By early May, Remus and Helene had fallen into a very comfortable sort of routine. They woke up at virtually the same time, showered, dressed, etc. They almost always walked down the hall to the kitchen together, greeting each other with friendly, "Good mornings." Remus would make bacon and toast, Helene would fry eggs and set the table. Remus put the kettle on as they took their breakfast almost exactly the same, with only a bit more butter on her toast than his.

They would then eat, do the dishes, and find some way to pass the morning. Usually this consisted of Remus reading the Daily Prophet and Helene going through the trial records Remus had found for her, detailing the various public-record fates of known and suspected male Death Eaters. Occasionally Remus would enlist her for a part of his crossword, or Helene would ask about a Death Eater whose file had gaps, but typically they were more or less silent until lunch.

Remus always made lunch, because Helene would forget it entirely if he didn't, and work straight through to dinner. He did mostly basic things, like salads or sandwiches, but after a long morning of sifting through dusty files Helene was always grateful for whatever he put on the plate in front of her.

They would then proceed to work through the afternoon as well, Remus doing his job hunt and Helene continuing her sifting. As they were both by-and-large unsuccessful, this was usually a bit bleaker than the morning, and both were grateful when the clock would strike five and Helene could make them whatever quick-and-cheap dinner she had ingredients and inspiration for that night.

Sometimes Remus would help make dinner, other nights he would read files out loud to her as she worked. The latter was usually if she'd come across something interesting, like someone accused of being involved in her family's murder.

They would then eat dinner, discuss the level of fruitfulness of the day, wash the dishes, and retire to the study for a glass of wine and a game or two of wizard's chess.

When the chess was done they said goodnight and went their separate ways, only to begin the cycle once more in the morning.

They were half-way between lunch and dinner on a particularly noteworthy day when Helene looked down at her notes and sighed. There were simply too many people convicted for her family's death, and far too many accused. A dozen people had been present, at most, but she now had a list of twenty convicted men, and counting. How many wrongly convicted? How many had got away?

The time inched forward, frustrating Helene, who had more or less given it all up as a bad day and wanted an excuse to be done for the night.

She picked up the next file, DOLOHOV, ANTONIN, and frowned at it, turning it over without opening it. Her memory stirred.

"Were there many Dolohovs, Remus?" she asked, running her thumb thoughtfully along the spine of the file.

Remus looked up from the cover letter he was frantically penning and frowned.

"Not that I recall. He'd been a few years ahead of me in school-"

"Antonin?"

"Yes. His mother died in childbirth and his father died a few years after Antonin graduated Hogwarts. There were rumors, of course, that Antonin couldn't wait for his inheritance." Remus made a face. "If he had cousins or uncles I don't recall them. Why? Do you think it was him? It seems unlikely."

"No, it wasn't him," Helene admitted with a nod. "But he was there." Remus jolted upright abruptly, scattering his papers a bit. "I remember my Death Eater berating him. Dolohov was the one who pointed out that one child was missing. My Death Eater seemed to treat Dolohov as though he were responsible for the failure." She paled, opening the file, flipping through it frantically.

"He's in Azkaban," Remus said gently. "Don't worry. You're safe."

But Helene still shuddered as she looked at the final page of Dolohov's file. He'd been charged with many things, including killing her family. But that one charge that she knew he was guilty of he'd been cleared of.

How many cases had the Ministry bungled?

Helene rubbed her eyes, fighting back tears. She knew Remus was watching her, and finally she said, "He was cleared. He butchered my family and he was cleared of it. This is hopeless, Remus. The record is so flawed I'll never know who was really there."

She picked up a file that read SNAPE, SEVERUS and began flipping leisurely through.

"It's difficult," Remus said softly, "but it's not hopeless until you give up. We have one fact, at least. He'd worked with Dolohov. The inner circle. Voldemort didn't let them all know each other, you see, because then if one betrayed them for any reason he could only betray some. But Dolohov was in the inner circle, said so himself during the trial. Give me your list and I'll mark the ones known or suspected to be from the inner circle. That's your starting point."

Helene thanked him, handing him her list of those convicted for her family's deaths as she sifted through the file of Severus Snape. It was even looking like a promising file until she reached the last page and read, "Cleared on all charges by special evidence of Albus Dumbledore."

She sighed, scribbled him down on the 'cleared' list, and pushed aside the file, pulling COOK, TORKEL towards her and sifting through the pages.

"This is ridiculous," Remus finally muttered as he glanced through all her notes. "The people convicted in your case are people they couldn't pin to anything else. This is insulting and disgusting." He crumpled the list. "I doubt any of these people were even there. Do you have a list of the ones who got off?"

She pushed her other list toward him and he plucked up his quill, ticking off several names as he scanned the page and said, "This is more like it."

Helene saw him hesitate as she dismissed Torkel Cook's file before making a dot beside one of the names. A few moments later he handed her the list once more.

"Ticks are confirmed," Remus said. "Dots are suspected."

Helene's eyes grazed the list looking for dots, trying to find the person Remus had hesitated over. Severus Snape; Barty Crouch, Jr.; and Portellus Nott were all suspected.

"Nott," she said.

"Year ahead of me in school. Quiet," Remus said slowly. "A prefect, actually. I wouldn't have marked him, but all of his closest friends were in the inner circle. It proves nothing, but highly suspect. He's free."

"Crouch."

Remus frowned.

"He was younger than me, but I can't recall how much. He was very bright. The only thing he was even charged with other than your family's deaths he was convicted on, and it was a particularly heinous act committed with some of Voldemort's favorites. But we know nothing of his status with Voldemort, despite how it looks. He's dead, died in Azkaban. If I had to guess, though, he wasn't there when your family was killed."

"Snape," Helene said, feeling the strange name on her tongue.

"He was certainly a Death Eater," Remus said deliberately, as though trying not to say the wrong thing. "He's admitted as much. We... we were the same year at school. How deep he went I don't honestly know, but he was certainly talented and disciplined enough."

"If he's an admitted Death eater," Helene pressed, puzzled, "then how did he get cleared of all charges? What evidence does Professor Dumbledore have?"

"I don't know. But he trusts Severus, and if Dumbledore trusts him, that's good enough for me."

But Helene began to wonder on Dumbledore's judgment, on his evidence. After all, he gave evidence against Sirius Black to have him convicted without a trial for a crime he didn't actually commit. Had Dumbledore distrusted Sirius then, wrongfully? Was he wrong in trusting Snape now?

Without knowing both sets of evidence Helene couldn't even know whether the cases were truly comparable, but she knew one thing for certain.

Dumbledore made mistakes.

Before she could fall too deeply into her musings, however, the clock struck five and Helene and Remus moved to the kitchen habitually.

"Tell me about the paper," Helene said, placing vegetables out and putting knives down beside them, waving her wand to begin the chopping. Remus set the table.

"Not much to tell," he sighed. "It was a slow news day. No more than a blurb on Bertha Jorkins to even mention."

"Who?" Helene asked, putting pasta in a pot and tapping to bring it to a boil.

"Ah, Bertha Jorkins," Remus replied, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "She was a few years ahead of me in school. She's worked as a secretary in a few different Ministry departments. She was on holiday in Albania visiting family with she disappeared without a trace. Her current boss, Ludo Bagman, doesn't seem too concerned even though she's been missing for months. He says she's absent-minded and will turn up any day. But as I recall Bertha, she was anything but absent. Not very bright, no, but she was a perennial gossip and remembered all sorts of minutia."

"Gone for months?" Helene muttered, frowning as she strained the pasta. "Probably safe to assume she's not coming back."

"Oh, Sirius is sure that she's dead," Remus agreed. "I'd like to say there's still hope, but he's probably right. Anyway, if I remember correctly, Albania was where Quirinus Quirrell when on sabbatical, and that was nothing short of horrific in the end."

"Who's Quirinus Quirrell?" Helene pressed, heating the butter and garlic sauce carefully as she waved her wand to peel the prawns.

"Ah, former Hogwarts professor," Remus informed her, pouring them some wine. "He taught Muggle Studies, took a year off to study dark creatures in Albania, and returned to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts. According to Dumbledore, Voldemort attached himself to Quirrell's soul and lived on the back of his head all year trying to get back his own body. Quirrell's dead. Maybe Voldemort retreated back to Albania again."

Helene shuddered. Devouring souls, people on people's heads... she was almost glad she'd been away for years.

"But why Albania?" she asked, tossing the sauce over the pasta, coating the noodles in the slick, garlicky sauce. "I mean it's a bit far away. There must be something special about it."

"Oh, I imagine there is, but I haven't a clue what it might be." Remus replied, putting a hot pad on the table so the hot pasta bowl wouldn't damage the finely finished wood. "I suppose Dumbledore knows."

"Perhaps," Helene replied as she mixed the prawns and vegetables. But she kept repeating in her mind that Dumbledore didn't know everything. Suddenly England seemed far less safe than it had when she'd left Australia.

She tossed a quick salad and heated some bread before carefully laying out dinner and sitting down across from Remus, who began by dishing up her plate, as usual.

"I suppose all this about Voldemort is worrying you," he said softly. "But the war is over."

How many times a day did he tell himself that to keep the nightmares away?

"Of course I'm worried," Helene sniffed as if it were nothing at all to be concerned about Voldemort. "But I'm not about to leave, if that's what you think. England is my home, and I intend to find that Death Eater."

Remus nodded and they ate in near-silence for several minutes, the clinking of forks and knives and plates on the air. Helene had to keep herself from pouring more wine, refusing to give Remus any reason to believe that she was upset.

"I suppose you've found some job prospects?" Helene finally asked politely.

He shifted in his seat a little.

"Not as such," he sighed. "Not yet. It would be easier if there weren't so many restrictions on werewolves. I've thought on being a private tutor, but I'd have to be very up front and get an incredibly progressive family."

"And that hasn't happened because...?"

"Most private tutors work in Muggle-born cases, and I can't imagine Muggle parents reacting favorably to the word 'werewolf,' can you?"

"No, no, I suppose you're right about that," Helene agreed sadly. She picked at her salad for a moment, shifting it around on her plate. Then she said, "Are you frightened?"

For a long moment, Remus didn't answer. When he did, he said, "Logically, there's really nothing to be frightened of. Most people living in fear at the moment are afraid of Sirius murdering them in their beds." He hesitated, then continued. "But I'm afraid for Sirius. I'm afraid for Harry. And... and in spite of my better judgment, I'm afraid that everything I try to convince myself is paranoia might actually be war instinct or werewolf senses or... or something like that. I mean, life just gave me back reasons to live and then it threatens to take them all away from me again."

He flushed when he realized how much he'd said and they fell into another long silence in which he pretended to be fascinated with his fork, and she with the edge of her plate. Finally, Helene spoke.

"What changed?" she asked carefully. "What reasons to live?"

"Harry," Remus said thoughtfully, "who is a constant reminder of his parents. Sirius, who is the only thing left to me of the best years of my life. And... and you, of course."

"Me?"

Remus gave her a sad smile.

"The one thing we did right that wasn't tainted by Peter. You've ended up better than when we found you. And if things go truly bad, I could lose all three of you at once. I – I felt helpless at the end of the war, but to lose it all again... I would truly be left with nothing."

Helene knew exactly how that felt, that moment of knowing that everything in the world that matters is being destroyed. She could not find her voice to say so, but the look she gave Remus spelled out plainly how she understood his plight.

Loss left a hole that could never truly be filled.

They finished dinner quickly, cleaning their dishes without a word and Helene put them away while Remus poured more wine. She saw that he poured more than usual for himself and she felt guilty for asking such difficult questions.

He waved his wand to start a fire in the grate as she set up the chessboard.

Helene had never particularly cared which color she played, but this was Remus's set and he had told her early on that he always played black. He'd developed a rapport with the pieces over the years he'd owned the set, and he always seemed to beat her thoroughly. Especially because no matter how many times they played, the white pieces never trusted her ability to make a decision.

The first round, Remus beat her quickly and easily. He then poured himself another glass of wine and she watched him reset the pieces with concern.

"Have I..." she began cautiously. "Have I upset you?"

Remus looked up at her startled.

"Whatever do you mean?" he insisted. Helene gestured to the nearly-empty wine bottle at his side. Remus glanced at the bottle and gave a hoarse laugh. "Oh, that. No, don't worry. Alcohol isn't as strong for werewolves and other dark creatures. It would take a lot of wine bottles for me to drink away my troubles. No, I just happen to particularly like this vintage. Would you like the rest?"

"No, thank you," Helene murmured, both concerned with drinking more than her body was used to and disconcerted by the note of insincerity in Remus's voice when he'd spoken of the vintage. Perhaps she'd imagined it, but it made her spine tingle in the same way as when he all but called himself a dark creature.

"You can't put me there!" her knight cried as she made to move it. "Don't you see his castle? I'll be doomed!"

Helene sighed.

That had been more or less the idea. She'd never met a more selfish set of pieces in all her life.

When Helene pointed this out to Remus, he laughed.

"Those were Sirius's pieces, mainly," he reminisced. "Lily hated them. He was very proud of them, though, for whatever reason. He didn't often win, but when he did, he did so spectacularly."

Helene smiled a little.

"For a while, after he was arrested," Remus went on, frowning slightly, "I would stare at this chess set and use the selfishness he'd taught the pieces to justify his guilt. Sacrifice anyone but himself. But he wasn't really like that. Quidditch, Order missions, Marauder shenanigans... He was always the first to take one for the team, especially where James was concerned. It took a while to convince myself that one chess set – which was really more for a laugh than anything – was more indicative of his character than everything else I knew. But twelve years is a long time. It becomes easier to forget what's important when months become years."

Helene put a hand over Remus's hand, hastily blinking away her own tears.

"You know the truth now," she said firmly. "That's what really matters, right?"

Remus nodded numbly and she got the feeling he'd told himself those words a time or two before.

Finishing the chess match was a quiet affair after that, as if even the chess pieces could recognize the somber atmosphere and held in all remarks. When Helene realized she'd won she was shocked, and then she realized Remus was too distracted to play properly.

Without a word about her hollow victory, she packed away the chess set and put it on its usual shelf before joining Remus by the fire.

"I hope you find him," Remus said softly as she sat down. "Your Death Eater. I hope you find closure."

She looked up at Remus cautiously, the tired and many lines on his face harshly jumping out in the firelight, accentuating the anger in his amber eyes.

"What would bring you closure?" Helene asked.

"If Peter could ever suffer enough," Remus whispered, "to amount to all of the pain and suffering he has caused others, then I could be at peace. But I don't know that it's possible, and I certainly don't have the power to make it happen."

"My Death Eater could be dead," she told him after a long moment. "Or in Azkaban, suffering. And then I might never get to thank him properly, and I might have to live with knowing that he was punished in spite of the good he'd done." She swallowed back tears and continued. "And then, he might be alive and free, and how could I thank a man who insists he had no control over his actions during the events in question, when I know it's all a lie? How do I sleep, knowing that a man like that is walking free in spite of his crimes? And I can't walk away because I have nowhere else to turn, nothing else to devote myself to. No matter how this ends, Remus, I don't think I'll ever fully have closure."

They sat in silence for a moment, but for the wood crackling in the fire.

"Perhaps there is some scenario you are overlooking," he told her gently.

Helene didn't think so, but she replied, "Perhaps you have overlooked something, too."

He gave her a smile that screamed plainly how it was a charity smile, filled with a false hopefulness he could never feel or embrace.

The two of them watched the fire die down slowly, thinking of things to explain their despair more properly to each other but saying nothing at all.

Finally, clock struck eleven and Helene found herself barely capable of keeping her eyes open. Remus took the wine glass from her hand, washed and replaced the glasses, and returned to say, "I think it's time for bed."

Helene nodded sleepily, dragging herself to her feet, allowing herself to lean on Remus without even really thinking of it. They walked down the hall to their rooms and paused outside their doors.

"Good night," Helene murmured sleepily, but her words were cut off by a pair of lips pressing to her own and a hand squeezing hers.

It was all over as quickly as it had begun. Remus said goodnight and they went into their separate rooms. Helene peeled off her clothes and put on a blue silk nightgown, brushing her teeth and hair, washing her face. She'd just climbed into bed when it hit her.

Remus had kissed her good night.

It had been a sweet, quick, unassuming peck, unlike all the times William had tried to kiss her. As she played it back in her mind her lips began to tingle and she could almost feel the warmth of his breath on her mouth before their lips met.

What had he meant by it?

Remus was a man who remembered her as a child. He was a reminder of her childhood just as she was a reminder of the last days of almost-happiness before the world ripped apart.

Perhaps it was too much wine, or how tired they were, or maybe it hadn't happened at all and she was imagining the whole thing, like the kiss on the cheek she had fabricated when she first started sleeping in the house again.

"No," Helene whispered into the darkness. "I don't think I could imagine a thing like that."

She then blushed when she thought of werewolf hearing, wondering just how good it really was, if he'd heard what she'd just said, if he could hear her heart racing.

Or perhaps he was already asleep and not listening at all. Perhaps he wouldn't even remember in the morning.

But what had he meant by it? Why had he done it?

Even though moments earlier she'd been exhausted, Helene sat up under her covers, wide awake and staring at the sliver of moonlight through the blinds. When the full moon came he would go off again to some place he wouldn't tell her about to transform remotely and safely.

Helene had always worried, but now she could feel her palms beginning to sweat as she thought of his transformation with dread. Would he be all right? What if he hurt himself? Who would take care of him?

Helene sat up a bit straighter and began to ask herself, as many young woman who had no real experience with romantic love might do, if she could be falling in love with Remus Lupin.

She certainly felt something, which was far more than she could say about William.

But there was not an overwhelming sense of passion she had always subconsciously expected. She hadn't even noticed in the moment that he had kissed her.

Helene found herself wishing she'd listened a bit more to her mother and Mrs. Little when they'd talked about boys and love and so on. Maybe she would have a better idea of how to handle the situation she now found herself in. What was a girl supposed to do?

She rolled over onto her side.

No, there was no figuring it out tonight. Better to sleep.