everyone does, sooner or later. The lucky ones are those who realize it in life. For once you have learned that death is not an enemy, beyond the veil doesn't seem so terrifying, does it?" Dumbledore smiled slightly as Remus turned slowly to face him. The smile widened a bit at Remus' perplexed expression. "You have not learned it yet. James and Lily hadn't, either. You are too young. So young…"

"I'm not afraid to die," Remus said, a bit defensively.

"I did not say that you were. In fact, I am sure you are not. I am sure right now you are wishing you would die." Remus started to try to deny that statement, but stopped; Dumbledore's gaze always seemed to find the truth. "You need not fear death to see it as an enemy. You simply feel that death is something bad, something evil even. I felt the same for many years past your age, though I too lost my family earlier than anyone should have to. Someday, Remus, you will understand what I mean when I say that death is not evil, and should not be hated or shunned any more than coming-of-age."

Remus tried very hard to reconcile this sentence with logic, but he could not make it work. After several moments, he turned back to the epitaph. "Thank-you, Professor… I'll take your word that understanding will come." When after a minute or two Dumbledore hadn't spoken or made to leave, Remus was a bit annoyed. Perceptive as the Headmaster was, he had to know Remus wished to grieve in solitude. "Was there something else, sir?"

"Yes." Dumbledore's hesitant tone made Remus turn around and meet his eyes once more. "James' and Lily's cottage has been preserved the way the curse left it as a symbol of what violence can do. It is now invisible to Muggles. The downstairs is still mostly intact, and some of their possessions undoubtedly escaped harm. Someone needs to go through them and remove what is worth saving."

Remus was suddenly very uncomfortable. His heart beat rapidly. "And by someone you mean… me?" The crooked nose dipped slightly in assent. "But whatever is salvageable is Harry's."

"Yes. I need you to go to the Potters' cottage and remove anything you think might be of value to him when he is older. I will keep it all safe until he is ready. I wish I did not have to ask you to do this, but you are the only person left who would know what James and Lily would want their son to have. I know it will not be easy, and I am sorry."

"You want me to go now?" Another nod. The air around Remus turned suddenly thick and he gasped for breath. He only barely kept himself from curling into a fetal position right there on ground as the thought of going into the place where James and Lily died passed through him. For the first time that day, his voice shook as he replied, "I can't, Professor. Not now. Not yet. I'm sorry."

Dumbledore did not argue. "It must be done soon. I have placed protective charms on the house; you need only identify yourself as a friend to enter. The truth spell will confirm it, and let you pass. Bring what you collect to me at Hogwarts." He hesitated once more, and then brought his hand down firmly on Remus' shoulder. "You have been through more than most people ever even dream of enduring, and have come through everything with your spirit still whole. I have rarely been so proud of a student, and I am sure that- though it does not feel like it now- you will do the same again. I will remind you once more- my door is always open to you, Remus Lupin."

With that, Dumbledore dropped his hand and stepped past Remus, who watched as he crouched with his fingertips against the white marble before him. He remained that way for several moments, head bowed, before he rose and began to walk away. Remus saw the glisten of wet on his cheek as he passed without a word. He turned and watched until Dumbledore stepped outside the kissing gate that marked the entrance to the graveyard and Disapparated into the dusk.

Remus returned to work on Monday. He had a feeling that his manager had not been expecting him back quite so soon, but anything was better than sitting around the house with nothing to do but think. When he was busy he could, if not forget, at least push his grief to the back of his mind. Some of the older clientele, parents of his former schoolmates, recognized him as a friend of James' and tried to bring him up while Remus was helping them ring up their purchase, but he politely refused to talk about it. Most people, however, chattered happily about Voldemort's downfall, about how they finally let their children play outside without sharp supervision and how at last they were sleeping without nightmares of the Dark Mark, without a thought or care about what their conversation was doing to the clerk stocking shelves a few feet away. After all, Remus gave no indication whatsoever that this talk was hurting him. Besides, he could hardly ask them not to talk about the sole topic heard in Wizarding establishments everywhere. For Wizardkind, 31 October and 1 November spanned two universes- one with Voldemort and one without. They could hardly be blamed for rejoicing. And while Remus did not blame them, he did despise them for it. By rejoicing in Voldemort's downfall, in Remus' mind they were very nearly dancing on James' and Lily's graves, celebrating Sirius Black's betrayal. For Remus, the two universes spanned by Halloween and All Souls' Day were not the ones with and without Voldemort. For Remus, they were the universe in which he had friends, and the universe where his friends were gone, either from life or his life.

Remus settled into his new routine, going through the same motions every day. He got up, showered, dressed, and had tea and toast for breakfast before going to work. He had taken to Apparating directly into the stockroom at Flourish and Blotts. Before his new reality had come harshly into being, Remus had Apparated from his house in the country to the Leaky Cauldron, then walked up Diagon Alley to the shop. One attempt at this after Halloween convinced him that it would no longer work. Everywhere he looked he saw James, Sirius, and Peter. That table outside Florean Fortescue's, where they had sat with their packages eating ice cream at the end of each shopping trip. The display window outside Quality Quidditch Supplies, where he had shaken his head, laughing, as the others drooled over whatever new model stood there. Inside Flourish and Blotts was bad enough (this aisle was where they had picked out books on Animagi summer after second year; this one, where James and Sirius had gotten Hexes Your Enemies Don't Want You to Know About for use against Snivellus) and there he had work to distract him.

He also began asking for overtime, voluntarily working hours after the shop closed every day, cataloguing and cleaning. This way he could arrive home and collapse into bed without excuses to himself, sometimes even tired enough to sleep without nightmares. He treasured these times, because most often he awoke with tears running down his cheeks from dreams where James and Lily screamed for his help as their house blew up while he was held captive by Sirius whose laugh sounded high and cold like Voldemort's. Invariably, he would spend the remaining hours until dawn staring wide-eyed into the dark trying to convince himself with logic that he was not to blame for James' and Lily's deaths.

His birthday on the seventeenth passed with only a card from Christina, Sirius' former girlfriend, to note it. All throughout the day he replayed the argument he'd had with James at the cottage, the day after they'd moved in; Sirius had dropped by his house the night before to give him the location so he would be able to visit. James had been insisting they would throw Remus a small, quiet party at the cottage, just the four of them, Lily, and Harry. Remus had been insisting now was not a time for parties, and that they should not go to the trouble. James reply echoed in Remus' mind as he lay exhausted in bed after another 12-hour shift, as it had been doing since he woke up that morning: But, Moony, all the more reason to celebrate together- who knows if we'll get to next year? James had won the argument, and Remus would give anything in the world to be sitting in the cottage with him tonight, holding Harry and toasting his 22nd year with a shot of Firewhiskey. But instead, he was alone with yet more blasted tears (did they never run out?) sliding down his face, wishing that he could have stopped time while he was 21.

Full moon came a week after his birthday. It was, bar none, the worst he'd ever experienced. He made his way out to the shed about ten yards into the woods from his house earlier than usual, while he still felt strong enough to walk. Usually he lingered in the house until about half an hour before sunset, but usually he had friends on either side supporting him. He waited, shivering, on the floor, unable to think of anything but previous months in the shed. James, Sirius, and Peter had built it for him about a year after Hogwarts, as his basement was not big enough to hold them all. For nine months, he had transformed alone again, and woken under the care of his mother, who would have been extremely suspicious if he'd said he'd rather spend full moon with his friends (obviously not knowing about Padfoot, Prongs, and Wormtail). When she died, Remus had tried to convince his friends he would be all right and not to come after full moon; of course, they had. After seeing firsthand and unadulterated what he did to himself without them to distract the wolf, they had immediately decided it could not go on. And thus, during a week when they knew Remus was away on an Order mission, the shed was born. Remus had not transformed alone since.

When he came to in the morning, he could not believe the pain. It took several moments for him to realize why there were no whispers of he's coming 'round, no gentle hands wrapping bandages around the worst of his injuries. Once he did, it was still a few minutes before he managed to drag himself over to the strongbox Sirius had cleverly thought to put in, and find the potions he'd put there the night before. He downed a vial each of pain-relieving, blood-replenishing, and healing potions, in that order. With the pain dulled to a pulsing fire instead of sheer torture, he began, slowly and clumsily, to tend his own injuries for the first time in his life. He wasn't sure how he made it to the house afterward, only that it included a lot of falling to his knees and somehow dragging himself back up. He missed James and Sirius- the Sirius he had known, not this strange power-hungry traitor- more than ever as he realized anew how much he needed them. While they had always positioned themselves on either side of him to let him stand upright and save his dignity, Remus held no illusions; he knew they supported his full weight and effectively carried him inside each morning following the full moon. Until now. Remus was only too glad to collapse onto his bed and let the dark unconsciousness of post-transformation sleep, too heavy for nightmares to pierce, take hold of him.

It took Remus an unprecedented five days to recover fully from the transformation, although he returned to work after two. No one had questioned it when he sent an owl saying he was ill; any one of his coworkers would say that he had been looking like he was heading toward total collapse for weeks. And no one questioned it when he returned, either, still constantly tired and stiff from concealed injuries that were healing far more slowly than they should have been. But no one cared enough to ask after his health, either; not even his manager, who at least knew of the losses he'd endured, bothered to ask how he was coping. And now there was no Lily to fuss over him, to tell him he was even thinner than usual and please come over for dinner. There was no James to notice the ever deeper shadows under his eyes and take him out to The Three Broomsticks, plying him with butterbeers until they had sorted through whatever was wrong. No Peter to drop by, see the state of his house, and clean it himself before sitting in front of the fire with him in silent comfort. And certainly no Sirius, to tell him to snap out of it and gather the others in a matter of minutes for a night of all-out carousing just to make sure he did.

So, although the effects of even the worst of full moons had long worn off, Remus looked if anything worse weeks later. On an evening when there was no overtime to be had (Flourish and Blotts' stockroom had never been so organized, the catalogues so up-to-date, the shop so clean), Remus sat before his living room fire without Lily's food, James' butterbeer, Peter's company, or Sirius' plans. Empty-handed, he stared into the dancing flames and thought of a time when he was happy, but the remembering hurt too and before long he resorted to his usual fallback of practicing Occlumency, trying to shut his mind off from the painful reflections that insisted on entering.

It was this he was doing when there was a knock on his door. Remus started. Any sympathy visits had long since ceased. There was no one left to just drop by, and when there had been they never used the door. They simply Apparated directly into the house; family did not stand on polite customs. With a wariness born of too many years of war, Remus kept his wand raised as he went into the hall and opened the door. When he saw who stood on the porch, his jaw dropped first and his wand a moment after.

"Moody!"

"Yeah, it's me, but you lowered your wand too soon," the older man growled, "Shoulda asked me a question, first, see? Something only the real me would know. What if I were a Death Eater who'd used Polyjuice Potion, eh? As it is, I am Alastor Moody, member of the Order of the Phoenix, and the first time I met you was in Dumbledore's study the day after you graduated, when he asked you if you were 'prepared to fight with everything you have for a better world.'"

Remus blinked. Moody had that effect on people. Quietly, he said, "We're not at war anymore, Moody, in case you hadn't noticed." There was more than a little bitterness in the simple statement.

"Doesn't mean there aren't bad people out there. Constant vigilance! Are you going to let me in or what? Been on my feet all day and I'm still not used to this damn thing," Moody demanded, leaning heavily on his staff.

Remus' eyes moved down to the clawed foot, still almost shiny, visible under Moody's robes. He remembered the battle, barely a week before Halloween, where the Head Auror had sustained the curse that cost him his leg. Remus wasn't sure when he'd gotten out of St. Mungo's, but remembered him on crutches without the prosthetic at James' and Lily's funeral. He stood back to let his friend and one-time boss inside. In the kitchen, he made tea and then the two of them faced each other across the weathered table.

"You look like hell, Lupin," Moody commented.

He didn't answer. He knew how he looked, and he didn't care. Why should he? What did it matter when-? He forcefully turned his attention back to the middle-aged wizard opposite him. He tried to think of something to say, but he hadn't spoken many more words than "thank you for visiting Flourish and Blotts" and "good morning/afternoon/evening" for over a month. What were people supposed to talk about when their world had been ripped apart? He started to wish Moody would leave, despite the fact that he'd just arrived. For about two minutes while making tea, Remus had welcomed the visit for its distraction, but just the attempt at conversation forced him back to the thoughts he'd been blocking. Moody hadn't been there five minutes and Remus was already drained from the effort of human interaction. Hoping to hasten the moment for Moody's departure, but still attempting politeness, he asked, "Any particular reason you dropped by?"

Moody remained silent a moment, surveying the twenty-something lad in front of him. The grey eyes of a broken old man looked back from a face that was barely more than a boy's. He leaned forward, saying gruffly, "Look, Lupin, I know you've had a rough time of it-,"

Remus snorted involuntarily. You think?

"But," Moody continued in a slightly louder voice, "that doesn't mean you have to sit around, locked away in this house, like the world has ended! You can't wallow in your loneliness forever!"

Remus stared, and without thinking said, "I'm not wallowing."

"And I'm Merlin!" Moody retorted, "It's called wallowing when you sit around thinking about how terrible life is going to be from now on and refuse to take the slightest steps toward becoming a functioning human being again." Remus opened his mouth, but Moody cut off the objection before it started. "And what you are doing is not functioning, it's drifting through your duties like an Inferius!"

Anger was beginning to override Remus' shock. Uncharacteristically nastily, he shot back, "Am I not allowed to grieve? Is there some new Ministry proclamation forbidding werewolves from mourning, too?"

Moody didn't rise at the barb. "Of course you're allowed to grieve, but you also have to live! I never took you for such a quitter, Lupin."

A spark jumped in Remus' eyes. "I'm not quitting. There's just nothing to fight anymore." Trust me, if Sirius weren't safe in Azkaban I would personally kill him… and he knows it. If Voldemort were still in power… I'd go after him, too, prophecy or no prophecy…

"Not entirely true. You know what Dumbledore said- Voldemort isn't dead, which means this war isn't really over. If and when he regains his powers, there are enough Death Eaters who've evaded capture that he'll have a fair army right off the bat. No, the war isn't over. It's more like a truce, possibly a very long truce, while both sides count their losses and, if they're smart, strategize."

Moody was getting at something. Remus frowned, the rusty wheels in his mind beginning to turn with interest again. "What are you suggesting? I go hunt down a wizard who doesn't even have a body?"

"No. If what that prophecy- yes, I know about it- says is true, then Harry Potter will be the one to kill Voldemort. But you can help him."

Remus' eyes widened. Help James' son? He would give anything in the world to be able to do that. He had been willing to devote his life to raising him, and would gladly give his own life for that of the baby's. "But I'm not even allowed to see Harry. How am I supposed to help him defeat Voldemort? You well know that the Aurors are the ones hunting down the remaining Death Eaters, and I can't even help out with that anymore, can I?" The bitterness was back, more prevalent. Moody's presence opened a wound much older than that of Halloween.

"If it were up to me, you would be. You were shaping up to be a damn good Auror. But I have no power to overrule the Minister of Magic, or to make him see how ridiculous his prejudices are. If it makes you feel better, Black is not going to be given a trial. He will rot in Azkaban for what he's done." Moody's calm voice morphed into snarl for the last bit.

It did not make him feel better. It had not occurred to Remus that it must have been Sirius, as the spy, who had leaked word that he was a werewolf to the Minister, who would never have thought to dig the file with Remus' status out of its dusty vault. A fresh wave of betrayal swept through him; Sirius, who had kept his secret all through school, had gotten him kicked out of Auror training. Remus looked up at Moody, feeling guilty. He knew it was thanks to the Head Auror that the Minister had agreed not to add a note to Remus' job history stating what he was, as long as Remus never attempted to seek another job within the Ministry, thereby allowing him to find other work. He sighed. "I apologize, Moody. That was uncalled for. But I ask again- how am I supposed to help Harry when I can't even whittle down the number of servants Voldemort will have when he returns?"

"You can be ready to fight with him when the time comes. And you can prepare. He's going to need someone who knows the sorts of Dark Magic Voldemort will use, and how to defend against them. Someone he trusts to teach him these things, a go-to for defense information. Who better than his dad's best friend?" Moody paused. "I heard you were always a good student, Lupin."

Remus' head snapped up from studying a stain on the table. "Dumbledore put you up to this, didn't he?"

Moody looked pleased. "Like I said, shaping up to be a damn good Auror. Yes, Dumbledore put me up to this. He said a talent like yours is too good to allow to go to waste- and that you're too stubborn to look for help when you need it, so we'd better hand it to you on a silver platter. So, here's the deal. Dumbledore would like you to consider going off and learning as much about Defense Against the Dark Arts as humanly possible. You were top of your year in that subject by a long-shot, he says, and that year contained Potter and Black, so it's saying something. The Order of the Phoenix has disbanded, so it's not an official mission. But Dumbledore thought that it might help you to know you were doing something for Potter's son, and that you might actually enjoy it. What do you say?"

Remus gazed at the wall behind Moody, his mind racing in a way it hadn't since that night- ahead. He'd be helping Harry. He'd learn everything there was to know, and one day he'd teach it all to James' son. Together, they would defeat Voldemort. Then there would be time for reminiscing and eventually he'd persuade Harry to call him Uncle Remus, like he always should have… Visions of a distant, rosy future faded as Remus fell back into reality. What about his job? Could he just up and quit? Well, he didn't really like it that much, after all…. But what about money? He had a small amount saved up in his Gringotts account, but it certainly wouldn't last forever. He supposed he could get odd jobs wherever he was studying; he'd go Abroad, where people didn't know him, and hope they didn't figure out what he was. No one ever had, really, except for James, Sirius, and Peter; everyone else who knew had been told. And if they did, he could always move to the next stronghold of Defense knowledge. And what did any of these things really matter, anyway, because he'd be helping Harry? Which, by extension, meant he would be helping James. And that, certainly, was a worthy life's goal.

"I say yes."

"Excellent." Moody threw back the last of his tea and pushed himself up on his staff. The muscles in his face tightened, although he did not wince; Remus only noticed because he was so used to hiding pain himself. He wondered how long the injury would bother the Auror, and how much he really let it slow him down. Not much, Remus guessed, accompanying Moody to the door. Moody paused on the threshold. "I'll be informing Dumbledore of your decision. I think he wants to give you some ideas of how to get started. He'll be very happy to hear it."

"I suppose he will. He likes getting his own way," Remus said, but fondly.

"Usually because his way's the best," Moody agreed. He clapped Remus on the shoulder. "But I wouldn't have come if I didn't think you were ready to handle it. Everyone has it rough sometime, Lupin. You aren't the first, and you won't be the first who learns how to move on, either. See you around." With that, he limped down the walk, let himself out of the gate, and Disapparated.

Remus watched the spot long after he'd gone, wondering why the gruff, almost harsh words were the first to leave him with a sense of comfort.

A/N: So I know this was angsty, but consider what Remus is going through right now… sorry if it made anyone cry and/or vomit.

Questions, comments, criticisms, words of wisdom, perhaps? Then review! All reviews responded to.