All the world's a stage,
and all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
and one man in his time plays many parts. -As You Like It II.7.139-142

The rest of the month passed in a blur of frenzied preparation, last-minute studying, and heart-stopping joy.

Neville's herbs arrived just days after Saysa's escape. His grandmother, not knowing how much he would need but knowing full well his reputation, had sent so much of the ingredients that the poor owl had to spend five whole days recuperating. The day after that, a vast quantity of parosela arrived from the Apothecary.

The other four Gryffindors, who couldn't help but have noticed that Neville Longbottom was receiving Potions ingredients, fled to Hagrid's hut. They stayed there as long as they could, only returning to the castle when the Keeper of the Keys kicked them out.

They needn't have worried. Neville- or rather, Alexander Chamberlain- had used a Portkey to go to the Founder's Isle almost immediately.

Three agonizing hours later, the first batch of potion was complete. They had brewed it within the Chalice itself, reasoning that perhaps the ingredients would gain more magical potency from its presence. The downside to that was that they could only brew a little at the time. The cup was relatively large, but it was no cauldron.

"You first, Tyr," Remus insisted. His eyes were bright with hope, making him look years younger. It was obvious to all watching that his doubts had vanished, that he believed wholeheartedly in the goblet's prowess.

And he did. He was a werewolf, and werewolves could scent destiny. If this night, with its beautiful silver cup and strong alpha, was not destiny, he would eat his godson.

"You've sacrificed more than me, and you're the leader," he continued.

Yes, agreed the wolf in his mind. It too was impatient, eager to become whole, but it acknowledged that the alpha of the pack was first.

"To destiny," the other werewolf toasted, lifting the silver cup. Then, slowly and solemnly, he brought it to his lips.

Dead silence fell as Tyr Ulfhednar, Alpha of Britain, drained the Chalice of the Moon. His eyes were closed, his face expressionless. No one could tell how or even if the magic had affected him.

Without a word, Tyr returned the chalice to Pollux's hand. Remus's heart thundered in his chest. His alpha hadn't said anything… but he was smiling.

Tyr melted.

His was not the transformation of an Animagus. It was too protracted, too fluid. The change was more akin to Saysa's shape-shifting when she flowed from serpent to woman form.

Fur sprouted, gray and brown. Ears shifted, growing larger, migrating to the top of his head. His nose and mouth elongated, the latter filling with sharp fangs. His limbs swiveled, readjusting to a quadruped's stance; a fifth limb, a plumy tail, sprouted from his back.

Tyr opened his eyes. Though they were wolf-golden, they were also filled with human intelligence, human reason, humanity. This was not the madness of a moon-called monster. This was a man.

"Sweet Merlin," whispered Remus, eyes filling with tears. "Sweet Merlin…."

He was free. The mind-blowing thought filled his head, blocking out everything else. The curse was ended; he was free. He'd never have to worry about biting or killing or maiming or ruining someone's life like his had been ruined.

In his mind, the wolf howled with joy.

"Sweet Merlin indeed," agreed Apollo.

"I don't believe it," Sirius breathed. "I don't…." He barked a laugh, engulfed his best friend in a hug. "This is wonderful, Moony! Wonderful!"

"I know." Remus was laughing, he was crying, he was hugging Sirius back and grinning ear to ear.

"Wonderful," laughed Tyr. He had shifted back to human form, obviously. Like Remus, he was ready to weep with joy. "After all these years…." He turned to Pollux. The gratitude in his eyes was too great for words. "Thank you. Thank you."

The Parselmouth blushed. Beneath the façade of Pollux Ophion Riddle, he was still Harry James Potter- Harry, who received praise less than once in blue moon and gratitude even more rarely. He had little idea of how to proceed, and Voldemort's response to 'gratitude' (i.e., a Death Eater's relief at not dying) probably wasn't an example he should follow. He eventually settled for mumbling "You're welcome" in the voice of the child he was.

"And thank you," the alpha added, turning to Alexander. Neville, who was just as unused to praise as Harry, started. He could scarcely believe that he, Squib of the Longbottom family, had saved an entire race. He couldn't blush as brightly as Pollux could- his Fae form was too dark-skinned for that- but that didn't stop him from ducking his head in embarrassment.

"Thank you all," Tyr whispered. "I am in your debt, now and forevermore."

Powerful words, those, and as binding as the Unbreakable Vow.

The first true werewolf pulled himself together. He had been freed, yes, but Remus and the others had not. "You're next, my friend."

Moony's heart leapt in his chest. Finally, after twenty years of pain and fear and hate… it was time.

It took less time to create this batch of the potion. They knew the exact quantities to add, the number of times to stir the concoction (thirteen strokes clockwise). Most importantly, they knew that it would work.

And work it did. Even before he raised the potion to his lips, Remus could feel the sheer power he held in his hands. It made his skin break out in goose bumps.

He drank. The liquid was thick and woodsy, with an indefinable but not unpleasant aftertaste that reminded him of clear winter nights.

Finally, the wolf whispered, and it spoke in his voice. Then, howling in triumph, it dove into his mind. Its spirit settled within the creases of his brain, filling gaps he hadn't known existed. A sense of completeness settled over him, granting him true peace for the first time in decades.

Harry was safe. He, Remus, was safe. He'd never have to worry about hurting anyone ever again.

And he knew in the marrow of his bones that the wolf was his, now and forevermore.

Changing shape was easy as breath, easy as thought. It was painless, too- not exactly comfortable, for sprouting fur itched and the sensation of his bones melting was downright odd- but it lacked the hideous crippling pain of full moons.

The wolf's form felt as natural as his human body. It had taken his Animagus friends hours to adjust to their new forms; Remus needed no time to use four legs instead of two. He trotted over to Sirius, noting that wolves- or at least werewolves- were not colorblind. He sniffed at the man's proffered hand, inhaling the scent of dog and wizard and man. He could tell so much from that one whiff: the last meal Sirius had eaten, the contact he'd had with other human beings (mostly Dudley and Remus himself), even the last time he had slept.

Another thought, and he was human again- or at least, as human as he would ever be. But for once, the thought didn't fill him with bitterness and regret. It made him proud.

Even in this form, some parts of the wolf carried over. His vision had sharpened, especially when he looked to darker places. He could hear the individual heartbeats of those around him, smell their distinctive personal scents. They weren't as acute as they had been moments ago, when he had been the wolf, but they were still more potent than ever before.

The enhanced senses were marvelous enough by themselves, but they were not the full extent of his changes. He felt stronger, not just in his ability to lift heavy weights (which would certainly be a boon at the docks) but in endurance. He could run for hours without tiring, just like a wolf.

"This is wonderful," he whispered one last time, and knew that he would follow those who had given him this- Tyr and Pollux- to the ends of the earth.

Every once in a while, a werewolf would invite a group of friends over for a little party. They were never particularly exciting, more like a bunch of people sitting around, talking and laughing. The Aurors were used this kind of behavior, so they saw nothing unusual about Remus Lupin holding a get-together in his dingy apartment. If they cared long enough to listen to his explanation, they would learn that he wanted to speak with his adult friends one last time before his godson came home.

They didn't care, though, so no one examined his excuse.

The first guest to arrive, Jake White, took one look at the creature within his friend's house and commented, "You realize we're not allowed to have pets, right?"

"I know," the other werewolf replied serenely. "But I also realize that you're not going to sell me out."

Jake looked doubtfully at the enormous hound. "I won't have to," he grumbled. "That thing must bark to wake the dead. They'll hear it eventually, and even if they don't, how are you going to feed it?"

The dog, a wolfish-looking specimen of unknown breed, trotted over to sniff at Jake's palm. He let it but didn't stop his tirade. "You can barely afford to feed yourself and Harry, even with that Auror girl giving you discounts. Yes, I know about Tonks," he added, staving off Remus's startled question.

The dog pricked its ears.

"Please tell me you don't believe the rumors about us," Remus moaned.

"'Rumor' implies a lack of truthfulness that I believe-"

Fortunately for the mortified werewolf, another guest chose that moment to knock on his door. He scurried over, opened it. "Hello, Cynthia."

"Hi, Remus. What kind of dog is that?"

"The forbidden kind," deadpanned Jake. "The kind that the Aurors will kill him for having."

"I'm not keeping him for long," Remus assured him. "Just for a little while."

"Couldn't you have mentioned that before I started to worry?"

All in all, ten guests arrived. Eleven had been invited, but Angela had come down with a summer cold and couldn't make it.

Smiling serenely, Remus bolted the door shut.

Jake arched a brow. "Holding us hostage, huh?"

"Something like that," the other man replied.

Jake frowned. Remus had been acting strange lately. He seemed happier, like a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He, being a closet romantic, had attributed the change to the other man's budding relationship with Tonks. Now, though, he wasn't so sure. "What's up, Remus?"

Moony grinned. The expression brought youth to his face, making him look his age for the first time in Jake's memory.

The dog huffed. All eyes turned towards it-

-just in time to see it stretch, stand, and shift.

Jake's jaw dropped. He couldn't believe his eyes, but there, right in front of him, was-

"Tyr?" Cynthia's voice was soft, stunned. "Tyr Ulfhednar?" She stepped forward as though approaching a ghost. "Sweet Merlin, it is you."

Their alpha grinned. Like Remus, he was different now. Unlike Remus, though, the cause of his change was plain to see.

"You found it," breathed Jake. "You found the cure." Tears filled his eyes, threatened to spill over.

"Not alone," Tyr murmured, "but yes." He held up a hand, silencing the frenzied questions. "I'll tell you what happened, I promise, but not now. Explanations can wait until you've been freed from the curse."

An hour later, when all had drunk of the Chalice of the Moon, the alpha explained. And all present swore their alliance to him, and to the Moon Lord who had guided his steps.

"Hey, Remus," said Tonks several days later.

The werewolf looked up from his grocery list. Since meeting his friend several months ago, he had done all his shopping during the Auror-trainee's shifts. It was because they were friends, NOT, as Jake had implied, anything more. He was perfectly justified in visiting his just-a-friend. "Yes, Dora?"

"I told you, it's Tonks," she grumbled good-naturedly. Then, returning to the subject at hand, she asked, "Why have you guys been holding so many parties lately, and why haven't I been invited?"

Moony froze. "You noticed?" he blurted, too surprised to deny anything. But then, he shouldn't have been surprised. Tonks had good eyes and a better brain.

"Yeah," she replied, looking at him strangely. "Why wouldn't I?"

Remus chuckled. For a moment, he considered telling Tonks the truth: that the werewolves weren't holding parties, that they were curing themselves of lycanthropy's curse. She wouldn't tell.

Or would she? She wouldn't mean any harm by it, but… what if, thinking that her news would result in better treatment for the werewolves, she announced to the Minister himself that lycanthropes had become more powerful than wizards? He remembered a conversation on the Isle, fears about genocide. Fudge was hardly an enlightened ruler; Remus wouldn't put slaughter past him.

Better safe than sorry, he reasoned. Besides, he could always tell her later. He couldn't take back knowledge once it was given, though.

So he lied. Grinning, he said, "I don't really know. They probably just saw my phenomenal party skills and wanted to emulate me."

Tonks laughed, not noticing that his silence had lasted a second too long.

The Great Hall was covered with red and gold, Gryffindor's colors. They had won, obviously, due to all the points Dumbledore had granted Mark and his friends.

But though everyone knew that Gryffindor had mysteriously acquired four hundred points, not many knew where those points had come from. Rumors abounded- it was a reward to Mark Potter for getting the first edition of his autobiography out, the points had naturally accumulated because Snape was no longer taking them away, Professor Trelawney had gotten drunk.

Dumbledore had let the rumors flourish. Now, though, he felt it was time to weed them out. Send the students home for the summer with tales of the Boy-Who-Lived's heroism; let it be the last thing they learned this school year.

He smiled benignly at his pupils, began the end-of-the-year speech. "Another year under our belts- congratulations. And congratulations to Gryffindor especially, both for its victory and for the valor of its second years, who earned that victory."

Ah, good. He had their attention.

"I believe that Mr. Mark Potter would like to explain how he and his friends acquired the points which led to Gryffindor's second victory in a row. If you will, Mark?" He sat, eyes twinkling, every inch the indulgent grandfather.

Mark stood. All traces of his shame had evaporated, leaving him confident and assured. Arrogant.

"It would take too long to explain how I found the Chamber of Secrets…."

He exaggerated a bit, of course- he was only twelve, and the entire school was listening.

As Mark made his speech, Dumbledore's eyes wandered over the Slytherin table. He glimpsed Harry, Mark's brother. And froze.

The boy's face was tight and strained, eyes burning like green lightning. He was plainly furious… and his own gaze was fixated on Mark.

Of course Harry would be angry with his brother for rushing blindly into danger and then boasting about it. And of course he would say something about that, tell Mark exactly what he thought. And of course Mark would react rather badly to that.

Soon the speech and feast were over, and it was time for the students to depart. Dumbledore glanced back at Harry, was pleased to observe the boy stomping towards his brother.

The Spider smiled.

Word of the Chalice spread like wildfire, though fortunately only among the werewolves. None of them were fool enough to clue the Aurors in.

Harry returned from another school year with stellar grades, just as he had twelve months before. "You're in a good mood," he commented.

His godfather released him from his hug, grinning widely. "And why shouldn't I be? I've missed you, Harry."

"Ditto," the younger wizard agreed.

The Auror guards who had escorted him to Hogsmeade station coughed. Remus grimaced. "Shall we head home, then?"

"Let's."

"So what's happened?" the young wizard asked once they were safely ensconced in their little home. "You're grinning like a lunatic. You have been ever since the station."

The loony grin widened. "Can't I just be happy that you're home?"

"No. I forbid it."

Remus grimaced. The Dursleys had a lot to answer for. It was a good thing that Petunia and Vernon were still in Azkaban, or he would have done something drastic by now. "Actually, Harry, I do have good news. But that doesn't make my happiness that you're home any less important." He growled the last words, uncharacteristically fierce.

Harry blinked at him, surprised by the ferocity. "Okay. What's the good news?" He smiled mischievously, looking so much like James that Remus couldn't fight off the déjà vu. "Is it a girlfriend? It's a girlfriend, isn't it?"

The werewolf turned pink. "We're just friends, Harry." Bad enough that he had to put up with this from the others; now he had to hear it from his godson as well?

"Wait." The mischief melted from his face, leaving behind surprise. "There really is a girl in your life?"

"A friend," Remus emphasized. "But that's not the good news."

"When's the wedding?"

"We're not getting married, Harry. Can we return to the subject at hand, now, please?"

"Okay, but I still think you're just in denial."

Remus rolled his eyes. "Harry, you're being-"

The wolf's confusion washed over him. Why, it wondered, was the human telling the raven something he already knew? The raven had been there.

Remus's jaw clicked into place. His eyes bulged, almost popping out of his head.

The raven had been there.

"Moony? Moony, are you okay?"

"Harry James Potter, are you out of your mind!?" His voice rose in volume and in pitch. By the time he reached the last word, he was practically screaming.

Harry stared at him, jaw agape. "What are you talking about?"

Of course, he didn't know that Remus knew. And five seconds ago, he would have been right.

Shoulders heaving, entire body trembling with suppressed emotion, Remus hissed, "When were you planning on telling me that you're the Lightning Speaker?"

Harry froze.

"Well?" Remus growled. Oh Merlin, how could he have been so stupid? How could he not have noticed?

The raven. Pollux's backstory about how he had become a Horcrux. They both held a common interest in helping werewolves, and a concern over Mark Potter. Even how Pallas had carefully deflected his concern over Harry being a Horcrux- so they wouldn't have to lie even more.

He was a fool.

"Well, Harry? Or perhaps you'd prefer your other name."

He could almost see the boy's thought process: should I lie? No, he knows already. But what can I say that will get me out of as much trouble as possible? Eventually, the Parselmouth settled on, "How did you find out?"

"The wolf," Remus explained. "It realized who Pollux was on the day he- you- let slip you were a raven Animagus." He remembered the inexplicable tension in the room, Pollux's long conversation with Tyr afterwards. "Of course, it couldn't tell me then. This part of me, the human part, only just realized."

"Oh," muttered Harry, looking much older than his twelve years, wearier than any child had the right to be. "That explains the sudden mood swing."

His wry comment reminded Remus that oh, yes, he was angry. "Care to answer my question, Harry? Were you ever intending to tell me?"

The boy grimaced. "I knew it would come out eventually," he sighed. "I think we all did. So yes, I was. Just not now."

"When, then?"

"…I don't know." He sighed, an old man in a child's body. "I don't know, okay? I was planning on figuring that out this summer, drafting a script or timeline or something. That's unnecessary now, though." Those ancient eyes met Remus's. "But before you forbid me from doing things like this ever again, ask yourself this: If not me, then who? Who would have set Tyr on his hunt? Who would have rescued Sirius and Dudley? Who would have saved those girls back in January? Who else can rally the goblins, centaurs, werewolves- all the magical creatures- behind one banner? If not me, then who?"

"That's not the point!" Remus raged, flailing his arms about. "Harry, you're a child. Twelve. You're not even a teenager yet!"

"I'm a child with the memories of a grown- psychotic, but grown- man."

"Still a child." He couldn't believe they were even arguing about this. It was ridiculous: Harry should be concerned with homework and girls, not the fate of entire races. That was so blatantly obvious that they shouldn't even have to quarrel about it. He put his foot down. "Harry, I absolutely forbid-"

The words turned to ash in his mouth. The wolf held his tongue, keeping him from finishing the proclamation.

"Who else?" Harry repeated relentlessly. "The wolf knows the answer, Moony. Do you?"

"That doesn't make it right!"

Even as the words left his tongue, he realized he'd let Harry win. By acknowledging that there was nobody else willing and capable of fulfilling the prophecies, he had also acknowledged that Harry had to fulfill them.

"We'll talk about this later, young man," he whispered, voice dull with defeat.

Harry's eyes softened. He rested a gentle hand on his godfather's shoulder. "I really was going to tell, you know."

"I know. But please, Harry, I need to think about this."

"Right." Harry pulled away, leaving his godfather and his thoughts alone.

Huzzah! The curse is lifted. Huzzaaaaaaaahhhhhh!

Except that now Remus knows, and he ain't happy. Oh well.

Next chapter will be the last one of this book. Then you'll have to keep an eye out for Harry Potter and the Tournament of Houses.

-Antares