Disclaimer: I neither own the intellectual property of the Harry Potter universe, nor do I profit from this work produced here. The lullaby Remus sings to Teddy is an old Welsh song, called Suo Gan. I've changed the lyrics a bit so that it makes sense from a father's perspective.

Warnings: reference to gory medical treatment, a few references to religion, implicit okay-ness with slavery (from two purebloods).

This is a shorter chapter, and it's a bit of an interlude between the last one and the full moon. Sorry if it's not as exciting, but I hope you enjoy it anyway!

Guest: Thank you so much! I'm an American Catholic wanna-be writer/theologian, and if I could speak my second language as well as you speak yours I'd be working in Spain by now, haha. I'm not sure when/if I'll be bringing the Antonellis back, but if I do I would love to have your help with the Itallian translations (versus that of the notoriously fallible Google Translate). I try to include Catholic elements, both expressly and intrinsically, in all of my work, but in a way that's not heavy-handed; I like to make my characters "wrestle with God" a bit, so to speak. Thanks again for your such a lovely review, and pax et bonum!

"Remus. Remus, love, you need to wake up… there's a man here to talk to you…"

Remus stirred and tried to open his eyes, but the world remained dark. He moved his hands and found them pressed against something soft and slightly cool; there was the smell of healing potions and Highland air, drifting in on a breeze from somewhere on his right, and the chirruping of birds. By these he deduced that he was in the hospital wing, but when he tried again to open his eyes and look around, it seemed that someone had frozen his eyelids shut. "Dora?" he called uncertainly, struggling to sit up; immediately a shock of pain rushed through his chest, causing him to draw a sharp breath.

"Shh." Two hands pressed against his shoulders, pushing him back into the pillow. "Don't try to move too much, love; your bones are still healing."

"I can't see," he said, beginning to panic. "Dora, why can't I see?"

"You were in a fight, Remus." Another voice caught his attention; how many people were around him? A quick sniff informed him that he wasn't alone; there were five other people in the hospital wing, including Madame Pomfrey, who had spoken, Professor McGonagall, and his wife. Besides them there were two other scents, the nearer belonged to a man whom he didn't recognize, smelling strongly of cologne, and–

Remus's breath caught. Immediately he fought to sit up again, but the insistent hands pushed him back into bed. "Remus! Remus, calm down! Remus–"

"Petrificus totalis!"

Immediately his whole body went rigid at Professor McGonagall's expert spellwork. Remus tried to fight, but it seemed that the headmistress's will was stronger than his. He couldn't focus, his thoughts were whirling, this was all his fault, he should never have come here–

"Remus, you need to calm down or you'll hurt yourself," he heard Madame Pomfrey say, in a tone more appropriate to giving orders than information. "You've been through a traumatic operation and it's going to take you a while to heal. Your eyes were unsalvageable, but I'm growing you a new pair in my laboratory as we speak; that's why you can't see."

"Mufflatio," he heard Dora mutter, and then his wife spoke to him: "Remus, Investigator Srivener is here from the Auror's Office to ask you a few questions about what happened last night. We'll take the jinx off, but you've got to stay lying down, alright?" He tried to nod, but found he couldn't; instead, he managed a sort of grunt from deep in the back of his throat. "I'll take that as a yes. Corpus mobile!"

Immediately he felt his muscles relax; Remus cocked an ear and heard the soft, even breathing coming from over in the other bed, and the guilt twisted hard in his stomach. He wanted to demand an explanation for the fifth scent, but had the good sense to realize this wasn't something to be shouted out in front of strangers, so instead he reached up to touch his face. A bandage had been wrapped around his head in front of where his eyes should have been, and he felt a bit more in control now that he realized exactly what had happened. "Investigator," he said, as calmly as he could manage, turning towards the location from where the unfamiliar scent was emanating. He felt a slight satisfaction when the man jumped, but immediately it was swallowed by his worry. "How may I help you?"

"Good morning, Mr. Lupin." The man's voice was somehow both oily and nervous, as if he were used to getting his way with ordinary wizards but had no idea what to expect from a werewolf. "The Auror Office has a few questions it wants to ask you and thought it would be, ah, more objective to send another officer…"

"I understand entirely. Please, continue."

"Yes, ah, well…" He heard pages crinkle. "Mr. Lupin, during our investigation of last night's attack, we found the body of one Feral werewolf who we later matched to our records of a Mr. Eryl Maddox. Would you happen to know of him?"

"Brown-haired, with a jagged scar on his jaw?"

"So you did know him, then?"

"Yes, but not that name; I'd only ever heard of him referred to as Brushtail."

"I see. Our coroners determined that he died around half-eleven last night, by a killing curse. We've examined your wand and ascertained that you cast such a curse around the same time."

"Yes. I killed him," Remus replied quietly.

"Very well, that clears matters up quite nicely. Thank you for your time." There was the sound of a chair creaking, as if the man had made to stand, and Remus tilted his head upwards, startled.

"Aren't you going to arrest me?"

"Arrest you? Whatever for?"

"I'm a murderer. I killed a man in cold blood…"

"A Feral," the investigator replied in surprise.

"A human being," Remus countered sharply. "I murdered another human being. Isn't that the sort of thing you take people in for?"

"Remus, love– you did what you had to do–" Dora began, but he shook his head.

"I could have used a different spell. Shot him, perhaps– or cast a silver net– I was just so angry…"

"Mr. Lupin, no one is going to arrest you for exterminating a Feral," the investigator said coolly, snapping his briefcase closed. "They're fair game for any witch or wizard– even one such as yourself. Anyone can kill them on sight; you did the wizarding world a favor." Remus didn't reply, but Nymphadora could tell from his expression that he was positively sick with self-loathing. "Chief Lupin, you can expect my report on your desk by three this afternoon."

"Thank you, Scrivener. A good day to you."

"And to you, ma'am. Professor, Sister."

There was the sound of a few footsteps, and a sort of sucking noise as the man stepped outside of the silencing wards. Remus waited until he was quite sure that he was gone, and then he spoke the question whose answer he dreaded to hear: "What is Ronald Weasley doing in the hospital wing?"

There came a trio of gasps; he heard Dora mutter a curse under her breath. Madame Pomfrey sounded faint. "But how could you possibly–"

"I can smell him from here– and your dittany, Sister. How badly was he hurt?"

"…Not too badly," the healer replied, after a moment's guilty hesitation. "He didn't lose much blood–"

"Then why is he unconscious?"

Their hesitant silence was all the explanation he needed, and he settled back into the pillows, sick with guilt. "Merlin, no…"

"Remus, we wanted to tell you, but he wouldn't give us permission to say a word, not to anyone." McGonagall sighed. "Poor boy… he won't even let us release the information to his parents…"

"Well, he is of age," Remus pointed out tiredly. "I don't blame him for not wanting to let the word out… do you think he'll turn, Sister?"

Pomfrey sighed hopelessly. "There's no way to say. His brother didn't, but now with Miss Brown… we can't know with any certainty until the full. But he's… he's been running a fever all night."

"Typical, of a Feral's bite." His voice sounded bitter even to him. "He'll be fighting the virus, even if it isn't active…"

"Remus…" McGonagall's tone was uncertain. "I have already received several letters…"

"You don't need to tell me, Professor. I know. I know as well as they do." His throat stuck, but he forced the words out: "I should never have come here. I resign my position."

"I accept your resignation." Her very scent was filled with sadness and regret. "Remus, I'm so sorry… this is as much my fault as it is yours. I had hoped…"

"I know." He attempted a rueful smile, but it felt more like a grimace. "We've been a pair of fools, the two of us." He turned towards his wife. "Dora, I–"

"I've already packed," she said softly, sadly. "We'll leave as soon as you're able."

Breakfast Monday morning was a dismal affair, at least for Harry. He picked at his food listlessly, mind lost in worried thought. A glance across the table affirmed that Hermione and Ginny were equally despondent; Ginny stirred her blueberry oatmeal absently, staring into the mushed oats as if they held the secrets of the universe, and Hermione had abandoned even the pretext of eating, merely sitting in front of her empty plate and staring off into the distance, a thinly veiled expression of distress etched into her face. This didn't surprise Harry in the slightest, for he knew that Hermione was feeling not only worried as they were, but also drained and guilty.

Ron, of course, was nowhere to be seen. Harry supposed that he was still in the hospital wing, but he had no way to know for certain without checking the Marauder's Map; the three of them had sat through the better part of Saturday night and into Sunday morning at their unconscious friend's bedside but, after having returned from getting some breakfast at Madame Pomfrey's insistence, had been informed by the infirmarian that Ron had awoken from his fever-induced sleep and, in the few minutes he'd been conscious, had firmly demanded privacy and that his condition remain confidential. Despite their pleas, Madame Pomfrey had stuck to her guns, and so none of them had seen their friend for nearly a day and had no idea of his current state.

It was, Harry reflected grimly, a miracle that no one else had realized what had happened. He'd been sure at first that Malfoy, who unlike Brown was not technically an orderly and therefore not under magical medical law, would have spilled the secret to the rest of the school the first chance he had, but thankfully it seemed that the Slytherin had decided to keep quiet, at least for the time being. Luckier still, Neville, Seamus and Dean had been content to accept the excuse that Ron had been clawed up a bit during the attack and Madame Pomfrey was keeping him for observation, but if the Weasley started disappearing every full moon along with Lavender and Professor Lupin, people would be bound to notice. Harry didn't even know if his best mate would be a werewolf; he'd asked Lavender about it the minute he'd had a chance, but she'd coolly replied that she wasn't allowed to discuss patient information, and that even if she had been, she wouldn't have had the slightest idea what he could expect.

"Harry? Harry, it's time for class."

He looked up to see Ginny's chocolate eyes looking back, and remembered absently that he had yet to bring up the very important matter of their engagement with her. He supposed that, had the situation been different, he would have been nervous about that, but at this point he couldn't spare much worry for his fiancé when all of it was being spent on her brother.

He followed the girls to the Defense classroom and took his ordinary seat, next to the distinctly empty chair Ron usually occupied. Lupin wasn't in yet; the class was abuzz with discussion over the Halloween attack. "Eh, Potter!" Ernie MacMillan called over, causing Harry to start and raise his head. "I heard you and Professor Lupin saved Edna Montgomery from a Feral werewolf! Is it true?"

Harry nodded, and received many gasps of admiration. "How brave," one of the younger Ravenclaw girls stage-whispered. Harry felt sick to his stomach at their praise; Ron had been just as brave, and yet no one was gushing over him because no one could know.

The door opened from behind them and the class blinked in unison as Professor McGonagall strode into the room, waving her wand at the blackboard; the word Animagi appeared in neat chalked cursive. "Wands away, books out, if you please!" she called tartly.

The students glanced about, surprised; as the others hurried to open their bags, Hermione raised her hand, momentarily distracted from her woes. McGonagall nodded. "Miss Granger?"

"Professor, where is Professor Lupin? Is he alright?"

McGonagall pursed her lips. "Professor Lupin resigned his position yesterday morning. I will be handling the defense classes until the school is able to hire another instructor."

Whispers burst throughout the classroom; Harry felt his heart jump into his throat. "Resigned?!" he demanded, not bothering to raise his hand. "What for?!"

"It's obvious, isn't it?" a voice sneered from the back of the classroom; Harry turned to see Blaise Zabini looking back at him with hard eyes. "The coward's running away because of what happened on Halloween!"

Harry stood and drew his wand. "Don't you call Remus a coward!"

"Mr. Potter, sit down!" McGonagall barked. Harry flushed and took his seat, still glaring at Zabini. "Five points from Gryffindor and Slytherin alike; Mr. Zabini, I would advise to you refrain from judgments on subjects you know nothing about." The Slytherin fumed, but didn't dare reply; McGonagall sighed and said firmly, "Professor Lupin's reasons for resigning are between the school and himself, and I will hear no more discussion about it in this classroom. Now, please turn your books to page two-twelve…"

As the students grudgingly opened their textbooks to the proper chapter, there came the sound of the door opening again; Harry glanced over his shoulder and sat up straight in surprise as Ron walked in, looking a bit tired but otherwise no worse for wear. He muttered an apology and handed McGonagall a note, before taking a seat as far away from Harry and the others as possible, not once looking to his friends.

"Thank you. Now, Miss Granger, if you could please read the first three paragraphs aloud for the class?"

The witch nodded distractedly, her eyes flicking back to her redheaded boyfriend, who was still resolutely avoiding their eyes. "Chapter Four: Animagi and Metamorphagi. Two types of advanced wizarding magic you may encounter in defensive situations are animagancy and metamorphagizing. An animagus is a wizard who has mastered animagancy, a branch of self-transfiguration which allows him to take the full appearance of a mundane animal species; a metamorphagus, on the other hand, is a witch or wizard born with the power to change certain aspects of his or her human appearance…"

"Stop staring at him," a voice hissed, so softly he nearly missed it; he glanced over to see Ginny concentrating very hard on writing down notes, but there was no doubt it was she who had spoken. Harry swallowed and began to write down McGonagall's lesson as well; Ginny was right, staring would only draw attention.

"…Because of magi-genetic principals, animagi are only able to take a single animal form. Moreover, specific peoples, including metamorphagi, werewolves and vampires, and wizards whose natural patroni are of magical rather than mundane creatures are not capable of becoming anamagi," Hermione concluded, looking up from the book.

"Very good, Miss Granger, thank you. Now, who can tell me one distinctive trait of an animagus in their animal form? Yes, Miss Lovegood."

"Animagi always have some mark in their animal form which reflects their human form," the Ravenclaw replied serenely, lowering her hand.

"Precisely; five points to Ravenclaw. Every animagi has a specific characteristic which is distinctive of their ordinary human form. For instance, I myself have a fur pattern reminiscent of spectacles," the professor continued, her glasses flashing in the light as she adjusted them. "Yes, Mr. MacMillan?"

"What about werewolves and vampires, Professor?" the Ravenclaw asked. Harry saw Ron's hand go still. "Do they have distinctive markings, as well?"

"Yes; being a form of forced animagancy, lycanthropy and vampirism share the same rules as the ordinary willed practice."

"Really? So what's yours?" Ernie said curiously, turning to Lavender; the witch turned bright pink and seemed to be doing her utmost to sink into the floor.

"Mr. MacMillan," McGonagall said sharply; the wizard looked back to the front of the room, surprised, and the headmistress continued: "It is considered very rude to ask an animagus their Mark; it's not something to be requested unless they themselves volunteer it."

"Oh. Sorry, I didn't know," Ernie told Lavender sincerely. The Gryffindor continued to blush and didn't reply.

The rest of the class continued on without much further disruption; McGonagall called several students up to the front to demonstrate how useful animagancy could be in a dueling situation, but as the rest of the class marveled at the fluid nature by which she could switch back and forth between tabby and teacher, Harry couldn't help but think of how this was one more goal Ron had that could be destroyed by the upcoming full moon. He wanted, needed, to talk to his best mate– but Ron, unfortunately, was having none of it. The redhead had overnight become more studious than Harry had ever seen him, and even when the clock struck ten and the class was released, his plans to corner Ron and force him to talk were thwarted when McGonagall called out, "Mr. Weasley, a word with you before you go, if you please?"

Ron hurried up to the desk without a backwards glance to his friends; McGonagall caught them trying to loiter and gave them all a pointed look. "Potter, Granger, Miss Weasley; don't you all have somewhere to be?" and, guiltily, they were forced to leave.

Back in the classroom, Minerva McGonagall waved her wand at the door and cast a quick muffling charm, before turning to the young man at her desk. Ron was staring down at his wand, fiddling with the ash stave uncertainly. "Mr. Weasley," the headmistress said quietly, and the redhead looked up. "As your animagancy tutor and your current careers counselor, I think it may be prudent for us to have a quick discussion."

"You don't need to tell me, Professor; I already know the Ministry rules," Ronald said dully. "No werewolves allowed in the Corps."

"You must remember we don't know anything for certain yet. Your brother was fortunate–"

"Yeah, and Lavender wasn't. So the way I see it, I've got a fifty-fifty shot of my whole life going to shit," he retorted coldly, blue eyes blazing, but the headmistress knew that fear lay beneath the anger. She inclined her head.

"And I don't deny that. For that reason I think it may be wise for you to begin considering alternative career paths… nevertheless, we shall cross that bridge if we come to it. And whatever happens," she added sincerely, "I assure you that you will have the school's full support."

Ronald looked back for a long moment, surprised; then, his expression relaxed just slightly. "Thanks, Professor."

"There's nothing to thank, Mr. Weasley. Do have a good day."

"Yeah… you too." The redhead shouldered his bag and headed for the door, and then stopped. "…They're probably waiting for me out there, aren't they?" he said tiredly, turning back to her.

McGonagall nodded. "Probably."

"Professor… I really don't want to…"

She held up a hand. "Say no more. All the office fireplaces are connected; feel free to jump from that one into mine."

"Er– right, thanks."

He turned and hurried up the stairs. A moment before he could disappear into the office, McGonagall called, "Mr. Weasley?" Ron turned, and the professor said simply, "Your friends do care very deeply for you. Even if worst comes to worst, I doubt anything in the world could change that."

"…I know," the young man replied, and she suddenly realized how very old he looked. If it hadn't been for the slight sensory enhancements that came with being an animagus, she wouldn't have heard the whisper that followed:

"That's what I'm worried about."

And before she could say another word, Ronald had vanished into the office.

Monday evening found Remus packing up his classroom alone, heavy of heart and filled with regret. He ought to have known better, the werewolf chastised himself. He ought never have gotten his hopes up, but just as before, he'd let his dreams get in the way of others' wellbeing. And this time, a student, one of his favorites no less, had paid the price for it.

Poor Ronald Weasley… Remus empathized with him in a certain way, just as he had often empathized with Peter Pettigrew. Surrounded by brilliant, famous, beloved friends; it was hard to come into one's own in that sort of an environment. And now… Remus grimaced. Now, it was just as likely as not that his selfishness had ruined the boy's future. There would be no auror robes for a werewolf; the Ministry had laws against hiring lycanthropes. Remus hadn't even gotten the chance to speak with him; Madame Pomfrey had put him under for the replacement of his new eyes and by the time he'd woken up, Ron had been released from the infirmary, and he hadn't come to see him since. The werewolf was almost glad for that; he hadn't the faintest idea of what he would have said to the young man if he'd had the chance.

His thoughts and hands stilled as the sound of footsteps came up the stone staircase behind him, and he breathed in through his nose. The familiar scent of broom lacquer and slightly spicy shampoo filled the air, and the ex-professor immediately closed his eyes in anticipated pain. He'd hoped to avoid this…

"So you're leaving again?" a voice accused.

Remus winced, and then drew on his courage and turned. Harry looked back at him, arms crossed, and the ex-professor sighed. "…Harry. I wasn't expecting to see you here. How's Ron?" he said quietly.

"Dunno. Haven't seen him since classes let out; we think he's hiding from us." It was clear from his stony green glare and cool tone that the younger wizard wasn't just talking about his redheaded friend. "You're leaving again?" he repeated. "Now? In the middle of term?"

"It's for the best," Remus murmured, though his eyes stung as he looked around the room. "Professor McGonagall will find another instructor–"

"Not like you! You're the only decent teacher any of us have had in years!" Harry gestured angrily to the empty desks. "Have you got any idea what it was like, sitting here with Umbridge prattling on about– about theory and all that rot, while out there Voldemort was picking people off, biding his time?! Or how bloody hard it was to learn anything with Professor Snape breathing down my neck?!"

"Harry–"

"And who's McGonagall gonna find at this time in the year, huh? Everyone still thinks the job is bloody cursed! Your leaving isn't going to help anything!"

"Harry – Harry, how could I do otherwise?" Remus said hoarsely, nearly pleading. "I've once again put everyone in this castle in danger, all for my selfishness… and this time, people got hurt, people I care about." He shook his head, full of self-loathing. "And what if I hadn't been fast enough, Harry? How could I have lived myself if Greyback had killed you before I got there? James's boy, my own brother's son? No… no, I have to go…" He turned back to packing his papers into his briefcase, unable to meet the young man's eyes a moment longer.

"…Please," Harry's voice sounded behind him, and Remus was stung by how very old it was now, compared to the last time the boy – no, the man, now– had begged him to stay. "Please, Remus, don't go. You're… you're all I have left of them."

The professor lost his breath for a moment; the words had hit him right where it hurt. He knew, he knew he was failing James's son all over again, but what else could he do? Steeling his will, he sighed and turned around, shaking his head. "Believe me, Harry, I wish it could be different… I promise, I'll keep in touch…"

But Harry's face had already gone hard, green eyes blazing with that same fire Remus had seen so often in Lily's, all those years ago. "Don't bother," he said harshly, stepping back. "After all, I made it through thirteen years without you, didn't I? I'm sure I'll find a way to manage without you now– Professor."

And with that, James's boy turned on his heels and stalked out of the room, leaving a crushed Remus Lupin to stare after him in his wake.

"Colligo."

The book flapped its pages lazily but remained stubbornly put. Tonks scowled and brandished her wand more fiercely. "Colligo! Blast you, you stupid thing– colligo! Pack! Get– in– the– effing–"

"I thought we were all ready?"

She turned, surprised, and then sighed ruefully as she saw her husband standing in the doorway. "We nearly are. All that's left is this stupid book; every time I touch the blasted thing it zaps me, and it just won't– pack!" A bluish blast of energy from her wand threw itself at the leather-bound tome, only for the book to jump and flop back down on the hardwood.

Remus chuckled and walked forward, picking it up; Tonks gaped at him. "How did you do that? What is that thing, anyway?"

"My old journal. I had to enchant it so that the others couldn't get into it."

"Ooh, little Moony had a diary?" Dora teased, trying to grab it out of his hands; Remus laughed and held it above her head. "Aw c'mon, Remus, let me read it!"

"You sound like Sirius. He used to tease me mercilessly. I didn't even realize I still had this old thing…

He looked down at the journal fondly, and Dora pouted. "Don't you trust me?"

"Oh, of course. I just doubt you'd find it interesting– unless, of course, you enjoy the ramblings of a teenage werewolf mooning over his best mate's girl."

"I can picture it now. Oh how I love you, Lily Evans; each day with you is like Heaven–"

"It was a good rhyme," Remus said, slightly hurt. Dora laughed and pinched his cheeks.

"I'm just teasing, Love. I'll go get Teddy and shrink the crib." She patted his arm and disappeared into the other room. When she returned a few minutes later with a sleepy-eyed baby in her arms, she found her husband staring forlornly at the apartment from the doorway. "Well," she said quietly, joining him, "I suppose that's everything, then."

The two looked around together at the empty apartment. It looked bare and empty without Remus's books on the shelves and Dora's work robes thrown clumsily over the back of a chair. Dora let out a sad sigh and wrapped her arm around her husband's waist. "I'm so sorry, Love. I know how much you loved this job…"

"I should have known better," the werewolf said quietly, looking down at the sleeping baby in her arms. "Fenrir Greyback never forgets a grudge… especially not against a Lupin."

Dora nodded sadly, and, after taking one last look around the apartment, the pair left – one with the baby, the other with the trunk. Remus locked the door behind him and looked down at Teddy sadly. He had hoped this would be his son's home, that his boy would grow up running through these halls. Now he had no idea where 'home' even was.

They met McGonagall at the front gates, looking particularly solemn. Remus handed over his keys, and she sighed. "I had hoped that this would work out. Well, I suppose there's nothing for it; Remus, your arm."

The man acquiesced, and one suffocating wormhole-jump later, the trio found themselves standing in front of a church and small cottage on the edge of a small village.

"This way," McGonagall said, striding forward past the church. As they passed, Remus noted that the sign shimmered and changed, a third line adding to the first two:

Holy Redeemer Presbyterian Church

Services: Sunday 10:30 A.M.

(Wizarding Services: Sunday 9:00 A.M.)

The cottage turned out to be the clergy-house, windows blazing with light and walls surrounded by a slightly overgrown rose garden. McGonagall pressed her hand against the top of the gate, which glowed blue as it recognized her and swung open. Dora and Remus followed her up to the front door and waited as she knocked on the door.

A few seconds later Remus heard footsteps on the other side of the door, and then the lock was thrown and it opened. "Minnie!" a voice boomed, and a moment later the stiff-backed witch had been enveloped by a large redheaded man.

"Ach– Malcolm–"

The mammoth of a man laughed heartily and pulled away, turning to the pair. "Mr. and Mrs. Lupin. It's been too long."

"Reverend McGonagall," Remus greeted, extending his free hand; the man shook it, and then Dora's, before grinning down at the baby and ruffling Teddy's (for once) brown hair. "What a beautiful wee thing," he said fondly. "He'll grow up to be a strong one, just like his parents!" The stark opposite of his sister, Reverend Malcolm McGonagall was a jolly, good-tempered man who appeared the sort to be the life of every party. "Well come in, come in! Mary has the kettle on."

The inside of the clergy-house was warm and smelling faintly of baking pastries. Revd. McGonagall led them to a cozy sitting room, warmed by a merrily crackling fire. A moment later, a kindly graying woman came in holding a china tea set and a plate of freshly baked sugar biscuits. "Oh, Minerva," she said sadly, setting the platter down on the table and giving her sister-in-law a hug. "I heard from Malcolm– such awful news–"

"Yes, well," Minerva cut in, casting a glance towards Remus; Mary got the hint and quickly invited them all to sit down, hastening to pour them all cups of tea.

"Reverend and Mrs. McGonagall, I want to thank you again for extending such incredible generosity to us," Remus said as he accepted his cup and a biscuit; Dora was trying to bottle-feed Teddy, who had awoken and started fussing at the unfamiliar smells and sounds. "I promise, we'll be gone within a few days–"

"It's our pleasure," Mary said firmly. "You stay as long as you need to."

"We really don't want to intrude–" Dora began, but Revd. McGonagall cut her off.

"Nonsense; we're happy to help. Besides, I've been looking for a strapping young man to do some work around the church for a few days; Remus here looks just the sort." The werewolf had to hide his surprised snort by taking a quick gulp of hot tea; no one had called him a 'strapping young man' in quite a while. "What do you say to helping an old preacher out, eh, boy?"

"It would be my honor, Sir," the ex-professor replied, clearing his throat as he set his cup down (the hot tea had burnt his tongue). "I'm sure I'll be able to handle most of it– there aren't many jobs I haven't worked, so–"

The reverend waved him off. "Oh, I didn't doubt you for a moment, Mr. Lupin. You're honest people, the both of you; I wouldn't have married the two of you if I didn't believe that."

After that the conversation flowed much more smoothly. After a half-hour or so Professor McGonagall said she had to return to the school, and so the preacher and his wife bid their sister goodbye. Before she left, the headmistress turned to Remus and looked him straight in the eyes.

"If you ever need anything," she said firmly, "Just give me a floo-call."

"I know, Professor."

"I mean it," McGonagall said, tone nearly threatening. "If I found out you've been living in some– some druglock's den of an apartment again–"

"When did I ever live in a druglock's apartment?"

"–Or whatever the muggle equivalent is – it's one thing on your own, Remus, but you've a wife and child now–"

"Professor," he cut her off, mildly embarrassed but also very grateful, "I promise, I would contact you long before I ever put Dora and Teddy in danger. Besides, we've got Dora's income from the Ministry now; we'll get by."

The witch pursed her lips, and then sighed and shook her head almost fondly. "You stubborn, wonderful boy… stay safe, Remus."

"And you, Professor."

McGonagall gave him a nod, and then turned and swept out of the front door. Remus closed it behind her and then returned to the sitting room, where Dora was in deep discussion with Mary McGonagall about household spells. "I just can't seem to get the charm to work. Every time I try to light the stove it's like a miniature Vesuvius!"

"Well it's really all about focusing your intention, dear; you've got to think more flame than fire…"

Smiling slightly to himself, Remus asked Mary's permission to go see the guest room ("Oh, by all means, dearie! You needn't ask me!") and then slipped off down the darkened hallway.

The room at the end, he was surprised to find, was lit by a muggle electrical lamp on the bedside table. The room was relatively clean and empty, except for a small shelf hung on the wall on which sat a few old football trophies and a muggle photograph of a young man in his late twenties, dressed in British military uniform.

He heard the footsteps approach behind him and turned; Revd. McGonagall approached the doorway and nodded to the picture. "My boy, Andrew. That was taken a few years ago, before he was shipped out."

"Shipped out?"

"To Iraq. He's a squib, you see; followed his grandda's footsteps and joined the armed forces as a military chaplain. He's in Kuwait now… scares me half to death, but what can you do, eh?"

Remus nodded wordlessly, watching Dora bounce Teddy on her knee as she talked animatedly to Mary. He couldn't bear to imagine his son being in that much danger…

"Tell me honestly, Lupin; how's Minnie been doing?" Revd. McGonagall asked lowly, drawing him from his thoughts. "With all of this, I mean."

"I can't say," the man replied honestly. "She's…"

"Aye, I know. She's a tough bird, our Minnie; never seems to let anything crack her shell. But after what that bastard did to her husband…" Malcolm shook his head, face darkening. "I know the Good Lord says to love our enemies, but if Fenrir Greyback doesn't try my patience on that proverb more than anyone else I'll eat my boots."

The werewolf nodded again, lost in deep thought. For a moment the two men were silent, before Remus cleared his throat, turning to the preacher. "Professor McGonagall mentioned that you had a place where I could, ah…?"

"Ach, right, the full moon, I nearly forgot. Aye, there's an abandoned brewery not far from here that Urquart used to use. The building burnt down decades ago, but the cellar below is still in good shape."

"Any cellar that could hold Elphinstone Urquart can certainly hold me. Still, it'd be best if I checked it out before Wednesday evening…"

"You can go see it now, if you like. You can see it from the back of the cottage."

Although his stomach twisted with nervousness at the idea, Remus felt it would be rude to refuse considering the generosity he had been shown. He thanked Revd. McGonagall and went to offer the idea to Dora who, unfortunately, thought it a wonderful idea. "Besides, you always get claustrophobic on Wolf Days anyway, Love," she pointed, "Better now than later, eh?"

Remus "hmmed" noncommittally, and Marry added, "We can care for the little one for a few minutes while you look the place over."

"Thank you so much," Dora agreed, passing Teddy over; the baby gurgled and flashed his blue hair, clearly trusting this well-meaning near stranger. "Ah, he likes you!"

"Oh, what a beautiful boy," Mary cooed, bouncing him in her arms. "Aren't you a sweetheart, yes you are!"

Dora was still chuckling as they left the back door of the cottage. "Don't you just love how he reduces people to puddles?"

"Including you," Remus pointed out, trying to remain upbeat. Scouting out an unfamiliar enclosure always made him uncomfortable.

"And you!"

"Hmm… ah, there it is."

Dora squinted, peering across the moonlit moors. "I don't see it."

"It's just a few shadows… I can barely see it myself. Here, take my arm."

Dora did so, and Remus turned on the spot. A moment later they found themselves standing in front of the charred, skeletal remains of what appeared to have been a brewery. Dora whistled and instinctively drew her wand. "Creepy."

"Mm." Remus didn't elaborate, instead walking forward into the ruins, scanning the soot-blackened stones of the old floor. Cold wind whistled over the highland heath, cutting through his corduroy jacket like a knife.

"Remus," Dora's voice called to his left; he turned and saw her standing over what appeared to be a trapdoor. "I think this is it."

The werewolf approached carefully and knelt down, examining the door. It was clearly newer than the rest of the remains; the iron gleamed in the moonlight, and in any case Remus couldn't imagine why something so sturdy would be used to guard a cellar when wood would do just as well. The residual effects of strong enchantments made the hair on the back of his hand stand up straight as he reached for the handle.

Thankfully, the trapdoor wasn't locked; Remus pulled it open with ease and murmured a quick lumos, illuminating a stone staircase leading down into the darkness. "This way," he murmured quietly to Dora and made his way down the steps, shining his wand-light against the stone walls. About halfway down he found a light-switch, but nothing turned on when he flicked it, so he continued down to the bottom.

One look at the old whiskey cellar was all that Remus needed to know it was suitable; the room was long and lined from floor to arched ceiling with hard stone. Evidence of previous use was everywhere: a large dog's bed lay in the far corner along with several moth-eaten blankets, and tucked next to the staircase was an old, sturdy trunk; a quick look inside revealed candles, more blankets, and a rather extensive first-aid kit. Large claw scratches covered the floor, along with stomach-churning reddish stains that Remus knew well had once been pools of blood.

"Merlin's beard," he heard a voice breathe, and he looked over to see Dora kneeling beside one of the old scratches along the walls, her eyes wide. "Look at the size of these… he must have been huge."

"He was," Remus agreed, walking over; a sharp pang twisted his heart as he recalled the jovial, kindhearted man. "Even in his human form, I wouldn't have wanted to go a round with him."

"Did you ever see him? Transformed, I mean."

"Just once. Dumbledore sent us out on mission, shortly after the Wolfsbane potion was first developed… let's just say that particular assignment didn't end well. But if any Tame could have stood a chance against Greyback, it was Elphinstone Urquart."

They both fell quiet at that, lost in thought. At last, it was Dora who broke the silence. "…I promise you, Remus, we're going to catch him," she vowed. "We're going to catch that bastard, and when we do, I will make him pay, for what he did to you and to so many others."

"You mustn't talk like that," her husband sighed tiredly. "Vengeance, bitterness, it doesn't solve anything, Dora. It just perpetuates the cycle."

"Maybe. But I still want him to pay." She gripped his shoulder tightly, and Remus looked over, eyes shining in the cold light from his wand. "For what he did to that brave man, Remus, and what he did to that innocent little boy in Llanbedrog, I want him to pay– even if you don't."

Her hand dropped from his shoulder to just above his heart, where the old wound lay beneath his clothes, hidden but never fully healed. Remus fought back an insane desire to run and closed his eyes.

And if Dora felt his hand tremble when he gripped it tightly around her own, well, she didn't breathe a word.

Lavender Brown was not a happy werewolf.

To be fair, the day two before the full moon (which, she had learned from Sr. Anne, was commonly called Wolf Day by her kind) tended to set any lycanthrope a little on edge. She was hungry all the time, the castle seemed to have shrunk to half its normal size, and even the dweebiest boys seemed to have become almost magnetically attractive overnight, at least to her moon-addled brain. It was only after she caught herself staring dreamily after Justin Finch-Fletchy, of all people, that she managed to get a firm hold over her wildly shifting emotions, choosing instead to bury herself in her schoolwork as best she could to distract herself. On top of it all she had gotten at least three Howlers since Saturday evening, and, to her great dismay but not surprise, Professor Lupin had resigned in the wake of the horror his presence had brought upon the village. Something akin to loneliness had accompanied the teacher's leaving; though she understood his reasons, Lavender couldn't help but feel utterly abandoned, as if she were the only one of her kind left in the whole world.

These issues would have been reason enough for her less-than-content mood that Tuesday afternoon, but Lavender Brown's irritation had not been caused by absentee professors or mood-swings or even nasty letters; no, Lavender Brown's problem was of quite a different nature, and belonged to one particularly stubborn redhead.

It had all begun the night previous. She, Ginny and Parvati had been studying for a charms quiz (Lavender perpetually snacking on some strange muggle snack consisting of dried meat strips, which Hermione had called "bitlong") when the door suddenly burst open and none other than the frizzy-haired witch herself raged inside, face red and tear-streaked. Hermione threw herself down on her bed face-first and didn't speak.

Surprised, the three girls glanced around at each other. "Er– Hermione, are you alright?" Ginny questioned nervously.

The witch sat up, an expression of such wrath and desolation on her face that the others immediately scooted back on their beds, a bit intimidated. "That– that utter prat!" Hermione cried furiously.

"Ron?" Parvati said in surprise. Lavender and Ginny shared a wary look.

"Yes! He won't talk to me, he keeps avoiding me– Merlin, he won't even look at me!" She leapt to her feet and began to pace, still ranting. "I've tried everything! I even asked him about the bloody Chudley Cannons to get him talking, but he just brushed me off and disappeared again! And now Harry says he hasn't even come back to the dorm! That bloody idiot– what's wrong with him?!" she demanded, rounding on Ginny fiercely. The younger Weasley gaped unresponsively, and Hermione let out a noise of frustration, throwing her hands up into the air. If they hadn't known the extent of her distress before it became clear in that moment as rust-colored sparks began to swirl around her like a swarm of hornets.

"Hermione– Hermione, calm down," Lavender advised carefully, standing up and walking over to the witch.

"Oh, like you're to talk!" the brunette shrieked, the russet magic crackling ominously. "Who sat up crying over him for weeks after you broke up?! Who followed him around like a sick puppy for three bloody months?!"

"Hermione, that's uncalled for," Parvati reproved sharply. The witch looked ready to round on her, too, before perhaps the most worrisome thing of all happened: Hermione seemed to deflate from the inside out, crumpling in on herself as she buried her head in her hands, and began to cry.

"Oh, Hermione…" Quite forgetting the insults she'd just received, Lavender pulled the other witch into a hug as Hermione dissolved entirely, weeping into her shoulder.

"I-I'm s-sorry," she choked out between the sobs, "I j-just– I d-don't know what to do! I love him so m-m-much… I j-just want to help…"

Worried that the hysterical girl would reveal too much (granted, Parvati was the only one still in the dark, but Lavender thought Ron would still prefer it remain that way), the blonde gently patted her friend on the back, murmuring comforting words. Ginny and Parvati joined in, helping guide her over to the bed. When at last they'd managed to get some hot cocoa into the girl and Hermione was drying her eyes with a tissue, Lavender said, "I know this must be hard, Hermione. But I'm sure that– whatever the reason–" she gave the girl a very pointed look, and Hermione nodded tearfully to show she understood, "I'm sure Ron will come around."

Hermione looked doubtful of this, but, seemingly worn out from the force of her exasperation, she nodded tiredly and let out a shaky sigh. Seeing her friend, this paragon of self-assurance, crumble before her eyes, Lavender made herself a promise: Ron would come around– even if she had to knock the sense back into the boy herself.

And that was what had Lavender Brown, in all of her mixed pre-moon werewolf and teenage girl irritation, stalking emphatically down the staircase towards the kitchens.

It was no secret to her that her short romance with Ronald Weasley had not included a lot of, er, stimulating conversation. Upon reflecting honestly on the relationship, Lavender could admit that it had been doomed from the start; if there was one thing she knew from her parents, it was that true love was built on friendship, not on incessant snogging. But in their rare moments of genuine personal connection, Lavender had learned a few interesting tidbits about Ron. He hated corned beef. He'd always wanted to learn how to drive a muggle car. And, most importantly, whenever he needed a break from his friends or the rest of the school, he liked to pop down to the warmest, most comforting place in all of Hogwarts, the place he felt the most at home: the school kitchens. Even after the end of their relationship, Lavender had kept this information to herself, honored even after it all that he had deemed her trustworthy enough to share something so personal with her.

And now, she was determined to put it to good use. Coming to a stop in front of the portrait of the bowl of fruit, she shouldered her schoolbag purposefully. Lavender Brown wasn't good at everything, but if there was one thing she excelled at, it was getting people to do what she wanted.

A gust of warm, savory-smelling air greeted her as she stepped through the portrait hole. The kitchen was, as usual, filled with busy house-elves hard at work, calling out cheerfully to one another and laughing in their high, squeaky voices. Lavender smiled; she had always respected Hogwarts for treating its house-elves well, and it was clear that the policy had not changed following the war.* "Hello, Miss Brown!" one of them piped as she hurried over. "What cans we do for you, Miss?"

"Oh, I'm alright; thank you. I'm actually looking for someone…" She glanced over to the far table which corresponded with the Gryffindor house table on the floors above and saw a redheaded figure hunched over, hard at work on an essay. The house-elf followed her gaze and nodded sagely.

"The young Mr. Weasley is not well, Miss. He is very sad, does not talk, does not eat! Perhaps Miss Brown can help?"

"I hope so. Thank you, er…?"

"Piper, Miss."

"Thank you, Piper. Have a good day."

"And you, Miss."

As the house-elf went back to her work, Lavender walked over to the table. Ron didn't notice her until she put her hands on her hips and demanded outright: "Why are you avoiding Hermione?"

The redhead jumped and looked over. After a moment he relaxed. "Oh. Lavender, it's you."

"Why are you avoiding Hermione?" she asked again, raising an eyebrow.

"Not exactly your business, is it?" he shot back coolly.

"It is when your girlfriend breaks down crying in my dorm room." Ron's face turned guilty, and he looked away.

"…I wasn't trying to make her cry…"

"Well, you did," Lavender snipped. Ron sighed.

"Look, Lavender–"

"No, shut up," she said fiercely, crossing her arms; the boy blinked in surprise. "Have you got any idea how stupid you're being? Do you really think avoiding your friends is going to make things any better?"

"Look, I'm not avoiding them for laughs," Ron argued back, standing up and folding his arms as well. "It's been hard on me, too."

"Then why?! Why are you being such an idiot?! I know you, Ronald Weasley; you can be thick as a brick wall sometimes, but you're not stupid." When he didn't answer, she softened slightly. "I know how hard this must be. But shutting people out isn't going to help… you can take it from me."

Ron glared at her for another long moment, and then, like a dam giving way, he sighed and slumped back onto the bench. "…Lav, what else am I supposed to do?" he asked heavily. "Hermione is… she's something special, you know? She's got dreams; she wants to be Minister of Magic, to change the world! And she could do it, too." He shook his head with a pained expression and closed his eyes. "I can't get in the way of that. And you and I both know that if I am… well, if I am like you, that I'd just be holding her back."

"Maybe she doesn't care," Lavender asserted fiercely.

"I know she doesn't care. And that's the whole problem. She doesn't understand how far back that fear goes, how hard it is for people to see past…"

"Past all of this," the girl finished for him, and he looked up, blue eyes meeting gold, freckles facing scars, and nodded. "Ron… I'm not saying you're wrong. And I'm not saying that if tomorrow doesn't go as you hope, then things aren't going to become very difficult for you… the way they have for me." He glanced away again, so she sat down, reached across the table and took both of his hands in hers, forcing him to meet her gaze. "All I'm saying," Lavender told him sincerely, "is that if I had a chance to have with someone what you've got with Hermione, I wouldn't take it for granted."

Ron stared at her for a long moment, and then sighed again and nodded. "You're right. I know you're right. But…"

Lavender squeezed his hands and let go. "Just talk to her. Give it a chance. You at least owe her that much."

"Yeah. Yeah, I know…"

She saw the guilt in his face, and smiled slightly. "…You really do love her, don't you?"

"I really do," said Ron honestly. "I'd do anything for her."

The blonde smiled a little more and stood. "You're a good man, Ron Weasley," she said, with a hint of pride. "I hope it all works out." She headed for the door.

"Lavender," the redhead called suddenly, and she glanced back. Ron hesitated a moment, and then said, "I hope you find them. That person for you, I mean. You deserve it."

He watched as Lavender's smile turned a bit sad, and she inclined her head. "Thank you, Ron," she replied, before leaving the kitchens without another word.

The moon gleamed swollen and bright down through the windows of the guest room, and Remus rolled over in the bed with a sigh. It was impossible to get comfortable; the sheer amount of energy buzzing through his nerves kept him wide awake, a fact which he knew he would regret come morning. Dora was sleeping peacefully beside him, a lock of brown hair fluttering every time she breathed out, and, although her scent and warmth were more comforting to him than any blanket or cup of tea ever could be, being so close to her on Wolf Night was not helping his restlessness in the slightest.

He was just about to give up and go find a book to read when a sudden snuffling caught his attention, and he froze, looking to the blanket-filled basket next to the bed which was serving for Teddy's makeshift crib. The noise came again, and then– Remus let out a sigh and looked skywards, like Job demanding an answer– an angry squalling broke the air.

Dora immediately shot up in bed, looking around wildly, and then let out a low groan as she collapsed into the cushions. "Bloody basilisks. And I thought we'd just gotten him sleeping through the night…"

"It's because it's Wolf Night," Remus said wearily, sitting up. "I can't relax either."

"Oh love, let me take him, you need your rest–"

"I'm not sleeping anyway; I may as well. Go back to bed, Dora."

She gave him a dubious look, but apparently the prospect of sweet sleep was enough to convince her, because she curled back under the covers again and watch through half-closed eyes as he picked their son up from the basket and held him close. Teddy's angry wailing muffled to pitiful whimpers, and the werewolf deemed it safe to carry his cub out into the rest of the house. He kissed Dora on the head, left the bedroom and shut the door behind him, bouncing Teddy in his arms all the while.

There was a large, old rocking chair in the sitting room beside a wide window, bathed in the pale moonlight; Remus sat down there, rocking softly back and forth as Teddy sniffled and buried his face in his father's shirt. "I know," Remus murmured soothingly, "I know, it's not fun. I'm sorry, Teddy; I wish I could make this go away for you…" He thought back to all the times his mother had held him as a young boy, rocking back and forth, singing softly to him as he cried into her shoulder. Teddy let out another whimper, and Remus, rubbing his back and smoothing the baby's now-grey fine hair, instinctively began to murmur the old song, changing it to fit as he went along. "Huna blentyn yn fy frest, clyd a chynnes ydyw hon… Breichiau tad sy'n dyn am danat, cariad tad sy dan fy mron… Ni cha dim amharu'th gyntun ni wna undyn â thi gam. Huna'n dawel, anwyl blentyn; huna'n fwyn ar calon dy tad…"

Teddy let out little sigh as the last note rumbled inside his father's chest, and then closed his eyes and drifted off. Remus smiled down at him, a bittersweet feeling in his heart.

"I've never heard that one before."

He looked up, surprised, and saw Dora looking back at him. "Oh. Dora, I didn't know you were there…"

"I could tell." She smiled slightly and repeated, "I've never heard that one before. Why don't you ever sing it?"

Remus shrugged, a bit self-conscious. "It was my mam's."

Dora's mouth opened into a little "oh," and Remus looked away, embarrassed and ashamed. He had only spoken once to Dora about his mother's death, and once had been enough; after hearing the whole story she seemed to have understood that it was not something he enjoyed thinking about.

"Well… I think it's lovely," Dora said softly, and Remus looked over in surprise. "And I think your mum would think so, too."

Despite himself, Remus managed a small smile, before it faded as he looked down at the sleeping baby in his arms. Dora frowned, seeing the dark cloud come over him, and walked over. "Give 'im here," she ordered firmly.

Remus was confused for a moment but did as told, until his wife, baby in arms, sat down on his lap and curled up in the rocking chair with him, shrinking her height a little to fit. Her husband raised an eyebrow. "There is no way that is comfortable," he deadpanned.

"Hush. You're warm and I want my baby." Remus chuckled slightly in defeat and wrapped his arms around his clumsy wife, who would indubitably tip too far forward and fall out of the chair, baby in tow. For a while they sat there together, just enjoying each other's company, before Dora let out a little sigh through her nose and looked up at him. "You wanna talk about it?" she asked quietly.

Remus shrugged. For a few moments he didn't answer, and when he did his voice was very quiet. "I'm so sorry, Dora. I know how much you wanted to be able to be at home, to raise Teddy…"

"Remus, this was not your fault," his wife insisted, sitting up a little straighter on his lap so that she could look him in the eyes; Remus was decisively avoiding her gaze. "You know that; you can't blame yourself."

"Can't I?" he said bitterly. "What kind of a father am I, Dora, what kind of a husband? I can't provide for you, I can't even put a roof over my family's head…"

"You are a great father and a wonderful husband," Dora said firmly. "This is just a bump in the road, Remus; you can't let it make you doubt yourself."

He sighed and nodded, kissing her hair, but Dora could see that he was still being consumed by self-loathing. So, instead of trying to argue it, she curled up against his chest, holding Teddy close to her own, and closed her eyes. "I trust you, Remus," she murmured, but she knew he could hear her because his arms tightened around her ever so slightly. "You've always protected us and kept us safe. I trusted you back during the war and I trust you now. And that's why I'm not scared, because I know that we can figure this out– together."

Remus didn't reply, but she felt him relax beneath her, and Dora smiled before letting herself fade away into sleep once more. But Remus sat awake for a long while after that, thinking late into the night, until in the wee small hours of the morning he, too, drifted off, his small family guarded carefully in his arms.

The halls of Hogwarts were empty and silent, save for the footsteps echoing in the corridors. It was very late at night; the torchlight flickering over the stone and casting his triad of shadows along the wall was the only source of light, and the world beyond any window he encountered was pitch-black. Draco walked through them without any hurry; if he had a destination in mind he couldn't remember it, and every corner he took seemed to lead him into another identical hallway. How many turns he had already taken he couldn't remember; where he was, he didn't think to discern. He rounded another corner absently, thinking of nothing…

Then, quite suddenly, his feet came to a halt as a strange noise met his ears. Draco stopped short and listened, his heart in his throat. Silence. Silence, and then–

There! The noise came again, and he knew it without a question: a pathetic, pitiful, gasping squall, the sound of some tiny creature desperately struggling for breath. The baby's cry came again, fainter this time, and yet closer; it seemed to be just around the end of the corridor.

Without hesitation he took off running, but when he reached the end of the hall the noise now seemed to be coming from the corner of the new passageway on his right. His breath panted heavy, his heart thundered; the baby's cries were growing weaker, but no matter how far or how fast he ran they seemed always just ahead, always just around the next corner–

He skidded to a halt as he reached a four-way crossing, identical stone halls on either side, the feeble wails echoing from every direction. Draco spun in a circle, desperate, nearly in tears–

Draco froze as his blood turned to ice. A trail of water led down the hall directly in front of him, fading off into the darkness. He stared at it, the torchlight shining on the water.

It was then that he noticed that the squalling had stopped.

"No," he gasped, and bolted off down the darkened hallway. A light was shining at the end, growing brighter and brighter still, cold and white–

He burst into the light and came to a skittering halt. The main hall of Malfoy Manor was ablaze with white-grey light from the lamps, gleaming off the marble in a cold, dead chill. The water led in a trail to a puddle in the middle of the hall, and there in the center, the hem of her suggestive black robes soaked with the water, stood his aunt with a fishbowl in hand.

Bellatrix smiled. "Hello, Draco."

Draco gaped. A small fish – coral scales, pale pink fins, almost translucent and silky– swam to and fro in the water. Draco's breath caught, and she looked down. "Pretty creature, isn't it? Hello, fishy, fishy!" She sloshed the water around so that some of it spilled out of the bowl and fell, glittering, to the floor.

"Aunt Bella–" Draco pleaded, but she ignored him.

"Yes, it's a pretty thing, isn't it? Life." She eyed the bowl, and then smiled cruelly and lifted it high above her head. "But so very fragile."

"No," he gasped, stretching out a hand, "Aunt Bella– please–"

The mad witch let out a screeching cackle, throwing her head back, black curls bouncing. The bowl slipped.

"NO!"

CRASH!

Draco shot straight up in bed, gasping for air. For a moment he was totally disoriented, uncertain where he was , but then he caught sight of the green curtains and duvet, and he realized that he had been dreaming. For several seconds he sat there, just breathing… and then the shudders came, the silent repressed sobs that shook his whole frame. He grabbed his pillow and bit hard into the corner to choke down the screams rising like nausea in his throat, rocking back and forth, back and forth, back and forth…

…In time the grief wore itself out even if the self-disgust did not, and the man was left there alone in the darkness, with nothing but his exhaustion and the heavy weight on his chest that would not lift. Draco wiped his eyes furiously and pushed the covers away. He couldn't stay here. He had to get out, to move, to run away from the memories he couldn't forget. There was, he reflected savagely as he got out of bed, threw on his green dressing-robe and slippers and left the dormitory, a certain irony in his reversal of fortune: as a child he had never feared the dark, but now that he'd filled it with his own demons, the night and the silence was more terrifying than he would ever dare to admit.

He slipped out of the common room and into the dungeon hallways, climbing up the twisting staircase to the floors above. The moon shone clear and white through the windows, and he passed no one as he walked aimlessly. It was as if the whole castle, and indeed the whole world, had been utterly abandoned.

As he walked, he did his best not to think, but it was useless. His thoughts ran in a vicious circle, from the faces of the victims he'd helped burn behind the manor to the conversation he'd had with Lupin, the only person who had still believed in him. Draco wasn't even sure he believed in himself, and now that the professor was gone his doubts were sweeping back in. Pathetic, he chastised himself coldly, pathetic, that you need his affirmation to give you any sense of meaning… pathetic, that you'd even ask for it, when you know what you've done, who you are: a coward…

So lost in thought was he that he didn't even recognize the sound of footsteps until it was too late. He rounded the corner and just barely managed to stop short as a silhouette appeared in front of him. The other figure, however, did not, colliding headfirst into him and nearly knocking them both to the floor. Draco managed to steady himself, holding the girl- he could tell even in the dark that it was a girl- upright by the shoulders. "Watch where you're going!" he snapped in a whisper.

"I could say the same to you!" her voice hissed back.

Both paused, squinting in the darkness. "Brown?" Draco said, surprised.

"Malfoy?" He heard her murmur a low lumos, and found a pair of gold eyes framed by messy blond curls looking back at him. "What are you doing here?" she demanded.

He froze for a moment, panicking as he recalled his nightmare. He was sure she knew exactly what he was thinking, but managed to pull off an almost nonchalant, "I couldn't sleep. And yourself?"

The Gryffindor hesitated, and then said primly, "…I fancied a walk."

"At three in the morning?" She glared at him, and he turned to go, irritated. "Fine, it's none of my business. I'm sure the castle is big enough for the both of us, so if you'll excuse me-"

"Wait!" He blinked, startled, and glanced over his shoulder. Brown bit her lip, suddenly nervous. "Please, why don't we walk together? It's eerie out here at night; I- I don't like being alone."

"Go back to your common room, then," he said pitilessly, and made to leave again.

"I can't! I have to walk around. It's…" She hesitated, and then admitted, "Tomorrow's the full. The moon's making me restless and I feel like if I don't keep moving, I'll just scream!"

"Well don't do that; you'll wake half the castle and get us both in trouble," he said, annoyed. She gave him a pleading look, and he sighed. "Oh, Merlin… fine, I'll walk with you to the end of the charms corridor. Would that make you feel better?"

"Much," she agreed fervently. He snorted and rolled his eyes, but took the lead down the stone hallway. Sneaking a glance over at her, he was pleased to find that the ordinarily well-kept young lady looked remarkably unkempt; dressed in a pale pink nightgown and fluffy house slippers of the same shade, her usual proper appearance was upset by the fact that her blonde ringlets seemed to have gone haywire, twisting and falling into her face as if she'd been tossing and turning. She looked slightly too pale, as well, and the faintest hint of shadowy bruises had appeared under her eyes, as if she were beginning to fall ill.

As they walked, he added, "This is just a bit pathetic, you know. You dueled death eaters, learned healing under the Carrows' noses and turn into a giant wolf once a month, but you're afraid of the dark?"

"I'm not afraid of the dark!" she scoffed, affronted. "I just… don't like big, empty castles."

"Right. Then you wouldn't mind putting out that light?"

"Not really, no." She waved her wand, and the corridor was cast into shadows and darkness, split here and there by shafts of pearly moonlight through the windows. "I see better than you do in the dark, anyway."

"And how would you know that?"

"I see far better than I did before," she replied simply, as they turned the corner. "And mind that suit of armor."

He stopped short and realized he'd been about to run headlong into the metal figure. Scowling, he sidestepped and muttered, "Lucky coincidence."

"Oh, certainly."

"You didn't stop when you ran into me, did you?"

He heard her huff, and smirked a tad. They paced a few more steps in silence, and then he said idly, "Why didn't you ask your boyfriend to come with you, if you don't like walking alone?"

"My boyfriend?"

"Whichever one you're on right now."

She didn't reply; startled, he glanced over. Brown was staring at the ground. "What, haven't you got one?" he questioned, more out of genuine surprise than scorn.

"It's none of your business!" she hissed, stalking forward. He debated running after her, and in the end decided he'd made enough enemies recently and really couldn't afford to lose the one acquaintance he still had.

"Brown- oy, Brown, wait up!" She stopped, her hands curled tightly and lips pursed, and he hurried forward. "Look, I- I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

"No, you shouldn't have!" she snipped dramatically, and then her fire faded. "…I-I'm sorry, too… you were just asking a question…"

"Well, I could've been a bit more sensitive," he replied generously, and then noticed that there were tears in her eyes. "Merlin, Brown, you're really upset, aren't you?"

"Not at you," she sighed, pacing a few steps away to a window at the end of the corridor. The near-full moon was shining brightly over the grounds, and she leaned her elbows against the sill, looking up at it with a wistful expression. Hesitantly, Draco joined her.

"…It's awfully pretty, isn't it?" she mumbled. "I always thought so, anyway." She blinked; a few more tears fell down her cheeks, and she wiped at them with the sleeve of her nightdress, embarrassed. "I just- just can't believe how stupid I was."

Draco nodded but didn't reply. He knew full well how that felt.

"I thought I had to chase after boys to make them like me," she said, laughing a bit sadly. "I didn't realize how lucky I was, and now– well, look at me." She tilted her face towards him, scars pale in the too-bright moonlight, and smiled ruefully. "What boy wants to take a vicious monster to Hogsmead, right?" She turned back to the glass, smile falling, gold eyes fixed on the moon.

"…Well, for what it counts," Draco said hesitantly, "I've met my fair share of vicious monsters, and I don't think you're one of them."

She glanced over, surprised. "Really?"

"Really." He shuddered slightly. "Trust me, Brown, after getting on first-name terms with people like Greyback or my aunt… you're not scary in the slightest."

Her eyes were shining again, and he wondered if he'd said the wrong thing, mentioning the sadistic werewolf, but instead of bursting into tears, the girl said stuffily, "Th-thank you, Malfoy. That's so n-nice of you to say…"

"Don't start crying again," he ordered uncomfortably. "Don't."

"R-right. Sorry." She mopped at her eyes and smiled. He caught a brief glimpse of her too-long canines glinting in the moonlight, but decided that he didn't mind; really, she had quite a nice smile.

"Alright, where to next?" he said, with a mischievous smirk of his own. "We have the whole castle to see, after all."

"Oh, that's alright; you don't have to stay up with me if you don't want," she reassured him. "I'm not nearly so frightened anymore."

"Don't be silly; I came out here on my own, didn't I? What do you say we go up to the astronomy tower and have the house-elves bring us some hot chocolate?"

She giggled. "Actually, that sounds quite nice." He gestured down the hall, and they set off again, now speaking in much more cheerful tones. When at last they reached the open-aired astronomy tower, Draco called for one of the house elves, who took his order and returned a few minutes later with blankets and a steaming pot of hot chocolate.

"Won't they tell Professor McGonagall we're out of bed?" Brown mused, as the elf disappeared again with a crack!

"I don't think so. They never have on me, anyway."

"Oh." She took a sip of her hot cocoa and let out a sigh. "Delicious. The food here is always so good…"

"Well, it's their job. My house-elf taught me to cook," Draco mentioned, wrapping himself in a fluffy emerald blanket (Brown's was dark red).*

"Did he really?"

"Mm. When my parents were out of the house on business and I couldn't find anything else to do, I'd watch him make dinner. Sometimes I'd even have him let me help." He rolled his eyes. "Of course my parents thought it was beneath me, but I quite liked it."

"It's a bit like potions, isn't it?" she mused. "Cooking, that is."

"A bit, yes. I suppose those with a talent in one tend to have a talent in the other." He eyed her curiously. "You're rather adept at potions, aren't you?"

She shrugged. "I'm not awful."

"Come of it; I've seen you work. What'd you get in your O.W.L.?" When she flushed and didn't answer, he added, "Oh, go on!"

"…I scored an Outstanding," she admitted. "It's the one class I'm any good at, aside from Divination."

"Why do you do that?" he questioned, frowning.

"What?"

"Play dumb. I mean, I always knew you were a bit silly-"

"You're polite-"

"But you're not stupid." He looked at her pointedly, straight in her brilliant gold eyes. "I took potions with you for five years; you're quite as good as Granger and I, but you always underperformed. Obviously you were doing it intentionally; why?"

She shrugged her shoulders, looking away. "Boys don't like getting shown up. Why do you think Granger doesn't get asked out?"

"Didn't she go to the Yule Ball with Viktor Krum?"

Brown waved her hand impatiently. "Details. My point is, the quickest way to lose a date is by being a know-it-all, especially in a class like potions."

"A class like…?"

"Well, being a potions-brewer isn't a very attractive skill," she explained matter-of-factly. "Not like charms, because everyone thinks it's cute for a girl to be good at charms, but sweating over a cauldron with the fumes frizzing your hair– it's not exactly a nice image, is it?" She self-consciously tucked an unruly lock of blonde hair behind her ear.

Draco stared. "…You really considered all of that when it came to getting blokes to fancy you?"

"I'm not saying I'm proud of it," she admitted. "But yes, I did… I just wish I had realized sooner how silly it all was."

"Yes, well… better late than never, I suppose," he offered. She smiled and nodded, and he gestured to the kettle of cocoa. "We should drink that, before it goes cold."

"Good idea."

As he poured them each a mug, Draco decided it was time to move on to more pleasant conversation. "So, speaking of potions, any chance you'll be focusing in that for your thesis?"

"I wanted to," she sighed. "Trouble is, I can't make the potion I was intending on doing."

"Why not?"

"I'm allergic to half the ingredients," she replied ironically. "Aconite, powdered silver, moonstone…"

"You were going to make Wolfsbane," Draco inferred, surprised.

"I wanted to learn to brew it myself. Half the expense comes from it being so difficult to prepare, but seeing as I can't be anywhere near aconite without coming over in a dead faint…" She shrugged, taking a sip from her mug. "I wanted to see if it could be improved on, too, but you need real talent in alchemy to mess with potions, and I don't know the first thing about that."

"Pity; if you could pull that off, you'd have a place at St. Mungo's labs for sure–" He stopped suddenly. Somewhere inside his mind, a little snake of ambition raised its head and tasted the air. "Blimey, that's it."

"What's it?"

"I know alchemy and can handle the materials. You excel at potions. We could work together."

She eyed him curiously. "Don't you think your house-mates might disapprove?"

"My house-mates already hate me," he said, rolling his eyes. "They consider me the latest blood-traitor."

"You'd be helping a werewolf," she pointed out. "It'd be like confirmation for them."

"Let it be; I can't stand the lot of them anymore. Were we always that gloomy?"

"Quite." He grimaced, and she giggled. "But you're not so bad on your own."

He chuckled. "Neither are you."

"Well, thank you." She raised her mug. "To good luck, then."

"To good luck– and good talent." They clinked their mugs together and took a last warm draught, before Lavender set her mug down on the cold stone and stretched, yawning.

"You know, I think I could sleep now," she commented, a little surprised. "Maybe it was the hot cocoa?"

"Possibly. Shall we walk back?"

"That'd be nice." She waited as he called back the house-elf, who whisked away the empty mugs, kettle and blankets, before they started down the stairs into the warm castle below. When they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady (Brown had seemed surprised to find he knew exactly where the Gryffindor common room was located, to which he had replied that it wasn't exactly difficult to figure out), she smiled and said, "You know, you're not so awful when you leave off acting like royalty and all that."

"Neither are you, when you're not giggling like five-year-old." She, naturally, giggled, and he smirked. "Well… good evening, Brown."

"Goodnight."

He nodded and began to make his way down the hall. On impulse, he turned and glanced back. "Oy- Brown!"

She glanced over, surprised. "Hm?"

His heart was suddenly pounding, and though he didn't quite know why, he found himself saying, "This weekend. I was wondering- would you like to go to Hogsmead? As friends, that is," he added. "Of course, if you don't want to-"

"No, I- I'd like that," Brown said, turning a bit red.

"Right." He could tell he was blushing, as well, and cursed his pale features; why couldn't he have had the Black looks like his mother? "Well- er- good evening. Again."

She nodded, looking a tad breathless, and he turned on his heels, walking as quickly as he could manage back without running. His mind was whirling at impossible speeds. Had he really just asked Brown, of all people, to accompany him to Hogsmead? Brown, a Gryffindor, a giggling flirt, only now she wasn't, and a werewolf at that– oh, people were going to talk, his father was bound to hear about this…

He'd been so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he almost didn't realize he'd stopped in front of the wall hiding the passageway into the Slytherin common room. Murmuring the password ("Ambition,"), he slipped inside and walked anxiously up to his dormitory, where he nearly threw himself upon the bed, drawing his curtains closed with fervor. As before, he was entirely unable to fall back asleep, but now for an entirely different reason.

Brown. Merlin, why was his heart pounding like that? Brown, a girl he'd known since he was eleven but had rarely spoken to, an enemy by house and now by blood, someone he'd always considered a bit of a fool, or at least a simpering under-achiever. His father would be horrified, his mother dismayed… but surely, he had this all wrong, surely he, son of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black and heir of the Eternally Pure Malfoy Line, was not about to fancy a werewolf–

…But somehow, even that word, once a term of scorn and disgust, no longer seemed to imply anything more than the victim of an unfortunate disease. He knew, in his heart, that his whole understanding had been mistaken. Brown was not like the stereotype he knew; for Merlin's sake, Professor Lupin, family by marriage whether his parents liked it or not, was the very antithesis of everything the bloodthirsty Greyback had claimed to represent! And hadn't Draco himself, not half an hour prior, cheerfully resigned himself to the label of blood-traitor, laughing at his own former gloom and doom?

And now he was going to Hogsmead with her. Brown.

She was a werewolf. (And her eyes were stunning).

His father was sure to hear about this. (But maybe, just maybe, Lucius wouldn't find out?)

People were going to talk. (And that shouldn't have made him feel even the slightest bit giddy inside).

He groaned and rolled over. He was a Malfoy. He'd grown up under the banner of Sanctimonia Vincet Semper, believing with every bone in his body that Purity Would Always Conquer.

(But… perhaps he no longer cared?)

He considered that a moment, letting it sink in. No. He no longer cared. Not as much as he once had, in any case, and at the rate his old opinions were diminishing, it wouldn't be long before he'd lost any concern for his former pureblood ideals. And strangely enough, he was pleased with that. It gave him a certain sense of peace, and, banishing the last few anxieties and vestiges of guilt, he allowed himself to consider the idea that the upcoming weekend might be somewhat… enjoyable.

Brown. He was going to Hogsmead with Brown. They could go to the Three Broomsticks, or walk the village together, or perhaps visit Honeydukes…

As he drifted off to sleep, soothed by these pleasant thoughts, he had a vague sense of regret that he'd tacked the "as friends" to the end of the request, and wondered if at the end of the visit, she might just let him call her Lavender.

*Obviously I'm not okay with slavery. I'm trying to work inside a cultural context here, so apologies for that.

A/N: So originally this was supposed to be one chapter, but because the writing was going so slowly I ended up splitting it into two. Next chapter: the full moon!

See you soon! Pax et bonum!