Full and New

by FFcrazy15

Fall 1998: Between his curse, a new family, and a castle full of war-scarred students in need of guidance, newly-reinstated Professor Lupin has enough on his plate– and that's before an old foe rears his ugly maw. Myth and Magic mix in this tale of wizards and wolves, making one lesson very apparent: whatever you do, keep clear of the moonlight. Post-war AU; RLNT, HPGW, RWHG, DMLB.

18. Chapter 18: What We Do for Family

Disclaimer: I neither own the intellectual property of the Harry Potter universe, nor do I profit from this work produced here.

IMPORTANT: I am not, by any means, a counselor or have any knowledge on how to approach an alcoholic or deal with grief. THIS IS NOT MEANT TO PROVIDE MEDICAL OR PSYCHOLOGICAL HELP AND WHATEVER YOU DO YOU DO AT YOUR OWN RISK!

Warnings: cursing, bullying, alcoholism, torture.

A/N: Sorry for the wait. I've been totally swamped with schoolwork; I had to read a novel in Spanish, not to mention the whole of Fides et Ratio, in addition to my other schoolwork. Oh, and I got sick. *blegh* And honestly, the plot bunnies just weren't biting this month, so sorry about that.

Seriously though, guys, you've got to understand that I have a life outside of the fandom community; this is only a small part of what I do, and it necessarily comes second to just about everything else. On top of my schoolwork I'm also the understudy for helping plan my pro-life group's trip out to DC for the March for Life this year, I've joined a new club, started dating my boyfriend, and I've also been trying to find a job. That considered, it's probably fair to say that you won't be getting another update for about a month. *shrughs* Sorry.

RoboTitaness: Regarding "Little Red Cloak," I was actually inspired from a story which mentioned Sirius telling a "werewolf" story on the Marauder's first night at Hogwarts (it's one of the ones in my "favorites" category, can't remember which); I liked the idea, but decided to use it a little differently.

Regarding your story request, I actually have something planned for that coming up a bit later. You'll see what I mean when we get into the "Christmas" chapters.

PrincessOfFlames: Request taken into account. :) I have a specific place I intend to put it, though, so you might not see it for a while.

MinervaMcGee: Yes, all wizards and witches, although Mallory and the children haven't been properly trained and so can't use magic very well. The only werewolf character in this story who isn't magical is Maggie MacIver (for biological reasons that will make sense the further we go on in the story).

To the rest of my readers: I know I spent a whole lot of time in September, but the story is going to be picking up a bit now that we have the actual villain/main conflict introduced. For instance, this chapter is going to jump about two chapters from beginning to end. Hope you enjoy, and please remember to review!

---

*When Remus finished his story, the whole infirmary stood silent for a long while. Remus looked down at the floor, slowly turning red. He had, of course, related the highlights of the tale to the Order during the meeting after Professor Dumbledore's death, but he had never gone into such detail.

Slughorn, the only one present who had not been at said meeting, was the first to break the silence. "You mean to say," the potions professor said faintly, "you mean to say that you are now the alpha over all the werewolves in Great Britain?"

Remus nodded wearily. "For the most part, yes. There are some who don't accept my authority, Greyback and his remaining followers among them, but in general the majority will abide by my orders, even if they don't like them."

"A situation, as we can see, that is quite favorable to Great Britain," McGonagall concluded. "Am I right to say, Tonks, that the number werewolf attacks in the last year have dropped?"

"Significantly so. If it hadn't been for Remus, the war could have gone quite a bit worse for our end," the auror agreed.

Slughorn still seemed unconvinced, apparently overwhelmed by the idea that this humble man could possibly command so much power. "So you mean to say if he told you to do anything," he asked, rather brusquely, to Mallory and Theron, "that you would do it? No questions asked?"

The pair stiffened. "Remus doesn't work like that," Theron said sharply. "He would never ask us to violate our consciences."

"But could he?"

"Not exactly," Remus broke in. "The Ring's power only amplifies the hierarchical instinct, it can't entirely override free will. And to be fair, my commands were particularly unorthodox; there are some among the packs who have disobeyed my orders to leave unbitten people in peace… but by and large, they will obey me, so long as I have the Ring."

"So do you have it on you?" the other professor inquired, looking at the werewolf's hands rather intently, as if he thought that Remus had somehow managed to make it invisible. "Are you hiding it somewhere?"

"Not exactly," Dora spoke up, and lifted the chain off from around her neck, holding it out for all to see. On the end glimmered a gold band, inlaid with a Roman-cut diamond on one side and a ruby on the other.

Slughorn crept closer, almost without realizing it. "My word," he murmured. "But that's your engagement ring! How did I not see…?"

"With whom better to hide a diamond ring than a newly-wed bride?" said Tonks with a grin, looping the chain back around her neck and tucking the ring under her shirt.

Slughorn shook his head. "Incredible," he murmured. "Absolutely incredible. And is it all true? Are you an heir of this– this Melion?"

"No," Remus said simply, at the same time that Mallory insisted, "Yes!"

Slughorn looked between the two, surprised, as Remus sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Mallory, we've been through this," the professor insisted. "It is not possible for a werewolf to have a healthy child; you and my son are proof of that. Your father could not be a descendant of Melion any more than I could."

"Heresy!" the woman nearly snarled, prompting her husband to squeeze her shoulder gently, murmuring that she should remain calm and try to rest.

Lupin turned back to Slughorn and said, "As you can see, Mallory and I have differing opinions on that matter. However, it's of little consequence right now; the fact of the matter is that the Ring belongs to me, regardless of heritage; I doubted very much that Greyback would let me get away with taking it so easily, but as he hasn't targeted me specifically since the Battle, I thought perhaps he had decided to let it alone. Now, however, I'm not so sure…"

"But it seems he went to Lupin Castle looking for Mallory," McGonagall pointed out. "And there are no signs he's been near the castle in more than a month."

Remus shrugged, and Mallory added, "He spoke nothing of the ring or of you, Alpha. Though I can't claim to have perfect insight into my father's plans, I do not think his thoughts were on you at all."

"Perhaps…" Though he still looked uncertain, Remus shook his head and said, "The question at hand now is what we are to do about the five of you. It's certain he will follow you if he can."

"Perhaps the children can attend school here," McGonaglal suggested. "They'll be a month behind, but I'm sure they'd be able to catch up to the other first years' soon enough–"

"To be frank, Professor, I'd rather the children stay with us for the time being," Theron said firmly. "I can assure you that I'm quite capable of teaching the boys myself for a year or two."

The headmistress inclined her head. "And I never doubted you. Very well; we shall simply have to find another place for you to live under a fidelius charm."

"Yes, well…" Theron had turned red and cleared his throat, gaze dropping. "You see, Professor, my work was back in Llanbedrog… that is to say, the market is not exactly in my favor at the moment… Perhaps it would be best if I continued on there, and the children and Mallory could go into hiding–"

"Theron, no!" Mallory broke in, struggling to sit up; her face had gone pale. "He knows we were there; if you go back, he'll find you for certain–"

"Love, what choice do we have?" the man said exhaustedly. "We can't live on the charity of others forever, and the children will only grow; how will pay for their schooling? Their food, the clothes on their back? No, we need the money…"

But at the beginning of their argument, a light had begun to grow in Minerva McGonagall's green eyes, and Remus knew that an idea had sparked in her mind. "Mr. Lowell," she interrupted shrewdly, "I was wondering if I might make an personal enquiry?" The man blinked, but gestured for her to continue. "Your talents in business are absolutely unprecedented; I remember even as a student you had an understanding of entrepreneurship that far surpassed your classmates. And goodness knows you ran your company far more honorably than those bureaucrats in charge of it now."

"Thank you, Professor…?"

"To make matters short, the school Board of Governors has been searching for a financial advisor for the last few months. As our former advisor did not survive the war, and the cost of repairs following the battle have left a rather gaping hole in our funds, we are in desperate need of someone who can get us back in the black without cutting necessary corners."

Theron stared. "Are you… offering me a job?"

"No, Mr. Lowell, I'm asking you a favor. I'm well aware that your skillset is far above the occupation posting, but it would be an incredible service to the school if you would lend us your talents." At his continued shocked silence, she pursed her lips. "Theron Lowell, I do hope you are not the sort of man to make an old woman beg."

Theron blinked, and then stammered out, "No, I- I accept, of course I accept!" Then he laughed, incredulous and overjoyed. "Professor, I- how could you–" He leapt to his feet and embraced her, causing the headmistress to go stiff. "Thank you! Thank you, Professor, I don't know what to say…"

McGonagall cleared her throat. "Yes, well…" Theron seemed to realize what he was doing and stepped back, coughing and extending his apologies. As the man turned instead to embrace his wife, both laughing and crying with relief, Remus turned to his wife. Dora was grinning and had tears in her eyes.

"How wonderful," she croaked softly, wiping her eyes. "Oh, Remus…"

Her husband smiled and nodded, slipping his hand in hers. Finally, it seemed that things were looking up.

---

Two weeks passed in relative peace at Hogwarts; for the first few days, Remus, Dora and the headmistress were constantly on the alert, waiting for Fenrir Greyback to come knocking at the front gates, but there was nothing. Slowly but surely, life settled back into its ordinary routine: Remus taught his classes, Dora managed the Office, and one fine evening, Teddy pushed himself up onto his hands and knees and crawled over to his mother's feet from where he'd been chewing on his stuffed kneazle in front of the fire.

Among the students, too, Remus could see the mood rising even as the weather chilled; Neville Longbottom could be found in the greenhouses in the early morning, whistling to himself as he watered Professor Sprout's Wiggentree; Hermione Granger would often leave the library long after everyone else, occasionally accompanied by the young Mr. Weasley; and, much to Remus's happiness, Harry had regained his characteristic passion and good cheer, having thrown himself whole-heartedly into training the Quidditch team (he had, however, forgotten to sign himself up for some thesis project, putting him solidly half a month behind, but Remus had the feeling Hermione would set him straight soon enough, and besides, he didn't want to be the one to spoil the boy's good mood).

Another positive boon was that, three days after the full moon, the interview he'd conducted with the Cattermoles appeared in the Prophet– on the fourth page, it was true, and shoved in a side-collumn that made it rather difficult to read, but there it was, in black and white, his statement to the world at large that he wasn't a mass murderer. Remus couldn't help but feel proud.

Dora was less than pleased. "Page four and a week and a half late," she groused, throwing it down on the breakfast table. "After Skeeter got her nonsense in as a bloody headline. I thought Kingsley was supposed to be working on this!"

"Now, Dora, Kingsley has more than enough to deal with right now," Remus placated, taking a bite of his oatmeal. "Besides, I think it's frankly marvelous it got in at all."

"Hmph." Dora, still upset, scooped a spoonful of orange mush out of the jar and stuck it in Teddy's mouth without so much as a preliminary "here comes the broomstick."

Apparently, however, a werewolf-teacher speaking out against one of the most vicious mass-murderers in Europe was enough to garner attention, fourth page or no; more than a dozen letters arrived that day, and a few more each day after that, from folks all around the country offering their apologies and encouragement; one even sent a talking letter, explaining that she felt right awful having sent him a Howler without all the information and hoped he would accept her apologies. Remus was pleasantly astonished, and even Dora had to grudgingly admit that the writer had some guts for owning up to her mistake.

But best of all, better even than the letters, was that the professor had found his skills in teaching seemed to have returned to him; perhaps Dora's advice had restored his confidence, or perhaps it was simply good luck, but soon enough his classes once again became full of laughter, enthusiasm and scholarly curiosity. Thus was it that Professor R. J. Lupin walked into his seventh-year class on the sunny Wednesday morning of October the twenty-first with a smile on his face. He was particularly excited for this lesson as, for the first time in his career, he could give a full demonstration of his abilities on this particular subject.

The students, as usual, fell quiet as he walked into the class; Remus set his briefcase down on the desk, retrieved his lecture notes and waved his wand at the board; the word Patroni appeared in loopy letters, and the class began to buzz with interest.

"Alright, everyone, out of your desks!" he called with a grin. "Today's a practical lesson, and one I think you'll quite enjoy. Hop to it, now, come along…"

Everyone eagerly stood up; with another wave of the cypress stave, the benches and desks lifted up into the air and stacked themselves neatly against the back wall, leaving the students very impressed. "Everyone, form a circle, if you please."

They did so, and Remus stepped out from behind the podium. "Alright, now," he began, "how many of you know how to produce a patronus?" About half the class- each a former member of the DA- raised a hand. Lupin nodded, impressed. "And how many a corporeal patronus?" A few lowered their hands, but a great many of them remained. "Last question: how many of you have ever used the charm against an actual dementor?"

Everyone save Ron, Harry and Hermione put their hands down. The professor nodded again. "Excellent. Alright, I want everyone who's capable of producing a corporeal patronus on the right of the room, everyone who isn't on the left. Come now, hurry up!"

Everyone quickly moved to the opposite sides of the room; Lupin waved his wand, and lines of script appeared on the blackboard. "Here's the general theory; don't worry about taking notes, I'll give you each a copy at the end of class. Now a patronus is a sort of positive force; it can be used to send messages, but more importantly, a patronus can act as a sort of shield for its conjurer, with the dementor feeding off of it instead of the caster."

"Blimey, Harry, sounds just like your lecture," Ron murmured under his breath.

"I learned from the best," Harry replied with a slight smile.

"The incantation is expecto patronum, can everyone say that with me? Expecto patronum."

"Expecto patronum," the class repeated dutifully.

"Very nice. Now, the incantation, like all magic, is itself useless unless accompanied by a force of the will. In this case, the will must come from a very strong, joyous memory. To give you some sort of scope, I usually recall my wedding."

As the professor waited, Harry himself glanced around the room; everyone seemed to be thinking very hard. Several of his fellow students' faces were frowning, tinged with worry; the war had left a lot of bad memories in its wake, threatening to overpower the good by their very existence. He himself closed his eyes… a bright, brilliant memory bloomed in his mind. Dawn at the burrow, atop the roof. Ginny in her pale pink dressing gown, eyes closed, the fresh golden sun hitting her face and setting her red hair afire. The excitement pounding in his heart and the slight weight of a small box in his pocket.

"Everyone ready?" He opened his eyes. Everyone certainly did not look ready, but at least many looked determined. Lupin nodded. "Very good; here's how it will look. Expecto patronum!"

There was a gasp from several of the students; even Harry himself was startled, for he had never seen Lupin cast a full patronus before. A silvery figure burst from the wand, coming to a stop in the middle of the room. The gleaming wolf looked around at them, proud, intelligent, curiosity glowing in its brilliant blue-white eyes. "It's so pretty," one of the Slytherin girls gasped.

"I was looking more for majestic, but thank you, Miss Sailor." The class laughed. "One's patronus will generally take on a form reminiscent in some respect of their true nature- and before anyone asks, no, my patronus is not a werewolf. No tufted tail, you see?" They did, and he continued, "Although it is unusual, a patronus can change over time; could anyone tell me why? Yes, Harry."

The bespectacled wizard lowered his hand. "An extreme emotional disturbance of some sort, such as unrequited love."

Lupin quirked a grin. "Excellent, Harry; five points to Gryffindor. That is exactly correct. Alright, everyone pair off with someone from the opposite side of the room. Those of you who have been trained, help your classmates. I'll be making my way around if anyone needs me." He snapped his fingers at the wolf, and it leapt to his side, following him like a companion as he began to pace around the room.

Matching-off itself was a tad intense, for as a general rule it was the former members of the DA on the one hand and Slytherins on the other, accompanied by a handful of underclassmen from the other houses. Everyone immediately looked to his own particular arch-nemesis and then hastened to find someone else. Harry found himself paired with the Slytherin girl who had piped up during Lupin's lecture and began helping her with the incantation.

Much to their mutual embarrassment, Draco found himself paired with Neville Longbottom. "Er- well, alright, then," Neville said, with much less of his usual fluster when speaking to the blond- the last year had quite literally knocked the nervous habits out of him. "Like Lupin said, you need a happy memory- well, happy's not exactly the right word-"

"Well, what is the right word, then?" Draco snapped, trying to cover his humiliation at being taught a spell by Longbottom.

Neville raised an eyebrow, apparently a little affronted. "Joyous is more applicable," he said coolly. "Very few memories are purely happy, but even a bittersweet one will do, so long as it contains genuine joy."

"Oh." He flushed. That hardly made it better. Joyous? It sounded like a high, self-righteous term– exactly what a Gryffindor would use. Could success count? It didn't seem exactly right… joyous, joyous... Come on, he had to have been truly happy at least once in his life!

Neville was watching him with obvious concern; panicking slightly that he'd somehow read his mind, Draco settled on the memory of receiving an O in his potions final. He focused hard, raised his wand, and said clearly, "Expecto patronum!"

Whatever he was expecting, it didn't happen; a curl of silver smoke puffed out of his wand anti-climactically, and he scowled. "That's alright," Neville said, apparently unconcerned. "It usually doesn't happen on the first go; mine took me ages. It'll be easier once you get the hang of it."

"Why don't you do the charm, then," Draco huffed, frustrated.

Neville shrugged obligingly and waved his wand. "Expecto patronum." A fluffy silver-white figure leapt forward, and when it came to a halt, snuffling in mid-air, Draco realized it was a guinea pig, eyeing him cheerfully and quite a bit larger than the real thing.

The blond snickered. "Your true essence is a guinea pig?"

"Whereas yours is silver smoke?" Neville countered mildly. That shut him up.

Draco tried a few more times, but achieved nothing more than a few more puffs of mist, before they vanished into thin air. Irritated, he took a break by glancing around the room. Potter, of course, had succeeded in producing a large white stag, and was working to help Jeanie Saylor. After a failed attempt, she let out a squeal of delight as an angelfish appeared and swam gracefully through the air. Weasley's terrier was chasing Granger's otter around the floor playfully, while Lovegood's rabbit dashed around the ceiling. Even as he watched, Lavender Brown waved her wand to give life to a small, silvery bear, which turned and lumbered over to her meekly, sniffing her hand.

"You want to give it another go?" Neville offered, redrawing his attention.

"What's the point? It's not working, is it?"

"You can't give up after three tries; where's that Slytherin ambition hiding?" Draco glared at him, but apparently Neville knew he couldn't back down from a challenge when it was tied to house pride. "Try a different memory," the Gryffindor suggested. "Something stronger."

He nodded, thinking hard. A memory… a happy memory… the kind that put thrills in your stomach, exhilaration, success-

Ah! Of course! The day he caught the snitch in third year in the match with Hufflepuff, right from under the other seeker's broom. It had brought the winning score to 200-50 and sent them into the last game for the Cup. If that wasn't a happy memory, he didn't know what was. He raised his wand, unable to keep from grinning as he remembered soaring to the ground below, holding the tiny gold ball in his hands and listening to the stands cheer his name. His parents had come to that game. His mother had been crying for joy… father had beamed with pride, told him he was a chip off the old block…

Draco brandished the stave again, saying this time with more force: "Expecto Patronum!" From the tip of the wand poured a cloud of opaque, white mist, forming a sort of glowing sphere in the air, but taking no shape. He held it for a moment more, and then let it dissipate, disappointed.

Longbottom was pleased. "Well done! Hardly anyone gets that far right off the bat."

"So what?" Draco was still scowling. "It wasn't anything…"

"You mustn't be so impatient; patroni take work. Go on, try again…"

Draco made another two attempts, both to the same result. He was just about to give up, frustrated, when he heard a voice behind him say: "That's quite a good start there."

He turned, surprised, to see Professor Lupin looking back at him. "Good starts don't drive off dementors he pointed out, a little irritably. Lupin raised an eyebrow, but by the amused twinkle in his eyes Draco could tell he knew the annoyance wasn't directed at him.

"Perhaps not, but they can be useful in holding them at bay." When the boy still looked discouraged, the professor turned to Longbottom and said politely, "Neville, I think I can take it from here; would you mind going to help Miss Brown teach Mr. Harper?" Longbottom, recognizing this as a dismissal, thanked the professor and walked off.

Draco shuffled his feet, embarrassed and irritable, and tried to look anywhere than at the professor. "You oughtn't be so hard on yourself, you know," Lupin advised. "Patroni aren't particularly simple charms to cast."

"Saint Potter's got it, hasn't he?" Draco muttered, glancing over to where the Boy Who Lived was quite obviously flirting with his ginger girlfriend. "And he was thirteen when you taught him…"

"Thirteen year olds generally haven't gone to war," the professor replied quietly, so that no one else could hear. "Draco, look at me." The student forced himself to meet the man's eyes, still flushed with embarrassment, but Lupin didn't seem to mind. "I know how difficult it is to find good memories when they're crowded out by so many bad ones, but we have to try. It's the only way to move forward." Draco was silent for a long moment, and then nodded. "Why don't you give it one last try?" Lupin suggested.

The young man took a deep breath, and then closed his eyes, thinking. So much of the last few years had been so ugly… months of terror, interspersed with moments of self-loathing and anger. But happiness? What happiness? The closest thing he had was the moment he'd first seen his father, after the Azkaban break-out: pale, starved, hardly able to stand, but alive. Draco had never felt such relief as he had in that moment… but could that really count for happiness? Somehow he doubted it. No, he would have to go back further… before he'd taken the mark, before the dark lord's return, before he'd ever had to worry about the man whose name he could still not speak…

And then it came to him. The last time in his memory he could recall being truly, purely happy. A moment where the dark lord did not exist. A moment where the whole world was full of opportunity, contained within that great fortress, blazing with light from a thousand candles out into the starry night as the boat drifted silently across a glossy lake…

"Expecto patronum!"

A blazingly bright figure burst from the end of his wand, solid and corporeal. Several people gasped and looked over; Professor Lupin was nodding enthusiastically, clearly pleased. "Well done, Draco!" he exclaimed, as the spectral dragon took flight. "Twenty points to Slytherin!"

Draco grinned widely as he watched the dragon soar around the ceiling. His patronus felt right: proud, strong, unafraid of any foe it could encounter. He started as he felt a hand clap his shoulder. "Good job," Lupin said kindly. "Knew you could do it. Mind if I go help Fay?"

"Sure; go on." The professor quirked a smile and then headed over to one of the few Gryffindor girls who was still having some trouble; Malfoy extended his hand, and the dragon (it was, thankfully, much smaller than an ordinary dragon) came to settle on his forearm like a hunting falcon. He reached up with a smile and petted its translucent snout; it felt warm and pulsing under his fingers, like solid energy.

"'Course it'd be a dragon, the pompous little pratt," a voice muttered, and he looked over. Weasely flushed red and quickly turned back to Granger, who smacked him reprovingly on the arm, but the damage was done; the patronus vanished, and with it the strong sense of pride and accomplishment that he hadn't felt in nearly two years, replaced by crushing shame. Was that what his patronus meant? Arrogance rather than pride? Selfishness rather than strength? Thoroughly humiliated, he hardly noticed as Professor Lupin walked over to the trio- at least, not until he heard what the man had to say.

"Ronald, I've said it before and I'll say it again: I will not tolerate blatant disrespect between students in my classroom." The professor's tone was firm yet very quiet, so as not to attract the attention of the other students; Weasley opened his mouth to object, but Lupin cut him off. "Especially not when it hinders their schoolwork. Detention tonight at half-six."

Weasley looked aghast. "But Professor-"

"You don't have to like each other, but this school has suffered enough prejudices lately- yes, Ron, on both sides of the aisle. Detention. Half-six."

The redhead scowled for a moment, and then sighed. "Yeah, alright. Half-six."

"Thank you." He walked away as calmly as if nothing had happened and began helping another student.

Startled and still embarrassed, Draco didn't bother trying to produce the patronus again, and instead waited alone until class came to a close. When Lupin had dismissed them, he shouldered his bag and hurried to the door with the other students, hoping to leave before anyone else made some snide comment-

"Draco?"

He stopped, surprised. Lupin was standing next to his desk. "A word, if you please?"

The boy waited nervously as the other students left the room. He could hear their animated, happy conversation as the group dispersed down the hall. Lupin watched as Lavender Brown and the Patil twins left, and then walked over. "You should be proud of yourself," he said sincerely. "Very few people produce a patronus within their first few attempts."

"Others managed it," he countered, thinking to Saylor and feeling self-conscious about the praise.

"I daresay your classmates have a lot less personal history to shoulder."

Draco glanced away, uncomfortable. "I suppose…"

Lupin nodded in understanding, as if not wanting to press a sensitive issue. "Ronald was wrong, by the way," he added lightly. "Your patronus is a reflection of confidence and ambition."

"Which can be employed to the wrong ends."

"Or the right ones."

The two watched each other for a long moment, and then Lupin glanced down as his own patronus padded over and stood at his feet, lifting his nose affectionately. The professor grinned and ruffled the bright fur behind the wolf's ears. "You know, I've found that people have a rather silly habit of assuming that one characteristic or quality of an individual determines his whole character," said Lupin thoughtfully. "But I'm rather of a different opinion. I think it's our choices, especially the choices we make in the here and now, that determine who we are. Don't you?"

The wolf's brilliant white eyes turned to the young man, and Draco suddenly realized that the professor was speaking from experience.

"Well," the professor said, inclining his head. "Perhaps that's enough food for thought for one morning. Have a good day, Draco."

"You as well, Professor…" He paused, and then added sincerely, "Thank you."

The man nodded and smiled.

---

"I can't believe he gave me detention!"

The trio was making their way through the crowded hallway, headed for the charms classroom. Ron was still in a foul mood, scowling and red-faced. "It does seem a little harsh," Harry agreed, baffled at to how his favorite teacher could overreact to something like a little comment.

Hermione, it seemed, did not agree; she huffed and said, "Oh, honestly, you two, don't tell me you're that thick!"

Both looked over, startled. "You can't possibly think that was fair!" Ron exclaimed.

"Ron, patroni are personal!" Hermione insisted. "They show your truest character, who you really are!"

"Yeah, and Malfoy's a conceited, snotty git."

"Is he now! How do you think I'd like it if you told me mine was an otter because of my teeth!"

Ron blinked. "I think your teeth are fine-"

"Or that Harry's is a stag because he's self-righteous! Or that yours is a terrier because you never take things seriously-"

"I do too take-"

"Or that Professor Lupin's is what it is because he's a werewolf!"

Her ringing words silenced them both. Ron suddenly looked queasy. "Blimey," he said hoarsely. "I- I didn't think of that…"

"That's obvious," she snipped angrily.

"Hermione-"

"Lupin's right, Ron; you don't have to like him, and I wouldn't expect you to, not after everything he's done to us– but in case neither of you have realized, he's not the same arrogant, mudblood-hating kid he was when we were fifteen!" She stopped them in the hall and looked them in the eyes. "Haven't you noticed?"

By the confused looks they wore, they clearly hadn't. She sighed. "Ron, Harry… Malfoy doesn't have a friend to speak of here. He's the object of every joke, the fool of every prank; I even caught a couple of sixth years having a go at him last month. He's a war criminal, Ron. He's defeated."

"Doesn't look so defeated to me," the Head Boy pointed out, still scowling.

"She's right, you know," a voice said from their left; the trio looked over to see that Ginny had joined them, a grim look on her face. "You should have heard Adrian, the night after tryouts. It was disgusting."

"Wait, Adrian?" said Harry, frowning. "As in Adrian Harold?"

Ginny failed to notice the warning look on Hermione's face and nodded. "Apparently he, Higgs and Hobbes found him wandering around down by the locker room that night and hexed him while his back was turned. Thought themselves right heroes, apparently. I'm glad Tonks didn't accept them into the corps; they're a lot of pigs."

Harry's face had been steadily growing harder throughout her explanation, and upon its conclusion turned to Hermione, visibly angry. "And you didn't think I needed to know this?" he demanded.

The witch blinked. "I gave them detention. I didn't think it had to go farther than that."

But the young man was hardly listening. In his mind, he was going through every time his cousin had tripped him in the school hallways or chased him through the neighborhood streets with his gang. Maybe Dudley had grown up over the years, but Harry still had little patience for bullying hotshots who didn't have the guts to pick on someone their own size. Was he, of all people, really going to let his players off for that sort of thing?

No, Harry decided firmly, no he was not. His house would be furious with him, no doubt about that– but, then again, maybe that was exactly the lesson these boys needed to learn. And if he had to pay the price for it, so be it.

After all, there were more important things in this world than Quidditch.

---

"…Thank you, Poppy; I'll see if we can't find a few more students willing to volunteer as orderlies. And now for the bad news…" The headmistress sighed and nodded to Theron, who rose from his chair with a grim look on his face. The rest of the faculty glanced around at each other, uncertain.

"Thank you, Headmistress," Theron intoned, inclining his head. "As I'm sure you're all aware, the repairs May battle have caused significant strain on the school's finances. If nothing is changed, then by my estimations you are at least a hundred thousand galleons in the red."

Murmurs spread throughout the room. Remus was floored; he'd never seen that much money in his life; his annual salary from the school was a little more than seven thousand galleons, before the subtraction of three thousand for annual room and board.

"Now by cutting all excess costs, including club funding and the feasts, we can bring that down to a more manageable seventy-five thousand, but as I'm sure you can see that's still a substantial amount. Now, I have outlined three plans to get us back in the black–"

"But I don't understand," Professor Trelawny interjected in her trilling voice, "Isn't this a matter for the board of governors?"

Theron inclined his head. "It would be, Professor, except that some of these proposals I would not want to bring before the board without your permission." He waved his wand; a series of sparks arranged to form glowing numbers in the air. "The first option is to raise student tuition, currently priced at a thousand galleons apiece, by approximately twenty percent."

More murmurs; the teachers looked around at each other anxiously. Such an increase would be impossibly expensive for so many families…

"The second, your own salaries, currently set to seven thousand galleons, could each be cut by about two thousand; that would cover the deficit as well. Or finally, and this is the option I am more inclined towards, we could cut your salaries by half that amount, and raise student tuition by about nine to ten percent, extending scholarships to the students who can't afford the hundred-galleon increase."

He waved his wand, and the numbers vanished, looking around at the instructors before him. "Of course, those numbers can be adjusted one way or another, but that is the general gist of our options. I now put the choice to you."

There was a pause as everyone looked around at each other, uncertain what to say. Their research funding had already been put on their own shoulders, and now this? Blast the war, many thought bitterly, blast the war and all its consequences.

"Well, I can't speak for rest of you," a voice spoke up, and all turned to see Fillius Flitwick standing up on his chair to be seen over the table, "But this school has always been my home… it's given me a roof over my head and food in my belly all these years, and really, what more does a man need?" He nodded to Theron. "You can take my two-thousand, good man. Don't charge the students on my account."

"And mine," Pomona agreed.

"Mine as well."

Remus, who was next, hesitated. "I can't make my decision so hastily," he admitted. "After all, I have a family to provide for… but I'll talk it over with Dora. Perhaps we can find a way to make it work."

Within a few short minutes, nearly everyone had agreed to forgo the two thousand galleons, aside from Professors Oakley and Kemp, both of whom lived outside of the school, but even they had agreed to give what they could. McGonagall's eyes were sparkling by the time Theron nodded and sat down. "I have never been so proud to be your headmistress," she said, voice thick. "Truly, I am honored to work with such selfless people." She cleared her throat, collecting herself, and then stood again. "I believe that this closes our meeting, then. All in favor, say 'aye.'"

"Aye," the staff chorused in unison.

"In that case, meeting adjourned."

As the other teachers filed out of the room, Remus noticed Theron catch McGonagall by the elbow. "Professor, I do have a quick question for you; if you could remain behind a moment…"

Curious, yet knowing it was none of his business, Remus shouldered his briefcase and left the room, accompanied by Professor Slughorn. "Brilliant man, isn't he?" the potions master said, shaking his head admiringly. "One of my favorite students; not much of a head for potions, mind you, but sharp as a quill's end, and terribly honest; he used to tell me whenever he found out a student had found a new way to cheat on my quizzes. That's why I made him prefect, you know; Minerva couldn't have made a better choice…"

"Yes; he's a very good man," Remus agreed, "I–" He broke off suddenly with an, "Oh, bugger!"

Slughorn blinked at the profanity. "Beg your pardon?"

"I left my wand on the table! Terribly sorry, Professor–"

"No, no, by all means."

Remus thanked him and hurried back to the room, wondering how he could possibly just burst into a private conversation. He rounded the corner to find that the door to the staff room had been closed and locked. Just as he was about to knock, a phrase from the conversation occurring beyond caught his attention:

"-As I've said before, Mr. Lowell, there has been no mistake."

"But to put half of your paycheck into a separate account? Forgive me, professor, but that is a rather confusing move– if I might say so, it could be construed as suspicious–"

"I assure you it is nothing of a dishonest nature," McGonagall replied, "I'm simply not certain how to correctly allocate the funds to their proper end, so I set them aside in an unnamed account."

"Allocate the funds?"

"Precisely. I…" There was a moment's hesitation, and then Remus heard the headmistress admit, sounding a bit embarrassed, "I would like to reassign half of my income over the next five years to a private scholarship for an incoming student."

Remus's eyes widened. From beyond the door, he heard Theron reply, "Ah, I see. Well, I can arrange that into the budget; it should be relatively simple…"

"Thank you, Mr. Lowell. Was there anything else?"

"No, I believe that should cover it. Mind if I take the floo?"

"By all means. Have a good evening, Mr. Lowell."

"And you, Professor."

Remus heard the sound of the staff room fireplace flaring to life, and then footsteps. He only managed to back away somewhat from the door before it opened. McGonagall saw him and stopped short. "Remus!" She pursed her lips. "…How much did you hear?"

Instead of answering, the werewolf merely stared, wide-eyed. "The Antonellis," he murmured. "That was how you managed it? You gave up your own salary?"

The headmistress shrugged. "I'm an old woman, Remus, and a childless widow at that. Aside from room and board and services on Sundays, what more do I really need?"

"But your research," he said, "your writing…"

"What is research compared to a child's future?"

The two stared at each other for a long moment, hazel meeting green. Remus was in awe. "You said you were honored to work with us, Professor. But in truth, it is I who am honored to work with you."

The headmistress managed a small smile. "Then I will thank you." The cuckoo-clock within the staff room sang its tune, and she nodded to the hallway. "You'd best be going; didn't you have detention at six?"

"I left my wand on the table actually; I'll fetch it and be on my way."

"I see. Well, have a good evening."

"You as well, Professor."

She gave him a nod and turned down the hallway; Remus ducked inside the room and retrieved the thin cyprus stave from the table. As he left, he cast a glance down the hallway. Alone the aging figure walked, accompanied by nothing but her shadow, and not for the first time, Remus felt the humbling sense of looking in on the life of an unsung saint. "Truly, I tell you, this poor widow has put in more than all of them," he murmured softly to himself, "For they all contributed out of their abundance, but she out of her poverty put in all she had to live on…"

At the end of the hallway, the headmistress rounded the corner, and disappeared. And the man, filled with a strange melancholy, turned and left.

---

Ron Weasley was already waiting for him by the time he arrived at his classroom, leaning up against the wall. Remus gave him a nod as he unlocked the door. "Good evening, Ronald."

"Evening, Professor Lupin," the Head Boy mumbled, turning red and not meeting his eyes. Remus raised an eyebrow but didn't question it, instead opening the door and stepping inside. Ron looked up, startled, as the professor snapped his fingers, lighting the candles in the chandelier. "You can do wandless magic?" he said with surprise.

Remus shrugged his shoulders. "Depends on the day." At Ron's rather impressed expression, he chuckled. "It's no credit to me; just one of the rare perks of being a werewolf. Take a seat; I'm afraid I haven't had much time today to be creative with your detention, so you'll be writing an essay."

"How long?"

"However long you can make it before quarter to seven." At the young man's surprised expression, Lupin shrugged. "What? I want to see Gryffindor win the Quidditch cup as much as you do."

"Oh. Well, er, thanks, Professor…"

"You're quite welcome. Now go on, take out your quill…"

Ron sat down and pulled a quill and some parchment out of his bag. Remus waved his wand at the board, on which appeared the words, Why My Fellow Students Deserve Respect. Then, sitting down at his own desk, he set to work on grading the fourth-years' homework.

After five minutes, he glanced up, and found to his surprise that the young man had yet to start writing. Instead, Ron was staring at the chalkboard, his face set into a reluctant scowl. Remus cleared his throat, drawing the student's attention. "Is there a problem, Ronald?"

Much to his surprise, Ron opened his mouth, and then shook his head with a rather surly, "No, Professor." Still, he didn't begin writing.

Raising both eyebrows this time, Remus sat up straighter and leaned forward. "Well, don't hold back just because I'm your teacher. Come now, out with it."

The youth hesitated, and then, quite suddenly, it all burst out. "Well, he doesn't deserve my respect, does he?" Ron demanded, setting down his quill angrily. "And I don't see why I should have to give it to him."

"I wouldn't presume to tell you to respect him personally, Ron, but he does deserve your respect as another human being. The attitude you displayed in class today told me that clearly you have no interest in treating him as a real person, merely a charicature. Wasn't that the problem we had with the Death Eaters to begin with?"

"Well I dunno about you, but my problem with his lot is that they go around offing people for fun," said Ron coldly.

"Did you ever stop to consider that perhaps they felt they had no choice?" Lupin demanded. "Oh, certainly some of them took pleasure in what they did– but don't you think it's possible that others were simply afraid?"

"Then they're cowards," the redhead said venomously. "And I've got no reason to pity them."

"Well, what a helpful attitude!" the professor exclaimed, rising to his feet. "Let's just toss civil conversation and human compassion out the window then, it's a good deal less fun than picking a fight! No, but you're right, Ron; why should we bother to pity our enemies? Why should we try to understand what they went through?"

"What he went through?" Ron demanded, aghast. "Last I checked, he didn't take any losses from this war, not like the rest of us! Last I checked, he was part of the lot responsible for so many people getting killed! Last I checked–"

"–Last I checked, the war is over!" said Lupin harshly. "And all of us, Ron, all of us are going to have to find some way of getting along, unless we want another to break out right in front of us!" Ron glowered at him. "Do you think that isn't a possibility? Do you think the battle ended in the hall downstairs? You're not a fool, Ron; use your head! We're all suffering!"

"He's not suffering! His family's still here, still whole! Don't you dare tell me how to treat the people responsible for what happened to mine!"

"Ron, I understand it's hard, believe me, I do-"

"YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND! YOU AREN'T THE ONE LISTENING TO YOUR SISTER CRY HERSELF TO SLEEP EVERY NIGHT! YOU AREN'T THE ONE HIDING FROM YOUR MUM THAT GEORGE CAN'T GET OFF THE FUCKING FIREWHISKEY! YOU AREN'T THE ONE WHOSE BROTHER IS DEAD!"

"ALL THREE OF MY BROTHERS ARE DEAD!" Lupin bellowed, shocking Ron to silence. "All three of them, Ron! And Lily with them! Each of them, gone forever! And if I learned to look the man responsible in the eyes every day for a year, if I learned to trust the man who made Sirius suffer and rot in his hell of a house until he nearly went mad with misery, if I learned to forgive the man who gave Voldemort reason to hunt James and Lily down - well by Merlin, Ron, you can learn to keep a civil tongue around Draco Malfoy, and you bloody well shall unless you want to spend every night in this office taking lines!" His eyes flashed yellow-gold with intensity, teeth bared. "I can't lose my family again, Ron! I can't watch another war erupt on my doorstep! And I won't, not for your prejudices, or Draco Malfoy's, or even my own! I won't!"

The two stared at each other for a long moment, breathing hard. Lupin took a shuddering breath and said, "I- I'm sorry, Ronald, I don't know what…"

"No, no, I'm sorry," the redhead stammered. "I… I didn't think…"

Lupin sighed and sat down tiredly in his desk. After a long moment, he shook his head. "Ron… I watched a boy grow from a quiet, innocent child in potions class into a trained killer responsible for the deaths of thirteen separate people… I was a prefect. I could have done something about it, could have stopped my friends from carrying on and bullying Severus the way they did… but I was too much of a coward." He looked up, and Ron was stunned to see that his eyes held a deep shame. "I will always feel responsible for the misery Severus suffered, the misery he caused, and I cannot allow it to happen again. Not even in the name of well-deserved family vengeance. I'm sorry."

There was a long pause, and then the student nodded, not meeting his eyes. It was only in that silence that the professor realized the implications of what the boy had said. "…Ron?" he said uncertainly, standing again and walking forward. "You said George was…?"

Another pause, shorter this time, and then a rather noisy sniffle as Ron nodded, still not speaking.

"Oh, Merlin," Remus sighed, sitting down in the next desk, "Ron, tell me you've told your parents?"

"No. I can't," the young man replied, shaking his head and looking up; the teacher noticed that his eyes were red. "Mum and Dad– I mean, they're still trying to move on, you know? They don't need this too."

"But you're still mourning, too," said Lupin gently. "Ron, this isn't fair to you. You're a young man, about to set out into your future; you shouldn't have to be worried about taking care of George on top of all of that." An idea suddenly occurred to him. "This was why you were going to work at the joke shop, wasn't it? To look after your brother…"

The redhead shrugged hopelessly. "I don't know what else to do. Someone's got to take care of him, and…"

"But why you? Ron, why should it have to be you who sacrifices your future?"

"Because they're my family," Ron said tiredly, and suddenly, Remus saw past the buoyant personality and passionate Weasely temper to a young man with far too much weight on his shoulders. "They're my family, all of them- even Harry and Hermione. They need me. If I don't take care of them, no one will."

For a long moment, the professor was silent, stunned speechless. Could this really have been the boy who'd given the cold shoulder to Hermione Granger over a cat and a misunderstanding? The boy who'd ranted to him for two amusing hours on Christmas Eve about how "all girls were mental" and "stupid McLaggen who can't even fly straight?" No… no, he realized with a sad sort of admiration, it was not. This was not the face of an excited, proud child; the student before him had shoulders slumped by an unseen weight and a weary, saddened expression in his blue eyes. Once again, war had made boys into men.

In the end, Remus said softly, with a hint of irony, "It's really quite a pity that you and Mr. Malfoy never did become friends … you're more alike than you know."

"Professor?" the student said, startled.

"Ron, you're grieving just as much as the rest of us. And yes, you're a pillar for your family and your friends, you always have been… but you shouldn't have to shoulder the burden alone."

"There's no one else. I have to take care of them. It's who I am."

"I know. But you're still a student, and you owe yourself a good education, a good future. At the very least, I don't want you to have to worry about George any longer."

"But-"

"I'm not saying to leave him out in the cold; I'm saying that I'll take care of it."

Ron looked up at him, stunned. "You- you'll take care of it?"

"I will. Leave it to me; I'll talk to George tomorrow afternoon." When the redhead still seemed uncertain, Remus set a hand on his shoulder. "Ron, I am asking you to trust me. Can you do that?"

The redhead stared at him for a long moment, and then, his expression turning to one of strange and hopeful relief, managed a small nod. "Yeah… yeah, I trust you."

"Good. Now–" The professor reached over and tapped the blank parchment with his finger, "Let's get started on that essay, shall we?"

Ron laughed and nodded, looking far more cheerful, Remus realized, than he had in weeks, perhaps even months. As the professor chuckled himself and retreated to his own desk, he watched the young man pick up his quill, chew on the end for a moment, and then start writing. Time flew by, and soon enough, the clock was striking quarter to seven.

"That's time," the professor called lightly, glancing up from the homework he was marking. "You're free to go."

"It's not quite finished…"

"No matter; it's not for a grade." Ron nodded and packed up his quill, handing the sheaf of parchment to the professor on the way past. At the door, he stopped and turned.

"Professor, um… I don't know what to say–"

Remus shook his head. "Think nothing of it. Go enjoy practice."

A smile quirked the young man's mouth. "Well… thanks." He left, closing the door behind him, and Remus smiled as well. Good. Children, and young adults as well, deserved to be free from their worries for an hour or two. They deserved to play games and laugh and fall in love. They deserved peace.

After all, Remus thought, if not for that, what had they fought for?

---

Practice was a dismal affair, played in the driving downpour of rain for which Scotland was so famous. Harry finally called it after the sky was so dark that they were nearly running into each other mid-air, seeing as he didn't want any injuries before the game. Moreover, a righteous fury had been burning in his belly ever since Ginny's little revelation that morning, and he was determined to put it right. He didn't have to like Malfoy, but no one on his team- no one- got away with picking on people for kicks, let alone players on the opposing teams.

"Alright, everyone, circle up!" he called as the other players tromped into the equipment room, their shoes squelching on the stone. "Good work out there today; Neville, Ginny, I liked the communication, really well done. Ron, you were veering too far towards the left goal sometimes, make sure to watch that during the game. Macey, you did great, but I want you to work on your control when you're flying against the wind; it's slowing you down." The backup-seeker, a shy third year by the name of Evan Macey, nodded eagerly. "Oh, and one last thing," Harry added, shifting his stance and crossing his arms. "Creevy, Ruggles and Stone, I'm putting you in for the match. Harold, Higgs and Hobbes, you'll be taking the bench."

The reaction was instantaneous; the three ousted players let out cries of complaint, while the younger students looked absolutely shocked; Dennis Creevy even dropped his chaser gloves. "What exactly are you playing at?" Harold demanded furiously.

"I'm not playing at anything," Harry retorted coldly. "You beat up the Slytherin seeker a few weeks ago; that's unacceptable."

"Backup seeker!" Harold protested. Harry noted that with surprise; he'd assumed that Malfoy had made the team without a hitch. Still, that wasn't the matter at hand. "Did Granger tell you? Because she didn't see the whole–"

"Actually, I told him," a cool voice said, drawing every eye; Ginny looked back, arms crossed and her glare as fiery as her hair. "You should really learn not to brag about cursing people with their backs turned, Adrian."

Harold gaped at her, and then turned back to Harry with an expression of incredulity. "Coach, you can't be serious; we're playing Ravenclaw next week!"

"Then if Gryffindor loses you'll know who's to blame!" Harry thundered back, surprising even himself. The three stared up at him, shocked. "Quidditch isn't just a game; it's supposed to build character and integrity! You violated that and you let the team down!"

"None of them seem to care!" the chaser snapped back, going red.

Harry glanced around. The others were uncomfortably avoiding his gaze, save for Ginny and Ron. Much to his relief, Ron snorted and returned, "You placing bets on that, mate?"

Harold scowled, and Harry nodded. "Right. Well, even if they don't, I do. Next time I see you picking on anyone like that again, you're off the team for good." They began to object, and he raised a hand. "I don't care who they are. You want to stoop to their level, you can play on their teams. Do I make myself clear?"

Nondescript mumbles.

"Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, coach," the three muttered in unison. Harry nodded.

"Good. Alright, everyone, go wash up. I'll see you all for practice on Saturday."

The rest of the team left the equipment room in a subdued manner; Harry could hear them begin to whisper as they disappeared into hallway, heading for the changing rooms. Ginny gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and then followed, leaving only the captain and the keeper behind.

Harry sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, glancing over. "Do you think I'm an idiot?" he asked tiredly.

Ron shrugged. "Would it make any difference what I think?"

"…Not really, no."

His friend nodded, and then glanced over. "I don't think you're an idiot," he said simply. "They got what was coming to them. Besides, we're a team, y'know? Higher standards, and all that."

Harry grinned. "You think?"

"Sure." He had a funny look in his eyes, the seeker noticed, though he couldn't quite identify what it was– it almost seemed like resolve. "You can't treat someone like that, whether you like them or not. It's… well, it's wrong." Ron shrugged again. "Dunno, I guess I just think someone needed to set them straight."

"Right… well, er, thanks." Harry was still confused, feeling sure that he had missed something, but he didn't want to push it; for whatever reason, his friend seemed to be in an incredibly cheerful mood, going so far as to whistle Weasley is our King on the way out of the room.

They met Hermione half an hour later for dinner, who seemed extraordinarily excited to tell them about some obscure fact she'd learned about the now-infamous (to them, anyhow) Mr. Uruquart, which was then quickly followed by her grilling Harry on why he'd yet to ask Professor Lupin about starting Occlumency lessons. "I'll get around to it!" the seeker insisted. "It's not like we haven't got all year, and besides, I already sort of got a start on it with Snape–"

"Yes, and remind us again, how well did that go?" Hermione asked pointedly. Harry coughed and quickly stuffed a bite of shepherd's pie into his mouth.

The evening's activities were mostly consumed with doing homework, particularly on Hermione trying to explain the transfiguration lesson from that morning. At around ten, the Head Boy and Girl bid farewell to their friend, who happily took the opportunity to cast aside his notes and curl up with his fiancé in front of the roaring fire, and they left to do their rounds.

"I've got news," Ron said the moment the door to the common room closed. Hermione raised her eyebrows, and her boyfriend spent the next half an hour explaining everything that had happened during his detention with Professor Lupin.

By the end of it, tears were glittering in the witch's eyes. "Oh, Ron, that's wonderful!" she exclaimed. "I knew you seemed happier this evening– oh, do you really think he'll be able to help?"

"Dunno. I guess we'll see, won't we?" But there was a hope and relief in his expression that told her that he couldn't help but believe everything would turn out alright. Smiling, she took his hand in hers and gave it a comforting squeeze. Ron smiled down at her, blue eyes gleaming with happiness, and she felt her heartbeat quicken. Blushing, she looked away, but Ron caught her by the shoulder. "Hey," he said sincerely, "You deserve some of the credit, too. If it hadn't been for you, I dunno if I'd ever have told anyone, let alone screamed it at a teacher." Hermione chuckled. "I dunno, I guess I just… I heard you, in the back of my head, telling me it was okay, y'know? That it was okay to need help."

"Of course it is," she urged. "You don't have to do it all alone, Ron, no one does. Remember how many times we had to tell Harry that? I swear, if I have to go through that again with you–"

"Oh, bloody Merlin, no," he said, laughing. "There is no way I'm going to be that insufferable, not ever." She grinned, and he added, "Y'know, 'Mione, I honestly don't know what I'd do without you."

She blushed harder and ran a hand through her frizzy hair. "You'd get along, I'm sure–"

"No," he cut her off, "I mean it. You're… you're incredible, Hermione. Just honestly incredible."

The witch stared, utterly unsure how to reply. It seemed Ron had no idea how to continue the conversation, either; he, too, was very swiftly turning red, the flush creeping up his cheeks and to the tips of his ears. Hermione felt her breath catch as she realized what was about to happen; slowly, almost uncertainly, Ron touched her chin, tilting it upwards, and-

BANG!

Both jumped apart as a noise like a gunshot ricocheted down the corridor. "What the bloody basilisks was that?" Ron demanded, startled.

"I- I don't know- I–" Hermione was not doing nearly so good a job of recovering from the swift change in atmosphere as her boyfriend, but both of them latched onto the same general plan: namely, hurrying down the hall in the direction of the noise. They rounded the corner at the end and found themselves confronted by the scene of Adrian Harold, Marcus Higgs and Billy Hobbes facing down none other than one Draco Malfoy. All four had drawn their wands.

Ron swore violently and drew his own, rushing forward. "And what the bloody fuck is this supposed to be, eh?" he demanded, pushing his way between the two groups. ("Ron! Language!" Hermione snapped, before apparently realizing that this was not the time and hurrying forward to help). "It's half ten; what are any of you doing out of your common rooms? Well?"

Malfoy was the first to speak, stowing his wand and scowling at the trio of boys with obvious venom. "I was going back to my common room," he explained acidly, "I was coming from the library and decided to stop by the kitchens. Figured I may as well since I was already late; then these three corner me and–"

"That's not true!" Harold cut in. "We were coming back from the library too; he followed us and tried to curse Marcus–"

"You followed me, you snivelling little–"

"Alright, all of you, that's enough!" Hermione cut in, silencing both parties. "We heard a noise, very loud; which of you caused it?"

"…That was me," Adrian Harold admitted, "I dropped the book I got from the library."

"A book? Let me see it." He quickly retrieved a small black tome from his bag and handed it to her; Hermione check the stamped date and nodded, handing it back. "And you," she said, turning to Malfoy, "You said you were going to the kitchens? How would you get in?"

"You tickle the pear in the portrait of the bowl of fruit," he answered promptly. At her obvious surprise, he added, "Lavender Brown told me."

The Head Girl turned to the Head Boy, who blushed a bit and admitted, "I took her down there once or twice."

Hermione exhaled a rather world-weary sigh. "Alright, well… seeing as we're clearly not going to sort this out without veritaserum or the like, you four can go– but I want you going straight back to your common rooms! And five points apiece from your houses for being out after curfew!"

Clearly grateful to be getting off so lightly, the trio of Gryffindors quickly headed off towards Gryffindor Tower without complaint. Hermione gave a cool nod to Malfoy and turned, taking Ron's hand in hers.

"Oy!" the Slytherin called from behind them. Both turned, startled, and Malfoy flushed shifting his feet. "…They said Potter suspended them from the team," he asked uncomfortably. "That true?"

Ron nodded; Malfoy looked absolutely floored by this information. "Well–" he stammered, and then collected himself, straightening up. "Well, tell Potter I don't need him to fight my battles. I can take care of myself just fine, thank you."

Ron blinked even as Hermione gave another exasperated sigh. "Uh- right. Yeah, I'll do that."

"Right."

"Right."

The two stared at each other for a long moment, and then Malfoy turned on his heels and walked away. Hermione gave a loud snort as he disappeared around the corner. "What's up with you?" said Ron, surprised.

"It's just– men! You're so-!"

But Ron could see that she was laughing, and he grinned. "Ah, you know you love us," he snickered, wrapping his arms around her and tickling her stomach, prompting his girlfriend to squeal and smack at his arms, giggling all the while.

---

Diagon Alley was busy and full of blustery late-October wind when Remus appeared in the street with a crack the next morning, startling several nearby pigeons. Shoppers were hurrying to and fro in the autumn chill, speaking in cheerful tones, and the professor breathed a sigh of contentment; this was Diagon Alley at its finest, full of bustling patrons and the sound of a thousand ordinary concerns. Every shop was open, bursting with life, from Flourish and Blots to Quality Quidditch Supplies.

Every shop, that was, except one.

A small group of children had gathered around the shop windows of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, looking up forlornly at the signs. "–I don't think it's going to open up again," one of the boys said forlornly. "Been closed for months…"

"Hey, Mister!" another called excitedly, noticing Remus head for the doorway, "Are you going in? Do you know the owners?"

"Ah- as a matter of fact, I do," the professor replied, surprised. Immediately he was surrounded by a crowd of children, tugging at his cloak.

"You've got to talk to them, Sir!"

"Oh please, we loved their toys and jokes ever so much!"

"Can't you convince them to open up again?" one little girl pleaded, with a trembling lip.

"I–" Remus hesitated; the girl's question had hit him doubly hard, both for the fact that no, he could guarantee nothing, and also for the fact that the children had said them. Clearly, they did not know that one of the Mr. Weasleys would not be returning to the counter. "…I can certainly bring it up," he settled on eventually.

"Jack! Get over here!"

The children looked over to see a witch standing across the street; one of the boys broke off from the group, clearly confused, and ran over. "But mum, I told you I was going to the joke shop–"

The witch cut him off and knelt down, whispering quietly yet frantically to him, shaking her head and pointing to Remus. Though he couldn't hear all that she said, his sensitive hearing did catch on one word in particular: "werewolf."

The boy– Jack– looked over at Remus, clearly surprised, who ducked his head and turned towards the door. As the witch began to pull her son off down the road, Remus glanced back to see the boy still looking at him over his shoulder. Despite himself, Remus gave him a grin and a wink, nodding to the store. The boy smiled excitedly in response, and somehow, that raised Remus's mood far more than anything else.

With a swift unlocking charm he opened the door; technically it was breaking and entering, but he doubted that that would matter much in the end, whichever way the confrontation went. Approaching the front counter, glancing about him with sadness at the many silent and joyless toys that sat dusty in their bins, he caught sight of a service bell and tapped it lightly, then again. Above him there came the sound of footsteps, and then they stopped.

Grinning in a rather Marauderish way, Remus then took to ringing the bell over and over as loudly as he could, making sure that George could not possibly ignore it. From above he heard a door open and slam shut, and then the sound of stomping footsteps coming down the stairs and an annoyed voice shouting, "The sign says closed, or can't you read, you–"

George stopped short as he caught sight of Remus, pausing on the stairway. "Oh," he said, startled. Remus noticed that, although the definite smell of alcohol was on his clothes, it was nowhere near strong enough to signify a recent binge, nor were his eyes red enough to show him drunk; that was fortunate, it meant that George had not yet given to taking the firewhiskey with his morning toast. "Professor Lupin," the shop-owner continued, a bit awkwardly; it was clear he had no idea what to do. "Um, how're you doing?"

"Quite well, thank you," the professor replied politely. "And yourself?"

"Oh, um, fine, yeah, I'm… er, can I help you, or…?"

"Yes, I've got a request for you, school business– has to do with those delightful candies of yours, actually." He nodded to the stairway. "Mind if I come up?"

"Oh. Um–" It was clear that the cogs were turning in George's head; obviously he was hiding something in the apartment that he did not want Remus to see. "It's a bit of a mess right now, actually–"

"Oh, that's no trouble," Remus laughed. "You forget I live with Dora; never a tidy moment."

"Well- er- yeah, of course, just give me a mo'– I'll clean up–"

"Certainly," Remus agreed, "Thank you so much."

"Right. Um- I'll just call down, then–" The young man quickly hurried up the stairs, and Remus waited patiently for about a minute before he heard George call down, "Alright, come on up!"

Remus obliged, ducking around the counter and walking up the stairs to the flat above. It was a nice place, he appreciated as he stepped inside; the kitchen was separate from the living room, in which were stored neatly stacked boxes marked for testing goods, and there seemed to be a lavatory and a pair of bedrooms off to the side. "I'll make some tea, shall I?" George offered, wringing his hands; it was the only outward sign that he was nervous.

"That would be lovely, thank you." He waited until George disappeared into the kitchen, and then immediately took off the top two layers of boxes and checked within the bottom.

Just as he had suspected, the box contained what appeared to be a week's worth of empty firewhiskey bottles and crushed cans of muggle beer. Well, probably two weeks, Remus reasoned, realizing that George Weasley probably did not drink nearly so much as Sirius had, following his stint in Azkaban. He pulled out several of the empty bottles to find a shallow layer of crushed glass at the bottom.

"So do you take anything with your tea, Professor, or–"

Remus stood and turned; George stopped in his tracks. His mouth worked noiselessly for several seconds, before he managed, "Those are just-"

"Spare me; I already know." His voice wasn't harsh, only sad. "Ron told me."

"He told you?" George demanded furiously.

"Yes, and I'm quite glad he did; trying to sober up his older brother a country away is not a duty to be laid on the shoulders of a student."

George swallowed and looked away. "I didn't ask him to worry about me," he muttered. "I told him to leave off of it–"

"He's your brother. He would have done whether you asked him or not."

The lone twin didn't comment on that, leaning against the doorframe, seemingly counting floor tiles. "So what is this?" he demanded flatly. "Some sort of intervention? Aren't there usually supposed to be more people?"

"No, George, it's not an intervention," Remus said quietly, walking forward. "If I thought you had a problem with alcohol it would be, but I don't."

George looked up at him, startled. "What?"

"You're not an alcoholic, George, not yet. But if you keep doing this, you will become one, of that I assure you. That's why I'm here."

"I don't understand…"

"You're not drinking to drink," Remus said firmly, "You're drinking to forget. So we're going to have a conversation. A conversation about Fred."

He knew he'd hit the right nerve when he saw a spasm of terror flash across the twin's face. George's voice escaped him, choked and broken: "I- about–"

"And since you were kind enough to ask, I take milk and sugar," Remus said lightly, brushing past him into the kitchen. "Do you mind?"

"Oh- um- no- I- Professor?"

Remus didn't answer, simply went about preparing the tea, leaving George to stand awkwardly in the doorway. That was intentional; he knew from experience that the best way to approach an uncomfortable conversation was by giving the other no time to worry, sitting alone in their anxiety and trying to plan a defense. "Milk or sugar?" he called over his shoulder, pouring the tea from the kettle into a pair of cups.

"Er- sugar, I s'pose…"

"Alright then." He added a lump, stirred it and handed the cup to the young man, who took it with an utterly baffled expression. "Shall we?"

"A-alright…"

Again Remus took the lead, leading the way back into the sitting room and taking a long draught of tea as he sat down on the couch. George sat down in the armchair opposite him; the latter bore a ridiculous lavender flowering pattern which it seemed the twins had attempted to make less obnoxious by charming the flower vines to spell out rude words. Remus took a moment to admire the spellmanship– James and Sirius would have found it hilarious– and then grew more solemn as he approached the problem at hand. "George," he said seriously, setting the cup down on its saucer, "You and I both know that the way you've been living isn't healthy."

"Frankly, professor, I don't think it's any of your business," the redhead replied, but his voice was very cool, very cordially final. It didn't suit him at all.

"I think you'll find it is my business, especially since you seem to be stubbornly insisting not to make it anyone else's." The shop owner didn't answer, and Remus sighed. "George, believe me, I'm not judging you for this. I of all people have no right."

"Beg your pardon?" the man replied, startled.

"I reckon I was Ogden's number-one patron for a solid six months after the end of the first war." The werewolf smiled bitterly. "It worked for a while, but I promise you, George, it won't work forever. And when the grief comes back after putting it off for so long, it comes in a flood."

George looked down, not meeting his eyes. There was another long pause, and then he said quietly, "You said you didn't think I was an alcoholic."

"And I don't. If you were, you'd be drinking for the drink's sake, but both of us know that isn't true." He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. "I know it's hard, believe me, I do. But I want you to talk to me about Fred."

George sighed, staring at the wall over the couch, and shrugged his shoulders. "What about him?"

"Anything. Everything." When the redhead hesitated to answer, Remus added, "The funniest story you have about him, perhaps. Or the best prank you ever pulled."

There was a long silence, so long that he was afraid that his plan wouldn't work. But then, ever so slightly, he saw the corner of the man's mouth twitch, and he knew he'd gotten through.

"…How much, exactly, did you hear about how we left the school?" George asked, the twitch beginning to turn into a smile.

Remus chuckled. "Oh, I got the gist of it from Harry. Flew out on broomsticks, yes?"

"What?! That's all that little twerp told you?!" George was indignant. "We put months into that plan! Had to pull all-nighters in the library just to figure out how to disarm her anti-summoning wards!" He shuddered as if the very notion of bookshelves were a taboo. "And that was just the tail end of it!"

"Pun intended?"

"Absolutely. No, you've got to hear the whole story, we–" He stopped suddenly, flushing, and said, "er… if you don't mind, Professor?"

Remus gestured widely. "By all means."

And so began the tale of the Great Weasley Escape. By the end of it, Remus was nearly in tears from guffawing so hard. "A swamp!" he howled. "In the hallway! And the fireworks! Bloody basilisks, George, I wish I could have been there to see that."

"Frankly, Professor, I'm surprised you're not scolding me."

"Oh, no, no, that wouldn't be fair, not after some of the pranks I helped along in school. And if anyone deserved it, it was Madame Undersecretary Dolores Jane Umbridge." He rolled his eyes and muttered, "Toadish bitch…"

George choked violently on his now-cold tea, and Remus chuckled. "Don't tell my wife I said that."

"Oh, 'course not."

The two grinned at each other for a moment, and then, slowly, the smile slipped from George's face. He looked down into his empty teacup. "…Does it ever get better, Professor?" he nearly whispered. "Does it ever stop feeling so…?"

Remus hesitated a moment, and then replied softly, "It gets easier. You'll always feel that ache, that sensation of loss… but that just means that you loved him, George."

"But how do you go on?" He almost didn't seem to be talking to the professor now- more to himself, if anyone. "How do you keep living when your friend, your brother, is dead?"

Lupin sighed, nodded. "…After James and Lily died- and, I thought, Peter, all at Sirius's hands… I truly wanted to die. I had nothing. I hadn't even been allowed to take Harry and raise him as my own. I'd asked Dumbledore, you see, but he'd said Harry had to be with family, it was the only way to ensure his safety… the Order had broken up, no longer necessary, and I felt utterly and desperately alone. Without purpose. Without hope.

"I was halfway to suicide by firewhiskey and probably would have gone on that way until I achieved my goal, but one morning I heard a knock at the door. When I opened it, I saw a very cross Minerva McGonagall looking back at me."

"Professor McGonagall?" George repeated, startled.

Remus nodded. "She alone seemed to have remembered that there had been four Marauders- oh, yes," he said, as George dropped his spoon, "that was us: Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, Prongs. They became animagi for me. Sirius was Padfoot–a dog, as you know– and Peter was Wormtail, the rat."

"Then Harry's father-"

"James always took the form of a stag. We were the closest of friends… or so I'd thought. Then, in one fell swoop, it was over. They were gone, all in one form or another, and I had to find some way to continue on alone. I told McGonagall as much- told her I didn't see any point in going on without them. Do you know what she told me?" George shook his head. "She said that I owed it to them, to their memories, to keep going. She told me that they wouldn't have wanted me to give up hope."

"But what's the point in that?" George mumbled. "He's gone. It doesn't matter what he would think because he's gone."

"You think so?"

He glanced up, startled. "He's dead, Remus. Dead is dead."

"Everyone dies. I know that sounds like a cold comfort, but it's the truth. You, me, all of us, one day we'll all be gone." He gripped his shoulder tightly. "But this isn't the end, George. There is more to us than blood and bones, and someday, you'll see your brother again– but not if you give up now. You can't give up now."

George didn't speak for a long moment. When at last he opened his mouth, all he could do was draw a shuddering breath. Remus reached across the table and set a gentle hand on his shoulder as he started to cry. "I know. It's still hard."

"I m-miss him," he wept, "Every h-hour of every day, I miss him! And every time, every time I look in a b-bloody mirror, it's like l-losing him all over again! H-how do I move on if I c-can't even…"

"Believe me, George, I understand," Remus said thickly. "But what would Fred tell you, if he were here?"

George sniffled, swallowed. "He-'d- he'd call me an idiot… for thinking about ending it…"

"Good. Keep going."

"And he'd- he'd tell me- tell me I couldn't give up. Tell me that he wouldn't want me to give up." He paused, and then said, with more conviction: "He would want me to be happy."

"Yes. He would."

"But how?" the redhead demanded. "How do I move on? Professor, I- I don't know how to be me without him! How can I- how do I get over him?"

"You don't," Remus said firmly, and then, at George's shocked look, continued, "I'm serious. You don't move on from him, George, nor should you. I think that's the most common mistake people make when trying to cope with death; they want to forget what they've lost. But that, George, that's absolutely and utterly ridiculous. Loving other people, being in relationship with one another, that's what makes us human!

"Admit it," Remus added, looking at the young man sadly, "you've been miserable all these months, and not just because of losing Fred; you've cut yourself off from the world, from the ones who love you the most. You're trying to forget your brother because you think that if you don't have to feel the pain of loving him, then somehow it'll get better. But that's not happines, George, it's numbness. And being numb, being alone… that's not what we were made for."

"…Then what do I do?" the young man whispered. "What do I do, Professor?"

Remus smiled a pained smile. "You grieve," he replied honestly. "And you love. You said you don't know how to be you without your brother, George, but I don't think you have to be. Fred always was, and always will be, your brother… and the love you have for him, that's part of what makes you who you are. I wouldn't want you to let go of that for the world."

George nodded and sniffled, and then his shoulders began to shake again. Remus waited patiently until the man's physical grief seemed to have worn itself out. When at last the broken sobs had subsided, he offered the man his napkin for a tissue. "Better?" he asked kindly.

George took a shuddering breath and nodded, attempting a shaky smile that came out more like a grimace. "Better out than in," he joked. Lupin chuckled. "Yeah. Yeah… Okay." He took a deep breath. "I think… I think I can do this."

"Glad to hear it. Now–" Remus stood, and offered him a hand; George accepted it. "I wasn't lying when I said I needed your help."

"Oh- with the class thing?"

"Precisely. You see, I'm training my students to fight dementors…"

George listened to the whole spiel, and then nodded once Lupin had finished. "I think I could probably pull it off," he agreed. "I'll have to rearrange some ingredients– maybe visit an apothecary– but no, that should work." Remus was delighted to see that a hint of his former ambition had returned to the young inventor's eyes.

"Excellent. Oh, and by the way, I promised a rather sad little girl that I would ask you about reopening the shop. Of course, I understand if you're not ready to–"

"No," George cut him off, voice stronger than it had been for the whole of their conversation. "No, I'll do it."

Remus blinked. "What, right now?"

"Sure. Why not? Besides." The ambition was growing, from a hint to a twinkle of excitement. There was heartbreak there, too, but it didn't dim the eagerness, only seemed to make it sweeter. "This old place has been quiet for too long; I don't think Fred would have liked it."

Remus watched in awe as the young man quickly led him back down the stairs; George pointed his wand vaguely at the ceiling, causing the candles to flare to life, and then, with deep breath and a determined grin on his face, snapped his fingers.

A wave of magic, gold and scarlet, rippled throughout the store, and as Remus watched every toy, trick and talking broomstick leapt to life on their shelves. The professor laughed in amazement as the shopkeeper hurried to the door, turned the CLOSED sign to OPEN, and flung the front door wide.

It was like magic– no, it was magic; within minutes, it seemed every wizarding child in London had crowded into the shop, letting out whooping cries of joy and amusement. Remus looked to George and shook his head with another laugh, incredulous. "How did you…?"

"Sorry, Professor," the shopkeeper replied, crossing his arms and looking very satisfied with himself. "Weasley trade secret."

Lupin was just chuckling and about to bid his farewells when a small voice said from below them, "Excuse me, Sir?" The pair looked down to find a boy of perhaps seven or eight tugging on George's coat. "Aren't there usually two of you? Where's the other one?"

For a moment, George's face froze, and Remus feared that all his good work had been for naught. Then, the redhead smiled sadly and knelt down. "That was my brother, Fred," he explained to the child. "He died in the war."

"Oh. Gee, Mister, I'm really sorry."

"Nah, it's alright. He… he was a good man." There was a moment's quiet, a bittersweet silence, and then George went on. "D'you know what I miss most about my brother?" The boy shook his head. "Well Freddy, he had a knack for knowing exactly what every kid wanted. Now me, all I can do is guess, but let me see…" He studied the child, frowning pensively, and then snapped his fingers. "I know. How's about some Blue Ribbon Bon Bons? Turn your whole face blue– or whoever you wanna give 'em to, eh?"

The boy agreed enthusiastically, and George laughed, pointing him in the direction. Remus smiled to himself and headed for the door. Just as he was about to leave, he turned back. George smiled and gave him a grateful thumbs-up.

Remus smiled back, tipped his hat, and then disappeared out into the October chill, leaving the lively joke shop behind him.

---

It was much later that evening when Remus found his skills of persuasion called upon once again. After having returned from Diagon Alley and taken over care of Tedy from Minerva McGonagall (of whom Remus occasionally wondered if she was channeling the grandmotherly adoration of the late Hope Lupin, not that he thought his mother mind), he had spent the day grading papers and playing with the child until Dora came home. After sharing a quick kiss Remus had suggested she take Teddy down to the Great Hall while he returned his papers to his office in the classroom. Dora had acquiesced, and twenty minutes later, the professor was slipping down a secret ( and much faster) staircase towards the first floor, whistling to himself and flipping his office key into the air, unfailingly catching it with typical werewolf dexterity.

Fate is a funny thing. Some say it is merely coincidence, the random, senseless motion of the universe, following the laws of physics without purpose. Others say it is the hand of God, prompting man towards his destiny and end. Still others believe it to be some combination of the two. Whichever position one might take, it was a lucky stroke of fate that night that the professor failed to catch the key as it slipped through his fingers, bouncing down the steps with a clink clink clink into the shadows below.

"Bugger," Remus muttered to himself, drawing his wand. "Accio key!" Shortly after this utterance he realized how ridiculous it was, seeing as he had charmed the key himself to be impervious to any sort of summoning charm for fear of theft. With a sigh, he started down the staircase into the gloom.

The key had come to rest on the second-to-last step, gleaming against the stone. For a moment the professor dismissed this as his excellent night-vision, before he realized that there was an unexpected light in the corridor, a flickering, orange glow coming from around the corner. Surprised, he picked up the key and cocked his head, listening for any sounds. Presently he became aware of a rather strange sound: a sort of buzzing that would last for about a second and then be suddenly cut off, before beginning just as suddenly again. It sounded oddly familiar…

After a moment, he hit on it: that was the sound of a snitch, being caught and released with a seeker's practiced ease. Certainly he had heard it enough times while studying (or trying to) with James Potter, all those years ago. Curious, the professor crept around the corner, not wanting to startle the other occupant. When he saw who it was, he stopped in surprise.

Draco Malfoy sat alone in the abandoned corridor, sitting with his back to the wall and his wand lit with a tiny flame to his side, a halo of dim light in the darkness. Every few seconds or so he would release a feebly fluttering snitch, catching it before it could fly away. He seemed to be doing so without thinking, staring straight ahead, so obviously lost in thought that it was no surprise he hadn't yet noticed the professor. Unbidden, another memory, strangely similar in its appearance, rose to Remus's mind…

---

…The students burst out laughing as the neck of Theodore Nott's headless horsemen popped out of his ruffled collar to reveal none other than Minerva McGonagall. "Excellent, Theodore!" Remus cried. "Draco Malfoy, to the front!"

The young man sauntered forward, a confident grin on his face and wand at the ready. His classmates, clearly admirers, called out encouragement; Remus hid his chuckle at their antics, reminded of a certain young Black's false bravado in the face of his boggart. The monster spun and swirled in the air, shifting into a dozen different shapes before settling onto an image of a bloodsucking vampire with red-tipped fangs. The young Malfoy grinned and raised his wand–

Then, at the last second, the boggart changed. Remus barely had time to react before the room erupted with screams– and it wasn't only those of the students. Remus stared in shock at the sight of Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy convulsing on the ground before a towering cloaked figure, their white-gold hair stained with blood.

There was the clatter of wand hitting stone; Lupin's eyes flicked to the boy, his own heart hammering. Draco stared with wide eyes as the cloaked figure flicked his wand upwards; the screams faded to low sobs. "So you thought me gone, did you?" the figure demanded, voice high and cold. Lucius struggled towards his "wife," stammering out pleas for mercy and groveling in a manner entirely strange on the image of such a proud man. "A ghost, a mere phantom to be scorned for freedom and a position of respect? Was it really so easy to buy your loyalties?"

"My lord– my lord, please–"

"Such a pity." The figure's wand leveled. "But even the house of Malfoy must pay for its misdeeds."

"No," Draco gasped, stepping forward. "No– please–"

"Crucio!"

Shrieks of agony split through the air. Draco stumbled forward, pleading with the cloaked figure. "Stop it! Please, just stop! They didn't mean it! Please, PLEASE–"

"CRUCIO!"

The pair screamed in unison, backs arching, limbs spasming. Lupin at last managed to wake from his stupor, reaching for his wand, but before he could Draco Malfoy cried out:

"I'LL DO IT!"

The cloaked figure stopped, turning his shadowed face towards the boy with interest. Draco's face filled with a wild hope. "I'll do it," he choked out again, "Please, just leave them alone!"

The boggart-Voldemort looked him over, and then nodded. Draco bit his lip, swallowing hard. His hand twitched towards his sleeve-

"Riddikulus," Lupin said quickly, and the boggart became a silvery orb that crashed to the ground a moment later, shattering like a crystal ball.

Silence filled the room. Slowly, Remus turned to the boy. Draco looked back, trembling where he stood. His silver eyes were wide, tears rolling down his pale cheeks.

As if in slow-motion, the boy turned, robes rippling like waves, and fled out the classroom door…

---

It's often said that one choice can change your entire life. Perhaps in another world, Remus Lupin would have hesitated, and lost his nerve. Perhaps, if given another chance, he wouldn't have run after the boy, preferring to give him his space.

But on that day, in that life, Remus did not hesitate. And perhaps that made all the difference.

---

"–Draco! Draco, where are you–"

He rounded a corner and pulled to a stop, startled. There in front of him, alone in the deserted hallway, the young man sat, legs curled up to his chest and crying silently into his knees.

"Oh, Draco," Lupin sighed, walking over. The student looked up at him, red-eyed, and tried his best to scowl fiercely.

"Go away," he snapped. "I don't need you! Go on!"

Lupin merely stared, stunned and saddened. After a long moment, Draco looked away, sniffling. Slowly, ready to leave if the boy shouted again, the professor lowered himself down the wall until he was sitting beside him. Together they waited until the child managed to collect himself. "…If he ever comes back," Draco mumbled at last, swallowing thickly, "He'll kill them, or worse."

"Draco, your family is perfectly safe; Voldemort is gone-"

"Don't," he said sharply, looking at the professor with fierce eyes. "Don't lie to me. I'm not stupid like everyone else." His gaze was so startlingly intense that the professor found he couldn't speak.

"That's what he was trying to do first year, wasn't it?" the boy whispered, turning away again. "To- to come back. That's why Potter and Weaselby and the mudblood, that's why they went down the third-floor corridor. I dunno what they did, but they stopped him. And last year…"

"Draco-"

"That diary. The one the Dark Lord gave my dad. I looked at it once, you know. It's all empty. Not a word in it. And yet somehow a blank diary actually possessed some little kid and controlled a great bloody snake through her?" His face was pale. "Mum and Dad were up for hours, you know, every night for weeks after it happened. My dad said it was a- a something, I don't know what, but whatever it was, it was supposed to stop him from dying." Draco swallowed and crossed his arms as if cold. "The Dark Lord is not a forgiving man, Professor," he whispered. "My family has already disappointed him too many times before. My parents thought if they helped him return, he wouldn't punish them. But they failed. And if he ever succeeds… we're as good as dead."

"We won't let that happen."

"You?" He laughed, but it sounded like a sob. "You and what army, Professor? He'd squash you flat in minutes." He shook his head. "There's only one way to stop that. Only one way to get the Malfoys back in his good graces."

Remus felt his blood run cold as it dawned on him. Draco swallowed, crossing his arms over his knees.

"You don't… you won't have to do that," the professor breathed at last. "Th-there'll be people, folks who'll help you-"

"Like who?" he demanded caustically. "Dumbledore? Dumbledore couldn't beat him last time, why should it be any different now? Oh, let me guess: Potter? Because he's the bloody Boy Who Lived? So what! I know him, Professor, and he's no one special. Some kid is not going to be able to take down the Dark Lord!" He wiped his eyes furiously, blinking hard. "I have to keep my family safe. I have to."

"Draco…" He couldn't believe he was having this discussion with a thirteen-year-old, a mere child. "There are- there are more important things in this world than the lives of our loved ones."

Malfoy laughed again at that, bitter and choked. "I bet you were a Gryffindor, weren't you, Professor?"

"Er- yes, but-"

"Well, I'm a Slytherin. The Malfoys have always been Slytherins." He fingered his green tie, a resigned look in his too-old silver eyes. "And to us, there is nothing more important than family."

Remus sighed wearily, knowing that he was not about to change the boy's mind. Yes, he knew the Malfoys… knew the Blacks, knew the Pettigrews and even the Potters. Blood, family, it ran strong in the upper pureblood circles. It had been that way for centuries and probably would be for centuries more. The boy sniffled and wiped his eyes again, not speaking a word.

For a very long time, the two sat there in utter silence, the professor heavy with tired dread, the boy looking straight ahead, shoulders hunched as if with cold. At long last, the Professor reached into his robes and pulled out a bar of chocolate. Draco glanced over, surprised, as he unwrapped it and broke it in half.

"Bit of a pick-me-up," he said, trying to offer a small smile. It didn't really work. "I think we could both use it."

The blond boy nodded and took it. "Thank you," he whispered hoarsely.

"And Draco- if you ever need help- I promise, I'll do whatever I can-"

He shook his head. "Thank you, Professor. But there's nothing you can do." He shrugged, though it looked as if he didn't truly mean it. "Maybe you're right. Maybe he'll just stay gone."

"Draco-"

"Please," he cut in, almost begging. "Please, can't we just let it alone?"

After a hesitant pause, Lupin nodded. Together they ate their chocolate, and then the professor helped the young man to his feet.

"I'm sorry," Draco mumbled, glancing up. "I really am."

And Lupin pretended he didn't know what he was talking about and ruffled his hair. "No harm done. Let's get you off to lunch, hm?"

---

In later years, the professor had always wished he had pushed harder, done more. Perhaps, he thought, he could have saved the boy from such a harsh fate. Perhaps the Malfoys could have provided resources, more lives could have been saved– goodness knew the Order could have used Lucius Malfoy's dueling skills on the field of battle. Perhaps, had things gone otherwise, his decision could even have helped prolong Professor Dumbledore's life; as much as he did and always would admire the man, the Order had needed desperately needed the headmaster's wisdom in their final hour, and for all his love and loyalty for him, Remus, who had suffered a condition far more debilitating for decades without relief, could not help but feel that Dumbledore had been just the slightest bit selfish to end it when he did. Perhaps it need never have happened; perhaps, perhaps…

But then, as now, Remus had been a coward, and it was too late to try to change the past. The professor made to back up, wanting to give the young man his privacy, but even as he did so his foot scuffed against the stone. Draco started out of his stupor, nearly missing the snitch as it tried to evade his grasp. "Professor," he said, surprised. His cheeks went red. "I was just–"

"Practicing," Lupin supplied. "I imagine your team will put it to good use in the first match– against Hufflepuff, isn't it?"

The young Malfoy's face went tight, and Remus knew he'd said the wrong thing. "You know, I realize I didn't quite thank you properly," he began, switching tactics. "For taking care of the boggart, I mean."

"Oh." Draco looked away with an aristocratic shrug, so very much like Sirius's. "Just repaying the favor."

Lupin felt the corners of his mouth twitch sadly, and knelt down on one knee beside the young man. "So. What happened?" he inquired quietly.

Draco was silent for a long moment, releasing and catching the snitch in rhythmic repetition. "…I'm seeker-reserve," he said finally, toneless.

"Er– well, I suppose congratulations are in order–?"

"No, congratulations are bloody well not in order!" He slammed his fist against the stone and stood up angrily. "Seeker-reserve, Professor! I have never, ever played reserve! Not once!"

"Draco, you've been away for some time," Lupin said carefully, rising to his feet, "it's no surprise you're not up to your usual speed–"

"I caught the snitch," Draco snarled. "I was the best on the field! And Blaise put me on bloody reserve! And do you want to know why? For being a scum-sucking, boot-licking, mudblood-loving traitor!"

"Watch your language!" the professor reprimanded sharply. The boy paced several steps away, running his fingers through his white-blond hair. After a moment he turned around, heaving a sigh.

"Sorry," he muttered, leaning against the wall. "I just…" He trailed off, eyes growing distant again. And that was when it clicked.

"This isn't just about Quidditch, is it?" the professor inquired gently. After a long moment of silence, Draco shook his head, not meeting the professor's eyes. Remus didn't speak further, and, leaden-limbed, the young man slid down the wall again, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose.

"It's useless," he muttered. "What am I even doing here? What have I got to prove?" He opened his grey eyes and shook his head, staring at the opposite wall. "The world knows what I am, and that's never going to go away."

"But you've tried, haven't you?" the professor inferred. When Draco looked at him, surprised, he admitted, "I noticed the scars on your boggart's Mark. It was you, wasn't it?"

The teenager stared. "H-how did you–"

"Know?" He smiled sadly. "I suppose you could say it's intuition." The young man glanced away and didn't reply. "May I take a look?"

Draco wanted to say no. He wanted to snap that it was none of Lupin's concern and leave the corridor in an affected rage, when in all truth he was really just afraid. He wanted to forget this whole conversation had ever happened… but for whatever reason, he trusted the professor. So instead he hiked up his sleeve, extending the arm in front of him.

The Dark Mark stood out black on the pale skin- white and knotted, just as the boggart's had been. Lupin's eyes had turned sad; Draco saw the pity, and his stomach churned. He didn't want to be pitied. He didn't want the professor feeling sorry for him.

"You've done some bad work on this," Lupin said quietly, examining the scarred flesh. "You should really have Madame Pomfrey take a look at it."

"It's none of her business," he snarled, suddenly pulling away, the sleeve of his robe falling down to cover the Mark. "And it's none of yours, either!"

Remus fell silent, startled. Draco was refusing to look at him again, but the guilt on his features was plain behind the thin veneer of anger. So rather than grow offended, the teacher simply sat. And waited.

"…It was all a lie, wasn't it?" the student said at last, voice hardly more than a whisper. "That muggles would take us over if they could, and that mudbl- that muggleborns were dangerous. It was all a lie."

"Yes," Remus admitted. "It was a lie."

"But we believed it. I believed it. The awful things we did, that was how we justified it. 'It's for the greater good,' we said, 'we have to protect ourselves, our families.' 'Sometimes sacrifices have to be made.' 'They're only getting what they deserve.'" His mouth was tight. "I've tortured people. Watched them die in front of me. I'm the reason Professor Dumbledore is dead, and that's not even the worst of it. If you knew– if you knew what I've done–" His voice broke off and he shook his head, looking down at the Mark with undisguised self-loathing. "They have a word for people who stand by and watch while others do evil things, Professor. And that word is coward."

Remus let out a low sigh through his nose, falling silent. Together the pair sat there for a long while, watching the tiny flame from the boy's wand flicker against the stone walls.

"You're right," he said at last, causing the student to look over in surprise. "You're right, Draco. You were a coward." He glanced down at the young man and said honestly, "But you're not the only one."

"Professor?" said Draco, startled.

"I have seen people do… do horrific, wretched things to others. And I've stood by and told myself that it wasn't my place to intervene, or that maintaining my cover was more important, but in all honesty I was just afraid. And that tears into me a little more every day." He paused, and then continued, "You're correct that I don't know the things you've done, and I don't need to; those things you have to learn to live with, to forgive yourself for, that's none of my business. But if there's one thing I've learned, it's that people really can change if they try. It's never easy, but it's possible. I have to hope that it's possible… or else all of this, everything we fought for, it all means nothing." Lupin looked over, hoping he'd somehow managed to make his point. "Does that make any sense?"

Draco shook his head. "I don't know how. To change, that is… Professor, I know now that it was all a lie, but I can't help it." He paused, and then admitted forcefully, "I don't like them. The mudbl- the muggle-borns, I mean." His face puckered, as if he had eaten something sour, and said with difficulty, "I know… that we were wrong. But I don't like them and I can't make myself like them."

Much to his surprise, Lupin began to chuckle. Draco looked over at him, wide-eyed; he couldn't possibly imagine what was funny about this situation.

"I'm sorry," the professor said, catching the boy's expression, and tried his best to stifle himself. "I don't mean to laugh at you, Draco, only– well, of course you don't like them! You've never been taught otherwise, have you?"

"No. But now–"

"But now you know better?" He chuckled again. "But knowing doesn't much help feeling, does it?" At the student's continued bemusement, Lupin shook his head and cleared his throat. "I'm sorry. Draco, what I mean to say is that prejudice isn't just a choice; it's a– a pre-learned condition. Biologically speaking, you haven't much of a choice in how you feel, not at the moment, anyways; you've been trained your entire life to think, to react, a certain way. That's going to take some time to unlearn; you can't just snap your fingers and expect your internal dispositions to become automatically virtuous." He snorted and muttered, mostly to himself, "If only life were so easy…"

"So that's it, then?" the boy demanded. "There's nothing for it? I'm just going to go through the rest of my life hating these– these people for no reason?"

"Certainly not. The really incredible thing about the human mind, Draco, is that it is remarkably trainable, with virtuous and vicious habits alike. " Lupin shrugged. "Certainly some of our character flaws are more stubborn than others, but I don't see any reason why you shouldn't be able to overcome this one in particular. The secret to forming any good habit, especially this one, is practice. If you can't make yourself like someone, start with acting as if you do; sooner or later you'll probably find yourself coming around."

The young man's frown had deepened. "You mean if I pretend to like muggleborns, sooner or later I'll start actually liking them?"

"Exactly."

"But that makes no sense!"

"And yet it works! Marvelous, isn't it?"

Draco was still staring at him as if he were mad, and Lupin chuckled again. "Just trust me on this one, Draco. I've seen it work before."

There was a pause, and then the young man sighed and said grudgingly, "Alright… I'll give it a go."

"Excellent." He stood and offered the student a hand up, and reluctantly Draco took it, standing up and tucking the snitch into his bag. "And by the way," the professor said firmly, setting a hand on his shoulder, "I don't think you're a bad person, Draco, whatever the mistakes you've made."

"Why not?" the student demanded, baffled. "Everybody else seems to think so. Why do you trust me so much?"

The professor gave him a wry smile, and Draco thought it looked rather sad. "Because if our mistakes make us who we are, then neither you nor I, nor anyone else, is worth believing in. And that's a pretty miserable world to live in, don't you think?"

After a pause, Draco nodded, a rather pensive look on his face. Remus slapped his shoulder. "Come on. Let's get some dinner, shall we?"

Together the pair walked off in the direction of the great hall. Once they could hear the clamor of students, Remus fell back and waved the boy forward. "Go on. I know full that walking in with a teacher would ruin your image."

Draco snorted and shouldered his bag. "It could hardly get much worse now, could it?" He hesitated, and then added, "Thank you, Professor. For everything."

Remus smiled and inclined his head. When he looked up, the boy was gone.

Smiling to himself, Remus waited a few minutes, and then walked around the corner into the Great Hall, heading for the staff table where Dora was sitting with Teddy, feeding the baby mushed peas. "Hey," she said, surprised, as he climbed the stairs to the dais. "There you are; what took you so long?"

"Teacher business," he replied vaguely. Dora got the hint and didn't push the subject. Dinner passed well enough, and by the time he was finished with desert Remus had nearly forgotten that the incident had ever happened.

That was, until a figure stood up from the Slytherin table and crossed the distance to the end of the Gryffindor table, where there sat the school's most famous students. Harry, Hermione and Ron all looked up, startled, as none other than Draco Malfoy looked back, shifting back and forth on his feat with an expression that said he'd rather eat his own arm than stand there another second. Nevertheless, he took a deep breath, seemed to swallow his pride and opened his mouth.

"Weasley told me you kicked Harold and his lackeys off the team," the Slytherin said bluntly, addressing Harry. "That was… decent… of you." His mouth twitched as if he wanted to sneer, but he composed himself and turned to Hermione. "And Granger, I never–" He coughed, "-er, never thanked you properly. So… well." Draco swallowed. "…Thank you. Both of you."

There was dead silence for what felt like an eternity as the trio (not to mention the eagerly listening staff table) stared at the Slytherin in shock. Malfoy cleared his throat, turning red. "Well, that's all I had to say," he muttered, turning to leave, "so…"

"Oy!"

The young man started and looked back. Ron Weasley had risen to his feet and was stepping over the bench, reaching for his wand; for a moment Draco was sure the redhead was going to hit curse him, but Weasley merely stuck his hands in his pockets. "Look," he said sharply, though he, too, was turning red, "I've been– well, I've been a real git to you. So… so I'm sorry." He stuck a hand out; Draco's eyes went wide. "Truce?"

Malfoy stared in shock; Ron stared back, biting his lip. Both could tell what the other was thinking, because both were thinking exactly the same thing: a Weasley, making a truce with a Malfoy? My father would die for shame.

But then, the miracle happened: Draco stuck his own hand out and gave Ron's a very formal, business-like shake. "Truce," he said coolly, and then turned swept away.

Ron watched him go, and then sat back down to his food. Hermione and Harry glanced at each other, surprised, and then merely shook their heads and continued on with their meal, falling into conversation with the redhead as easily as if nothing had happened. The staff table, on the other hand, was still shocked to silence. "Did you make that happen?" Dora demanded, turning to her husband.

Remus cleared his throat. "Sorry, Love, that's confidential," he said lightly, and hid his smile in his goblet of pumpkin juice.

---

*This story will be explained in full in my other sister-story, "Among Wolves." Check it out if you like!

A warning for all my readers: the next chapter, which takes place on the Eve of All Saints (Hallowe'en for you modern folk) is going to be a very theological, philosophical chapter. Why? Because I'm a theology major, and that's what I do. ;)

In all seriousness, though, I have an in-cannon justification for this: at the end of the seventh book, in the "King's Cross/Limbo" scene, young Harry experienced some MAJOR theological/philosophical/epistomological shit, which was then never addressed. The kid freaking DIED, saw the other side, and CAME BACK FROM THE DEAD, and no one bothered to say, "Oh, by the way, Harry, is the afterlife really a train station? How intriguing." Not to mention that we can infer with a high degree of certainty that the Dursleys were not exactly religious folk. So, on top of all the ordinary teenagers-in-war PTSD going on, I'd imagine he'd have some pretty important questions, like, I don't know, WHAT IN THE WORLD HAPPENED TO HIM, that haven't yet been answered.

Aaaand, enter Remus Lupin… the wise father-figure who, as an angsty twenty-something young man left basically alone in the world, chose a verse from 1 Corinthians 15 (an extremely important chapter for theologians) to inscribe upon the tombstone of his deceased best friends.

So yeah. If you're not a fan of religion, you might want to skip over this upcoming chapter… or go ahead and read it, if you're feeling brave. In fact, do that. I highly recommend it.

Don't forget to review! Pax et bonum!
-FFcrazy15