Dav Ragfarn, having a Muggle grandparent, had a particular fondness for Muggle video recorders (especially his own, which was slightly infused with magic—enough to make it easier to use, but not enough to make it rogue and dysfunctional).

There was just something about conducting an interview and being able to look back at the subject's facial expressions… nervous tics… hesitation… and especially the eyebrows. Eyebrows, in Ragfarn's opinion, were the most telling feature on a person. Most people would use a Pensieve for something like this, yes, but Ragfarn always liked to return to his Muggle roots—and besides, he could pause a video playback. Ragfarn liked to pause and think.

Now, as Ragfarn was preparing to watch the video he'd taken of his recent interview with Remus, he had every intention of watching Remus' eyebrows intently. If anything would tell him the truth, it was surely that.

He cleared his throat and began the video.

Ragfarn walks up to the Lupin residence, and the floating video recorder behind him does a quick sweep of every aspect of the Lupin's home. It's small, one story, and brick. It looks extremely old. There's a snake-shaped knocker on the door, and Ragfarn uses it to knock.

Moments later, Hope Lupin opens the door.

Ragfarn paused the video. Watched her eyebrows. She was afraid—did she have something to hide? Or was she just worried about her son? Yet… why would she be worried if she had nothing to hide?

Well, Ragfarn was fully intending to take advantage of the Ministry's lax werewolf policies, use them to his benefit, and be as unfair as possible, so he could see why she was afraid.

He snorted and resumed.

"Hello, Hope," Ragfarn says with a pleasant smile. "It's lovely to see you again."

Hope does not seem to agree. Her eyebrows constrict—once, twice—and she says, "Mr. Ragfarn. Why are you here? Is it the Registry summons?"

"No, no. Something else. May I come in?"

Hope's eyebrows are still constricted. She slowly shakes her head, and then she says, "No, I rather think we should wait for Lyall to come back. He's off running some errands today."

"Ah. Is he doing a bit of shopping?"

"Yes. I'd go myself, but the petrol costs money and I can't Apparate. So if you'll very kindly come back this evening…."

"I'm afraid it can't wait. Unless, of course, you'd like me to testify against your son in court without getting a statement first."

Her eyebrows move even further in and down. "What?"

"A misunderstanding, I'm assuming. Perhaps it can all be cleared up in no time at all if you let me in."

"I think… I think I should owl Albus Dumbledore."

Ragfarn takes the opportunity to lie. "I've already spoken with him about this. Please let me in."

"I… I suppose, Mr. Ragfarn, although… yes, of course. Come in."

"We've known each other for nine years, Hope. You might as well call me Dav. Oh, and I hope you don't mind the camera. It's only for recording purposes."

Ragfarn paused the video again and stared at the Lupin household. It looked normal. Nothing amiss. No ultra-illegal Animagus potions. He clicked play.

Ragfarn looks around for Remus, but he doesn't see him. "I assume your son is at home," he says. "That's where he's supposed to be, isn't it? That's what Albus told me."

"Oh, yes… he's in his room." Hope's eyebrows are drawing nearer together in the center, a clear sign of agitation.

"Right, then," says Ragfarn. Instead of asking Hope to fetch Remus, or even calling Remus himself (he knows Remus can hear him), he walks directly down the hallway. The first and second rooms that he passes are empty, but the third one has a closed door.

"Wait," says Hope. "I'm sure he'd rather… I mean, if you want to talk to him, I'm sure he'd rather you do it in the sitting room, if you don't mind."

"I don't mind one bit," says Ragfarn, but he knocks on Remus' door anyway. "Ministry," he says. "Open up."

But he's only joking. He would never wait for Remus to open the door—instead, he opens it himself, and the camera pans to a very confused Remus Lupin, sitting on his bed in astonishment, eyebrows raised high above his eyes.

Ragfarn paused and stared.

He looked like a normal kid. He always did. Calm and quiet, reading a book, sleeves pushed up past his heavily-scarred forearms, slightly floppy brown hair, pale and thin. He just looked like an ill child.

But he was a monster, Ragfarn reminded himself, and then he let the playback resume once again.

Remus pushes his sleeves down, face turning red, and stands up. He looks like he'd just woken up from a short nap on the top of his book. He sets his book down on his bed gingerly—it's an Arithmancy textbook, Ragfarn notices.

"Mr. Ragfarn?" Remus stammers. "Er, afternoon, sir. Why are you—I mean, is there anything I can—?"

"Do us both a favor and stop talking," says Ragfarn. Remus is now standing next to his bookshelf, hugging his midriff and staring at his mother. Ragfarn rolls his eyes and sits on Remus' bed, directly next to the Arithmancy textbook. It makes a small creak as he does so.

"You like reading?" Ragfarn asks, gesturing to the book next to him.

Remus hesitates, then nods. "There's nothing else much to do, sir. But… I don't see how that has to do with… could we move to the sitting room, possibly?"

"No, thanks. You have a nice room. I like the carpet. You like the color green?"

"Yeah, it's nice."

"There's a wolf figurine on your bookshelf," says Ragfarn, pointing. The figurine in question is small and made of silver. It's a funny thing for a werewolf to have.

"Er, yes. My friend got that for me for my birthday in my first year. He thought it would be… funny."

"I see. Well, you have a nice room. You really do."

"Thank you, sir…?"

"And I keep noticing just how many books are in it. You have quite the assortment of books, Remus." Ragfarn stands up and walks over to Remus, who immediately flinches and backs up. "Oh, calm down," chuckles Ragfarn. "I'm not going to hurt you. I just want a closer look."

"I don't understand why you're here," says Remus in a low voice. His eyebrows are moving in a bit of a funny way, as if he can't decide whether to be surprised or angry. "What have I done wrong?"

Here, Ragfarn paused the playback once more and stared at Remus' face.

The boy was genuinely afraid.

Ragfarn had seen the look on his own son a couple of times, and his heart panged a bit in sympathy. But there was no room for sympathy, so Ragfarn resumed playback again instead of dwelling on it.

Ragfarn ignores Remus and trails his hand across the spines of the books on the shelf. "Latin grammar books," he says. "You know Latin?"

"A… a bit. For fun. I've forgotten most of it."

"Hm… Boggart books. That makes sense. Your father's instilled a love of Boggarts in you, I presume, that silly man. And… Hogwarts, a History. That's a classic. Sherlock Holmes… also a classic. Muggle books are wonderful, are they not? Well, some of them."

"Have you read Sherlock Holmes?" asks Remus, his eyebrows shooting up once again.

"Of course I have. My grandfather's a Muggle. I read a lot of Muggle books growing up." The statement has the effect that Ragfarn wanted: Remus visibly relaxes. They have something in common—a Muggle culture. Remus can trust him… or so he thinks.

"Yes, good variety of books," says Ragfarn. "But your bookshelf seems to be missing something."

Remus takes the bait. "Sir?" he asks.

"Yes… I'm quite surprised there are no books about Animagi, particularly stolen books from either an illegal bookshop or the Hogwarts Restricted Section." Then he chuckles. "Well, actually, I'm not all that surprised. I admit I found your missing books in your dormitory, as well as illegally procured Mandrake leaves. I wish I could return them, but I'd like to use them as evidence in court."

Ragfarn paused the playback again, and this time he stared intently at Remus' face as he let the video move forward slowly, frame by frame.

He caught surprise.

He caught confusion.

He caught contemplation.

He caught fear.

And then… he caught recognition.

Bingo.

Ragfarn resumed the video with a renewed vigor.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Ragfarn… I'm not sure what you're talking about."

"Yes, you do. You thought I would search your home, so you hid the books at school. But there's no denying that you're trying to become an illegal Animagus."

Remus licks his lips and looks at his mother, who's staring at him in shock and confusion. "I swear, Mr. Ragfarn, I'm definitely not. I couldn't become one if I tried."

"Oh?"

"Isn't… I mean, I'm not sure, but I think the first step is to hold a Mandrake leaf in one's mouth for a full month, full moon to full moon… and then there's an incantation that must be recited every morning—including full moons—at precisely sunrise and precisely sunset. I couldn't do that, sir. I seriously doubt wolves particularly like the taste of Mandrake leaves, and I know they don't know how to do magic."

Ragfarn almost laughs. "Remus, you do realize that was almost a confession. You were researching and considering Animagi, were you not? Otherwise, you wouldn't know that."

"I did a lot of research on Mandrakes recently, because I kept smelling them… in my dormitory… and I wanted to know what my friends were trying to do with them," says Remus.

"So your friends are trying to become illegal Animagi?"

Remus licks his lips again. "No, sir. They wouldn't do that. They're pretty stupid, but they're not that stupid. I imagine they just came across a crop of Mandrakes, thought they'd take it back to the dormitory to figure out what it was, and then researched the uses in case they could do something useful with it."

"Are you sure you weren't involved? Sounds like you know a lot about what they were doing."

"I wasn't involved. I just know my friends like the back of my hand. They're pretty predictable, honestly."

Ragfarn really does laugh at that. "You're funny, Remus, I'll give you that," he says.

Remus ignores him. "And even if I had been researching Animagi for my own benefit… it's not illegal unless I actually try something, is it?"

"Watch your cheek. With your condition, one could twist just about anything into a broken law."

Ragfarn had been watching Remus' eyebrows carefully during the whole exchange, and now he was pretty certain that Remus was lying about something… but he didn't know what. Remus certainly wasn't lying about everything, which was a surprise in and of itself.

It looked like the kid really wasn't doing anything illegal.

Ragfarn groaned. He still thought he'd be able to pin the Death Eater threat on Remus, of course, but now it would be harder, because he really didn't have any hard evidence. It was more likely that Remus' friends were the culprits, and Ragfarn didn't care about them.

No, he couldn't even take this evidence to the Ministry, because Orion Black would surely be terribly angry if Ragfarn even came close to accusing his son. Ragfarn's hands were tied.

Ragfarn groaned again, letting his face drop into his hands. He'd been so confident about the plan, but the more he thought about it, the more he knew it wouldn't work. Especially not when Remus was so innocent and respectful—no, if Ragfarn managed to get the Ministry to kill the kid, there might be a small outrage. He knew for a fact that some Ministry members were supportive of Remus—not many, but they existed. Stupid Wilma Harrington certainly was, and she was so outspoken about everything… and so annoyingly good at arguing her views.

He needed actual evidence. He'd told Dumbledore that it was easy to twist just about anything into a broken law, but it wasn't as easy as he'd thought it would be. Remus Lupin was, in fact, infuriatingly good. Everyone liked him, and no one was willing to convict him. Either he was excellent at hiding… or he really was just who everyone thought he was: an irresponsible addition to Hogwarts, yes, but overall a decent person and a good student.

He didn't know why he'd been so confident in the first place. Remus was innocent. Ragfarn didn't know how he knew, but he knew. He'd always known.

He let the playback resume, hoping to find something else.

"I'll consider letting you slide," says Ragfarn, twiddling the wolf figurine between his thumb and index finger. "I should ask you about the sixth of Februrary, though. Have you had any recent contact with Death Eaters? Are you planning on attacking anyone?"

Remus starts to respond, but Ragfarn cuts him off by walking closer—his face inches away from Remus'—and staring him down. "I know it's hard," he whispers. "I know it hurts, and I know it feels like there's no way out. I wouldn't blame you for grasping at the only possible option, Remus, and harming others for your benefit… but you do need to tell me now. If you tell me now, then we can work it out together. I won't even tell the Ministry. We can fix this."

Remus meets Ragfarn's eyes, a little bit angry now, and says, "I haven't done anything wrong, sir."

And Ragfarn can tell, based on his eyebrows alone, that he's telling the truth.

"Well, I think that's it, then," he says, stepping back. "Oh, and Remus? I figured I might as well give this to you personally. It's your Registry summons. I'll see you there."

"See you there, sir," says Remus quietly. Hope is still shaking in the corner.

"Thanks for cooperating," says Ragfarn with a smile, and then he leaves.

Ragfarn had been so sure about his plan, but now he wasn't sure what to do. How was one supposed to convict an innocent child of a major crime? And how was one supposed to do so when one felt so strangely guilty about it?

Overall, it was quite the dilemma.

Registry Day. Ragfarn arranged his things on his desk and smiled. He was planning on taking an extremely long lunch break, and he'd already personally requested to handle Lupin himself.

He met with a few werewolves a bit impatiently, taking their essential information like he had so many times before. Before he knew it, it was noon—Ragfarn practically jumped out of his chair, grabbed his money pouch and wand, and walked into the waiting room.

There were about ten werewolves there, and one of them was Remus.

Bingo!

"Remus!" said Ragfarn, walking up to him directly. "Good to see you again. How have you been?"

Remus had been reading that Arithmancy textbook again, and now he nearly dropped it. "Er," he said.

"Very eloquent," chuckled Ragfarn. "I'm on my lunch break. Would you like to take a walk with me?"

Remus didn't respond; he merely looked at Ragfarn, stunned. Then his head whirled around to stare at his parents, who looked surprised and horrified in equal measures.

"Why?" asked Lyall Lupin.

"Oh, I just want to have a chat. Alone."

"You mean we're not allowed to come?" asked Hope.

"I'd prefer you didn't. It would be more fun if it were just me and Remus, right, Remus?"

Remus still wasn't responding. Finally, he said, "That's horribly suspicious, sir."

Ragfarn laughed. "Yes, yes. I know. But we've known each other for years—almost two-thirds of your life. You trust me, don't you?"

"Er… frankly, sir… no, not really."

"Fair," said Ragfarn, still laughing. "But you have my word that I won't let any harm come to you, Remus. I swear on my life."

"But…"

"I still don't think it's a good idea," interrupted Lyall—his face was red, his hands curled into balls at his side, and his eyebrows were very angry indeed.

"Well," said Ragfarn, "that's not your decision to make. I rather think Remus is old enough to make his own decisions. And if Remus wants to avoid Veritaserum during his questioning this afternoon, maybe he'll want to comply."

"That's horrible of you," said Lyall.

"Making an offer is horrible of me? Is it really? Would you rather I didn't make it at all?"

Finally, Remus responded just as Ragfarn knew he would. "I'll go," he said, face white and eyebrows constricted. "I'll go… sorry, Dad, but…"

Lyall gritted his teeth. "You swear you won't hurt him, Ragfarn?"

"I swear, Lupin."

"You'll return him in time for his appointment?"

"Seeing as he's my responsibility today, yes. I will."

"And you won't try to trap him into confessing to something he didn't do?"

"No tricks," Ragfarn promised. "I just want some company on my lunch break, that's all."

Lyall stared at Ragfarn suspiciously for a while before granting him a tight nod, and then Ragfarn grinned and whisked Remus to the telephone box that led out of Ministry headquarters.

"Where are we going?" asked Remus.

"Valid question." Ragfarn stopped for a moment at the crosswalk, waiting for a gap in the traffic. "We're going to a wizarding pub near here. It's the common place for Ministry workers. Lots of privacy, spaced out. Good place to talk without being overheard."

"Why are we going there?"

"Very inquisitive, aren't you?" Ragfarn pulled Remus across the crosswalk, and Remus yelped slightly. "I'm on lunch break, and I want lunch."

Remus did not ask any more questions until they arrived at the pub, which was just fine with Ragfarn.

Once they'd arrived, Ragfarn pushed Remus into a booth and ordered a Firewhisky and a large sandwich. "That's for me," he explained to the bartender. "And, for the kid… ah, Remus, what do you want?"

"I don't have any money," said Remus.

"It's all right. I'll pay."

Remus pursed his lips, evidently unable to respond to such unexpected kindness. "I don't want anything, but… thank you?"

"He'll have a Butterbeer," Ragfarn decided.

The bartender complied, and then Ragfarn sat down at the table with Remus, sliding the Butterbeer over to him. Remus didn't drink it. "Now, Remus," Ragfarn said, "I think we need to have a little chat."

"I didn't do anything wrong, sir. I swear I didn't."

Ragfarn took a sip of Firewhisky. "Sure."

Remus started tapping his fingers on his leg nervously. "Then… what did you want to talk about?"

"A fair question." Ragfarn took another sip, and then he put his drink down and wiped his mouth with a napkin. "Honestly, I didn't have much of a topic to begin with. I just wanted to chat. We haven't ever talked in a casual setting, have we?"

"We have if you count the interrogation at my house the other day, sir."

"I don't. That was an interrogation, not a pleasant chat over drinks. You know, Remus, I'm surprised Albus let you come to the Registry on your own this year. I expected him to go with your family. After all, he knew we'd be watching you closely, thanks to the threat."

"He's a very busy man. He did come over yesterday to make sure we were doing all right, though."

"Ah, yes. I hear he's teaching Arithmancy now as well as fulfilling headmaster duties. I'm glad he still has time to help you out."

"Yeah… yeah, me too."

"You should drink that Butterbeer. It'll get cold."

Remus hesitantly took a sip, and then he put the cup back down. "Are you going to report me to the Ministry?" he asked.

"I am the Ministry."

"I know, but… am I having a trial? For the Animagus thing? Because I swear I didn't break any laws…."

Ragfarn smiled. "No, Remus. I trust you."

"Oh," Remus said; he relaxed visibly and took another sip of Butterbeer. "Thanks, I s'pose. So… did you find the person behind the threat, then?"

"Not yet, but I feel convinced that it's not you."

"Thanks," said Remus again. "I'd never hurt anyone, sir."

"I believe you."

"Do you have measures in place in case there really is an attacker on February sixth?"

"We do. We're planning on stationing Aurors outside the school that day."

"But not all of them, right?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, it seems like something the Death Eaters would do, doesn't it? They'd threaten to attack a place, wait until the Ministry is completely focused on that particular place, and then attack another place while the Ministry isn't expecting it. The best way to combat that is to split up the Aurors and then send backup if necessary…." Suddenly, Remus went red, and he put down his drink. "I'm not a Death Eater, I promise. I just… spent a lot of time around Professor John Questus."

"Ah, Questus," said Ragfarn with a grin. "Yes, I remember him. Fantastic duellist. Filius Flitwick told me that he coached you in duelling personally."

Remus' eyebrows shot up briefly—he was probably wondering when Ragfarn had spoken to Flitwick about him, but he knew better than to ask. "Yes, sir. But it was in my first year, so we didn't get very far. I barely knew how to use magic."

"What did he teach you?"

"Nonverbal magic. Shield Charms. The basics."

"Nonverbal magic is impressive for an eleven-year-old."

"I was twelve at the time… but thank you." Remus took another sip of his drink. "Sir, I… I still don't understand why we're here. I don't really get it. Forgive me, but I'm fairly certain you have ulterior motives."

Ragfarn laughed. "I have a hard time trusting you is all—you know, werewolf at Hogwarts, exposed to my son on a daily basis—and I think this might help. I want to get a feel for you."

"Oh. I don't think I've ever met your son before, if that helps."

"Honestly, I almost hope you do. You seem like a good person. I'm just a bit uncomfortable around werewolves. Had a relative that was killed by one and all that. My cousin-in-law. She was fantastic."

"I'm sorry."

"Over and done with. It was Fenrir Greyback, you know. He killed her personally. The fact that you were bitten by him too leaves a bit of a bad taste in my mouth, I'll admit."

"I wasn't… I mean, Greyback… it could have been anyone."

"Don't bother denying it. We all know it's true. Now, tell me about your friends. I had a bit of a run-in with Sirius Black the other day."

And then the floodgates opened, the tension dissolved, and Ragfarn spent the next hour actually having a good time with Remus Lupin. When the boy wasn't terrified, he was good conversation, and it was clear he loved Hogwarts very much. He chattered about his friends, his classes, Arithmancy, and some dog named Max. To be fair, Ragfarn didn't understand half of it, but he got the important bits.

In turn, Ragfarn told Remus about his encounter with Sirius—after Remus got over the initial shock, he thought it was terribly funny (and honestly, so did Ragfarn). Ragfarn told him stories of past werewolves he'd had to deal with, of his own experience in Hogwarts, and of his own friends. Remus listened animatedly and sometimes jumped in with anecdotes of his own.

If he was being honest, Ragfarn was reminded over and over again of Edmund. Maybe all Hogwarts-age boys were a little bit the same—they had to be, because now Manard had started to feel a bit nauseous whenever he even thought about harming one. Indeed, every time he thought about hurting Remus, the face of his own son popped into his head, and the prospect no longer seemed remotely palatable.

He took Remus back to the Registry when he was finished, met with a few more werewolves, and finally met with Remus and his family. True to his word, he didn't even consider bringing out the Veritaserum. It was a quick visit. There were no intense interrogations. Then, goal completed, he sent them on his way.

Remus Lupin was a child. It was in his voice, in his face, and in his eyebrows. He was no different from Edmund, really. Ragfarn most certainly didn't want Remus to be executed, and he could see why Dumbledore thought the risk of the child's Hogwarts attendance was worth it. Honestly, it was, and Ragfarn sort of felt kind of bad for all the times he'd called Remus a monster. The kid didn't deserve that. He was just fine.

Would this feeling last forever? Probably not, but Ragfarn couldn't deny that he felt it, and he was willing to act on it.

The next day, he visited Hogwarts again, told Dumbledore the charges were dropped entirely, ignored Dumbledore's self-righteous smile, and inconspicuously returned the Animagus books to Remus' room (because honestly, it was probably just teenagers being teenagers. No one was stupid enough to attempt an Animagus transformation at age thirteen).

Maybe—just maybe—werewolves weren't so bad after all.