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.

19. Chapter 19: On the Eve of All Saints'

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

Warnings (PLEASE READ): Remus and Dora *cough* living out the vocation of marriage; references to depression and attempted suicide; religious references; creepy Greyback; drinking alcohol; a lot of blood and violence. Seriously, this will probably be my bloodiest chapter yet; you have been warned. Also, all Welsh translations will be at the bottom of the page.

Apologies (PLEASE READ): First, this is a very dialogue-heavy chapter, but the conversations make some important points.

Second, I am not a theologian, just an aspiring theology major, so this is my attempt at my own theodicy (addressing what's known among philosophers as the Problem of Evil); this is not by any means the official teaching of the Roman Catholic Church and should not be taken as definitive, just the ramblings of a university student. I welcome any intelligent corrections from my fellow Catholics, or questions from those who are not.

Third, I extend an apology to all my Protestant brothers and sisters, since I'm putting an attempt at Catholic theology into the mouth of a Welsh Presbyterian. *hopeful wince* Ecumenism, eh?

Nymph: Naw, it's fine. Sorry if I came off a little harsh. :) No more Lupin babies planned at the moment, sorry; NFP is highly effective if done right and they've got a pretty good reason for trying to avoid getting pregnant again, so it wouldn't really fit.

---

It was the week before Halloween, and everyone was in high spirits. Though the school hadn't the money to decorate the castle as festively as possible, all of the teachers had determinedly done their bit to make up for the lack of decorations; Hagrid had contributed several massive pumpkins from his garden, Madame Sprout had dressed up a surprising amount of suits of armor as scarecrows, and McGonagall had somehow managed to round up a clowder of black cats to stalk the castle, who, she claimed, owed her a favor (how exactly that had come about, no one dared to ask). Remus, for his part, had suspended his Halloween blues long enough to charm the walls of his classroom orange and string them with spider webs. Even the ghosts were making the effort, popping out at snogging teenagers from the shadows and shouting "boo!" (Or, in the case of the Fat Friar, giving a kindly tsk of the tongue and an encouragement to run along).

All of this effort and good cheer miraculously managed to distract Remus from the more pressing weight of the holiday until Dora brought it up one Tuesday evening as she was feeding Teddy: "So I'm guessing we won't be attending the faculty costume party?"

"Hm? Why ever not?" Remus replied absently, chewing the end of his quill pensively as he debated whether he should dock points for poor grammar. Tonks looked over at him in surprise.

"I thought you were going to Godric's Hollow?"

Immediately, his good mood came crashing down; Remus looked up at his wife, stunned, and saw the realization cross her eyes. "You forgot, didn't you? Oh, Remus, I'm so sorry- I didn't mean to bring it up–"

"No, it's…" He trailed off, setting his quill down. How could he have forgotten? All Hallow's Eve. The day of Voldemort's first downfall, the beginning of thirteen years of peace.

The day he'd lost his family forever.

"…It's fine," he said lowly, nearly whispering.

Dora frowned sadly and walked over to stand beside him at the table, bouncing a sleepy Teddy on her hip. "You don't have to go, you know," she said gently, touching his cheek with her free hand. "James and Lily would have understood. Sirius, too."

Remus snorted. "Sirius wouldn't have even wanted me to be there. Probably would've told me to get drunk and streak through the halls if I really wanted to commemorate him."

"Mm. I'd advise against that, love." She winked and added cheekily, "Although I can't say I wouldn't enjoy the show."

Remus tried to smile at the joke, but it didn't really work. Sighing and rubbing his hand against the stubble on his chin, he shook his head. "I want to go. I do. It's just… it's not a good night to be alone. Not for me, anyhow."

"I know."

He glanced up at her, old grief plain in his hazel eyes. "Would you go with me?"

To his surprise, his wife hesitated. "I would," she said softly, sitting down in the chair beside his and resting Teddy on her lap. "I really would, Remus, but… I think there's someone else who needs it more."

Understanding dawned in his eyes. "You think I should take Harry."

"Why not? He told us himself he's only visited them once, and that little trip didn't exactly go well, didn't it?" She took his free hand in hers. "Love, he never even got to know them, let alone mourn them," said Dora softly. "And you knew them better than anyone… Remus, doesn't Harry deserve to really meet his own parents?"

For a long moment, her husband was silent. Remus's mind was in a struggle; he knew that going to Godric's Hollow would only be harder with Harry there. He knew, knew with a pain nearly as desperate as his love for his own child, that he had failed James's boy in so many ways… Harry ought to have been his nephew, if not his adoptive son, and instead he was his student. Remus wasn't sure he could face James with the evidence of that failure right beside him.

On the other hand, Dora was undeniably and inarguably right. Harry had a right to know his parents… and Remus, being the last of the Marauders, owed it to him to make sure that happened.

"…You're right," the teacher relented, running a hand through his hair. "You're right, Dora. I'll ask him tomorrow after class." He knew his wife approved when she grinned and pecked him on the cheek, ruffling his hair as she stood. "I'm not a dog," he reproved her, faking annoyance.

In response, Dora merely grinned, fluffed his hair some more and crooned, "Who's a good boy? Is it you? Is it?"

Remus rolled his eyes with a smirk and growled, to which his wife let out a gasp and batted at his nose. "None of that," she scolded, "Or you won't be getting any treats from me."

Remus chuckled to himself, though a red blush was creeping up his cheeks. Dora laughed and shook her head as she walked off into the other room, carrying a drowsy Teddy in her arms. The professor returned to grading essays and quickly became immersed once again, only to look up as a sharp whistle sounded from the bedroom.

If he'd had a tail at the moment, the werewolf felt sure he would have wagged it.

---

A sharp whistle sounded through the classroom, and the students halted in their work, looking towards the blackboard. Lupin nodded in satisfaction. "Alright, everyone, very nicely done!" he said, waiting for the last few whispers of conversation to settle down. "I've seen some absolutely remarkable improvement from many of you; for those of you who are ready, I think we can move on to the next stage."

The seventh-years glanced around at each other, surprised. They'd been practicing patroni for a week now, and nearly everyone had at last gotten the hang of it; the classroom had become a little crowded with various species of incorporeal fauna dashing about, leaping through each other and even rushing headfirst through the students on occasion, leaving the "victim" filled with a sense of remarkable good cheer. All had been feeling rather proud of their success, and wondered what more could there could possibly be to learn.

From within his desk drawer the professor produced what appeared to be a box of chewy candies, one side cerulean blue, the other a cheery yellow. Several of the students began to murmur, recognizing the sweets; Harry turned to Ron and muttered warily, "Aren't those the chews from the twins' Skiving Snackboxes?"

"Yeah," the redhead replied, frowning. "But I've never seen that sort before…"

"As many of you have probably guessed," Lupin called, quieting the whispers, "these are not ordinary candies, and I would not recommend taking them without careful deliberation. One Mr. George Weasley kindly developed them particularly for this class; he gave them the rather, er, macabre name of 'Cheerless Chews.' Consuming the blue end will produce a similar sense of depression as caused by the dementors; the yellow end will return the user to a state of content. As I said," he added, looking at them all very firmly, "no one is required to practice with them, and if you are at all uncertain, I would advise against it. But for those of you who feel ready, the option is available."

There was a moment's uncomfortable pause, and then a few of the braver students made their way towards the box. As about a third of the class filed forward, the trio glanced at each other. "Do you really think we should?" Hermione asked, worried.

"May as well," Ron replied, though he, too, looked reluctant. "I mean, it's not like a patronus will be much use if you can't use it against dementors, will it?"

Although the witch still looked uncertain, she accompanied the boys up to the front of the classroom, and each took a Chew. They retreated back to their own corner of the classroom and looked around at each other. "Well, who wants to go first?" Harry said at last, breaking the silence.

More hesitation followed, and then Ron shrugged and replied, "I'll go." Harry and Hermione watched anxiously as the redhead bit into the blue end of the candy. Ron chewed, swallowed– and then, almost immediately, his face turned rather pale.

"Ron?" said Harry warily, but the redhead shook his head and waved him off.

"Fine. I'm fine…" He certainly did not look fine; the weight that had vanished from his shoulders over the last week had returned, and looked heavier than ever; the expression on his face was one of guarded pain and exhaustion. Still, he drew his wand and closed his eyes for a moment, seeming to focus. When he opened his eyes again, the blue irises seemed to be blazing, and he brandished his wand.

"Expecto patronum!"

A silvery terrier burst forward and ran about in a circle for a moment or two, clearly looking for its master. Ron laughed despite himself, and the pup turned and dashed forward, rushing right through his caster's legs.

With another chuckle, Ron swallowed the yellow end of the candy and grew cheerful once again; Harry clapped him on the shoulder. "Well done, mate."

"It's not so bad; just takes some focus. Go on, Harry; give it a go."

The Man Who Lived was nervous at first, but he knew he could hardly balk under Ron's encouragement. Taking a deep breath, he raised the Cheerless Chew to his lips. There was a moment where all he could taste was the sour-sweetness of the crystal coating, and then the chew dissolved on his tongue.

The effect was instantaneous. A sense of black dread filled the pit of his stomach, and something worse– despair. A litany of faces filled his mind, of Fred and Cedric and little Collin Creevy, all looking up at him, pale and still. And faintly behind it all, like a static-broken voice from a radio, he could hear a woman screaming…

But this was nothing new; no, Harry had faced this before, and in stronger force from real dementors. He waved his wand and spoke the incantation; a moment later, a white stag joined the terrier. Harry popped the yellow end of the chew into his mouth and immediately found himself in a much better mood. With a grin he gestured to Hermione, who, emboldened by her friends' success, only hesitated a moment before eating the blue end of the candy. Her reaction was not nearly so dramatic as Ron's had been, though she did bite her lip very hard, and her hand was shaking when she drew her wand. She was holding the vine wood stave so tightly that the scars carved into her wrist had turned white.

"E-expecto patronum."

Even as she spoke the words, Harry knew that they weren't strong enough; a puff of silver smoke appeared, but nothing substantial. Hermione drew a shaking breath and ordered again, this time with more force, "Expecto patronum!"

More smoke, brighter this time, but it wasn't enough. The bespectacled wizard watched as the girl tried a third time, and then a fourth, but to no avail. Tears were gathering in her eyes; the words were growing fainter and more upset-

"Hey," Ron said gently, stepping forward and catching her hand in his. Hermione looked up at him, flushed and nearly crying with embarrassment. "It's alright, 'Mione; just take a break, alright?"

Hermione looked away and then, reluctantly, ate the yellow end of the chew. Rather than growing happy as the others had, however, it seemed the most the candy could do for her was relieve its original effect; while Hermione no longer looked sad, she was still teary-eyed, now seemingly out of frustration. Without waiting for the other two to speak, she turned on her heels and stalked out of the classroom, slamming the door shut behind her.

Harry and Ron looked at each other, startled, and then hurried for the door, but before they could reach it a number of hands caught at their arms. "Oh, no no no," a familiar voice said, turning the former around; Ginny was vehemently shaking her head. "Trust me, you do not want to follow her right now."

"Like Merlin we don't!" Ron retorted, pulling out of Parvati Patil's grasp and frowning. "She was in a right state!"

"And that's exactly why you need to leave her alone," Lavender Brown said firmly.

"What?"

"Please, Ron, Harry, just trust us on this one," Ginny insisted. "Sometimes an angry girl just needs to be left alone for a bit."

Although this vague reasoning satisfied neither, least of all Ron (who was frowning with confusion and worry), the pair agreed that they wouldn't leave. When Lupin came over and inquired about the witch's absence they explained, and the professor nodded, looking concerned but unsurprised. "I was hoping that wouldn't happen… thank you for telling me, Ron, Harry. I think it's best if we let her be for a while– ah, yes, Mr. Goldstein?"

As Lupin was called away to help another pair of students, Ron and Harry returned to practicing. Neither were feeling particularly cheerful at the moment, so they left off with the Chews and tried their best not to worry about their friend. Both considered skiving off Transfiguration to go find her, but they knew Hermione would be fit to be tied if she realized they'd skipped classes for her sake, so it wasn't until lunchtime that the two had the opportunity to search.

To be fair, it wasn't much of a question of where she would be, but more what they would say when they found her. "What do you think she was so upset about?" Ron wondered for the hundredth time as they hurried through the halls towards the library.

"I don't know, Ron," Harry replied again, now starting to get a little annoyed.

"Maybe her parents? I dunno, she was pretty broken up about having to send them away. Or maybe–"

"Mr. Weasley! Mr. Weasley!"

Both students stopped short as a small child rushed up to them, more out surprise that someone had called Ron "Mr. Weasley" than anything else. The first year skittered to a halt, breathing heavily; he was very red in the face and seemed near to tears. "Sir, you've got to help me, something really awful has happened–"

"Whoa, kid, slow down," said Ron, startled. "What's going on?"

"It's Bram, Sir– we got in a duel– he hit his head and he's not waking up, Sir, I didn't mean to kill him, I promise-!"

"Okay, calm down, I'm sure you didn't kill him," said the Head Boy with a sigh. "Harry–"

"I'll go find Hermione," the other Gryffindor promised.

"Thanks. Okay, kid, show me where he is…"

As Ron hurried off after the distraught first-year, Harry turned the corner and headed for the library. Madame Pince gave him a suspicious look when he walked in, but thankfully didn't follow him as he wandered through the library, checking into Hermione's usual nooks and favorite armchairs. When the witch was nowhere to be found, he left and headed in the direction of Gryffindor tower, more than a little worried. For Hermione to go anywhere than the library, she must have been really upset. He was just passing by the Defense classroom, wondering where in the world his friend could be, when he heard a voice that brought him to a halt:

"E-expecto patronum."

"That's a good start," Lupin's deeper tenor encouraged, "But it needs to be stronger, Hermione. Try a happier memory."

Harry crept closer, ignoring the feeling of guilt that crept into his stomach at eavesdropping. "Have one?" the teacher's voice inquired, and the lighter, somewhat thick tones of a young lady replied: "I-I think so." The sound of a breath being drawn, and then again, "Expecto patronum!"

A whoosh of magic, and a slight humming for a moment or two, before the noise puffed out of existence. "Nicely done," Harry heard Lupin say, but it seemed Hermione was less than pleased.

"But it's useless!" she cried, and the boy could hear her feet pacing away anxiously across the stone. "What good is it being able to do it here in a classroom if I can't do it out there, in the real world?"

"That's why we practice," he mollified. "You'll get it eventually…"

"But everyone else got it! And Professor, I've never– I just don't understand what I'm doing wrong!"

"Hermione, you mustn't be so hard on yourself. Everyone has their difficulties; why should you be any different?"

"Even so…"

The witch's voice faded off. For a moment there was silence, and Harry wondered if he should turn the corner now and pretend he hadn't been listening in, but before he could he heard Hermione sniffle. "Professor, I'm so sorry," she mumbled, sounding mortified. "For running out of class this morning, I mean… what you must think of me…"

"You know, I had troubles with the charm at first, too," Harry heard Lupin say kindly.

"But you have every right to be afraid of the dementors. What you must see when they come near you…"

A chill ran down Harry's back; he suddenly remembered something Lupin had told him in his third year: "It has nothing to do with weakness, Harry. The dementors affect you worse than the others because there are horrors in your past that the others don't have." He hadn't bothered to wonder at the time how Lupin had known, but now…

"True," replied Lupin lightly; Harry peeked around the corner of the door. Hermione looked incredibly embarrassed. "Although I'd hardly say your school years have been a summer picnic." The witch gave a watery chuckle at this. "Actually, the reason I had trouble with the spell even to begin with was not what I experience when I come too near a dementor, as we weren't using the charm against any particular target at that point. No, my problem was confidence."

"Confidence, Sir?" Hermione questioned, baffled.

"For all my efforts, I knew that deep inside, I didn't want to produce a patronus. As you well know, a patronus takes its form from the most distinctive characteristics of the caster- yours, for instance, is an otter likely because otters are known to be very compassionate, intelligent creatures."

"I don't understand…?"

"I was terrified that my patronus would be a werewolf," Lupin said quietly. "Although the spell usually takes the form of a non-magical animal, this is not always the case. My fear was not even so much of my classmates discovering my condition, but rather that, at my inner core… I dreaded the possibility that my truest self was ultimately something monstrous. When at last I did manage it, I felt that all my worst nightmares had been confirmed."

"But it's not," Hermione urged him. "It's an ordinary wolf-"

"A fact which, in the depths of my terror, quite escaped me," said Lupin calmly. "I left class that day in a state of utter despair… and that night, I snuck out of bed. I was entirely prepared to throw myself headfirst off the astronomy tower- better that, I reckoned, than subject those I loved to any further danger."

Harry felt his stomach twist painfully; Hermione let out a low gasp. "But how-"

"Professor McGonagall found me there, sobbing like a first-year." He shook his head. "It had been a tough year by a number of standards. I could find no joy in living and no hope for the future… I genuinely thought myself a monster. She talked me down off the ledge, quite literally, and helped me to see that, while necessarily one's struggles must define them, it is the choice of those who suffer them whether we will be allow ourselves to be victimized, or if we will endure them to grow stronger and more virtuous– to be purified by pain, as it were." He smiled slightly. "I will always be thankful to her for that. She showed me that, for all the shame my condition caused me, the true heart of who I am is not something wicked or disgusting. I still didn't like producing a corporeal patronus- it was too risky- but after that, the charm didn't cause me any further problems."

"But that's still so different," Hermione protested. "You had a good reason to have trouble with the charm. I-I'm just…"

"Hermione, when was the first time you tried to produce a patronus?"

She paused, and then said with a slight frown, "The day we met Sirius. They day you transformed without your potion."

"And the day," Lupin said fairly, "That Harry saved Sirius from the dementors, yes?" Hermione nodded. "What happened?"

"I-" She swallowed, hard, and Harry realized with surprise that tears were brimming in her eyes. "I couldn't do it. I passed out- Harry had to defend himself, alone-"

"And ever since that day, you've been unable to produce a corporeal patronus in the presence of a dementor, correct?" Lupin questioned. She nodded miserably. "Hermione, you're blaming yourself for something which could not have fairly been expected of you! Harry had had months of training; it's no wonder he could produce a patronus and you couldn't!"

"But that wasn't the only time! In the Ministry- we were attacked- he said it himself, it's the only spell I've ever had trouble with-"

Harry immediately felt guilty; he hadn't realized Hermione had caught his words.

"And the only reason you have trouble with it when facing a dementor- when facing a real threat, and nowhere else- is because you're afraid of failure," Lupin cut in. "And not just failure, but failure to defend those you love. That's your boggart, isn't it?" She nodded, looking utterly humiliated. "Hermione, that is a very noble fear. It shows that you care deeply for those around you- so much that you put it upon yourself to protect them."

"But I can't," she whispered. "Harry's good at that, not me. I'm just…"

"You're just a brilliant witch, who defended your fellow students against great danger on numerous occasions. Who stood by your friends and your convictions even when the future looked bleakest. Who would extend kindness without hesitation to anyone in need of it. Hermione, you are a capable witch and a compassionate, magnanimous young lady. And if the only concern keeping you back from succeeding in this spell is the fear of failure itself, then I think it will suffice simply to remember that it is neither our failures nor our accomplishments that define us, but rather the goodness of heart by which we attempt them. Does this make sense to you?"

She was quiet for a moment, and then nodded. Lupin stood up and offered her a hand, which she accepted. "Why don't you give it another go?" he suggested. "Although looking at the state you're in, I wouldn't recommend using the candy-"

"No," Hermione interjected, and then flushed red, realizing she'd cut off a teacher. "I, er, I mean- I want to try it. As if it were the real thing."

Lupin hesitated, and then nodded, taking a wrapped sweet out of his pocket. Hermione undid the casing and bit off the orange half of the gummy. A moment later, she bit her lip, and tears filled her eyes again.

"Steady now," said Lupin encouragingly. "A happy memory, Hermione. The strongest one you have."

She took a deep breath and nodded. "Expecto patronum," she said clearly, though her voice shook slightly, and flicked her wand.

The silvery form of an otter burst from her wand and swam about in the air. Hermione smiled despite herself, and Lupin clapped, nodding enthusiastically. "Well done, Hermione! Well done indeed!"

She waved her wand; the otter vanished, and she quickly bit into the yellow half of the gummy. A moment later, her smile grew. "I did it!" Then, she frowned. "But that was only a piece of candy, hardly the real thing-"

"It's a start, a very good start," Lupin countered with a smile. "Keep practicing, and I'm sure you'll get it."

Hermione chuckled. "Alright. Thank you, Professor." She turned to go, and then glanced back. "And so you know, I won't tell anyone what you told me. I-I'm honored that you trusted me so much… no one else will ever know."

"Well, you can tell Ron if you like. And I'm sure Harry heard every word from behind the doorframe."

The dark-haired teenager started, tripped, and fell flat on his backside. "Oof!"

Hermione hurried over and looked around the doorpost, startled. "Harry?"

He stood up, blushing sheepishly and rubbing his back. "Er…"

"How much did you hear?" said Lupin quietly, approaching the door with arms crossed and brow raised.

Harry went redder still. "Er… pretty much everything…"

"Hm. Fifteen points from Gryffindor for sticking your nose in where it doesn't belong." The teacher's words were sharp, but his expression softened to show that he knew the young man was only concerned about his friend. Hermione seemed less convinced; she, too, had gone red, and wasn't meeting the young wizard's eyes. The professor cleared his throat and checked his battered old watch. "Well. I suppose I'd best be on my way; I was going to meet Dora for lunch. Good day, Harry, Hermione," he said, and gave the former pointed look when the young man winced. The message was clear: you're on your own.

As the professor swept off down the hall, Harry turned shame-faced to his friend. Hermione was staring at the floor. "Hermione–"

"Didn't anyone ever tell you it was rude to spy on people?" she snapped, though she didn't look up.

"I was just worried about you," he replied apologetically. "Ron was, too– he'd be here now, 'cept he had to go stop some first years from killing each other–" Hermione snorted, and then crossed her arms, looking anywhere else. "…I never knew you felt like that," said Harry awkwardly.

"Well of course I do, Harry," the witch sighed, finally meeting his eyes. "You're– you're so good at everything, it just comes naturally to you…"

"Are you kidding?" he demanded. "You're the genius one, Hermione! You realize I wouldn't have passed Transfiguration without you, right? Ron and me both!"

"But that's classwork!" she protested, and tears were in her eyes again. Harry was baffled; why were girls so confusing. "That's just practice, Harry! You saw me last year, I– oh, I couldn't do anything right, not out there in the real world! I couldn't do anything, not when it really counted, and that's what matters, not–"

"Not books and cleverness?" he broke in. She looked up at him, surprised, and then sighed and gave a hopeless nod. "Hermione," Harry said firmly, "Do you have any idea how dead I would be right now if it weren't for your books and cleverness?"

"I don't–"

"Figuring out the potions riddle," he ticked off. "Brewing polyjuice. Realizing there was an effing basilisk in the school when even the teachers couldn't figure it out!"

"Harry–"

"Figuring out that Professor Lupin was a werewolf, and Skeeter an animagus. Tricking Umbridge to follow us into the forest, figuring out how to destroy the Horcruxes– Merlin, Hermione, if it hadn't been for you, we wouldn't have had any idea what we were doing last year!"

"But that's not magic! That's just me Harry, that's not– you don't understand!"

"You're right, I don't understand!" he replied, exasperated. "So tell me!"

"You were born to this, Harry!" Hermione cried, and the words hit him like a kick to the stomach. "You– your family, they were magic, too! And I know, I know you grew up with your aunt, and you didn't understand it at first, but– don't you see? It doesn't matter if you mess up, because you'll never have to prove that this is your world! And I–"

Her voice broke, and she looked down at her arm, to where Harry knew the scars still lay thick and white under her sweater. "…Honestly, Harry, I'm still not sure that I belong here," Hermione nearly whispered, and then bit her lip.

Harry was floored. "Hermione… I didn't know. I'm sorry."

She laughed sadly and shook her head. "No, I'm sorry. It's not like it's your fault."

"I know, but… I dunno, I guess I never realized how much it hurt you. Being treated like a– you know–"

"A mudblood," she said quietly. He nodded. They stood there for a long while, neither looking at each other. Harry wasn't sure what to say. It felt as if a wide chasm had opened between him and one of his best friends, and he didn't know how to cross it, or even whether Hermione would want him to.

Still, he decided in the end, he had to try. "…Well you're not a 'mudblood' to me, Hermione," he said at last, and the girl looked up, surprised. "You're a witch. A bloody brilliant witch who belongs in this world every bit as much as I do. And if anyone else doubts that, well– well, they can go and–"

But what exactly 'they' could go and do, he never got around to saying, for the witch had thrown her arms around him was hugging him tight. "Th-thank you, Harry," she warbled, wiping her eyes as she drew back. "You're- you're a real good friend."

"I try," he joked weakly, and Hermione gave a watery chuckle. "Does Ron know? About all this, I mean…"

"Hm? Oh, yes. It, er, it sort of came up, when we were down in the Chamber…"

Harry nodded. He didn't need to hear any more about it than that.

Together they walked down to the end of the hall in a companionable silence, broken only by Hermione's occasional sniffles. As they rounded the corridor they caught sight of Ron at the far end; catching sight of his teary-eyed girlfriend, the Head Boy hurried forward. Hermione gave him a much longer hug than she had Harry, and Ron glanced up at his friend, surprised. Harry shook his head, indicating it wasn't his place to explain, and Ron gave him an understanding nod.

"Boy, Hermione, I dunno what I did, but you're welcome," the redhead joked as the two parted. Hermione fake-scowled and smacked him on the arm. "Ouch! Okay, too soon… what do you lot say we get some food, eh? I'm starving."

"Sounds good to me," the witch chirped, looking in a considerably better mood. As they headed off towards the great hall, Hermione in the lead, Ron sidled up to Harry.

"Thanks," he said under his breath, so his girlfriend couldn't hear.

Harry grinned and shook his head. "It was nothing. Besides–" He watched the brunette witch walking ahead of them, steps taken with purpose, and added:

"–She's my friend too."

---

Halloween morning dawned pale and bright over the frozen hills of Scotland, and Harry was exceedingly pleased to see that the conditions were perfect for a good match. He and Ron dressed quickly and met Hermione and Ginny, the latter of whom was also in her warm sweater and leggings which served as her under-gear. "The rest of the team's already gone down," the redheaded girl informed him, and then added in an undertone, "Harold and his goons didn't look too happy; I think they're still hoping you'll let them play."

"They shouldn't hold their breath," Harry said grimly. "What about the underclassmen?"

"Dunno, didn't see them. I hope they're not too nervous."

This, unfortunately, turned out not to be the case. Ruggles and Stone were picking at their breakfast listlessly; poor Dennis Creevy had gone a pale shade of green and looked too ill to eat anything. It wasn't for lack of encouragement, though; Ron was steadfastly trying to coax the boy into eating with reassurances that he'd felt the same way before his first game. Harry decided it probably wasn't the best idea to remind him of how well that had gone. Harold, Higgs and Hobbes continued to glower at him from the other end of the table.

"Ravenclaw usually plays a fair game," Ginny reminded the underclassmen kindly. "They're good, but they won't pull any tricks– besides, it's just a game–"

"Tell them that," Andrew Stone mumbled, nodding to the rest of the Gryffindors, who were muttering to themselves; no doubt Harry's decision had made its way through the school gossip mills. The captain was just beginning to wonder if the loss of the game wasn't an even greater punishment to his subs than it was to the three ousted players, but before he could change his mind, his watch was chiming time and the whole team rose to their feat and made their way down to the changing rooms.

The day was cold yet sunny when the players sauntered out onto the field, brooms in hand. The crowds were cheering, chanting their names; Harry grinned and nudged Dennis. "See that?" he murmured. "That's for you."

"Yeah?" the boy whispered.

"Yeah." He grinned and added, "Your brother would be proud of you, Dennis." The boy glanced up with a grateful smile.

"Captains, shake hands!" Madame Hooch barked. Harry stepped forward and shook the hand of the Ravenclaw captain, a tall sixth-year by the name of Colwyn Moxley. "Mount your brooms! And…!"

The whistle blew. All fourteen players kicked off as the balls were released and the quaffle tossed high; Harry saw Ron speed off towards the goal posts and then quickly swerved to avoid a bludger. The game was on.

"RAVENCLAW CAPTAIN COLWYN MOXLEY IN POSSESSION AND HEADING TOWARDS THE GOAL. MOXLEY PASSES TO PORIER– PORIER TO ZHOU– ZHOU BACK TO MOXLEY AND–"

The Gryffindor stands roared; Harry spared a moment's glance from scanning the field to see Ron return to the middle goal and Neville sweep up underneath, catching the quaffle before it could hit the ground.

"LONGBOTTOM IN POSSESSION, PASSING OFF NOW TO GINNY WEASLEY– NOW TO CREEVY– NEARING THE GOAL AND– RAVENCLAW KEEPER JANET O'TOOLE BLOCKS! BAD LUCK THERE, CREEVY…"

That was the first indication Harry had that the game was not going to go as planned. For the first fifteen minutes the teams were neck and neck, inching up ten points at a time; twice Harry caught sight of the snitch, but it seemed to be a particularly tricky model and vanished each time within a blink of an eye. The Ravenclaw seeker caught his eye and shrugged; it seemed he, too, was having a hard time of it. Harry spared him a bare grin before returning to do another lap around the field, eyes fixed for the golden ball. Occasionally one side or another would let out a whooping cheer, but both teams were good; neither Ron nor O'Toole seemed willing to let in a single quaffle more than they could help, and so the game dragged on and on…

Harry was startled from the lull by having to dodge a particularly close bludger that went shooting past his ear; he shot a startled look to Andrew Stone, who had gone red and mouthed a very apologetic, "Sorry!" Harry waved his hand to show he was fine, but it seemed that the beater only blushed harder, looking supremely ashamed of himself. On and on the game dragged… thirty minutes now, then forty… even the spectators were growing bored, their cheers less enthusiastic; Harry saw Ron's eyes drift off towards the stands and he gave a little wave to Hermione–

CRACK!

Harry heard the bludger hit the bat a second before he saw it, streaking past his vision like a speeding black bullet. Ron looked back to the pitch just in time for his eyes to widen in surprise before the bludger caught him full in the chest and knocked him clean off his broom into the goalpost.

Harry swore loudly and managed to swoop down just in time to save his friend from falling onto the pitch below; instantly a whistle was blown; three or four other of his teammates flew over to support the redhead as well. Harry was frantic, struggling to keep his friend in his grasp. "Ron! Mate, are you okay?"

But Ron was not okay; indeed, he was not even conscious. A red smear of blood was running down his pale freckled face; it seemed that he'd hit the goalpost with his head and had been knocked clean. The flock of players quickly lowered their fallen teammate to the ground while one of the Ravneclaw chasers hurried off to catch Ron's broom before it could fly away. Andrew Stone was in hysterics, sobbing over and over that he hadn't meant to hit him, he'd hit the bludger wrong…

Madames Pomfrey and Hooch met them on the ground; the crowd was a murmuring buzz in the background like a kicked hornet's nest. "Concussion," the infirmarian asserted easily, drawing her wind, "and a couple of cracked ribs."

"Will he be okay?" Ginny demanded. Harry nodded vigorously beside her.

"It's nothing too serious, but he won't be able to finish the game. School rules."

"You'll have to call in the substitute," Madame Hooch asserted as the healer went to work on the damage; Ron still hadn't woken up.

"Er– a substitute, right." Harry tried to clear his head; he wouldn't be doing Ron any favors by not staying focused. "Anyone know where Montez is?"

"I'm afraid that Miss Montez is already in the hospital wing," Madame Pomfrey asserted, glancing up. "She had a rather bad allergic reaction to a potions accident yesterday."

Harry cursed under his breath; there was no way they could play without a keeper, but rules were rules; the game had to be played until someone caught the snitch. "Anyone here ever played keeper before?"

Ryan Ruggles raised his hand tentatively. "I mean, back home I did, with the boys from the village," he volunteered, blushing. "Nothing serious like this, though…"

"It's good enough. Higgs!" He nodded to the beater, who beamed back. "You're in."

"Alright then," Madame Hooch declared as the healer conjured up a stretcher and carried Ron away, "Everyone back in the air on my count. One– two–"

It soon became clear, however, that Ryan Ruggles' skills as a keeper were nowhere near 'good enough.' In the space of five minutes, Ravenclaw scored three goals, putting them up now by forty points. Harry circled the field, ears tuned to the announcer, who continuously called out goal after goal for Ravenclaw: "MOXLEY SPEEDS TOWARDS THE GOAL– RUGGLES DIVES AND– SCORE! RAVENCLAW NINETY-FORTY… ONE-TEN TO FORTY… ONE-THIRTY TO FIFTY…" Ginny and the rest couldn't keep up. Harry began to seek out the snitch desperately; it was the only way to win the game. "ONE-SIXTY TO FIFTY… ONE-SEVENTY… ONE-EIGHTY…"

There! A flash of gold drew his eye; he looked to the side. The snitch was hovering about a hundred yards to his right. He turned and shot off; in an instant the Ravenclaw was racing towards him from the opposite end of the pitch, the snitch twitching back and forth between them– fifty yards– twenty– Harry stretched his hand forward, cheeks stinging with the rush of the wind as he barreled towards the other player, it was a game of chicken, who would veer off first–

He threw all of his reckless Gryffindor courage and charged forward. Wit met mad bravery and the two passed each other by a hair's bredth as the other seeker veered. Their hands fumbled together for a moment, each struggling to come out with the snitch in hand, and then they were past, and Harry felt the tiny wings fluttering against the sides of his fist.

Madame Hooch blew the whistle as the crowds jumped to their feet, roaring, but Harry knew the game wasn't yet decided. Heart hammering in his throat, he turned the snitch over. There, written in gold cursive, was the name:

Harry Potter

With a sigh of relief, he turned the other seeker, who was looking at him expectantly, and held it up with an almost apologetic shrug. The Ravneclaw nodded and together they swooped towards the ground. "Snitch," Madame Hooch said clearly, and he handed it over. The referee examined the snitch and then nodded, handing it back to the Gryffindor. The crowds broke into fresh cheers, streaming onto the field, but Harry had no time for glory; with Ginny at his side, he hurried off the pitch.

The hospital wing was largely empty by the time they arrived, save for a glum-looking Carla Montez and, behind a sheet at the end, two shadow figures whom Harry presumed to be Ron and Hermione. He and Ginny rushed forward to find the witch sitting in a chair beside the hospital bed holding the redhead's hand, who seemed to be staring rather dreamily off at the ceiling.

"Oh!" Hermione whispered, looking up. "Is the game over then? How did it go?"

"We won," Ginny replied. "Barely. How's Ron?"

"He's alright– bit out of it, I think, but that'd be the pain potion…"

"Heya, Harry," said Ron brightly, turning to look at him with a goofy smile.

"Er– hey, Ron."

"And Ginny." The concussed wizard giggled. "Li'l Ginny… Haha, remember when you used to be taller than me? And now you're little, hahaha…"

"Thanks, Ron," said Ginny drily.

"Liiii'l Ginny," Ron wheezed, looking up at the ceiling. Harry was struggling not to dissolve into fits of laughter. "Itty-bitty-little Ginny… haha, remember that time I hid all your dolls? You were so mad…"

"You know I'm a big girl now," his sister said, rolling her eyes. "Engaged and everything."

"Engaged?" Ron looked over at her with unsteady eyes. "To who?"

Harry snorted and raised a finger. Ron frowned, trying to focus, and then shook his head. "Mm-mm. Nope. I won't let you."

"Is that so?" Ginny said, raising an eyebrow.

"I wont," he insisted. "You're too little, Ginny." He began to struggle to get out of bed, turning to Harry. "I'll fight you," he warned his best friend, who blinked. "You wanna fight me?"

"Uh–"

"I'm sure Harry doesn't want to fight you, Ron," Hermione intervened firmly, pushing him back towards the bed. "Now how's about you lay back down–"

"But you heard him! He's gonna marry my sister!" Ron declared loudly.

Harry was just about to make a quick exit, worried for his friend's health, when Madame Pomfrey came over. "What's all this racket?" she demanded.

"He's gonna marry my sister!" Ron repeated, pointing to Harry with a scowl. Madame Pomfrey immediately realized what was going on and took charge of the situation.

"I'm sure you can sort it all out in a few hours, dear; they won't be getting married that quickly. Now how's about you just… lie… down…" Harry could see her carefully waving her wand in her other hand, and Ron's eyes began to drift closed as the sleeping charm took effect. He appeared to struggle for a few minutes, and then relaxed back into the bed and closed his eyes. Within a few seconds, he was snoring.

"Well, that was eventful," Ginny said with a snort. "Harry?"

But Harry didn't answer. The exhileration of winning the match had given away to a sick, heavy feeling as Ron's words swirled in his heard. Certainly, he was on some pretty strong medications at the moment– but was that how Ron really felt? He hadn't been very approving of the idea of their engagement so far… and, Harry had to wonder, what if he was right? What if this was moving too fast? He'd only been technically dating Ginny for a few months, after all…

He was saved from having to answer these questions by a sudden voice at his back: "How is he?" The pair turned to see Professor Lupin looking back with worry.

"He'll be okay," Madame Pomfrey reassured him. "I think he just needs some sleep for the regrowth potions to catch up…"

"Well, he's in good hands." The healer gave him a grateful look, and Remus smiled back before turning to the bespectacled wizard in front of him. "Harry, just the man I was looking for. If I might have a word with you in private?"

"Oh– er, alright."

Harry followed him out of the infirmary into the hallway. "I'm not in trouble, am I?" he asked nervously.

"No, no– nothing like that. Actually quite the opposite." Lupin hesitated, much to the teenager's surprise, and then said with an air of distinct discomfort, "Harry, I, er, I'm going to visit Godric's Hollow later tonight, and… well, I was wondering if you'd like to come with me?"

"Tonight?" Harry said, surprised. "Why?"

Lupin stared at him with an expression of mixed shock and sorrow. "Harry… don't you know what day it is?"

"Halloween?" he replied, baffled. Lupin merely stared, mouth slightly open as if he wanted to speak but didn't know how. Harry realized there were tears in his eyes.

When it hit him, he dropped his wand.

"Oh, Harry," Lupin said thickly, shaking his head. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to ruin your day- I just thought-"

"You thought I, of all people, would remember," Harry said numbly. Lupin nodded.

"Are you okay?"

"I…" Was he okay? Harry didn't know. He felt as if he should feel something– sorrow, perhaps, or anger– but there was nothing. Just a numb sensation of emptiness. "…I'm alright," he settled on eventually. "And, er, I'd like to go. To Godric's Hollow, I mean."

He thought he saw a glimpse of fear flash through the professor's hazel eyes, but it was gone in the next moment, replaced by what seemed to be a sad and slightly forced smile. "Well… good. Does nine-o-clock sound alright?"

"Sure. Nine-o-clock."

"Good."

"Yeah."

Teacher and student stared at each other for another moment, before Remus cleared his throat. "Well. I suppose I'd better be on my way."

"Oh. Oh, right. Well, er, have a good day."

"Yes, thank you. And you."

Lupin turned, almost mechanically, and walked off down the hall. Harry watched him go, and then picked up his wand. As he returned to the infirmary, talking with Hermione, laughing with Ginny, it seemed to him that it was all happening on a strange autopilot, which he watched as a spectator rather than an operator. In the back of his mind a continuous phrase repeated: seventeen years. Seventeen years.

Seventeen years since Lily and James had died. And for the first time in all those years, Harry realized that Halloween would never be the same again.

---

It was already dark by the time Harry met Lupin outside the school gates, fastening his black woolen cloak tightly around his shoulders against the winter chill. The professor was waiting patiently, blowing on his hands and rubbing them together to stave off the cold. "Ah, Harry," he said, glancing over as the teenager approached. "Ready, then?"

"Er- yeah, I suppose." But even he could hear how nervous his voice sounded.

Lupin smiled a little sadly. "Sorry. Perhaps 'ready' isn't the right word, hm?" Harry shrugged, and the teacher held out his arm. "Shall we?"

For a moment, the younger man considered backing out. It had been one thing, visiting with Hermione, a friend, and perhaps better still an ignorant friend, one whose presence would not increase the sense of loss. But then he met the professor's eyes and realized that he wasn't the only one for whom this would be difficult. If Remus was willing to share this with him, well, how could he refuse?

Hesitantly, and then with decision, the bespectacled wizard took the professor's arm, and the pair vanished into the night.

Five hundred miles to the south, two men appeared with a sharp crack in what appeared to be a small, walled garden behind a dark cottage. Harry looked around, startled; he'd been expecting to apparate onto one of the streets. "Is this Godric's Hollow?"

"Yes– one of the apparation points, the walls are all covered with silencing charms. This way." Lupin led him out a swinging gate into a cramped alley between two identical-looking cottages, which led to a small side-street. This in turn curved around until reaching the main road. The last of these was ablaze with lights; children darted to and fro, talking and laughing, dressed in an array of costumes and knocking on doors. Shouts of "trick-or-treat!" filled the street, and the pair had to step aside quickly to avoid a small gaggle of children as they dashed past. Harry distinctly caught sight of a sheet-dressed "ghost," two witches, a pirate, and, ironically enough, a werewolf. He glanced over as Lupin chuckled. "Halloween," the professor said fondly, shaking his head. "I'm always certain I'm going to hate it, and then as soon as I get here I quite forget how."

Harry nodded, a little in awe; the Dursleys had vehemently forbidden any such nonsense as dressing up in costumes, not even for Halloween. Aunt Petunia had always disappeared over the holiday, and more often than not the cousins had been left alone for the day with Uncle Vernon, who was in even worse a mood then than usual. "The church is down this way," Lupin said, breaking him from his thoughts, and Harry again followed without a word.

The church was still open when they arrived; Harry made to turn for the graveyard, but Lupin caught his shoulder. "We'll have to get Revd. Swain to open it first," the werewolf explained. "He always locks the gate on Halloween."

"Why?"

"Oh, numerous reasons. There was always the threat of Death Eaters, going to desecrate the grave; and of course, graveyards somehow always seems to attract vandals on Halloween."

"What if he doesn't open it for us?" Harry inquired, worried, but Remus only chuckled.

"Revd. Swain's known me for ages; besides, you're the spitting image of James, he's bound to recognize you. No, he'll open the gate for us, you needn't worry about that…"

The two slipped inside the church and shut the door quietly behind him. As Remus went off to find the vicar, Harry took the opportunity to look around. He hadn't often been in a church, though from what little he knew he had the vague feeling that it was Anglican rather than Reformed; the decor was beautiful yet simple, with an arching stone roof and wooden pews. Near the door was a carved stone baptismal font, and at the far end behind the altar were stained glass windows, too dark by the night to discern their images at a distance. Interested, he was just about to cross the nave to get a better look when he heard a voice softly, "Bless my soul. You were right, Remus; he does look remarkably like James."

Startled, Harry turned. The professor and a man who was undoubtedly the Revd. Swain were standing in the doorway. The latter appeared to be about sixty years old, with white hair and crinkled lines around his eyes, and wore a vicar's cassock. "Er, hullo," said Harry, a bit awkwardly. "I was just, um–"

"Oh, no need to explain," the main said faintly, still looking at the wizard as if he were a vision; Harry couldn't help but feel uncomfortable. "My word, how long it has been…"

"I'm sorry, have we met?" the young man demanded, trying not to be rude but far too unsettled to be polite.

Much to his surprise, the vicar laughed. "Met! My dear boy, I was the one who christened you– right there, in that very font. Oh yes, I remember you particularly, and not just because of that scar on your forehead." He nodded to the aforementioned mark. "No, you must have been the most disgruntled child I ever had the good fortune to baptize; cried straight through the ceremony from start to finish, didn't he, Remus?"

"That he did. I was nearly deaf by the end of it. Here, Harry; see for yourself." The professor reached into his pocket and pulled out what at first appeared to be a small gold box; upon undoing the latches, however, the object revealed itself to be a triptych frame, holding three small pictures. Harry took it and looked them over; in the middle, of course, was Tonks, holding Teddy and laughing at the photographer. To the right was a still muggle photograph of whom he assumed to be Remus's parents, and to the left… Harry caught his breath. A smiling Lily Potter was holding a fussing, red-faced baby in her arms, both of them dressed in white. On either side of her beamed James Potter, looking as if he couldn't possibly be happier, and a very young Sirius Black. Harry felt his throat tighten, looking down at the happy quartet.

Lupin and the vicar were still speaking. "I imagine you'll be wanting to see the grave?" Revd. Swain inquired.

"We would, yes. Have you had any other visitors?"

"A few this morning, but you know I try to keep the crowds out… the sister came, of course, and the headmistress…"

"Yes, McGonagall mentioned she would stop by. Harry?" He looked up; Remus was nodding towards the door to which it seemed he and the vicar were heading. The young man quickly closed the triptych and hurried after.

The lane in front of the church was mostly empty, save for a small family with two little girls dressed up as fairies. The reverend waited at the kissing gate until they had passed, and then pressed his hand to a small cross atop the iron door. The cross glowed blue for a moment, and then there came the sound of a lock clicking and a shimmer in the air as the gate door swung open. "There you are," Revd. Swain said kindly. "And mind you shut the gate when you leave, Remus; if it's left open overnight I'll have to get Maggie to recast the wards."

"Naturally. Have a good evening, Reverend."

The vicar inclined his head and then shuffled off towards the front door. Harry gave Lupin a curious look as they stepped through the gate. "Maggie?"

"Revd. Swain's wife. He's a muggle, you see; can't do any magic himself, although his wife wards the gate to open only for him. Your parents are this way…"

But Harry didn't need to be told. Taking the lead, he walked with almost nervous hastiness to the new line of graves, several rows in, and then stopped. He could see the marble headstone from where he stood, but not the words. Suddenly he felt very afraid. Why had he come here again, Harry wondered? What masochistic desire had prompted him to visit such a painful place?

The feeling of warmth and pressure settled onto his right shoulder, and he looked over, surprised. Lupin looked back with a pained smile. Harry took a deep breath and, with a nod, the two walked forward towards the final resting place of Lily and James Potter.

Unlike last Christmas, the grave was not bare; wreaths and bouquets littered the ground in dazzling colors, as if the givers had been doing their best to outshine one another in beauty. At the very forefront of it all, almost forgotten for the variety of gorgeous blooms, was a small vase filled with flowers of mismatching heights. Upon closer inspection, Harry realized that they were lilies and petunias, mixed together with little care to propriety. Lupin himself knelt down and placed two very humble yellow roses before the headstone, and Harry had the feeling that his parents would have liked these simple gifts better than any of the magical flowers the others had laid. Together the pair stepped back and fell silent, each lost in his own thoughts.

Harry stared at the headstone, reading it over and over. Somewhere in the back of his mind he was surprised that he wasn't crying, or even really grieving; everything inside him felt numb and tired, and a bit afraid, not wanting to break through the cold shell that had frozen through him. He knew instinctively that there would be pain beneath, and the young man was so desperate to avoid it that he almost felt ashamed to be called a Gryffindor. His eyes fell upon the inscription upon the headstone.

"…You put that there," he realized slowly, looking over at Lupin. "'The last enemy to be destroyed is death.' You chose that, didn't you?" Lupin nodded. "Why?"

"It was James's favorite verse," the werewolf answered candidly. "And I thought it was fitting."

"Verse?"

The professor nodded. "From the book of Corinthians. He used to say it made him feel as if he could breathe again… as if he knew that, in the end, the world and the war wasn't resting on his shoulders." When the other man didn't speak, the werewolf glanced over. The young wizard's mouth had gone tight, and Lupin frowned. "Harry, are you alright?"

Harry was not alright. Through the haze of detachment an anger was burning, a blazing hatred that he had never felt for the man before. "You shouldn't have put that there," he said quietly, but his chest felt tight. His mind was filled with images of books and little churches, of his parents and godfather beaming out from a photograph and a fussing baby in a white christening gown in his mother's arms. "You shouldn't have- shouldn't have–"

"Harry?" Lupin said, confused and now a little alarmed.

The young wizard could feel his hands shaking. He wanted to strike Lupin, to hit him across the face and then kick over the headstone, scourge the words from the marble with fire. "It's a lie, isn't it?" he demanded, voice as biting as the autumn chill. "You- you can't just do that, you can't just put lies on people's graves like that–"

"Harry, I don't underst–"

"They're dead, Remus!" he spat angrily, whirling to face the man; the werewolf blinked and stepped back in shock. "They're dead, and they're never coming back! And you- you–"

Lupin was aghast. "Harry, you of all people surely should know that- that death isn't the end!"

"And how would I know that?!" he demanded, voice rising, pitched with anger. "Whoever taught me that, huh?!" He didn't know what he was trying to say or even why it mattered; all he knew was that there was something so horribly unfair, that these words had been a part of his parents' world, and yet they were not a part of his. "I didn't know– no one ever said–!"

"But surely, after what you saw–"

"I DON'T KNOW WHAT I SAW!" Harry bellowed, finally losing control. Lupin stumbled back. "I DON'T KNOW! AND I COULDN'T KNOW, BECAUSE NO ONE EVER TOLD ME! YOU NEVER TOLD ME!"

His voice rang off the headstones, and then deafening silence fell over the graveyard. Remus stared at him, speechless, and Harry felt his anger shatter into the strange and hollow pain he had been repressing and ignoring for so long that his voice shook when he finally spoke it aloud. "…W-why didn't you ever come for me?" he choked, and then fell silent, waiting. Waiting for the explanation he knew would never be enough.

Remus's face seemed frozen, his expression both stunned and saddened. "…I-I wanted to, Harry, really, I did," he nearly whispered. "But you have to understand, I had nothing to offer you. Your parents' accounts had been frozen to all but blood family and there was no way the Ministry was about to let me interfere with that; I could barely keep a job; I didn't have the money to raise a child, and… and then there was the full moon to think about." His voice was pleading, begging the young wizard, his brother's son, to understand. "I knew that your aunt didn't approve of magic, but I honestly thought you would be better off with family than with an impoverished and dangerous social pariah."

"You never even came to visit," said Harry bitterly. "No one ever did…"

"I wasn't allowed to. It was one of the conditions they made to taking you in: they- and, by extension, you- were to have no more contact with our world than strictly necessary. Albus told me it was for the best… I trusted his judgment. By the time you were three, I'd already left for the States." His eyes were very sad. "With every year that went by, I grew more and more ashamed that I had never sought you out, despite what I thought were quite legitimate reasons for not doing so. When eventually I met you and realized you didn't remember me at all, I found I couldn't bear to have you think I'd abandoned you. I pretended to be a stranger." Lupin's voice broke. "Please, Harry… try to understand… try to forgive me…"

There was a long silence as the younger wizard tried to integrate all of this. He looked across the distance separating them and saw the grief etched into the professor's face, the tears in his eyes. Unable to bear his own guilt, Harry looked back to the grave, still and cold among its mass of flowers. Lily and James's names looked back, harsh and inescapable, like the letters of a law that could not be broken. Gone. They were gone, these strangers who had once been his parents, and there was nothing– nothing– that could ever bring them back.

He didn't even realize he'd crumpled until he was on his hands and knees, weeping, sobbing harder than he ever had in his life. Everything, seventeen years of loss, neglect, fear and isolation seemed to be pouring out of him at once, more pain than he'd ever realized he'd been carrying within for so long, so long…

A shadow shifted in the corner of his vision; a hesitant hand again rested on his shoulder, and instinctively, Harry turned and buried his face in Remus's cloak.

How long they knelt there– the younger wizard wracked with the force of his grief, the elder crying silently, each gripping the other tightly as if terrified that they, too, would join the dead under the frozen earth– how long it was, neither really knew, but after some time Harry pulled away, wiping his eyes. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, red-eyed. "I'm sorry, about what I said… I didn't mean to…"

"It's alright," Remus reassured him; his voice, too, was hoarse. "It's fine." Harry nodded one too many times, and Lupin stood, offering his hand. The young man accepted it and allowed the professor to pull him to his feet. Neither could quite meet the other's eyes for a moment, but when they did, both found themselves chuckling sadly, rubbing at their eyes, equally embarrassed. "Why don't we go sit down?" Remus suggested, gesturing in Harry's direction. "There's a bench over that way…"

"Yeah… yeah, that'd be alright."

Together they retreated to the aforementioned bench, which was made of white cement and no warmer than the ground. Remus drew his wand and murmured several heating charms which drove away some of the chill, and they sat down, leaning forward in unison with their elbows on their knees, hands folded. For a while they were again silent; it seemed that Remus was waiting for Harry to speak.

At last, the latter drew a deep breath. "Can you tell me about them?" Harry asked, not meeting the professor's eyes. His gaze was still focused on the marble headstone not far off.

"What would you like to know?"

The younger wizard shrugged. After a moment, he brought up the question he had been struggling with for nearly three years: "Why did my mum marry him? I know he was your friend, but… honestly, Professor, he sort of seemed like a jerk," Harry admitted, looking over.

Lupin sighed. "I'm afraid, then, that I haven't done James justice, if that's your impression of him… Harry, you have to realize that what you saw of your father was solely from Snape's perspective. I'm not saying that what James did was okay," he added quickly, as Harry opened his mouth, "but that view of your parents– well, it was a bit skewed, to say the least. Severus saw your mother to be an angel among men, and your father a devil, neither of which was true. And I'll have you know that Severus Snape was hardly a passive victim of our pranks; more often than not he got us back at least as good, and sometimes worse, than we got him. That, unfortunately, was how things escalated to such a point as the events you witnessed in the penseive."

"Oh." Harry paused a moment, taking it all in. "So how were they really, then?"

Remus smiled slightly and shook his head. "They were… people, Harry. Human beings, just like you and me, with their faults and their gifts… your mother, she was one of the most stubborn creatures I have ever met. She could hold a grudge until the sun burnt out, if you didn't apologize– though to be fair, she nearly always forgave you if you did. And oh, she was a spitfire; you could rile her up with just a word. James used to get a real kick out of that, before he realized he was actually madly in love with her…" Harry laughed despite himself. "But she was also one of the kindest people I have ever known. She found me out in our first year, and she never treated me any differently, never told a soul… she was always there for me when I felt I could count on no one else."

Lupin fell quiet, eyes distant, and Harry had to speak up to bring him back to the present. "And my dad?"

"Ah. Well, I'd be lying if I said James couldn't be a conceited arse when he wanted to be. He was his parents' only child, you see, and I think they spoiled him a bit more than was good for him… but he was also one of the best friends I ever had. He really, truly did believe in being good; the guilt he felt when he truly realized what he'd been doing to Severus all those years… if you take comfort from nothing else, believe me when I say that James truly regretted how he'd treated Snape, with all his heart."

"Did he?" said Harry, surprised. He'd never have guessed it from what he'd seen in the penseive, but then, maybe he'd been too quick to judge his father, after all.

"Mm. He was a great man. Generous, upright, unfailingly loyal… he refused to take sides between Sirius and I, you know; if it hadn't been for him, we never would have become friends again."

"You and Sirius had a row?" said Harry, surprised.

Remus gave him an odd look, and then said, in a tone of dawning realization, "Of course… we never really explained that, did we?" At Harry's baffled look, the werewolf heaved a heavy sigh. "Harry, do you remember what was the most infuriating thing James ever did to Severus?"

"He saved his life," Harry answered promptly, a bit confused, and then it all dawned on him. "Oh, Merlin." Remus nodded grimly. "He… he saved his life… from you…"

"Yes. And Severus was, at least at the time, convinced that both James and I had been in on it all along."

Harry's head was reeling. "Sirius– he tried to murder Snape–!"

"Not exactly," Remus said hastily.

"Not exactly! He sent him down a tunnel with a werewolf at the end!" Suddenly realizing what he'd said, Harry flushed bright red. "That is- I mean–"

But Remus waved his hand dismissively. "Trust me, Harry, I understand. In fact, I was more furious with Sirius than anyone." At the boy's continued look of mixed shock and disappointment, the professor cleared his throat. "But I'm getting the story all out of order– I'll have to start at the beginning, if you want to understand…

He paused, organizing his thoughts, and then began. "The evening after the incident you saw in Snape's pensieve, I went off on James like I had never dared to before. I'll admit that I'm a coward, Harry; goodness alone knows how I ended up in Gryffindor, but when I realized just how much humiliation they'd caused him that day, the humiliation I'd failed to prevent…" Remus shook his head. "By the time I was finished, James felt so ashamed of himself that the next day he went up to Severus in the middle of lunch, apologized to him in front of everyone. Said he'd gone too far. Of course, Snape– and, to be fair, just about everyone else– took it as a setup to another prank. He lost his temper hexed James outright, but your father didn't retaliate. Lily was there to see all of it… and then she saw the trick Severus played on James the next week."

"The trick?"

Lupin bit his lip. "Harry, you have to understand that at this point, Severus was… he was absolutely beyond thinking clearly. We never realized until later that he blamed us for his loss that day of the thing he loved the most in the world… your mother. So he played a very, well, a very cruel prank on James in revenge… unfortunately it backfired, incensing Lily even more."

"What did he-?"

"Suffice it to say that it was very unkind, perhaps even more so than Severus realized at the time. And then there was the Whomping Willow incident shortly after…"

"But how did that even happen?" Harry pressed. "What, did Sirius just wake up one day and decided he was going to off Snape?"

"No, no, not at all," Remus reassured him. "In fact, looking back, the whole thing was really a series of mistakes and misunderstandings– not to mention a lot of ill judgment on both Sirius and Snape's parts. That's why Sirius wasn't expelled, you see; Snape had just as much responsibility in what happened, not that he'd ever admit it."

"You mean– he knew you were a–"

"He had his suspicions, yes."

Harry was incredulous. "Then why in the world did he go down there?!"

"Well, er…" Lupin was turning red. "The thing is, Harry, Lily certainly wasn't in love with your father at this point, but neither did she have feelings for Snape. She was interested in, er, someone else, and that really sent Severus off the edge…"

"What does that have to do with it?" Lupin didn't answer, and Harry's eyes went wide. "You?"

The professor sighed. "Harry-"

"You- and my mum-"

"No," he said quickly. "It never went past a first date, Harry, I promise you that."

"Wait- first date- then- were you interested in her too?"

"I- that's not-"

"Were you?"

"Well of course I was!" the professor snapped, exasperated. "Half our class was in love with Lily Evans, it was impossible not to be! And we were good friends, it was only natural!"

Harry was staring at him, wide-eyed, as if he'd never really seen the professor before. Lupin grimaced. "Harry, I didn't tell you because it never went anywhere. I took her out, we decided we weren't right for each other and that was the end of it! A brief teenage romance, that was all it ever was."

"Oh…" He trailed off, still trying to integrate this new information. "And the Whomping Willow?"

"Ah," the professor agreed, relieved to be back to a more comfortable subject. "Well, Snape was aware of your mother's, er, interest, and he'd been trying to convince her for over a year of the possibility of my being a werewolf. Lily continued to dismiss him, leading him to believe I'd lied to her; he didn't realize she already knew and was trying to protect my secret. He thought if he could show her proof, she'd see how rotten I was and come running back to him."

"But that's crazy!"

"People in love often do crazy things," the professor pointed out sagely. "Either way, he and Sirius got in a fight the day before the full moon, and Snape taunted him that he was going to find proof about me and show it to the whole school."

"So what, Sirius just told him how to get to you?"

"Not exactly," he repeated. "Harry, I'll be the first to admit that Sirius did not act in good judgment, but at the same time, his reaction was understandable. Snape had hurt James, badly. He'd already picked on Peter more times than we could count. When he went after me, so close to the full moon… Sirius had had enough. He lost his temper and essentially told Snape to go down to the Willow if he were ever feeling stupid enough to take on a werewolf alone; he never believed Snape would take up the challenge. So, Snape followed Madame Pomfrey and I down to the tree, saw her prod the knoll on the roots and repeated the same trick to get inside."

"So Snape just went in there alone?" Harry demanded, aghast. "What, did he think he could just- just snap a picture and walk back out?" Lupin shrugged, and the young man exclaimed, "That's idiotic!"

The professor snorted. "He was an angry fifteen-year-old boy, Harry, idiocy is to be expected in such cases. Besides, I think he had the notion that I was locked up in some sort of cage… Anyhow, both Severus and Sirius were punished, while James was rewarded; this incensed Severus, who felt sure that James had been in on the plan."

"And you?"

"Well, I never managed to fully convince Severus that I hadn't intended any of it to happen, not until much later, anyway, but he was reluctant to out me– for Lily's sake, I think, more than anything. And, er…" Remus had flushed again, fiddling with the hem of his cloak. "I may have reacted a little… strongly… against Sirius, so that probably had something to do with Snape's willingness to give me the benefit of the doubt. In short, everyone in that situation was incredibly fortunate; things could have gone very differently. And in the end, it was thanks to James that Sirius and I ever reconciled… he refused to take sides between us. At the time I was furious with him for it; now, looking back, I'm incredibly grateful. I held on to a lot of bitterness back then– still am, in some ways, if I'm being honest– and James…" Lupin smiled sadly and shook his head. "James taught me how to forgive."

He faded off, and slowly yet surely, like mist coming in off the sea, sorrow swept into the companionable atmosphere. Neither spoke again for a long time. Remus pulled his cloak closer around himself, lost in thought, and silence reigned over the frozen graveyard.

In the end, it was Harry again who broke it. "…If there was someone who could have stopped this," he said lowly, "if there was a… why wouldn't have they?"

Remus sighed, long and low. "You wouldn't believe how many times I've asked myself that, Harry," he said quietly. "And I can give you a perfectly logical answer, but I can promise you, it won't kill the pain."

"Can't make it any worse, can it?" the boy said hollowly.

The werewolf offered a joyless smile. "No, I suppose it can't." He leaned back on the bench and blew on his hands, warming them. "…The answer, Harry, is a particularly unsatisfying one: it's for our own good."

Harry looked over at him incredulously. "How could this be for anyone's good?!"

"What do you mean by 'this?'" Remus countered calmly. "Do you mean the ability to do evil, or the effects of it?"

"I don't know. Either? Is there a difference?"

"Yes, and a very important one. Harry, everything that we are, the very essence of what it means to be human, to be sentient– all of it depends on our free will. Without it, we're nothing more than animals. It can be impaired, certainly, but that natural ability, that inborn capacity to do good or evil… it's what makes us who we are."

"So what, we're just– just allowed to do whatever we want? To hurt people? Kill people?"

"Merlin, Harry, what would you have the heavens do!" Remus exclaimed, gesturing to the starry sky. "Swoop down and take over our minds, animate us like charmed dolls? What kind of a life is that? No; to have the choice to good, we must be capable of doing evil; to be able to love we must have the option to hate."

"Well if this is what free will leads to, then I don't know that I want it," Harry said bitterly.

Remus didn't reply right away, and concerned, the boy looked up. The werewolf was looking at him with hard, burning gold eyes. "You don't mean that," he said, voice quiet yet deadly certain. Harry realized what he'd said and swallowed.

"And as for suffering," Remus continued, still quiet, yet with a tone of authority which Harry could not find it in himself to contradict, "I don't think you really want to live in a world without that either, Harry. You've seen what happens to a soul who commits grave evils; do you think that the damage is any less if their wickedness doesn't succeed? Do you think Voldemort's soul would not have been split if somehow the murder of your beautiful parents had been prevented? I tell you that it would have nevertheless. Suffering is what forces us to acknowledge the evil we do to others, the evil we do to ourselves.

"Imagine that world, Harry. Imagine a life with evil but not death, a life where we could do whatever we wanted to others and no one ever got hurt. We would be forever slipping into an abyss, isolating ourselves from one another, trapped in an unending cycle of selfishness where all that mattered to us was our own pleasure." His blazing gold eyes held the reflection of some great evil that made the boy shiver. "I have been there, Harry, I have seen people in such a condition, for whom the pain of others is of no consequence. It is a living hell. And I can reassure you that I would rather pay the price, a thousand times over, of living in this world with its suffering, than living there without it."

Harry held his gaze for a moment, and then looked away, his face a little pale. Remus felt bad for scaring him, but he didn't know how to apologize for his intensity. Years of pain, of confusion, of screaming at God and whoever else would listen, had eventually yielded into a quiet resignation, but Harry was still young and, in some ways, still foolish. He had never experienced what it was to have his freedom, his very rationality, ripped from his grasp. He had never fought the black temptations of the night, praying for the dawn, forcing bloody images of mutilation into his own mind to prevent a loss of control. He had never known these things, and Remus was grateful. But he wanted– needed– the boy to understand what meaning life could still have, for those to whom the world could afford no hope– for the poor, the sick, the unwanted, the unloved.

"And I have to believe, Harry," Remus said gently, causing the boy to look up in surprise, "I have to believe that somehow, good can come out of suffering. What Fenrir Greyback did to me, all those years ago, was… was horrible. But I know I would be a very different man, and I daresay a very unkind man, were it not for that suffering… The trials we undergo help to make us who we are, and to give us compassion for our weak and fallen companions. Does that make any sense?"

After a pause, Harry nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, sort of… I'm still not sure what to think about, er, all this, though." He gestured to the graveyard in general, but Remus got the idea.

"And I wouldn't expect you to be," the teacher reassured him. "You have the rest of your life to figure it out, Harry; I just wanted you to understand that… that evil and suffering are no reason not to have hope for a life beyond this one… in fact, I'd say they're a good incentive for it."

The student nodded again, less certainly this time, clearly lost in deep thought. Remus gave him a minute or so, and then slapped his knees and stood. "Well, that's enough food for thought for now, don't you think?"

Harry agreed, and together they walked back along the rows of graves. He caught sight of other Potter graves– his ancestors, perhaps, or distant relatives; he didn't look close enough to see– and, in the far distance, the crypt which bore the name of Ignotus Perevell. At last, they came to stand before Lily and James's headstone again, and both stood silent. Just looking.

"Is there anything you'd like to say to them?" Remus asked kindly, glancing over. "You don't have to, but you can if you like."

Harry didn't speak right away; he wasn't sure what to say. He had only ever spoken to his parents twice before, and this… somehow, it felt different. Realer, more… concrete. At last, he opened his mouth.

"I-I miss you guys," he stammered. "I mean, I miss you a lot. And I…I wish I could have gotten to know you." He wiped his eyes; Remus tactfully pretended not to notice. "But… But I think things are going to be okay now. I stopped him, mum, dad. He'll never hurt anyone ever again." The young man swallowed harshly, and then choked out, "I know that won't bring you back. But maybe now, some other kid will get to know his parents. So… so I love you guys. And I hope you're proud of me." Harry fell silent. He couldn't think of anything else to say.

But apparently that was enough, because Remus set a hand on his shoulder and said quietly, "They are, Harry. I promise you that."

The young man nodded thickly. He couldn't speak. Remus squeezed his shoulder, and then together they turned and left the grave, leaving the final rest of Lily and James Potter behind them.

---

Although the crowds of trick-or-treaters had thinned since their arrival in Godric's Hollow, there were still a few small groups, children dashing past and laughing as they ran from one house to another, bulging pillowcases in hand. The quintet that Harry had seen earlier in the night– the ghost, twin witches, pirate and werewolf– darted past them once again, the last nearly knocking into Harry as he chased after the others. The girls squealed with laughter, and the boy let out a roar more appropriate to a lion than a wolf. Harry was surprised to hear that Remus was chuckling. "Doesn't it bother you?" he asked in a low voice, careful not to attract the attention of the muggles.

Remus shrugged, still smiling in an almost wistful way. "It's innocent, Harry. For them, such things are fantasy and fiction; for them, all monsters vanish with the daylight. That innocence… I'm glad it was protected, protected so well that they can make jokes about it and play pretend."

"Yeah… I guess I can understand that."

Remus smiled at him, and together they walked in companionable silence for a few moments before the professor said, "By the way, I nearly forgot to mention: you, young man, have not turned in your application for a thesis project."

Harry stopped short, a look of utter shock on his face. "Oh Merlin, I totally forget! Professor–" But then he saw that Lupin was laughing.

"Sometimes, Harry, I swear, you are James reincarnated," the teacher chuckled, looking far more amused than Harry thought was due. "He used to react like that every time I told him we'd had transfiguration homework." The professor winked and added, "Sometimes I told him even when we hadn't, just for kicks." Harry laughed; the image of his father running frantic with worry while Remus snickered in the background was too much to bear. "Well now," Lupin said, stifling himself a bit, "Did you happen to have any ideas?"

"Er– well, the one thing I really wanted to do was to learn occlumency, properly this time," Harry admitted. "But I don't know anyone who could teach me, so…"

"That's not entirely true," Remus countered mildly. "I could teach you, or at any rate, I could try."

"You're an occlumens?" Harry said, startled.

"Certainly. My father taught me when I was very young, as a precaution to keep my secret safe. He himself was an expert in the field."

"Why didn't you train me then?" Harry questioned, trying not to sound bitter. "Why have Snape do it?"

Lupin shook his head. "If I could have, Harry, believe me, I would have. Unfortunately, it's very difficult, nigh on impossible, to learn occlumency without practicing against an actual legilimens, of which I am not. As you can imagine, considering Voldemort's skill in the subject, we didn't think it prudent to waste time."

"Oh." Harry looked a bit deflated. "So you won't be able to teach me, then, since you're not a legilimens?"

"Well, it would be very difficult," Lupin conceded, "although if you're dedicated enough, you may be able to master it through theory alone… nevertheless, I'll try to find a legilimens who can help you learn. There aren't many left after the war, I'm afraid, but perhaps I can pull a few strings…"

"That would be great," Harry agreed fervently. "Really great, professor; thank you so much."

"It's no trouble. To the right here, Harry; the pub's just down this–"

And that was when they heard it. Children and adults, muggles and wizards alike stopped and looked up in surprise as a deep, haunting howl echoed through the sky. Harry felt the hair on his arms stand up on end, and he looked over to Lupin, who had gone very still. No one spoke.

A moment later, the muggle boy who'd dressed as a wolf let out a false "howl" in return. Remus's head snapped around, but the other children only giggled, and a woman nearby shook her head. "Right silly, we are," she teased the two men. "Being frightened by a dog. Must be the Halloween spirit, eh?"

Remus managed a smile, but to Harry it seemed rather forced. "Must be," he agreed. The young mother hurried after her children, and the two wizards were left alone.

"…That wasn't a dog, was it?" Harry muttered under his breath. His fingers had drawn his wand under his cloak.

Lupin's face was very grim. "No, it wasn't. Stay here, Harry– no, strike that; if it's a trap we've better odds together than apart. Stay behind me, and keep your wand drawn– but mind you don't use it unless you have to."

He didn't need to tell Harry twice. The young wizard followed the werewolf down a side-street in the direction of the howl's origin. Within a few minutes they were at the edge of the village, looking out over the rolling hills and the cold autumn night. Harry turned to Remus and was startled to see that the man's eyes had turned a glowing yellow in the darkness, scanning the barren heath and taking in deep sniffs of the air. He was even more surprised when the professor appeared to relax, threw back his own head and let out a low but audible howl of his own.

For one long moment there was nothing. Then, seeming to arise out of the very shadows and gloom of the night, two figures slipped out of the darkness. As they approached, Harry could see that it was a man and a woman, the former very pale with almost white-blonde hair, the latter rather pretty with tangles of red hair so dark they were nearly auburn. Both were relatively clean, but their clothes were very old and threadbare, covered here and there with patches of unmatched cloth, and their cloaks seemed to be of a strange material which he realized was tanned deer-hide. The moment they reached Remus, both dropped to a knee, inclining their heads like knights to a king of old. Harry watched in shock as Remus inclined his head and spoke with a tone that could only be considered that of authority: *"Sefyll i fyny."

The two rose in unison, and then the pale man began to speak. "Alpha Anterth. Yr wyf yn dod â newyddion o Alpha Bawen-Gwyn, o'r Carfan Bwgan Eira. Roedd yn ymestyn ei gyfarchion ac ewyllys da."

"Ac yr wyf o Alpha Ffwr-Sun, o'r Carfan Lleuad Gwaed," the woman broke in. "Mae hi hefyd yn cynnig ei ffyddlondeb i'r Alpha Anterth."

"Mae'r Alpha Anterth yn cydnabod y cyfeillgarwch o Carfan Bwgan Eira a Carfan Lleuad Gwaed," Remus replied. "Pa newyddion ydych chi wedi dod?"

The two werewolves– for that was indubitably what they were– glanced to Harry warily. "A ydych yn dymuno clywed y materion hyn ym mhresenoldeb y cenau dynol, Alpha Anterth?" the woman questioned darkly.

"Mae'r bachgen yn y teulu i mi, mab fy mrawd. Ac nid yw'n gwybod ein hiaith; gallwch siarad yn rhydd."

Both nodded and then launched into what appeared to be a story of some length, interjecting and interrupting each other in turn. Remus's face went from shocked to pale to very, very grim, all in the space of about five minutes. When they were finished, he nodded and sighed, looking to Harry far older than he really was. "Diolch i chi am eich adroddiadau," he said wearily. "Ymestyn fy niolch i'ch alphas; Ni fydd eu teyrngarwch yn cael ei anghofio."
"Byddwn yn, Alpha Anterth."

"Diolch, Alpha Anterth."

Remus nodded gravely. "Ewch ar bawennau cyflym."

Each dropped to a knee again, and then rose and ran off with startling swiftness. Within moments, they were swallowed up by the darkness.

Remus turned with another sigh and blew on his hands again, rubbing them together. Harry cleared his throat. "Er– do you need to go tell someone what just happened, or–?"

"No– no, not right away. Actually, Harry, what I really need right now is drink. What do you say to a pint?"

---

The place Remus eventually led him to was a metal door in a back alley, on which were written the words, Electrical – Keep Out! Harry, having had enough experience in the wizarding world to recognize a secret entrance when he saw one, waited while Remus tapped the door three times with his wand, and then pulled it open.

A burst of golden light and laughter poured out into the alley, and the pair slipped inside. Harry breathed in the delicious scent of brewing beer and looked around with interest. The pub was warm and full of patrons, from a group of stylishly dressed witches in a booth near the door to the old village regulars sitting (and occasionally tumbling off) their stools at the bar. Above the latter was a green sign emblazoned with gold lettering:

The Green-Eyed Witch

accompanied by a drawing of a rather busty enchantress who winked her green eye and blew kisses at the customers.

"The others and I used to come here all the time," Remus said at his side, looking around the place with a nostalgiac smile. "The owner even gave us a special on drinks..."

"Think he'll remember you?"

"Mm. I doubt it, but you never know..."

It seemed, however, that the owner did recognize him, for an old, tough-skinned man behind the bar called out as they approached, "Well bless my buttons! Remus Lupin, is that you?"

The werewolf laughed and gave the man a hearty handshake and one-armed hug across the bar. "Cecil! I can't believe you recognized me, after all this time!"

"Ah, well, a good bartender never forgets his regulars." He winked and then looked to Harry. "And this must be the famous Harry Potter! You're a dead ringer for your father, boy– except the eyes, those are your mum's. Though I suppose you hear that all the time, eh?"

"A bit, yeah," Harry laughed. He liked the old man.

"Well sit down, sit down– looks like your old booth's open, Remus. A firewhiskey, I assume? Of course, of course. And for the boy?"

"Er– d'you suppose you could mix some firewhiskey and butterbeer?"

Cecil laughed. "A Prongs Special, eh? Should'a guessed it. Go on, sit down, I'll bring 'em right over– no, Remus, you put that coin-bag away, it's on the house. I insist! Go on, go on..."

With Cecil's cajoling the pair made their way over to a booth in the corner next to a glass-frosted window, over which hung a vintage Gryffindor quidditch flag. The bartender quickly brought them over their drinks, made a few more lighthearted jokes, and then was called away. Harry grinned; this was exactly the sort of place he could have pictured his father liking, with wood-paneled walls and a fire crackling merrily in a nearby hearth. He looked back, expecting to see Remus smiling at him, and was surprised to find that the werewolf was watching out the window, his eyes that strange yellow-gold that they had been just minutes previous out on the heath. Harry had no doubt as to what occupied his thoughts.

"Those were wild werewolves, weren't they?" he inquired in an undertone, drawing the professor's attention. "Ferals?"

Remus shook his head, taking a drink of his firewhiskey. "Wild, yes. Ferals, no."

"Huh. Don't suppose you'd tell me what all that was about?"

The professor glanced around and then leaned forward. "I can't tell you everything, if for nothing other than that you wouldn't be able to understand it all," he said in a low voice. "But considering what you saw, it might be better to explain than to leave you speculating… can I have your word you won't speak a word of this to anyone? Not even to Ron and Hermione?"

Harry hesitated and then nodded. Remus steepled his fingers and took a moment to compose his thoughts. "…The current population of werewolves in Great Britain, at least as far as I am aware, is around two hundred in full," he began. "Of that number, less than half are what you would call 'wild' werewolves, those who live in packs apart from ordinary society. The largest and oldest of these, at least in Great Britain, has traditionally Yr Ysgithr Arian."

"Greyback's pack," Harry recalled, thinking back to the article he had read a month earlier.

Remus hesitated. "Until recently, yes, it was."

Harry gave him a suspicious look. "Until recently?"

The professor didn't elaborate, instead taking a sip from his bottle. "Pack hierarchy is often very similar to that of an actual wolf pack," he continued as he set the drink down. "The group tends to consist of about ten to fifteen people, with the original 'sire' in charge of the rest– unless, and this is important, that position is challenged. This is a particularly grave matter for Yr Ysgithr Arian because the alpha of the Silver Fang has traditionally held authority over the other packs; all the others supposedly submit to him. There's a particular title for it– the best English translation is something along the lines of the Zenith Alpha."

"You mean Greyback is in charge of every wild werewolf in Great Britain?"

"Again, until recently, he was." Remus ran a hand through his graying hair, looking exhausted, and suddenly Harry understood.

"But not anymore," he said shrewdly.

Remus shook his head wearily. "Not anymore." Straightening up, he nodded to the window and the darkness beyond. "Those werewolves you met were messengers from two of the other Welsh packs, the Red Moon and the Snow Ghost packs. Apparently Greyback contacted their alphas about a week ago, trying to make some sort of treaty."

"And they turned him down?" said Harry, surprised.

Remus laughed grimly. "Oh, absolutely. Greyback has not exactly done himself any favors in his relations with the Red Moon and Snow Ghost packs; he's repeatedly encroached on their territory, and now that he's no longer the Zenith Alpha they feel no obligation to respect him. Moreover, they grew suspicious when he spoke about attacking humans."

"Why?"

Remus gave him a long look, and Harry realized he'd said something offensive. "Sorry," he said quickly, dropping his eyes. "I just…"

"No… no, you couldn't be expected to know." The professor took another drink from his bottle, as if to bolster his courage, and then continued, "Not all wild werewolves share the same ideas about turning Feral. The Red Moon pack in particular has a prohibition against it; they, like myself, consider it unnatural and therefore immoral. The Snow Ghosts dislike it but will accept it as a side effect if they feel they need to attack a human for the purpose of revenge; nevertheless, they, too, agreed to cease such vengeance-killings on my orders. Unfortunately, my decision to forbid such attacks was rather unorthodox for the Zenith Alpha, and some of the packs weren't happy about it… if Greyback is recruiting, it could be very dangerous."

But now Harry was frowning. "That's something I've been wondering about," he admitted, glancing over to the other man nervously. "Er– if it's not too personal, Professor?"

Remus shrugged. "Considering we both just bawled our eyes out at your parents' graves, I don't know how much more personal it can get." When the other didn't even so much as smile, the werewolf frowned. "Harry?"

The young man hesitated, hands clutching at his mug nervously. It seemed he didn't want to meet Remus's eyes, and when he spoke, his words were carefully chosen. "…Why do some werewolves turn Feral? I mean… I know you mentioned that full moons are, er, difficult, but– some of them do it intentionally, don't they? Not just… I dunno, by losing control."

"Ah…" Harry glanced up to see that Remus's hazel eyes had turned dark; he stared down at his own drink, clearly uncomfortable, and the young man hastened to add, "You don't have to answer if you don't want to."

"No, it's… you may as well know; it could be valuable information to you someday, considering you're going into the Corps…"

"If you don't like discussing it…"

"No, no. It's fine." Remus paused, and then said, as frankly as he could manage, "Well, you're right to say that part of it is simply the temptation. The purpose of pleasure, biologically speaking, is to encourage a creature to do what will keep it healthy, preserve the species; the fact that we could take such pleasure in doing something so immoral, so unnatural …" The werewolf shook his head. "It shows that there's something really very disordered inside us."

Although Harry hurried to protest, Remus waved his hand dismissively. "It's not a judgment of my personal virtue, Harry; I didn't ask to have lycanthropy and I certainly don't enjoy it, but it is what it is. That disorder, that brokenness, it's simply a reality that I have to live with. But Fenrir Greyback, and many like him, believes that since werewolves are the stronger species, they have the right to hunt humans as easily as you hunt ducks or geese. He claims that because those urges are 'in our blood,' then it is not only natural but indeed our very right to act on them– and the way wizards have treated our kind certainly has not encouraged any compassion on their behalf…"

"But how does that matter?" Harry insisted. "I mean, it's still wrong to kill people, isn't it? No matter whether you're a werewolf or an ordinary wizard!"

"And I'm not disputing that. But Harry, if things were as simple as pointing out to people that what they're doing is wrong– why, all the problems of the world would be solved! No, the trouble lies in their arguments– and I can tell you, having lived with them, that their arguments can be very persuasive…

A sort of shadow crossed Remus's face, and for a moment Harry felt frightened. Had this man whom he had always considered to be good, one of his parents' dearest friends, ever been convinced by those arguments? He didn't want to believe it, but he'd learned from experience that making heroes out of his mentors was risky business.

But when Lupin spoke again, his words held no hint of anger or resentment. "…The whole problem, Harry, is that they have a point, as most convincing lies often do," the teacher admitted, voice uncharacteristically soft. "Genetically I am coded, so to speak, to hunt and kill the very people I call friends, if only but once a month. These werewolves, those who have turned Feral, believe it to be a natural urge; I know, of course, that it is a perversion of nature, a disruption of it, no less than any other genetic disease, but how can I explain that to them? They have not had my education, my good fortune; they are ignorant, and I can see no way of bringing them to enlightenment…"

He faded off, eyes distant, lost in his own world. After a moment, Remus shook his head as if to clear his thoughts and said, "But here I am complaining, when we should be toasting your parents' memories! Hardly a way to honor them, I'd say, moping about like this."

He offered a wry smile, and Harry grinned back, thinking it was probably safe to make a joke. "Being the Werewolf King of Great Britain isn't all it's cracked up to be, huh?"

Remus actually laughed at that. "Not really, no. But tell me, how've you been doing? How are things going with Ginny?" He winked, and the teenager blushed.

"Er…"

"Ah, still awkward, then?"

Harry coughed while Remus chuckled, clearly enjoying himself. "…Can I ask you something?" the younger wizard asked; the elder gestured for him to continue, knocking back th last of his firewhiskey. "How did you know? That you wanted to marry Tonks, I mean. Did it just sort of hit you, or…?"

"Oh." The professor blinked, surprised, and set his drink down with a shrug. "I suppose I'd known for a while that I wanted to marry her; I very nearly asked her before I left on my mission, shortly after Sirius died…"

"Really? You always seemed sort of, er, unwilling…" Harry coughed. "Sorry, Professor."

Lupin's face seemed darkened with sadness for a moment, but he answered with a sort of irony, "Yes, well… the circumstances changed. I became a bit more, ah, ill-disposed towards marriage for a bit after that… eventually Professor Dumbledore's death, and a real talking-to from Professor McGonagall, brought me back to my senses."

"But how did you know?" Harry pressed. "How did you know that– I dunno, that you were supposed to marry her?"

Remus raised an eyebrow. "Having second thoughts about Ginny, then?"

The young man blushed and dropped his eyes. "Not… not about her, really…" he mumbled. "Just…"

He trailed off, and Remus realized that the young man had something of great weight on his mind. "Harry?" he inquired gently. "I promise, not a word of this will get back to Ginny."

"I just…" Harry began again and ran a hand through his dark hair, clearly unsure how to continue. Remus waited patiently.

"…My dad died when he was twenty-one," he said finally, and the professor felt as if he'd been kicked in the stomach. "He married my mum when they were only nineteen and… and they had a kid, and by the time that kid was two years old, they were gone. I can't… what if I can't afford to wait?"

"Oh, Harry…"

"I want to know my kids," the young man murmured. "I want them to be able to remember me, and not just in letters or pictures. I want to… I really want to be there. Does that make any sense?"

Remus watched him sadly, a tightness growing in his throat. "Of course it does, Harry," he said quietly. "I want that too, more than anything in the world." The young wizard looked up, Lily's green eyes filled with uncertainty. "But Harry, your parents, Dora and I… we were at war; none of us knew if we would even live to see the next day."

"And I do?" Harry demanded, his hands gripping his mug so tightly that his knuckles turned white. "Remus, you were my age when you fought in the first war; who's to say by the time I'm yours there won't be another one? And who's to say I won't fall off my broom at practice next Saturday and that's it?"

The werewolf nodded compassionately. "I understand, Harry, really. You've lived the last several years– most of your late childhood– escaping from one tragedy to another. Fearing for your life, feeling that sort of pressure so constantly… it ages you, in ways most people can't comprehend." Harry shrugged. "But there's a time for everything under the sun, and to be honest, Harry, when it comes to marriage, I don't think that this is that time."

"But–"

"If there's one thing I've learned, it's that there's no use in worrying about tomorrow, other than to be able to do what's right and proper for today," said Remus firmly. "Rushing ahead, pulling back, trying to plan for every possible outcome… it's a waste of time and energy. Nobody can do that forever; you'll kill yourself trying."

"Then how can you possibly decide?" Harry demanded. "How do you know when it's right? Do you just wait to– to feel ready?"

"Oh, trust me, you are never going to feel ready for marriage. I'm married and I don't feel ready for marriage!" At the teenager's perplexed look, the werewolf sighed. "Harry, if you're looking for a failsafe checklist, I'm afraid I don't have one. The best advice I have is this: whenever you're uncertain on what to do, don't ask yourself if it's comfortable or, even worse, respectable. Ask yourself if it's good." He fixed the boy with a steady hazel gaze and ordered, "Tell me honestly: do you think that marrying Ginny right now is good?"

There was a pause as Harry stared down at the table. After a few seconds, he said with a tone of surprise, "…No. No, I don't. It's… it's too soon, honestly. We were only going out for a month at the end of sixth year, and last year… I mean, we barely saw each other…"

"I agree," said Remus mildly, "I don't think it's prudent. You two should wait, get to know each other better instead of jumping into a commitment so serious right away."

"But what do I do? I can't just call off the engagement."

"Can't you?"

Harry stared at him. "Are you mad? She'd hate me!"

"I wouldn't be so sure. If you're feeling rushed, don't you think it's possible she may be, too?" At Harry's dubious look, Remus chuckled. "Just take my word on this one, Harry. Talk to Ginny, see what she thinks. I'd bet ten galleons she's been feeling the same way."

Although Harry still wasn't quite certain, he agreed to give it a try. Their conversation drifted to more light-hearted topics, and soon Harry was laughing at story after story of the Marauders' finer practical jokes and grinning at James's many failed attempts to woo Lily Evans, before, as Lupin put it, "He grew a brain and realized girls generally tend to like blokes who aren't self-absorbed little man-children." They each ordered another round, and as Remus launched into a tale of the day Sirius had arrived at a detention with McGonagall via a broomstick and an open window, Harry realized that an ache he hadn't even known he'd felt was loosening in his chest. He had never had someone to buy him a drink and give him advice on girls, to tell stories of ridiculous antics accompanied with the sage words of, "don't you ever do this, but…" and that assuring strength that made Harry feel as if he could finally trust that everything would be alright in the end. It felt good, he realized, and for a moment he felt guilty, before he realized that his father would have approved.

He told Remus as much, and the man grew a bit misty eyed. "To Lily and James," he said solemnly, but with a smile, and raised his glass.

Harry raised his own, and they clinked them together.

"To Lily and James."

---

Hogsmeade on All Hallow's Eve was certainly a sight to behold. The underclassmen had all returned to the castle per their curfew, the village children to their houses having finished their trick-or-treating, and now the village seemed to burst to life as the elder students ran from shop to shop, laughing– some shoving each other into the snow, others sitting behind frost-glazed windows in warm pubs, smiling at each other over tankards of butterbeer and firewhiskey, but everyone in a fantastic mood.

Well– nearly everyone. One figure walked alone through the frozen streets, a fine dusting of fallen snow clinging to his black woolen cloak. Despite his newfound hope for the future, life at the moment was rather bleak for one Draco Malfoy; he was essentially friendless, loveless, and at the current moment, rather cold and bored. He considered popping into the Three Broomsticks for a pint of warm apple cider, but immediately dismissed the idea; in such a public place he was bound to get ugly stares, perhaps even threats. The Hog's Head, then? No– Dumbledore's brother owned the place; there wasn't much of a chance he'd get any service there…

He was nearly made up to just return to the castle and go down to the kitchens to for a little food when a voice from behind called his name: "Draco!"

The young wizard turned; walking down the street, though keeping to the shadows and flanked on every side by scornful glances, strode a tall, white-haired man. Draco's face split into a grin and he ran forward, embracing the man happily. "Father! What are you doing here?"

"What, can't a man visit his own son without ulterior motives?" Lucius Malfoy quipped with a chuckle, drawing back. His son snorted, and then spared a look around; people had turned away with looks of disgust. "Come," Lucius said quietly, redrawing the boy's attention, "We have much to discuss."

They slipped off down a darker side-street and walked for several paces without speaking, simply enjoying the other's company. "How is mother?" Draco said eventually, breaking the silence.

"Well enough. She's taken to pacing about the house; I think she ought to get out more, but then…"

His father faded off, and Draco nodded. His parents were no doubt facing the same troubles he was; traitors of the blood-purist cause, yet Death Eaters nonetheless, the Malfoys were welcome nowhere in their own world. "But I didn't come here to discuss your mother," Lucius said firmly, "I wanted to talk to you. Tell me, how has school been? Are you keeping up in your classes?"

Draco launched into a explanation of his schoolwork, speaking with enthusiasm about the work they'd been doing in alchemy. Lucius nodded along as they walked through the empty cobblestone streets. Soon enough the conversation turned to the matter of his careers counseling. "So that old dolt managed to do his job, did he?" Lucius questioned as they rounded a corner and passed by Madame Pudifoot's. Draco had to hide a snigger as he saw two fifth years snogging passionately, oblivious to anything else, on the other side of the window.

"It's all set," Draco agreed, deciding to keep the fact that Professor Lupin had been the one to make the arrangements to himself; he doubted his father would approve. "I'm to start my internship in January." Lucius nodded, and the boy hesitated. "Father– I know you don't like St. Mungo's–"

"Nonsense, Draco. Healing is an honorable profession, and a very prosperous one– especially with your talents. I'm surprised I didn't think of it myself." His father glanced over and gave him a smile. "I am sure you will do your mother and me proud."

Draco smiled slightly and inclined his head, as if this were only natural, though inside he was glowing with pride. As they rounded a corner, he added, "I was hoping for my senior thesis that I could use my knowledge in alchemy to try to improve some medical potion; it would be a pleasant challenge, and I'm sure St. Mungo's would–"

But that was when it happened. Lucius's legs seemed to give out beneath him; the end of his cane slipped on a patch of ice and the man collapsed to the ground.

"Father!" Immediately Draco's knees were on the hard cobblestones; Lucius was struggling to push himself up with his arms alone; he'd braced his gloved hands against the cobblestones, shaking, and Draco could see through the veil of blond hair that his father's teeth were gritted in pain. Tiny emerald sparks zipped like fireflies behind his silver eyes.

Slowly, with great effort, the elder Malfoy managed to push himself to one knee, and then, with the younger's help, stood up again. Draco handed his father the silver-topped cane, which Lucius somehow managed to rest on and still look elegantly nonchalant. It was a talent, his son knew, that had been developed from necessity; a Malfoy always kept his dignity, no matter the agony.

"Did anyone notice?" his father demanded in a low voice. His gloved hands were still clutching hard at the silver snake's head.

"No one," the younger vowed, but there was worry in his voice. "Father–"

"I'm fine, Draco. Fine." He seemed to draw on his strength, and then stood up straight, holding the cane now with only one hand. "A minor misfortune. Nothing more."

And it never was, Draco knew, or at least, he was never to question it. His father was a proud man; it was for this reason that his injury was never spoken outside of the immediate family, and even then rarely to the youngest member. He supposed that Father had discussed it with Mother, behind closed doors where pride counted for nothing… but before the world, and before his son, Lucius Malfoy was the very image of self-esteem, and so it would remain.

"Well, I– I suppose I'd best be getting back to your mother," Lucius continued, clearing his throat. "You know how she hates to be alone in the house…"

"Father, are you sure you can apparate on your own–"

"Of course I am," Lucius said sharply, and Draco bit his tongue, looking down. His father's face softened. "…We'll talk again soon. Have a good evening, Draco."

"And you, father. Give my love to mother."

Lucius smiled and embraced his son tightly. "My bright young man," he said warmly, drawing back and letting a hand rest on the boy's shoulder. "Mark my words, Draco; you'll bring honor to the family name."

"Thank you, father."

Lucius inclined his head, and then turned and disapparated, leaving his son alone once again in the silently falling snow.

For a long time– how long, he couldn't really tell– Draco walked alone through the village, lost in thought. He thought of his father and his family name, about his mother alone in the old manor and about the way things had been when he was a child. He thought about Professor Lupin, about the War and the dark lord. He thought about the hospital, his future and, perhaps more than anything, about the tattoo on his wrist, hidden now by his warm winter clothes, but still there, burnt black into his skin. Would he ever be able to redeem himself of it, Draco wondered? Would there ever come a day when his name was respected again in good society, when he could walk down the street without hisses of derision sounding at his back? And in the end, did it matter what anyone else thought?

So lost was he in thought that he didn't hear the footsteps slapping the cobblestones behind him until the intruder was nearly upon him, and a haunting call: "Run!"

Startled, he whirled around, drawing his wand, but there was no time; a hand grabbed his arm and dragged him down the road. He caught a glimpse of golden curls and a raspberry cloak before he was being pulled into an open shed, the door slamming tightly shut behind him, and labored panting in the darkness. He pulled away from the other figure, startled. "Oy! What do you think you're–"

"Be quiet!"

He blinked. "I beg your–"

A hand slapped over his mouth, muffling his words. "Be quiet, be quiet, you idiot!" Lavender Brown moaned, her voice pitched with hysteria. "Haven't you any sense? Or do you want them to find us!"

---

Ten minutes previous, Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley walked out of the Three Broomsticks Inn and Pub, laughing and talking as they shut the door behind them. "I still feel like such an idiot," Ron said with a chuckle, shaking his head.

"Nonsense; it's not like you asked to get hit by a bludger."

"Yeah, well… it's your fault anyhow."

She raised a teasing eyebrow. "My fault?"

"You distracted me!" Ron accused, but he was grinning. "You and your feminine wiles–"

"Oh, it's my feminine wiles, is it?"

"If you weren't so good-looking I would've been able to keep my eyes on the game!"

"Is that so! Well, Ronald Weasley, I'll have you know that I quite like my 'feminie wiles' and I intend to– mmf!"

She was cut off by the sudden feeling of his lips against hers; for a moment the witch was startled, before she melted into it, relishing in the feeling of his right hand on her hip and his left buried in her cloud of curly hair. When Ron pulled away, she smirked up at him, and he blushed, disentangling his fingers from her hair only to rub the back of his neck, embarrassed. "Sorry," he apologized. "I, er, probably should have asked first…"
"Probably." She stood up on tiptoe and kissed him on the cheek. "But I liked it."

Ron grinned despite his ruddy complexion, and together they took off down the main street, hand-in-hand. "So, er, what was the whole deal with what happened on Wednesday?" the wizard asked nonchalantly. "You looked pretty upset when you ran off, Hermione…"

"Oh, that," she sighed. "Really, Ron, it was nothing."

"Oh."

He didn't say it rudely, or even with annoyance, but Hermione caught the slight inflection of uncertainty in the syllable and frowned. "Ron? Are you alright?"

"Huh? Oh, uh, no, I'm fine…"

"Ron!" she insisted, stepping ahead of him to cut him off. The redhead wasn't meeting her eyes. "Something's wrong," she asserted, "I can tell. Was it something I said?"

"No, it's– it's stupid, Hermione, honestly, don't worry about it." When she raised an eyebrow, he sighed and shrugged. "Well… I mean, it's just that you clearly felt comfortable telling Harry. I just thought, y'know, you'd be okay with telling me, too."

"Oh," Hermione sighed, relieved to know what the problem was. "Ron, it was just the same sort of things that were getting to me, you know, down in the Chamber. I just didn't want to rehash them again, that's all."

"Oh," he said again, but now with concern. "Hermione, I didn't realize– are you okay? I mean, I shouldn't have even brought it up–"

"Ron, I'm fine!" the witch insisted. "I was just feeling a little down; if you'd been there I would have said the same to you." When he didn't respond, she frowned. "Ron, you… you do know that, don't you?"

"'Course I do," he said, unconvincingly.

"Because I'm not interested in Harry. He's like my brother, honestly."

"I know!" he said, almost defensively. "It's just, well–"

"Well?"

"Well– well, you liked him once, didn't you?"

Hermione stared, shocked. "Is that what you're worried about?" Ron shrugged noncomittally, and she laughed. "Ron, that was third year! And honestly, if you hadn't been being such a prat–"

"Hey, I didn't know that my pet rat was secretly a mass-murderer," he pointed out.

"Do you really mean to tell me that you've been jealous of Harry? Over me?" He shrugged again, and she shook her head. "Ron, that's ridiculous! Why would you even feel that way?" When he didn't answer, instead looking away, she took a step forward, worried. "…Ron?"

"I just… I'm no one special, 'Mione," the redhead said uncomfortably. "I'm not smart or honest or even all that brave. I'm not a genius or Quidditch Captain or the Boy Who Lived. I'm just Ron. And I- I don't know why 'just Ron' would be all that special to you."

Hermione was frowning at him with concern, which made his ears go red, and he glanced away. He knew she knew he was telling the truth, and it made him feel pitiful and pathetic. A jealous little brat insecure with himself that he couldn't match up to his best friends.

"Ron Weasely, I don't ever want to hear you say that again," Hermione said fiercely, and he looked back to her, surprised. "You are absolutely special and important, and not just because you're Harry's friend, either."

"'Mione-"

"No, you listen to me!" Her eyes were blazing. "I've seen you, Ron, I've watched you these last few months. Do you think I don't notice that you're the one shouldering all the burden? For your family, for Harry, for me?" She poked him hard in the chest. "Do you think I don't know it's you Ginny goes to talk to when she's missing Fred? Do you think I didn't realize how hard it was for you to write George every week, trying to get him off the bottle? Do you think I don't see you keep Harry steady when he's about to break down? You're a rock for him, Ron, for all of us."

"But I'm not-"

"You, Ronald Weasely, are the strongest man I have ever met. A lot of lesser people wouldn't have stuck around with Harry when everything turned against him. A lot of lesser people wouldn't have bothered being friends with the know-it-all girl in the front of the class. You take care of us and of your family, and honestly, Ron, I don't know what I'd do without you." She touched his cheek, a little of her fire fading. "When people need something done, they go to Harry," she said honestly. "But when they need- when I need- someone to hold us together, someone to depend on, someone who'll be there through anything life could throw at us… Ron, that's when we go to you. And I– I love you for that."

He gaped it her, stunned; Hermione, too, was blushing. "…You love me?" he said hoarsely. The witch nodded and dropped her gaze, self-conscious, and the wizard summoned his courage. "Well, er– I love you too, Hermione."

The woman looked up, surprised. "Really?"

"Really." He grinned, and she smiled and then laughed. They embraced each other tightly, eyes-closed and smiling. Neither could remember ever feeling happier.

Then from behind Hermione came a low, blood-chilling chuckle.

Both broke apart; Hermione whirled around and stifled a scream. Fenrir Greyback leered at them with sharp white teeth; his eyes gleamed yellow. "What a beautiful picture," he mocked, taking a step forward; Ron drew his wand and shoved Hermione behind him. "Young love…"

More figures were stepping out of the alleyway, and Ron levels his wand. "Touch her and you're dead," he vowed, but his voice jumped at the end.

"Oh," Greyback said, pulling a falsely sympathetic face, "such courage. I always love it when they play hero." He threw a nod back to the others and ordered in quite a different voice, "Disperse. Hit as many of the shops as you can." Obediently the rest turned and ran off down the road; within seconds, screams were echoing from the next block over.

"My, my, she is a pretty one," Greyback said, stalking closer; Ron's wand shook in his hand. "I remember her… and I remember you, too." The werewolf affected a pleading falsetto. "'Take me instead! Take me instead!'" He chuckled. "I think that can be arranged…"

The Gryffindor summoned his courage. "Come and try it, then!"

Greyback snarled and lunged just as Ron brandished his wand.

---

By the time Harry and Remus left The Green-Eyed Witch, both were laughing and rosy from good drink and good company. Harry's head was buzzing pleasantly; neither he nor Remus had had anywhere near enough to get drunk, but the younger wizard was a bit tipsy and was very grateful when Remus offered to side-along apparate him back to Hogsmeade.

"Hey, Remus," he said, as the werewolf closed the garden gate and resealed the silencing charms, "I just wanna say… thanks for this. I, er, I really felt like I got to know my parents tonight, even if only a little, and… well, just thanks."

Remus smiled. "It was my pleasure, Harry. Your arm?" Harry offered it, and a moment later he felt the distinctly uncomfortable sense of being yanked through space and time. A moment later his feet slammed into the cobblestoned ground of Hogsmeade; he stumbled, regained his footing, and then–

And then, he realized, that he could hear screaming.

He looked up, startled, and found that the square had been trashed. Windows were broken; the shops and road were abandoned– no, not quite; a young girl was scrambling back on the ground, pleading vainly as a hulking figure in tattered clothes stalked closer and closer–

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"

Harry barely had time to register that Lupin had used an Unforgiveable before the figure– one of the largest, most brutal-looking man he had ever seen– crumpled to the ground in a flash of green light. The woman was still sobbing, curled up in a corner against the frozen-over well; Lupin rushed over and knelt down beside her, but she screamed again and shrank away. "No! No, please! Go away, just go away-!"

"Hey," Harry interjected, rushing over, "He's not going to hurt you, okay? We're the good guys." The girl sniffled and looked up; Harry recognized her as one of the Hufflepuff third-years. "Let's get you back to the castle, come on–"

Another scream split the frozen air, not far off. Remus had gone pale. "Harry, get her back to the castle; go through the Honeydukes' passage."

"Professor–"

"Harry, just go!"

The teenager nodded, pulling the girl to her feet. "Okay, come on, let's go–" Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lupin rush off in the direction of the new scream, and then the werewolf was gone.

He and the third-year sprinted down the frozen streets towards the candy shop; they rounded the corner onto the main street and dashed into the store, which had been likewise vandalized and abandoned. Harry tore open the door to the cellar and shone his wand inside; there was no sound. "Okay," he muttered to the terrified girl, "Okay, this way–"

From the street behind him there came the haunting echo of terrified cries; Harry froze. For a moment he wavered, remembering Lupin's orders. If he died tonight, Remus would never forgive himself…

The cries came again, and Harry made up his mind. "Go down into the cellar," he ordered the girl, whose eyes had gone wider than quaffles. "There's a secret passageway under the center stone tile; keep going and you'll eventually get back to Hogwarts. There's a stone slide on the end, but if you tap it and say ascendo–" He was immediately grateful to have learned that little trick from Lupin, not half an hour ago, "–it will turn into a staircase. Okay?"

The girl nodded, clearly terrified, and Harry urged her down the steps into the cellar before shutting the door tightly behind her and then rushing out of the store.

The screaming was louder out here; Harry scanned the streets wildly and realized that they were coming from the Three Broomsticks. He sprinted to the pub and into the door, whereupon a grisly sight met his eyes. Madame Rosmerta was lying motionless in a pool of blood while a terrified waitress stood pinned to the wall by none other than a laughing Fenrir Greyback.

Harry didn't think twice: he pointed his wand and shouted, "Stupify!"

Whatever he was expecting to happen, it didn't; the red jet of light hit Greyback, who let out a yowl and whirled around, but by no means was knocked unconscious. The waitress took the opportunity to scamper out the back door. "Who the blazes do you think you–" Greyback roared, and then stopped. Harry swallowed and took a step back.

"Well, look who it is," the werewolf breathed, a predatory grin curling his lips. Harry could see his teeth, filed to a point– or perhaps that was just the way they grew on Ferals? "The pup. Yes, I remember that the Mutt was quite fond of you…"

"Don't you call Remus that," Harry retorted, sounding rather braver than he felt.

Greyback paid him no heed. "I think I'll quite enjoy this. Imagine the look on the Mutt's face when he finds out you're dead." He laughed. "Probably bawl his eyes out, the cur."

And that was when Harry did something both very brave and very stupid: he charged the werewolf.

Greyback knocked him into the wall with a blow like a rushing freight train, and Harry felt his head smack, hard, against the wall. Stars twinkled in his eyes as the blurry figure of Fenrir Greyback move towards him and–

SNAP!

Harry let out a bellow of pain as his leg was broken by a well placed kick to the shin from Greyback's bare feet; the hardened nails on the toe scraped away cloth and skin and left him bleeding as the Feral grabbed him by the shoulders and threw him violently to the floor. The wizard's wand went skittering out of his hand. He could hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears a Greyback dropped to a knee over him, teeth bared. "Say goodnight, pup," the Feral laughed.

He was going to die, Harry realized; his breath came in quick, panicky bursts. He was going to die, right here, right now, and it was going to be long and slow and awful–

"DON'T YOU TOUCH HIM!"

The roar of fury was the only warning Harry had before a blurred mass barreled into Greyback, full-on tackling him off of the boy and into the legs of the nearest table.

Harry had only ever seen the "wolf" in Lupin twice before: once on the full moon in his third year, and again the night he had called him a coward in Grimmauld Place. Both times it had been a fleeting glimpse, swallowed up in the next moment by the full transformation or Lupin's sudden exit.

This time was different. The brawl was brutal and violent; Remus dealt two ruthless blows to the other werewolf's face, breaking his nose and causing the man to let out a howl of pain, before Greyback wrenched him sideways by the collar and rolled both over so that he had the upper hand, slamming the professor's head into the floor of the pub with a sickening crack!

Harry thought for sure that was the end of it, but he couldn't have been more wrong; far from being knocked unconscious, Remus grabbed the Feral by shoulders and pulled him down, flipping both over backwards. Greyback tried to shove him off, but Remus held on and they both rolled sideways, kicking and striking each other as much as they could in the process.

After a few seconds of violent scuffle Lupin ended up on top with Greyback belly-down beneath him, head wrenched up in a painful headlock. Both of them were turned away from Harry, who was struggling desperately to try to reach his wand, but he froze when he heard possibly the most chilling sound of his life:

"Rhowch reswm i mi, Greyback," Lupin growled, a deep, guttural noise that raised the hairs on Harry's arms. "Rhowch reswm i mi ac yr wyf yn tyngu, byddaf yn rhwygo allan eich gwddf."

Greyback rasped out a laugh. "In front of the kiddies, Lupin? And you claim to be civilized."

"Try me!" the werewolf snarled, hiking the man's head up higher.

But that was his mistake. Quick as blinking, Greyback grabbed hold of the arm around his neck and pulled Lupin to the ground, driving his knee hard into the younger werewolf's sternum and knocking the wind out of him. He pinned the professor's arms to the ground, lowering his snarling maw until he was face-to-face with the teacher.

"Rip out my throat?" Greyback hissed, baring his fangs. "You belong to me, Mutt– or have you forgotten who made you?" He slashed his claws across Lupin's face; the professor let out a roar of pain as blood spattered across the floor. "And if you think I'm going to wait around for your bitch to come lock me up, you've got another think coming. Now I'm going to give you one last chance:–" He lowered his face to Remus's and hissed, "Hand it over and tell me where they are, and maybe I'll let you run."

Lupin groaned, clearly in agony, and then, much to Harry's shock, he managed to gasp out:

"Not on your life."

Enraged, Greyback snarled and lifted his knee, to slam it down hard against Lupin's chest; the man cried out again as several ribs broke. "You know, usually I can't stand the taste of you," Greyback leered, "but tonight I'll make an exception. So where should I start? The heart? The neck?"

Harry struggled desperately to reach his wand, just two inches beyond his fingertips. He had to get to it– he'd never forgive himself if he didn't–

"Oh, who am I kidding?" Greyback laughed. "Let's make it slow. I do love it when they scream."

And that was when Harry summoned all of his focus and shouted, "Accio wand!"

Miraculously, the holly-and-phoenix stave shot into his hands just as Greyback looked over, startled. Harry scrambled onto his one good foot and leveled his wand at the Feral. "Get away from him," he ordered.

Greyback stood up, sneering. "If you think I won't take you once I've finished with him–"

The pub door burst open with a half-dozen bellowed shouts of "Stupefy!", effectively cutting him off as the werewolf was forced to dodge the red jets of light. He snarled as the aurors poured into the room, eyeing them as they aimed their wands once more. "Give it up, Greyback!" Tonks ordered at the forefront. "Come in quietly and maybe I'll let you see another full moon!"

Greyback seemed to be thinking very fast. Before anyone could cast another spell, he spat in Lupin's face, let out a loud howl as if calling to the others, and then disapparated with a crack.

The whole pub was silent for a moment, before one of the lower-ranked officers demanded, "What the fuck was that?!"

"Did he just disapparate?"

"Alright, everyone, seal off the area!" Tonks ordered, taking control of the situation. "I want anti-apparition wards all over this town for the next twenty-four hours! Payne, Kopp, start doing rounds, see if anyone else got hurt."

"Yes, ma'am."

"On it, Chief."

"Harry, don't move." Tonks hurried over, checking him for injuries. "Are you alright? Are you hurt?"

"My leg–" Now that the adrenaline had worn off, the pain had returned full force; Harry could feel the blood leaving his face.

But Tonks was not the chief auror for nothing; with a muttered spell Harry felt the bone realign and seal together. The pain vanished. "Thanks. But Professor Lupin–"

"I know; go to the castle and get Madame Pomfrey. Hurry!"

He nodded and ran off, leaving Dora to drop to her knees beside her husband. "Remus, love, where are you hurt? What can I do?"

"Eyes," he moaned, a hand still clutching at his face; blood was running down in rivulets through his fingers. "My eyes–"

"Bloody basilisks," she swore, tearing off a strip of cloth from the bottom of her robes. "Alright, Remus, I'm going to try to stem the bleeding; this is going to hurt–"

He bellowed as she moved aside his hand and pressed the cloth down against his eyes. "Sorry! I'm sorry, love, just hold on, Madame Pomfrey will be here any second…"

Harry, meanwhile, was hurrying down the street towards the Hogwarts path as quickly as he could on his newly-mended leg. He skittered around the corner and stopped short in relief; it seemed that the villagers had set up a sort of triage in the middle of the road, and Madame Pomfrey had taken charge, hurrying from one injured villager to the next in a whirlwind and barking orders over her shoulder at several frightened students. "Seal the scratches up, quickly! Pull the bandage tighter, Miss Brown– Mr. Malfoy, I need more dittany; hurry! Miss Granger–"

"Madame Pomfrey!" Harry gasped, running up. "Professor Lupin– he's injurred– Rosmerta, too–"

"Where?"

"The Three Broomsticks–"

Without waiting for another word, the infirmarian set off down the street. All around more healers were apparating into the vicinity; the villagers stood around in a gawping ring, gathering thicker and thicker like onlookers at a muggle car crash. Harry pushed his way forward into the center of the bodies. He spotted a young boy sitting on his own with his arm in a sling; a man lay unconscious on the ground.

"You there! Harry Potter!"

He turned, dazedly; a nun in a pale green habit bearing embroidered mark of St. Mungo's looked back at him with steely eyes. "How many people were bitten?"

"I– I don't know– I just–"

"One," a familiar voice choked out, and Harry turned. Hermione looked back at him with tears rolling down her face. "Just– just one."

Harry felt his stomach drop; he forced his gaze to lower, each inch seeming to take more willpower than he knew he possessed, to the limp figure on the cobblestone. Then the world shifted off its foundations, and he dropped to his knees.

Ron lay pale and unconscious on the ground, oblivious to the world, his deathly white skin a stark contrast to his flaming hair and the streams of red blood running sluggishly from the crescent-shaped bite on his forearm.

---

A/N: …Sorry.

*Translations: (again, native Welsh speakers, please pardon any mistakes; Google Translate is not known for its accuracy, although I did my best to get the translation as accurate as possible).

1.)

"Stand up."

The two rose in unison, and then the pale man began to speak. "Zenith Alpha. I bring news from Alpha Whitepaw, of the Snow Ghost Pack. He extends his greetings and goodwill."

"And I from Alpha Sunfur, of the Blood Moon Pack," the woman broke in. "She also offers her loyalty to the Zenith Alpha."

"The Zenith Alpha recognizes the friendship of the Snow Ghost and Blood Moon packs," Remus replied. "What news have you brought?"

Both of the werewolves– for that was indubitably what they were– glanced to Harry warily. "Do you wish to hear these matters in the presence of the human pup, Zenith Alpha?" the woman questioned darkly.

"The boy is family to me, the son of my brother. And he does not know our language; you can speak freely."

Both nodded and then launched into what appeared to be a story of some length, interjecting and interrupting each other in turn. Remus's face went from shocked to pale to very, very grim, all in the space of about five minutes. When they were finished, he nodded and sighed, looking to Harry far older than he really was.. "Thank you for your reports," he said wearily. "Extend my thanks to your alphas; their loyalty will not be forgotten."

"We will, Zenith Alpha."

"Thank you, Zenith Alpha."

"Go on swift paws."

Each dropped to a knee again, and then rose and ran off with startling swiftness. Within moments, they were swallowed up by the darkness.

2.)

"Give me a reason, Greyback," Lupin growled, a deep, guttural noise that raised the hairs on Harry's arms. "Give me a reason and I swear, I will rip out your throat."