Chapter Eight

Under the Influence

There's a gardening shed behind the Lovegood's house, but I think I would be more surprised to find gardening tools in it than I would be to find just about anything else. This is not to say they don't love the outdoors, because Luna and her dad are both amateur naturalists, but . . . Neat, orderly rows of plants, done with a spade and packets of seeds and a gardening hose? The Lovegoods? Not likely.

In fact, once I get past the choking dust, there's not much in the shed at all. A tangle made up of wires and tubes such as the ones Mr. Lovegood was using for his "Wrackspurt Detector" sits in one corner. There's a chair with a spring poking out of the seat and a truly ugly doily hanging from it like a flag. I puzzle over this for a moment, then decide that the doily was covering a hole, and the spring popped out later. I think I recognize the doily as a gift from Ron and Ginny's Auntie Muriel—blargh. She must have given one to all the Weasley's neighbours at some point.

The wires and the chair are basically it, except a few things that do look suspiciously like gardening tools, covered by a sheet. It's perfect, I decide, and shut the door again without latching it. I'll be back later.

That night, I go to the door as soon as I hear footsteps approaching the house. I already told Luna what was going to happen tonight, and I asked her very politely if she wanted to be there. She declined, happily enough for me. No spells barred, then. Neville is kind of nervous about this, but he knows that we're doing this for Luna, so he's not backing down. He's right behind me when I slip outside, and he shuts the door in near silence.

We each grab one of Scamander's arms, and start tugging him around back.

"Wait a minute," he protests. "What do you think you're doing?"

His voice rings out clearly in the very quiet night. That's odd, isn't it?

"Excuse me, but I'd like to talk to my fiancee!" he says, trying to pull himself away from us.

Oh, crap. He's sober.

"She's not your fiancee," I inform him, wondering how he could have missed that important fact, then I kick open the door of the shed. I suppose I could open it using the handle, like a civilized person, but kicking is easier when you're keeping a large blond man from getting out of your grip—and we've discarded civility for the night.

As we discussed a bit earlier today, Neville does the shoving while I do the locking of the door. Neville's a pretty big fellow—honestly, I'm starting to think about taking up Herbology, all that wrestling with plants seems to work wonders—and he basically just tosses Scamander into the dusty chair without any trouble. I use my hard-earned skills in anti-detection and silencing to make certain that we are not going to be interrupted.

"Okay, scumbag," Neville says in an ugly voice, reaching out and plucking Scamander's wand from him. "This is pretty simple: you're going to sit there and listen to us for a minute. Got it?"

Yeah, Neville gets to be bad cop (although this is mostly because good cop is supposed to do the talking, and that has to be my job). This actually might be fun.

"How about you listen for a minute?" Scamander rages. Neville circles behind the chair and clamps his hands on Scamander's shoulders, holding him in place.

I turn around, finished with my work, and shrug. "Fine. We'll humour you. What do you have to say for yourself, Scamander?"

"Why should I have anything to say to you?" he says, with something that looks a bit too much like a smirk for my liking. But Neville's the bad cop, here. I flick my eyes to him for a second, and he gets the message.

"Wipe that smile off your face," he growls, tightening his fingers into Scamander's shoulders. It's passable. Not great, but passable. I doubt Scamander is particularly well-versed in Auror techniques, anyway.

"Good question." I'm using a voice that sounds nice and cheerful, like I'm enjoying this. "Maybe because we've locked you into a small room with us, and we're going to hurt you if you don't?"

"You can't do that," he says with perfect assurance. "You'll lose your Auror license."

"You think the Ministry will fire me, on your word?" I let out a chuckle that isn't entirely fake. I know it's horrible, and I know I complain about it incessantly, but there are times it's nice to have the status I have. "Scamander, I could kill you and bury you in a ditch, and they'd likely promote me. You don't seem to realize who you're dealing with right now. Let me ask you a question: How many people who directly stood in front of Voldemort and told him 'no' are currently alive?"

"V-Volde— what are you talking about?"

"The answer is two, fuckwit. Two people who personally told Voldemort to piss off and lived to see the end of the war. Both of them are in this room. And they're both angry with you."

Scamander goes very, very pale for a moment.

"But that's completely beside the point, isn't it? We're not here to talk about Voldemort. We're here because of Luna, and you aren't going anywhere until I'm satisfied you understand the situation."

"The only situation here is that you've gone and stuck your nose into other people's business!" Scamander answers, his face gaining colour again. "I'm engaged to the girl I love one day, and the next day, I find out you've turned her against me! I can't even pretend to know why you're so concerned about our relationship, but I'll thank you to remove yourself from it!"

He tries to stand up then, and Neville immediately draws his wand, casting an Immobulus to keep the man still long enough for the two of us to bind him to the chair. Neville seems a little confused about what's going on (understandable, since I didn't really tell him) and settles for saying nothing further. It could work; silence can be scary.

"Let's stop fucking around," I say in a sweet voice. "She told me, Scamander. She told me everything."

He looks concerned, at least briefly, but then he just shrugs the whole thing off like it's an itch between his shoulders and glares at me.

"I don't know what that's supposed to mean, but I'm in love with Luna. She's extremely precious to me. I assure you that I haven't done anything to warrant this kind of assault."

"You really are an idiot, aren't you Scamander? I said she told me everything. You saw how naïve she was, and you took advantage of it. You got her wrapped around your finger, and you forced her to do things she didn't want to do. She was pretty confused about the whole thing, but she was clear on one point: she definitely told you 'no.' And she told you she didn't like it. And she told you it hurt. That's bad enough, so I won't even start on all the ways you've been trying to force her to make her business and personal life match up to your expectations. You're a control freak, but just now I'm more concerned that you're an abusive control freak."

Caught up in the moment, I forgot that Neville didn't know this. He's standing to one side of Scamander, and his face is getting darker and darker with anger the more I talk.

"Why would she even talk to you?" Scamander spits out, acting more pissed off than scared. I was hoping he would be a coward, but I guess it's time to step things up.

Only I don't really have to, because Neville lunges forward and slugs Scamander in the jaw. My own jaw drops open, I can kind of feel it dragging in the dirt on the floor, but I'm too busy staring to care. I guess Neville can do bad cop, after all.

"You know what, fuck you, Scamander!" Neville shouts, towering over the man with his fists clenched. "It's none of your business if she talks to her friends! This is about what you've done to her!"

Scamander is shocked, and his eyes are showing fear now. "Look, I . . . I do love her, and I just . . . You know, people in love are allowed to be physical. They usually want to have that, it's an important part of the relationship. She didn't know anything about it, so I taught her. I thought she'd be grateful, I mean, Merlin, what girl her age doesn't know anything about sex? She loves me, too, or she wouldn't have agreed to it. I mean, I don't know what she told you, but it was consensual."

"Like hell it was," I say, and then I'm overcome, seeing red, and my fist somehow makes its way to Scamander's face, nearly on top of the red spot Neville's punch left behind. "You took advantage of her! Admit it! And then, you snake, then you hurt her! I don't know what kind of world you're living in, Scamander, but that's not love where I come from!"

I think I must have hit him a couple of times, even though I don't really remember doing it, because his nose is bleeding.

"If a woman tells you 'no,' and you take what you want anyway, it's rape. If you make it hurt, even though she tells you not to, it's rape."

Scamander looks completely dazed, and I'm not sure it's the punches. I think he didn't even know what he is. And what he is, is a fucking rapist.

"I . . . I didn't," he says in a weak voice, like he doesn't know what he's denying. "I love Luna, I didn't mean to . . ."

Neville punches him again. "You've lost the right to say that," he says, and even I shiver. His voice is soft, and cold. I've never heard Neville talk that way. "You've lost the right to speak to her, about her, or near her. If you ever try to contact her again, I will come find you, and I will castrate you. Got it?"

This threat is helped by the fact that Neville's got his wand pointing at the man's bits.

"And I'm not an Auror," he continues, still quiet and cold. "I don't have a license to lose. So don't make the mistake of thinking I don't mean it, Scamander."

"He'll have worse problems if he comes near our friend again, Neville," I break in. "Because I have a written statement from her, and I can file it at any time." Yes, this is a big fat lie, but I'm allowed one lie in the course of this little altercation. "But I'll let you castrate him before I send him to prison, I guess. Not much use for that thing, on the inside."

"I'm not sure that's enough punishment," Neville says with a frown, seeming to catch on to the game of this thing at last. "I hear Azkaban isn't so bad since they got rid of the dementors."

"We could drop him off in a vampire nest," I suggest.

"Maybe you could just make sure he gets to bunk with Greyback when he gets to Azkaban," Neville says.

"That might work," I agree, "He won't ever publish a book again, if he goes to jail. Making him a werewolf so he can't get any other job just makes it even better."

"I get the point!" Scamander bursts out, almost shrieking. "I get it, alright? You two lunatics don't want me to talk to Luna anymore! Once she tells me that herself, then I'll go. That's all I want. I want to hear it from her first."

He's grasping at straws at this point, and he knows it, but thankfully I was already prepared for this.

"You did hear it from her, although you might've been too hammered to remember. That's okay. She knew she might have to say it again." I draw from my pocket the object that Luna gave me earlier today. She agreed that if she saw Scamander in person, he might use that silver tongue of his to test her resolve, so she said I could be the one to give this to him. I must admit, I find it pretty satisfying to drop it into his lap.

He stares down at the gleam of gold on his leg. "Her engagement ring?"

"She said you could have that back. Apparently she doesn't want it anymore."

Scamander's face crumples. Just that quickly, I realise it's over. He's done. He's had enough. He was prepared to fight Neville and I to the ends of the earth, but actual rejection from Luna seems to break his resolve. We unbind him and cancel the immobilising curse, but we take him by the arms again to escort him off the property. Just to be on the safe side, you understand. But he gets his wand back once we let him go.

Once he's outside the Lovegood's wards, he starts to shuffle away. He's got the ring clenched in a fist, and he keeps looking at it as he meanders away. I can hear him start to cry. Neville snorts, crosses his arms, and keeps up a menacing stance, waiting for Scamander to get out of sight before he breaks it. Scamander looks back only once, looking right over our heads to the light in Luna's window. She has the curtains drawn.

I'm disgusted with myself for it, but I think I feel a little sorry for him.

Scamander pulls out his wand, making us both tense up. He conjures a little paper bird, whispers to it, and sends it floating up toward her window. He can't think he's going to get away with that? Neville incinerates it immediately.

I don't feel sorry for him anymore. I hit his conniving arse with a jinx before he can Disapparate.

Neville and I are clearly more intimidating than I'd hoped. Not hide nor hair of Rolf Scamander is seen in Ottery St. Catchpole after that night. Not that chasing The Arsehole off immediately solves everything. Really, he makes an appearance in way more parts of my life than I'm comfortable with. Like my job, for example.

"Potter!"

"Ah, hello, Mr. Nguyen, what can I do for you?"

"Had an interesting case at St. Mungo's this morning, Potter. I went and checked it out myself."

"Unusual for you, isn't it sir?"

"Get tired of sitting behind the desk. Besides, this was a delicate situation, I had to be sure it was handled appropriately."

"What was it, sir?"

"This bloke showed up seeking treatment for hex damage to his face, and he refused to give his name or say what had happened to him. Healers thought it was suspicious, called our office, so I went down there to talk to him."

"Did you? What did he have to say for himself?"

"Not much, really. Still wouldn't tell me a damn thing. He just said it had been a personal dispute, and nobody was going to be pressing charges. Wasn't much I could do about it, so I cut him loose and let him get treated. But I can't stop thinking about what had happened to him. Someone had caused the words 'Rat Bastard' to be spelled out across his face in boils."

"Er, how interesting."

"Innit? Well, I just couldn't help thinking about last time I had a case like that. Some poor bloke got cursed the same way, only it said, 'hypocrite.' Funny how that was you, eh, Potter?"

"Funny, sir."

"Look, I don't even want to know, okay? I just need to know if any of my other Aurors were involved."

"I have no idea what you are talking about sir. But since the Auror squad is comprised of such fine, upstanding folks, I would say none of them would be involved in something like that."

"Mmph. Fine. Or . . . Any chance of a trainee being involved?"

"Absolutely not, sir. Not that I would know for sure, since I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Well, then, who was there?"

"I certainly have no idea, sir. But if somebody was there, it wouldn't be anyone I'd want to mess with."

"This happens again, Potter, and this goes on the record, you understand?"

"Absolutely, sir."

"Mmph."

It isn't just the job, of course. There's the friends (and girlfriend) to deal with. I was trying to be helpful and keep people off Luna's back, so I sent a quick note to the people she invited to the wedding, letting them know it was cancelled. I thought it was nice and straightforward. Apparently, that's my masculine brain assuming too much about women.

"Just what I said in the note I sent: The wedding's off. It's not my place to say anymore. If you want to know why, you'll have to ask Luna. Although I hope you won't, at least not for now. She needs some time."

And of course there's Luna herself. It's incredibly clear to me that she needs someone to talk to that isn't me. She needs to talk to a girl, about a lot of things. For one thing, I'm concerned that she's injured in some way that needs to be dealt with. But mostly, it's just that I can tell she's still really confused. I can see why she'd have an aversion to seeing a Healer, but the real problem is that her closest friend, the one she could talk to most intimately, has somehow become me. There's a lot in this situation that I can't help her with, and I get the willies every time I think about trying.

I consider my girlfriend. Ginny could talk to her. Ginny has been her friend for a long time, and she's got a really kind heart. But the thing about Ginny is that she's . . . well, too direct. Bless her for having any sense of femininity in her soul at all, after growing up with all those boys around, but she isn't the nurturing sort. I'm afraid Luna's just going to break if she isn't handled delicately.

It takes me a while to figure it out. It's probably because I never had one, myself. Eventually, I realise that what Luna needs is her mother. So that really sucks.

Oh, hey . . . Ginny, and mothers, and nurturing women . . . and . . . Yeah, that could work.

"Luna? Do you think you could feel comfortable talking to Mrs. Weasley?"

That little comment on my part leads to an intense round of firecalls, and my pacing in the Lovegood's garden whilst Molly calls on Luna. It takes a long time, and I'm worried as hell before they finally tell me to stop tromping through the radishes and come in. There's a big pile of tissues and they both look shaken, but Molly is cuddling Luna with an arm around her waist, like she's still a little girl, and Luna is letting her.

Molly doesn't stay long after that, but she does invite Luna and Mr. Lovegood over for dinner the next night, and she takes me aside to tell me that I'd better protect that girl and I'd better understand that she's still far too innocent and I'd better be on my best behaviour around her. Trying to work out what she's saying, I interpret it to mean she's warning me to not be an oblivious male about this. I have to think of a way to give her some space without making it seem like I'm drawing away. She's shaking her finger at me, so I just say "yes, ma'am," and try not feeling like twelve-year-old boy who just landed an illegal flying car in her yard.

Knowing that Molly will be keeping an eye on her, I can almost convince myself that it's safe to give Luna space. In fact, after their talk, Luna seems to be doing better, and I finally think I ought to go home. I'm pretty stunned when I realise I've been staying at the Lovegoods for over a week.

I need to go to work this afternoon, but I've been missing my Bug, so I invite him to come over for breakfast with me. I want to spend at least a couple of hours with him, since I won't get another chance to see him until tomorrow night. I know he's probably pretty confused about my absence for so long, and I don't know how exactly I'm going to be able to explain it. I'm not about to lie to Bug, but this is really . . . Just way too much for a boy of his age.

He launches himself at me the second Andromeda escorts him through the Floo, and I am forced to catch him before he manages to do me real harm. He's smiling, obviously happy to see me, but he wraps his legs around my waist and buries his face in my neck, which means I should have called him before now. He's not quite this clingy unless he's insecure, and the only thing he could be feeling insecure about is the way my absence might have communicated that he wasn't important to me.

Yeah, I suck as a godfather.

I run my fingers through his hair and raise my eyebrows at Andromeda. "Talk later?" I mouth at her. I wanted to ask her about Teddy's medication, but I think it had better wait until after I spend some time with him. She just nods and slips back into the Floo, but I see the frown building on her face. I hate it when she frowns, because it always means something particularly bad to me. In fact, I get the weird and not-a-little disturbing idea that she's frowning because Bug and I are holding onto each other so tight.

"Are you hungry?" I ask the barnacle attached to my chest. It nods, which tickles my neck, and I repress an undignified giggle. "Good. We're going to make french toast and bacon."

"And orange juice?" Teddy asks hopefully, finally lifting up his head.

So I was raised Muggle. So I stopped drinking pumpkin juice as soon as I started doing my own food shopping. So sue me. I think the fact that I have orange juice is half the reason Teddy likes coming to my house.

"Obviously orange juice," I saw, rolling my eyes with great drama, and Teddy finally feels ready to let go of me and slip down to go to the kitchen. He does stick right by my side, though. "You're going to help me cook, right, Bug?"

He nods frantically, sending his shaggy hair flopping about. Andromeda tells me that she tries to cut it all the time, and it grows right back. She also says that if I ever bothered cutting my hair, Teddy's hair would probably behave. (I just forget—I'm not neglecting my hair on purpose just because it amuses me to watch Andromeda struggle. Really, I promise.)

I get out the ingredients and a pan to cook them in, and I generously allow Teddy to attempt cracking the eggs. He makes an awful mess, but getting it perfect isn't really the point, is it? Luckily, the egg and the egg shell contain components different enough that I can Vanish the shell and leave the egg without trouble.

"Your toast always tastes better than Grandma's," Teddy informs me. I try to stop the swell of pride, but it's difficult.

"Can you keep a secret?" I ask him in a whisper.

He nods eagerly.

I summon a canister of cinnamon, and very solemnly drop a pinch into the egg batter.

"You can't tell Grandma. It's my super secret recipe."

"Okay," he whispers, and pantomimes zipping his lips.

I'm suddenly moved to give him a big hug. "It's not really a secret," I laugh. "Mrs. Weasley showed me that."

Teddy grins at me. "Can I still pretend it's a secret? I like having a secret from Grandma."

"Sure, Bug," I say, and straighten up again to finish fixing our breakfast. "Will you get plates and forks and cups?"

"Okay!"

The table is set, possibly a bit haphazardly, but set, while I get the bacon sizzling.

"Can I pour orange juice?"

I can already hear Kreacher's complaints about the mopping, and it causes me to hesitate just the tiniest bit. Teddy's face falls.

"Okay, go ahead."

I am such a sap. (No, doctor, I am not compromising my judgment because of my guilty feelings over my recent absence, and how dare you suggest such a thing.) And I actually had no reason to worry, since Teddy doesn't spill a drop. (Well, okay, just a drop.) And with how good the food and the company are, I find it hard to be upset over that kind of thing. With the week I've been having, I need an hour with my innocent and delightful godson about as much as I need breathing, and I finally start to relax as we eat. Yes, I'm still worried about a godforsaken number of things, but this is always going to be able to make things right in my world.

I'm shoveling the last piece of bacon into my mouth when Teddy asks the question I've been dreading he will ask.

"How come you didn't . . ." he stops there, and picks up his orange juice. He doesn't want to ask, but he's giving me that under-the-hair look.

"Do you want to know why I didn't spend time with you this week?"

He shakes his head in violent refusal, but I fix him with a stern look.

"Are you lying?" I ask him.

He starts crying. Great, I've made an insecure five-year-old cry. I wonder if I can still rank above the dung beetle and tapeworms, or if it's time to let the Hogwarts squid eat me.

"C'mere." I gather him up, unprotesting, into my lap, and he tries to bury his face in my chest. "Hey, Bug, it's okay. Shhh. Talk to me. What is it?"

"Grandma said you were with Luna and Neville," Teddy sort of hiccoughs.

"I was."

"They don't like me anymore, huh?"

"What?" My arms tighten spasmodically, and I'm probably strangling Bug, but I can't make myself let go. "No, no, no. That's not it at all." I shift him on my lap and start running my fingers through his hair when I realise he just needs to cry it out. "Is that what you were worried about?"

"They think I'm a werewolf," he sobs.

Shit! Of course! I suddenly absent myself right after I spill the beans to those two, and leave him thinking . . . Oh, Merlin. I know what I've done, but I don't know how to fix it. I don't know how to do this for him. I don't even know what it must feel like for him. I have never wished so much that Teddy's dad could be here.

"Bug, listen. You know how long I've been friends with them?"

"No."

"It's been a long time. We went to school together, just like I went to school with Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione. Do you know what that means?"

"No."

"It means Luna and Neville knew your dad, Bug. He was their teacher, just like he taught me. And later, when those bad people were making a mess, they were all working together to help out. They knew that your dad was a werewolf, and they liked him just as much as if he wasn't. Your dad was one of the people who made me understand how important our choices are. He could have been a very bad werewolf like one of the men we were fighting, but he chose to be better than that, even when people were mean to him. All of the people that I'm friends with now? All of them knew that about Remus. And that means that no matter what, no matter what happens with your illness, my friends are going to like you for what kind of person you choose to be."

I put my hand under his chin and lift his red, snotty face up toward mine so I can look him in the eye.

"Do you understand?"

"Yes," he hiccups. He throws himself back into my chest and just generally begs to be cuddled. I can handle cuddling, although I'm not sure I can handle how much this kid breaks my heart sometimes.

"Do you want me to tell you why I wasn't around this week?"

My eyes are closed to keep myself from any hint of tears, but I feel him nodding.

"I was with Luna, trying to be a good friend for her. Somebody was very mean to her, and hurt her feelings very badly. Neville helped me get rid of that mean person, and I stayed with Luna so I could make sure she wasn't too sad. I wanted to spend time with you, Bug, but I really needed to help Luna. Is that okay?"

I've managed to open my eyes by now, and I see that Teddy has turned his face to look at me, mostly finished crying.

"It's okay," he says, but then he frowns. "Did you make him say he was sorry?"

"What?"

"Mr. Scamander hurt her feelings, right? Are they still getting married?"

"How do you know it was Mr. Scamander?"

Teddy just shrugs, then a guilty expression creeps over his face.

"What is it, Teddy?"

"I don't like him," Teddy admits. "I don't want Luna to marry him."

"I don't want her to, either. Luna doesn't want to marry him, after how mean he was to her. Neville and I told Mr. Scamander that he wasn't allowed to see her anymore. I don't think we need to worry about him."

"Good," Teddy says.

"Bug? Why don't you like him?"

Teddy shrugs again. "Dunno," is his illuminating answer, then he slides down from my lap. "Can we go to Luna's house?"

"What, right now?"

He nods. "You said her feelings got hurt, and that she's sad. I could give her a hug. She said I give the best hugs."

I stand up, and put a hand on his shoulder for a second. "I think she's busy working right now, but I'm sure she would like that a little later on. Thank you for thinking of her. Now, let's get these dishes into the sink. I need to take you back to Grandma's house so I can get ready for work."

I hope I still have some time left to chat with dear Grandma about Dr. Griffith and Teddy's Possible Treatment. I really, really want Kreacher to retire and I hate giving him work to do even when he's begging for some . . . but since I refuse to cut his head off and mount it on my wall, I decide to leave the dishes for him to wash, which will give me a couple of minutes with Andromeda. (Let it never be said that I'm not a generous guy.)

Teddy looks confused, since I normally tell him not to make work for Kreacher and to clean up his own messes, but I just tell him I'm going to do them later—and I will do, assuming Kreacher doesn't see them or get to them (quite a stretch of the imagination, I know).

I poke my head into the fire. "Hello?"

Andromeda appears to have been waiting for me, since she's in a comfortable chair by the fireplace. "Harry," she replies genially, looking up from the book open on her lap.

"I'm bringing Teddy back. D'you have a few minutes to talk?"

"Certainly," she says, tucking a bookmark between the pages and setting her book aside.

I pull Bug into my side and get a good grip on him before we step together into the fireplace and call out, "Tonks residence!" Bug is used to Floo, and knows to not say anything until we're well clear of the mantel on the other side.

(I may, or may not, have invented horror stories about little boys getting themselves lost by speaking when the grownup is speaking. What's that? I could have told my own story about my first Floo trip? Ah, but then I'd have to explain Knockturn Alley and the Malfoy family, and I'm not sure I want Teddy to know anything about either topic.)

Andromeda seems to know what I want immediately. Well, it's not hard.

"Teddy, Harry and I will be discussing the potions that we got from Dr. Griffith. Would you like to stay while we talk, or would you rather begin your reading lesson?"

Teddy doesn't hesitate to choose reading, not that I can blame him, and he scoots off to let his grandmother tell me the good (or bad) news. But I do force him to give me a hug goodbye before he goes, and Andromeda is too smart to miss the way I watch him exit the room.

"Did something happen?"

"It's starting to get to him." I hear my voice come out in a whisper, and I hate myself for the weakness. It's somehow okay around Bug, but fairly damning around his grandmother, at least as far as my suitability as a guardian is concerned. I am supposed to be strong. "The things he hears people say, I mean. He's started to understand that sometimes, people won't see him for who he is, because they can't look past their assumptions."

"He knows this," Andromeda said in a stern voice, her tone making it somehow clear that she is superior to me because this isn't effecting her emotionally. "He's known it ever since we got attacked by those thugs when we were out shopping."

I shake my head, feeling a sudden heaviness as I realise that this will be a recurring problem, now that Bug has truly grasped this concept.

"He thought that this past week has been about excluding him. He thinks my friends aren't going to like him anymore, and you know how he adores those two."

Andromeda's lips thin out in that way that makes me so uncomfortable. Damn the strength of Black genetics. "I assume you were able to convince him otherwise? Or are your friends truly that fickle?"

I shoot upright, the slump in my shoulders disappearing in my anger that Andromeda would say such a thing. Teddy having doubts is one thing, but she should know better than to think I'd choose my friends so carelessly.

"They care about Teddy, just as much as they cared about his father," I tell her in a tight, bitter voice. I've never been able to shake the suspicion that Andromeda didn't like Remus, and the worst part is I also suspect she has a valid reason. "And that's what makes this so difficult. I'm trying to help, but I just don't think I'm enough, for this. Teddy needs Remus right now, and I can't stop whinging about how unfair it is that he can't have him."

Now Andromeda has begun to look really dangerous, but despite the visual provocation of my fighting instincts, I don't really fear her. She looks this way most of all when she's feeling sad. She's been through too much to allow her grief to express itself as anything other than coldness, because letting even the tiniest bit show itself would loose a dam that I can't even imagine. Her husband, her daughter, her whole life . . . All she has left is Teddy, and he's been the source of just as much pain as joy. In fact, thinking about all the things that she's keeping shut up behind those glittering eyes, I have to resist the urge to cross the room and take her in my arms like I do with her grandson, like I've been doing with Luna. She wouldn't thank me for it.

"And how much good do you think Remus would be doing right now?" Andromeda asks in a soft, careful voice. My eyes snap to hers in shock, even though this is only the confirmation of my suspicions. "Do you think he'd even be here, or do you think he'd have run again?"

I feel my mouth fall open as my protests die half-formed. (I did say I suspected it was valid.) Would he have run by now?

My mind flashes to that night he arrived in Grimmauld Place, when I was hiding there with Ron and Hermione. My confrontation with Remus, berating him for abandoning his responsibilities when he showed up at my door in desperation. My friends' surprise with me. That feeling of sickness deep in my gut when he left, as rage tried to mix with guilt inside me. I feel it again now, and fight down the urge to vomit, feeling that horror all over again. Because Remus didn't go back, not then. Not right away.

"He was gone for months, Harry," Andromeda says, almost sounding gentle, like she needs to let me down easy. Like I didn't already know. "Ted was on the run, and I was . . ." Alone, my mind supplies the finish, though she never will. "I had to watch my little girl trying to carry that baby to term without even knowing if her husband would return. He left."

"He came back," I answer, and suddenly things snap into focus again. I hate thinking about everything that happened back then, hate my own memories with a passion. (Don't try to tell me you wouldn't.) But I force myself to remember this, and to not let go of the conviction it gives me. "He did come back, and he was there to stay. He was so happy, and so proud, when Teddy was born. I remember how he looked, then. He looked like someone I'd never met before. He'd always looked so ill and so tired, but when Bug was born, he was just . . . transformed. He would have stayed. He didn't want to die when he did, no more than Tonks did. He would have been here for this, Andromeda. I know he would have."

She doesn't say anything, but she doesn't seem convinced, either.

"You won't ever breathe a word of this to Teddy," I say, shocked by the way it seems that I'm threatening her, even though I didn't mean to. "Don't ever tell him about how Remus left for so long. He couldn't . . . Right now, he wouldn't be able to understand."

"I am aware of that," she says, sounding horribly stiff and formal and uncertain. It's almost as bad as it was in the beginning, over four years ago, when I started having regular time with Teddy and I was still petrified with fear of Andromeda. I had hoped we'd come further than that, and I hate that it's Remus that's making us butt heads like this.

I shake it all off, quite literally. I shrug my shoulders, turn my attention completely away from the bitter tension in the room.

"Please, tell me what Dr. Griffith has come up with."

It's not fair.

My thoughts should really be more along the lines of Oh, how interesting, I ought to write this down. But a safety seminar is not the most exciting way to spend an afternoon at work, and my thoughts are wandering. They're still stuck on what I found out this morning.

Andromeda seemed really certain that there was no better solution, and this is one area where I will bow to her superior knowledge. Potions have a tendency to multiply, she explained. Any time medication starts, another will inevitably follow.

The long and short of it is that Teddy will continue to take the Wolfsbane potion that makes him so sick. Dr. Griffith believes his body will adjust itself to the poison it's ingesting after a time and stop trying to reject it, but until then, there is a nausea suppressant that Teddy will also have to take. Which is all well and good, but the combination of potions is going to create other symptoms, namely fatigue and dehydration. The fatigue could be treated, but Andromeda put her foot down at the idea of a third potion that might lead to further problems. Teddy's symptoms on the full moon will be treated, but he'll have to drink a lot of water and get tired more quickly than other children his age.

We can handle it. All of us, together, we'll handle it. Teddy is a tough kid, no matter what I know of his sensitive soul, and his grandmother and I can be strong enough when he's not up to it. I know we can deal with the issue. It's just that we shouldn't have to. He's just a little boy, and he didn't ask for anything of this.

It's not fair.

And then, I hear another voice.

Life isn't fair.

I've been told that before, by the only person who understood it even better than I did. (Really, really hate my memories, have I mentioned that?) I know better than anyone alive what it's like to be singled out for torment, and I know better than anyone exactly what whimpering about it will get you. (It'll get you a blond ferret boy poking fun at you, and that's about it.)

That seems to clear my head, and I happen to see Lucas as I sniff and straighten up a bit. He looks bored enough to cry, but his eyes are on the seminar instructor. I remember the talk we had when we were on Diagon Alley patrol, and I come to attention. For good measure, I wave my wand and conjure up a quill, and jot down a few notes. This is my job. If I don't pay attention, people get hurt. And if there's anything I know better than how unfair life is, it's how much the people around me have a tendency to get hurt when I'm not paying attention.

I manage to focus on work all through the rest of the day, but when I get back to my house, I allow it all a moment to overwhelm me. Things with Teddy, things with Luna, the sudden assault of memories best forgotten . . . I curl up in a corner of the sofa and let myself be a scared child for a couple of minutes. For a minute, I wish I could cry, like Bug. If there was someone twice my size whom I trusted to take care of my problems, I would have no problem burying my face in his chest and letting it all out in a salty flood.

But there isn't anyone like that, and the weird attack of memories of my past is reminding me of that all too well. I don't have a father, and I don't have a godfather, and I don't even have a dear friend of theirs, which is what started the problem today. I don't have someone I can be weak in front of, the way Luna has me . . .

Oh, wait. Yes I do. I really am a moron sometimes. (What's that? It's not true stupidity, it's just too much time spent feeling sorry for myself? Don't be ridiculous!) I stick my head into the fireplace and check it's okay to come over, and I waste no time in stepping through when I get the permission I knew I would receive.

It's only a moment before I'm squashed between my two best friends on their sofa, feeling myself finally relax as I stare into the dying green-tinted flames in their fireplace. Hermione is already thinking about where she can go for a solution, everything from searching for a symptom-free treatment for fatigue to a book of legal issues that might give us the ability to prosecute people who accost Teddy in the street. Ron has already retrieved beers for both of us and is saying nothing at all as he hands me a bottle. Hermione on one side, Ron on the other, both giving me exactly what I need from them, and I am totally unashamed of the way I am leaning into Hermione's side and letting her put her fingers through my untamable hair. They've already seen me much worse than this.

There are a million things I would rather not remember about my teenaged years, but I'll never forget that these two were beside me through all of it. I might have to grow up, for my own sake and for Teddy's, but some things don't ever have to change.

To my wonderful friends,

Thank you for asking so many questions recently. I know that you are asking because you are my friends and you are worried, so I am thankful even for questions I don't like to answer. I am mostly thankful for my dear friend Harry, who has tried so hard to protect me and my privacy. He's been quite wonderful about all of this. I think he'll understand why I want to write to all of you even after he tried so hard to help me keep this secret.

I'd rather just tell everyone what happened and why I won't be marrying Rolf. I know you are concerned about it, and not telling you would mean that I didn't think you were a good friend, which is not true. What is true is that I should have remembered my friends sooner and asked for help when I needed it, instead of waiting until it was nearly too late. My relationship with Rolf was not a good one, and it led to me getting hurt quite badly. I was unsure of what to do about it. I must again repeat how grateful I am to my friend Harry for forcing me to admit that I was hurting and in trouble, so that he could help.

I don't want to talk about most of it. The only thing that's really important for you to know is that Rolf would not have been a good husband, and I am much better off not marrying him. I am lucky to have my friends who are concerned about me, but I do hope you will know why I don't want to tell you anything else, and why it would be better if you didn't ask me about it anymore.

Thank you for being my friend,

Luna Lovegood

Obviously, this has been copied so that the same letter can be sent to several people. But mine includes a postscript.

Harry, you aren't mad, are you? I know you worked really hard to keep it private, and I know you did it for me, but I think this is the best way. I don't want you to think I don't appreciate it. I even thanked you in the letter, did you see? Love, Luna

I'm not mad. This is, indeed, probably a better course of action. There will be gossip, but it will all be directed at Rolf now rather than Luna, and her friends will be full of supportiveness for her, at least for a while. And I can't help but feel a bit gratified at seeing my name in her letter. That wasn't why I did it, of course, not at all. But I can't help but feel a slight vindictiveness—me, Harry, the perennially obtuse and emotionally stunted, managed to be a better friend than they did. I hope they're ashamed of how they've neglected the dear, sweet girl who wrote them this letter, the girl who has more faith in their friendship than they do.

No, I'm not mad. I'm just a little worried that she's not quite as calm about this as she's pretending to be. So as soon as I finish reading the letter, I drop by her place for a quick visit to make sure she's doing okay. Her dad is apparently having a good day, puttering about the garden and waving at me with every indication that he knows who I am. Luna is hard at work in her office, walking in a slow circle around the room, her eyes on the pages and pages of notes that she has tacked up on the walls. She's trying to piece together her article, the one she was doing the interviews for on that night she got drunk. Her eyes are unfocused, and her lips are moving slightly as she talks to herself under her breath. She looks more than slightly deranged. But then she sees me in the doorway, and she becomes lucid all at once, giving me a shy smile and not moving from her position in front of her notes.

"I'm not mad," I tell her.

She hurries across the room to embrace me.

"Curious as to what made you do it, though."

She has her face pressed into my chest, just like Teddy did the other day. "Just wanted to act first," she mutters. Then she lifts her face and gives me a little smile. "If I use it first, then it can't be used against me as easily, you know? I thought it was clever of me."

After all the time I've spent with her in the past two weeks, it's only too easy to see the brittleness under the brave words. And the mere fact that she recognized the possibility that it could be used against her, much less her decision to strike first, means life has taught her more hard lessons than I am strictly comfortable with Luna having learned. That easy, sweet, innocent way she looked at life has gotten choked half to death, and I hate it.

"Very astute," I confirm, but I can't make myself smile. I rub her back for a moment, then I decide my two charges really do deserve some time together. I go to the fireplace and get Teddy from Andromeda. He's been anxious to give Luna a hug for two days, and I will be the first one to tell you just how good a Bug Hug is.

Ten minutes later, I'm trying to figure out a way to distill Essence of Luna's Smile and Essence of Bug's Hug. If I could market it, I'd have enough money to solve world hunger. As it is, I just bask in the company I keep and feel like I'm already the richest man in the world.

A/N: Don't forget that you can also find me at . . .

www dot farenmaddox dot wordpress dot com (Book reviews and more!)

AND

faren-maddox dot livejournal dot com (Story notes, thoughts on life)