Venture

"Harry," Ron said, "as much as I really, really hate to sound like Hermione, I can't help but feel that Malfoy is very bad for you."

Harry shut his door and blinked at his best friend. "Ron, what are you doing here?"

Ron ran his hand through his hair and left it sticking up wildly. He looked rather like Harry for an alarming moment, until he sank back onto the couch with a loose-limbed nonchalance that Harry could never mimic.

"Broke in," he said flatly. "Hermione taught me how."

Harry nodded warily, tossing his keys onto the counter and glancing at the answering machine. The light was flashing. Hermione had called. That, or Draco had changed his mind. And suffered a stroke genius, as last time Harry checked, rich Pureblood heirs didn't know how to work Muggle telephones.

"Why'd you break in?" Harry asked, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it aside. "Did you guys get into a fight?"

Ron ground his teeth together. He stared resolutely out the French doors, as if there was something terribly interesting about Harry's view of the apartments across the street. "You could say that."

Harry sank into his favorite chair. "Tell me."

"Nah."

Harry snorted. " 'Much as I really, really hate to sound like Hermione . . .' " he quoted wryly. "C'mon. I'll nag, just because she'd want me to. Let's hear your dark secret, Ron, you've heard all of mine."

Ron looked mildly resentful, and remained silent. Suddenly awkward - Hermione really was much better at these sorts of things - Harry propped his feet on the coffee table and tried to look relaxed.

"Fine," Ron said, as if Harry had been pestering him. He sat up abruptly, looking a little crazed. "Hermione and I went out earlier."

"Together?"

"Obviously."

"Alone."

Ron nodded. "Anyway, everything seemed all right, you know? It was like two friends who are just hanging out. Not odd at all. And then, outside the restaurant, I kissed her."

Harry waited for him to continue, but Ron seemed to have used up his share of courage for the night. Finally, he prodded. "What did she do?"

"I don't know," Ron said, baffled as to why Harry would ask. "I came right here."

Harry beat down the urge to roll his eyes, and felt proud for it. "Ron, /why//?"

"I got nervous," he said defensively. "You'd get nervous too, if you kissed a girl like Hermione."

Harry grinned and shook his head. Most of the time, Ron reminded him of his older brother Bill - laid back and funny. But when he was worried over something, he reverted into the kid that Harry used to know.

"Probably," Harry agreed. "I doubt that she liked it when you walked off, though."

Ron groaned, mussing his hair again. "Harry, what am I gonna do?"

Harry felt slightly put-upon. Obviously, Ron was counting on him for advice, and Harry had absolutely no idea of what advice he could give.

"Try talking to her," Harry suggested at last. At Ron's slightly scathing look, he added, "It's Hermione. Just get the ball rolling and she'll take care of the rest of the conversation for you."

"And if it turns into a blazing row?"

Harry rolled his eyes at last. "Would you like me to come along and baby-sit?"

"Yes," Ron said instantly, which was not what Harry had been expecting.

"Are you sure?" Harry asked. "What if it /doesn't// turn into a blazing row?"

Ron opened his mouth to respond, paused, and seemed to think about it a moment. "On the other hand . . ."

"That's what I thought." Harry snickered. "Try to keep your voices down either way. Those walls in your apartment aren't exactly thick."

Ron snorted. "Yeah, I know," he grumped. "It's horrible. A guy can't have any privacy And Hermione never lets me forget it, you know how she is . . ."

Harry threw back his head and laughed. "Merlin, Ron, go. Try not to horrify the neighbors too badly, for Christ's sake, and if you do, /don't// tell me about it. More details than I'll ever want."

"Sure thing," Ron said lightly, "play-by-play account, I gotcha."

Harry tossed a throw pillow at him as he ducked towards the door. Not until he was preparing to leave did Harry remember something.

"Hey, Ron?"

Ron glanced back. "Yeah?"

"What did you mean, about Malfoy being very bad?"

"Oh." Ron shrugged. "He showed up while I was here. Seemed drunk and pretty bitter about something. Gave me some long speech involving Gryffindors, hot sex, and an amoral usage of ducky socks."

Harry tried to remember which of Dobby's recent gifts he'd been wearing lately. "Ducky socks?"

"Those were his exact words. I asked him if, perhaps, there was some sort of hidden, Slytherinish double meaning, but all he did was threaten to throw steak knives at me. Freaky little tosser."

Harry laughed again, privately quite uncomfortable. "Thanks, Ron."

Ron waved at him and left. Harry switched on the telly and his Playstation, wondering if Draco was going to show up, and what might happen if he did.

Draco didn't show up.

Harry actually Apparated on the outskirts of Malfoy Manor, before thinking better of his plan (not that he really had one) and returning home. He spent and hour pacing restlessly and garnered himself the wrath of his neighbors by listening to angry music loudly.

He left his apartment around nine after a sleepless night. His feet automatically led him to Ron and Hermione's, but he stopped outside of the building. He could picture them together: He had always been able to picture them together, and sometimes it seemed wrong that they weren't. It would be wrong to interrupt them now.

He turned around and went to Remus' instead.

He felt slightly stupid, knocking on his door so early in the morning. He didn't even know if Remus was awake, after all, or if he would even be welcome. There were limits to friendly hospitality, after all.

But when Remus opened the door, he looked only slightly tired, and not at all irritable. He stepped back and allowed Harry to step inside without saying a word, golden eyes concerned.

"Did Draco stop by?" he asked, putting his hand on Harry's shoulder and leading him into the living room. It was only the third or fourth time that Remus had ever touched him, including the anti-dementor lessons from long ago and the night that Sirius died.

"No," Harry said, sinking into 'his' chair. "Yes, actually, although I wasn't there when he did, so no, but . . ." He felt terribly confused. "Argh."

Remus smiled faintly.

Harry struggled to return the smile. He was suddenly conscious of the fact that he hadn't slept in over twenty-four hours, that he hadn't changed his clothes. A glimpse at his reflection in the French doors revealed that he was, as he had guessed, a mess. He turned back to Remus and saw the pensive worry in his face. "I'm not that bad, am I?"

"No," Remus admitted, getting to his feet. "Would you like something to drink or eat, Harry? I've got . . . well, not much. Coffee."

"No thanks," Harry said, musing on the predictability of human nature. When Remus returned, Harry kept his eyes focused on his knees and asked, "What am I going to do?"

"Forget about Draco, for one."

"Easier said than done." If Harry let his mind drift, he could remember the way that Draco looked, writhing against the sheets, or how he gasped. The taste of his skin and come was on Harry's tongue, as if he hadn't brushed his teeth a hundred times to get rid of it. The smell of his hair, his sweat . . .

"Lust is always hard to ignore," Remus chided gently, interrupting Harry's intimate flashback.

Harry felt his mouth twist. "You're right," he said, swallowing back his bitterness. Just lust.

"Distance is a good remedy," Remus continued, not unsympathetically. When Harry screwed up the courage to look him in the eyes, his expression was mildly thoughtful. It was calming, somehow. "Or distraction."

Harry traced patterns into the arm of his chair. "So, I throw myself into . . . what, getting a job? And avoid Draco . . . I mean, Malfoy . . . like the plague?"

"Healthy distraction," Remus corrected. "Healthy distance. If you want a job in the magical world to which you're suited, you're going to come into contact with Malfoy. And throwing yourself into anything is always a bad idea."

"I don't know how to do anything else," Harry said, throat tight. "It's all or nothing when it comes to me."

Remus pondered that, then admitted, "I suppose that's true," perhaps remembering the headstrong thirteen-year-old he met so many years ago.

"I need to do something," Harry said, resisting the urge to pull his feet into the chair and go fetal. It was hardly polite. "I can't keep mooning over him like this."

"Try talking to him."

Harry shot him a look through his lashes. "I don't think that will help," he said, not caring that it was the same advice he'd given to Ron hours earlier. He felt incredibly exhausted, suddenly, realizing for the first time how blurry the world seemed at it's edges. He needed to sleep.

"You might be surprised." Remus took a sip of his coffee, clearly buying for time. When Harry remained silent, he added, "Some lasting relationships have strange beginnings."

Harry was intrigued. "Is that how you and Sirius . . . got together?" Not until the words were out of his mouth did he realize that they were only slightly intrusive. Remus's sip of coffee seemed to contain an unspoken rebuke. Harry flicked his eyes away.

"No," Remus said at last, a little amused. "A little stranger than that, I think."

Harry nodded, still sheepish. He slipped off his glasses to rub his eyes.

"Tired?"

"Didn't sleep last night."

"At all?"

"Nope."

Remus watched him worriedly. "You didn't drive here, did you?"

"Nah." Harry grinned lopsidedly. "I've never liked driving. I Apparated to Ron's and Hermione's."

Remus nodded, turning his eyes down to his coffee.

"But I came here instead," Harry added, watching him closely. "I didn't bother you, did I?" he asked, scolding himself for not asking sooner. "If I did, I can -"

"Not at all," Remus interrupted, flashing him a slight smile. "Stay for as long as you wish."

Harry sighed. "I'd love to stay longer," he said, which was the truth, "But I do need to get home and get some sleep."

Remus got to his feet, prompting Harry to stand as well. He swayed slightly.

"You shouldn't Apparate," Remus said. He hit a smirk behind his cup. "You'll splinch yourself. Again."

Harry scowled at the memory. "I was a beginner."

"It was very amusing. And, thankfully, quite reversible."

Harry rolled his eyes and let himself laugh. "I've gotten much better at it," he said.

Remus's amusement faded. "You're too tired to Apparate well," he said, "especially since you've never been particularly good at it."

"I'm perfectly fine at Apparation," Harry mumbled, rubbing his eyes again.

Remus shook his head at Harry's insistence. "Sleep here for a few hours," he said quietly, gesturing. He took his cup into the kitchen. "I'm on my way to work anyway."

Harry headed towards the door. "I'm quite fine, really, Remus. I appreciate it, though -"

Remus caught his shoulder and gently steered him back. "Hermione will not thank me if I let you leave in this state," he said, leading Harry to his (surprisingly small) bedroom and flipping on the light. His bed had been made, his blinds open. With a flick of his wand, they shut themselves, and Remus gave Harry a last nudge, towards the bed. "Sleep. I'll stop by at lunch and wake you so you can return home, if you insist on being stubborn."

Harry held out for a moment longer, but the bed looked awfully soft. Finally, he sat on the end and pulled off his shoes. "At lunch, then?"

Remus smiled, folding back the blankets for him. "At lunch," he promised. Harry set his glasses on the night stand and sat on the sheets, sliding beneath the blankets as Remus grabbed his coat from his closet. He tugged them up to his shoulders, feeling odd - it had been a very long time since he slept anywhere but his own bed.

When Remus turned off the light, obviously preparing to leave, Harry felt compelled to say, "I'm normally not like this, you know."

A large, warm hand pressed itself to his head, smoothing down his hair and making his scalp tingle. Harry's eyes half-opened, but the room was a blur.

"Get some sleep, Harry," Remus said, obviously grinning, and left.

Harry stayed quite still until he was sure that Remus was gone. His scalp was still tingling; the feeling seemed to spill down the back of his neck and into his shoulders. The last time he had felt like this . . . he almost couldn't remember.

With Ginny. When Ginny used to touch him, before Lavender caught her eye. Even Draco hadn't done this to him.

In a situation like this, Harry knew, the smart thing to do would involve getting up and leaving, no matter how rude it might be. Fucking his godfather's ex-lover was just not advisable.

But Harry was never very good with the smart thing to do. So he rolled onto his side and pressed his nose into the pillow, smelling cotton and cologne, and drifted into uneasy sleep.

Remus was as good as his word. He showed up at twelve-thirty, shaking Harry into wakefulness and offering him lunch. When he finally stumbled back into his flat, it took him a few moments to notice - again - that the answering machine still had an unheard message on it, before ambling off to his bedroom and flopping into his very comfortable bed.

Waking up for the second time was rather unpleasant.

"Harry James Potter!"

Harry opened his eyes. One ear was mushed into a pillow, all sound muffled, but he knew that voice.

Someone was snickering. "Hey, he's awake."

"Good," the first voice said grimly. "Start beating him."

Harry pulled the blankets over his head. "Go away," he called, trying not to laugh.

Someone tugged on his covers, trying unsuccessfully to wrest them away. When this failed, someone else sat on him.

Yelping, Harry freed himself from blanket and friend. Hermione and Ron's grinning faces greeted him when he managed to escape.

"Good morning, Harry," Ron said politely, still sitting on Harry's bed, although, thankfully, no longer on Harry's legs. "How are you?"

Harry rubbed the sleep from his eyes, grumbling about heart attacks and feeling in his feet.

"Actually, it's not morning," Hermione corrected Ron. She looked very pretty in a neat set of robes with her hair pulled back. "It's more like late afternoon, early evening."

"I am a firm subscriber to the belief that it's morning whenever you get out of bed."

"Which," Harry interrupted crankily, "for me, is not right now. Where're my glasses?"

Hermione handed them to him. The minute he slipped them on his nose, he knew something was up. "Okay, what's going on?"

Hermione looked innocent, Ron looked casual. "We've no idea what you're talking about," the girl said.

"Right," Harry drawled, "so the looks on your faces are -" He stopped himself. Understanding dawned. "Bloody buggering hell."

Hermione clapped her hand over her mouth to restrain a sheepish giggle. Ron clapped Harry on the back, grinning from ear to ear. "Okay there, mate?"

Harry turned to stare at him incredulously. "So it didn't turn into a blazing row, I take it?"

"No," Ron said, procuring the smug expression previously seen only during chess games. "It definitely didn't."

"Glad I didn't go with you, aren't you?"

Hermione smacked them both upside the heads before they could continue. "Okay, Harry, get out of this bed right now and get dressed. The three of us are going out."

Harry rolled his eyes skyward. "Come on, I'm sure the two of you want some time alone, just let me sleep . . ."

Hermione crossed her arms, looking stubborn, and then sad. "Aren't you happy for us, Harry?"

Harry glanced at her sourly. "You know I am, don't give me that look -" He sighed and resigned himself. "All right. Get out while I get dressed - and leave my Playstation alone, Hermione, it's been abused by you enough."

Hermione kissed him on the cheek and they happily obeyed.

Grinning in spite of his crankiness, Harry stood up and dressed himself, resolutely not scowling when he found one of Draco's socks tucked under the door to his closet. He threw it away. Draco could afford more socks. Hell, Draco could afford sock factories. No need to keep it.

When he joined Ron and Hermione in his living room, they were tucked together on the couch. He stood for a moment and smiled at the backs of their heads, blazing red hair pressed close to (currently) sleek, brown-sugar curls, and tugged said curls. "Hey. Lovebirds."

The lovebirds turned to look at him. Hermione got quickly to her feet, fiddling with Harry's hair and clothes to mask her slightly red face. Ron stood more slowly, looking entirely too happy with himself. That, Harry figured, would get old very quickly, but for the moment, it was fun.

"All done?" he asked Hermione.

She finger-combed his hair a few more times, then sighed in despair. "Your hair is hopeless, Harry."

"It's been that way for years, Hermy."

She glared at him. Grawpy's nickname had become a favorite of Harry's over the years.

"Let's go, kids," Ron called, breaking up the staring contest. Hermione grabbed his hand, and they waited for Harry to lock up his apartment. They Apparated to Diagon Alley, Ron and Hermione already arguing over where to eat.

Harry watched them walk together, he and Ron bookending Hermione. It used to be the other way, Harry realized - him in the middle, Ron and Hermione on either side, often bickering over his head while he tried to mediate. If felt weird, to be out on the side, his hands in his pockets. But Hermione was leaning firmly against Ron, and Ron was holding her hand tightly. Harry couldn't come between them if he tried, and he wasn't sure if he wanted to anymore. Their lives would have been so much easier . . . if it weren't for him . . . .

At one point, he glanced up casually at the darkening sky. The moon caught his eye.

"Harry?"

Hermione's voice brought him back. He glanced at her with what he hoped wasn't too dark of an expression.

"Is everything okay?" she asked. A line appeared between her eyebrows. "You're not . . . bothered by anything, are you?"

"I'm fine," he lied. He had seen that concerned look on her face too many times, and he wasn't going to ruin her belated happiness with his problems. "Just . . . full moon, you know."

She glanced at the sky. "Poor Remus," she said, eyes large and sad. "He's been tense the past few days. I guess that explains it."

"Maybe," said Ron nonchalantly; at their glances, he made a 'search me' face and shrugged.

Hermione looked to Harry. "Are you worried about him?" she asked.

Harry was eyeing Ron's carefully clueless expression warily. "No," he said, "I was just thinking that I'd stop by in the morning, make sure he's all right."

"Oh, Harry, I don't know about that," Hermione cautioned. "He's very private. I'd talk to him before you just dropped in after the full moon."

Harry nodded, accepting her greater wisdom in the matter. He had learned the hard way that Hermione was usually right.

"Maybe I'll just call him," he said, although he wasn't sure he had any intention of talking to him soon at all. His . . . awakening, for lack of a better word . . . was disturbing him. He would have loved to talk it over with Hermione, but Ron was murmuring something against her ear and she was giggling, and they were both immersed in each other.

He felt lonely, but he choked the feeling back and coughed politely, pointing to the restaurant they'd decided upon. Hermione flushed again, grabbing Harry's and Ron's wrists and dragging them off, determined not to be embarrassed by them anymore.

Dinner was fun, if slightly tense for Harry, as he had to work not to watch Ron and Hermione too closely. It had been a very long time since he'd been involved in a real relationship with anyone. Their closeness, their intertwined fingers, and their obvious interest in each other's bodies was a painful reminder. He begged off going to their apartment afterwards, Apparating directly into his bedroom and pretending not to notice that they weren't really sad to see him go.

He looked unenthusiastically at his bed, the covers rumpled from his nap and yesterday's sex with Draco. He tore of his shirt and threw it onto the mess of blankets, padding into the living room.

Hermione and Ron were probably spending quality time together. Remus was . . . in wolf form, safe with the influence of Wolfsbane, but in no state to entertain, and probably tired of Harry's whining. There wasn't anyone else, except Draco, and he had his orders not to look him up again.

It hurt, lying on his couch, his chest empty.

The telly didn't help much, but it managed to lull him to sleep. His last thought, before he dozed off, was that he was standing on a precipice of a sort, on the verge of falling into the rift he'd toed all his life. He wondered what it would be like if he did, and got the feeling that it would be just like this - watching surreal people through a thin layer of glass, not quite able to reach out and touch.

Harry applied to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement for an Auror post. His application was greeted with such enthusiasm that he had no doubt that it would be accepted. He managed to time his arrival so that Draco wouldn't be there.

He wondered, idly, what he would do if Draco objected to his presence, and summoned Remus' words to mind. Healthy distance. A business relationship - one that didn't involve beds and mind-blowing sex - was probably the best thing for them both.

He wandered around the Ministry for a little while after that, dropping in on Percy and Ron to say hi. After Arthur retired, Ron took his job in the Muggle Artifacts Office to assuage his father's fear that Muggles would be alone in the fight against magical pranksters.

He put it off, but he wound up dropping in on Hermione. He didn't reveal that he had applied to become an Auror and lied about checking on the house-elf whose name he couldn't remember. ("It's Binky, Harry, honestly, being involved in S.P.E.W. as I am, and my own best friend can't remember a house-elf's name . . .")

Remus was working diligently at his desk. He looked up as Harry passed, but Harry pretended to be absorbed in catching Hermione's attention. When he went to leave, however, his stomach twinged, and he dropped into a chair, catching Remus's eye. "Hey."

Remus smiled. "Feeling better?"

"Yeah, actual sleep works wonders."

"So I've heard . . ." Remus cast a rueful glance at his paperwork.

Harry grinned. "What's all this? Binky's stuff?"

"Not as such. Melissa Rosier is bringing a lawsuit against the department, so . . ."

Harry frowned, picking up a sheaf of parchment. "This looks like legal stuff," he said, puzzled. After a moment of reading, he was certain. "This is legal stuff. Why do they have you doing this?"

The moment he looked up, he realized he should have kept his mouth shut - there was a dark, bitter look on Remus's face, and Harry discovered he already knew the answer.

Remus blinked a few times, his anger fading into the calm mask Harry recognized. "Most of the department is unenthusiastic about having a werewolf among them," he said. "They'd rather give me the boring work."

"And Hermione let's them?" Harry demanded. "That's -" He couldn't find the words.

"No," Remus said gently, turning away from his paperwork. "Hermione puts a stop to it as much as she can. But Hermione can't be everywhere, and the paperwork does need to be done."

Harry could feel himself scowling. He flipped aimlessly through the papers and shook his head. "They're wasting you on this," he said. It was on the tip of his tongue to add that they were degrading him, but he was sure Remus already knew that. "You're better than this, you could be helping people. This is -" He looked up, and found himself under the scrutiny of copper eyes. /Weren't they a different color . . . ?// "Ridiculous. Criminal, even."

Remus smiled sadly. "Perhaps," he said. "The Ministry is very set in it's ways."

Harry snorted. "I think we've established that the Ministry is just stupid," he said. "After everything that happened during the War . . ." He bit the inside of his cheek, realizing with a jolt that soon, he would be working for the Ministry. How was he going to stand it?

"The Ministry is old-fashioned," Remus said. He rearranged the papers on his desk as he spoke, seemingly avoiding Harry's eyes. "It's a reflection of the old-fashioned society that created it - it will change slowly, if it all."

"I don't like it," Harry said. His mind was already spinning on Remus's behalf - who he could talk to, what he would say, how long it would take . . . . His influence was legendary, after all.

He paused as a warning of Dumbledore's butted into his thoughts suddenly; /tread lightly upon the path of fame, if at all//. That the old man was still Headmaster of Hogwarts, surrounded by children who could never understand the depth of his power, said a lot about how seriously he took his own advice.

As much as Harry wanted to do the same, however, he didn't think he could do nothing in good conscience. Remus was being slighted, and it was like the Ministry was offending him /personally// by insulting this person that he -

Swallowing, he set the papers he'd been gripping down. "But there's nothing I can do, is there?"

"I don't think so," Remus said, still arranging. "Although, I'll admit, Hermione's been dropping your name on the matter for quite a while, which seems to have helped."

Harry wondered how shameful it was to depend on other people - other, /younger// people - to make your situation easier, to keep your co-workers from harassing and insulting your intelligence and capability. It infuriated him all over again.

"I'm glad," he managed to say at last. "At least I've managed to do some good."

Remus looked up at last, papers thoroughly organized. "On that note," he said, "I would encourage you to rethink your position on becoming an Auror. You already have the education, and there are few people more admirably suited to the career than yourself."

Harry couldn't help his grin. He leaned forward so that Hermione wouldn't overhear, although she seemed to be involved in an impassioned debate at the moment.

"I already filled out an application," he confessed, rapping his knuckles against the desk. "Just a little while ago."

Remus looked impressed and amused. "Are you sure about it?"

"As sure as I'm going to be." Harry sighed, shaking his head and letting his hair flop across his forehead. "I liked the idea of traveling, but it seems . . . I don't know. Far away?" He thought a moment. "No. Not something I would do . . . by myself."

Remus smiled sadly again. "You'll like it, if you ever do decide to travel," he said. "It was one of the few things I enjoyed before I got my teaching position at Hogwarts."

"Where did you go?" Harry asked. He knew Remus was supposed to be working, and he looked like he was trying to do so and talk to Harry at the same time, but he also knew that no one was going to ask him to leave.

"I traveled to France for a long time," Remus said, twirling his quill, eyes distant with thought. "I had family there, Muggle relatives, so it was practical. Of course, they didn't know me at all, but it was nice to meet my cousins and their children." He paused, then glanced at Harry, and continued. "I traveled through Italy with a friend." There was something pained in the look in his eyes, so Harry didn't press. "After that, I went to the States and Canada for a while. I considered going to Australia, but then Dumbledore offered me the Defense Against the Dark Arts post . . ."

Harry felt his lips curling up into a smile, watching Remus stare intently at his desk. Remus was shy. He's known this, of course, but it was so amusing. "You were the best teacher we ever had," he said truthfully.

Remus looked pleased with the compliment, and Harry felt his smile turn into a grin. As he leaned back into his chair, Harry caught sight of a small photo in a golden frame. He caught a flash of Sirius's face but nothing else.

Harry decided to end the conversation on a happy note. "I'll let you get back to work," he said, getting to his feet and shoving his hands into his pockets.

Remus glanced disparagingly at the paperwork. "Thanks."

Harry laughed. "I'll see you, Remus."

"You too," Remus said with a nod.

Harry left, still grinning like an idiot.

The next morning, the ringing of the phone awoke him from a sound sleep.

Groaning, Harry staggered into the kitchen and picked it up. "'Lo?"

"Harry?"

It was Hermione, sounding worried. Alarmed, Harry brushed his hair off of his forehead - he hadn't thought about the anti-Purebloodism running through the magical community at all lately. Ron was a Pureblood. He hadn't even thought - "Is everything all right? Did something happen?"

"I don't know," Hermione said, voice low with preoccupation. "Remus isn't at work, and it's not like him to be late. Since he's . . . you know . . ."

"You can say it, Hermione," Harry said, irritated, both relieved and anxious at the same time.

"Well, a werewolf, being late can get him fired. I covered and said he called in, but . . . I mean, it is just after the full moon, and if people think he's missing work because of his condition . . . . I'd ask Ron to check on him, but he's at work and the two of you are closer. Will you do it for me?"

Harry ran his hand through his hair, fighting back a yawn. "Sure," he said gamely, rubbing dry eyes. "I'll run on over."

"Thanks, Harry." Hermione hung up the phone. A bit more slowly, Harry did the same.

Ten minutes later he Apparated directly into magical London. Halfway up the stairs to Remus's apartment, Harry started to wonder with sleepy irritability if he'd just run late and Hermione was overreacting . . . the minute he caught sight of Remus's apartment door, however, his heart dropped into his stomach and adrenaline shot through his system.

It was open. Not wide open, not hanging off it's hinges, but cracked, just enough for Harry to see that he needn't bother to knock.

A slight touch from Harry's fingertips sent it swinging into the wall. Harry hesitated on the welcome mat and dug out his wand. "Remus?"

No response. Now definitely worried, Harry peeked into the kitchen - empty. The living room was undisturbed as well.

Feeling awkward and intrusive, Harry crept into the bedroom.

Remus was asleep in the bed, curled up tightly, completely nude. Flushing from his toes to the roots of his hair, Harry conjured a blanket out of mid-air and laid it over the man, trying not to stare at the smooth, muscled planes of his back or the curve of his arse.

Wrenching his mind from it's naughty place, Harry checked for Remus's pulse with a distinct feeling of wrongness - surely Remus wouldn't leave himself like this for Harry to find. But his pulse was steadily, if a bit fast, a common trait of werewolves.

Harry inspected the bathroom and found no one. A cursory glance around the bedroom revealed a disk taped to the monitor of a humming computer. He was tempted to find out what was on it, but it was clearly a message for Remus and he didn't have the right.

Instead, he approached the bed and made ready to clasp the werewolf's shoulder. His hand decided to think for itself and brushed against his hair: An painful flutter pounded in place of Harry's heart as he touched the gold and silver strands. He could get used to this, very easily, he could learn to love this. He wanted nothing so much as to touch his lips to the slightly rough hair and kiss Remus into wakefulness.

Harry wasn't any stranger to desire. It wasn't anything he hadn't felt before. But he'd never been so powerfully moved by the feelings before, by the sight of someone sleeping peacefully.

He came back to himself with a start. Sucking in a deep breath, he forced himself to grab Remus's shoulder and shake gently. "Remus, wake up."

The man stirred slightly, but didn't wake. Harry continued for a few minutes and finally drew his wand. "Ennervate."

Remus opened his eyes slowly. He noticed Harry's hand first and glanced at it, blinking. He worked an arm free from the blanket to rub his eyes, and paused blearily. "This isn't one of mine."

"I conjured it," Harry said. He heard the grimness in his voice; apparently, so did Remus. The werewolf rolled over, trembling arms refusing to support him as he sat up. His first instinct - to slip his arm around Remus's back and help - remained tightly restrained. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, I -" Remus shook his head. "I didn't mean to fall asleep; I usually don't. . ." He shook his head again, drawing the blanket tightly around himself. "My alarm should have gone off."

Harry glanced at it. The glowing numbers were dim. "Someone unplugged it."

"Someone?"

Harry gave him a grim smile. "Someone broke in. The door was open when I showed up - did you leave your computer on last night?"

"No," Remus said. "Proximity to electricity can be . . . discomforting for a werewolf."

Harry nodded, absently casting several spells on Remus. Confused copper eyes watched him until Harry lowered his wand.

"You're not injured," Harry reported at last, "although someone's cursed you. They must have, to make you sleep so that they could enter." He couldn't imagine how stupid they had been, breaking into an apartment with a transformed werewolf inside. Even with the influence of Wolfsbane, Remus was still deadly. "D'you want me to remove the curse?"

Remus rubbed his forehead. His hair was tousled, though it still managed to look nicer than Harry's did on the best of days. "That would be nice, thank you."

Harry removed the spell, then glanced at the computer. "D'you mind if I take a look?"

"Not at all."

Harry sat in the chair, removing the disk from the monitor and tapping the mouse, listening to the computer as it whirred and the desktop popped up. He glanced at the disk label as he set it aside - Remus Lupin was written across it.

Remus stood, the blanket wrapped around his shoulders, and eyed the disk. "This is one of my disks," he said, "but that's not my handwriting."

"I know." At his curious glance, Harry added, "I remember your handwriting from third year. There's probably a message on it."

Remus sighed softly. "Go ahead and take a look at it," he said. "I'm going to get dressed."

Harry felt himself flush again. "I'm sorry - I can step outside -"

Remus waved the offer away, slightly irritably. "It's fine," he said, and went to his closet. Inwardly swearing at himself for blushing, Harry popped the disk in and opened it.

A Word document was the only thing he found. He opened and read the message - We know who you are, werewolf - with a roll of his eyes. He clicked around a moment longer and felt a reluctant surge of admiration. Whoever left the disk knew computers, and had been smart enough to create the file on Remus's system instead of their own. But did they know anything about Muggle detective techniques?

With a spell he had developed himself, Harry checked the keyboard for fingerprints. When Remus came out of the bathroom, he checked the prints against the werewolf's - some were his, a few were Harry's, and some belonged to someone else entirely.

"No one's used this computer but you?" Harry asked, elated.

"Not that I know of," Remus said. "What did the message say?"

"Nothing worthwhile," Harry muttered, elation morphing into disgust. "'We know who you are', or something equally idiotic."

"Charming."

"It should be simple to figure out who it was," Harry said. Remus went into the kitchen, and Harry followed obediently. "It's probably someone you know, from work, or from your past . . ."

He hesitated. "Or it could have something to do with me."

Remus glanced at him, catching the worried expression on his face. He got Harry a glass of pop and said, "It's not you. Something happened last month at the full moon, similar to this - I didn't think it important."

Harry took a drink, scowling as the pop mixed with the taste of his toothpaste. "Tell me about it, if you would."

Remus shrugged. "I fell asleep around midnight, I guess, and the alarm woke me. Fairly straightforward. I was unusually tired for several days after."

"Is it possible that it's a side-effect of the Wolfsbane Potion?"

"No, the exact opposite, in fact." Remus glanced at his coffee maker impatiently. "Severus simplified the potion and made it much more reliable before his death. The only side-effect is sleeplessness for a few days following the full moon."

Harry set his glass down. "I've got a feeling this has something to do with your work." He paused, meeting Remus's eyes, then said, "You don't mind if I look into this, do you?"

"Not at all." Remus got a coffee mug from his cabinet. "I doubt the Aurors will take much interest in it, though."

Harry gave a one-shouldered shrug. "I was thinking of looking into it on my own, actually - I don't even know if I got the job." At a wry, sleepy glance from Remus, he added, "Well, I don't."

Remus took a relieved sip of coffee. "Hmm. Why did you stop by, incidentally, and how late am I for work?"

"Hermione called me," Harry said. "You have the day off. Being friends with the boss has it's advantages, apparently."

"Apparently," Remus said with a faint smile. He yawned. "Sorry."

"Don't worry about it." Harry downed the last of his pop. "The curse will take a while to wear off - you'll probably be tired for the rest of the day. You might as well take the opportunity to get some rest."

Remus nodded, setting down his coffee. "Thank you for stopping in and waking me. And for all of your help."

Harry shrugged, face flushed, thinking privately that the sight of Remus naked had been more than enough payment. "Don't worry about it," he said again, rather lamely. "You're certain you're all right?"

"Quite."

"I'll be going, then. Shall I stop in later and let you know whether I've found anything?"

Remus looked pleased with the offer, leaning slightly on the counter. Harry realized he was almost asleep on his feet.

"I'd appreciate that," he said.

Harry tossed him a slightly embarrassed smile, and bailed.

He dropped by Hermione's desk to tell her what happened. She agreed to help him out, delegating her responsibilities for the day and accompanying him as he questioned the department members. They were all terrified of him, which made questioning them difficult - he couldn't be sure if they were lying or just intimidated.

It was going on five when Harry waved Clarice away, frustrated at his lack of answers.

"It doesn't mean anything," Hermione soothed him, carrying her jacket and shouldering her purse. She gathered up some folders and led him to the elevator. "I think you're right in assuming that this is work-related - the only problem is that I can't picture any of my employees being involved."

Harry nodded wearily.

"I'm sure you'll figure it out," she said, rubbing his shoulder. "Whoever it is will probably be so cowed by your presence that they'll give themselves away."

Harry sighed, leaning against the wall of the elevator. "I hope so," he said. "Remus was helpless when I walked in this morning - someone could have done anything at all to him . . ."

She read the intense worry in his face. "Remus will know how to look after himself, I'm sure," she said. "If not, you or I could stop in tomorrow morning and make sure he's all right."

"Yeah," Harry said, chasing away the thought. He lifted his head and found Hermione watching him intently. "Pick up something to eat with me? I was going to drop in and tell Remus that I'm still at square one."

"Will you tell me what's bothering you?"

"I was planning to."

She looked satisfied. "Then let's go," she said, and on cue, the doors slid open. She linked her arm through his and drug him away.

Once they had their order - Harry was forced to carry it - and neared Remus's apartment in the quieter part of Diagon Alley, Harry told her about the development in his feelings for Remus.

She listened intently, with an air of satisfaction that he'd seen before. Harry felt his throat close up as he told her what had happened that morning, forcing himself to recall aloud the vibrant pleasure he felt when he touched Remus's hair. Hermione's look turned sympathetic, if a hint amused.

"You're falling in love with him," she said softly when he finished. Their pace had slowed, to more of an amble than an actual walk. "I've seen the symptoms in you before . . ."

"Must you make it sound like some incurable disease?"

She laughed. "Harry, it's not a bad thing, your feelings for Remus. It could even be . . . good." She shot him a significant look, lifting her eyebrows in an expression she must have picked up from Ron.

Harry rolled his eyes. "You do realize that he and Sirius were together before Sirius died, don't you?"

Hermione's amusement faded at the thickness in Harry's voice. Even all of these years later, he still didn't like to talk about Sirius. She caught his free hand in her own and squeezed in gently. "I do realize. He told me himself."

Harry nodded.

"Don't let that stop you, Harry - I'm willing to bet that he has feelings for you."

Harry glanced at her, a little desperate. "Willing to bet?" he asked. "Not certain?" For most, it was a matter of semantics, but when it came to Hermione, words were exacting. If she wasn't certain, she wasn't certain.

"No, not certain." She released his hand. "But then, I wasn't certain that Ron had feelings for me, either, so . . ."

"Well, /I// was certain."

"Yes, and you've already gotten your ribbing in." She scolded him with a single glance, and then dimpled. "You'll figure it out for yourself, I'm sure. He may be exactly what you need, you know."

Harry nodded.

~~~

Two weeks later, amidst the chaos of a new job and a relationship between Ron and Hermione that seemed predestined for difficulty, Harry managed to drop in on Remus.

He took one look at Harry's face and started to laugh.

Harry scowled. "It's not funny," he said, lips twitching. "It's not! Is it that obvious?"

Remus waved him inside, shoulders still shaking. "Yes," he said. "You look like a hamster stuck inside a jet-powered wheel."

Harry sank gratefully into his chair as Remus sat across from him. "I /feel// like a hamster stuck inside a jet-powered wheel," he confessed. "Ron and Hermione -"

"- are having growing pains." Remus smiled.

"Is that what you call them? I was thinking 'nuclear meltdown', but it seemed a bit /weak//."

Remus laughed again.

"And then there's work." Harry rolled his eyes. "My boss is the only person who doesn't fawn over me - he hates me in fact, which I actually find myself /enjoying// on occasion, and that's quite frightening. Malfoy won't look at me, and he's picked up on that - my boss, I mean - so he's pairing us together every chance he gets."

Remus's look turned sympathetic. "So things remain unresolved between you?"

"Oh, they're resolved," Harry grumped. "He hates me as much as he did when we were kids, with loads of sexual tension on the side." He slumped, too fed up over it all to pretend to be embarrassed. "You could cut the tension with a knife. One of those limp little plastic ones."

"At least the territory is familiar."

"One bright point."

Harry kept himself from mentioning the unheard message on his machine. He figured it was either from Hermione, or Draco. If it was from Hermione, it wasn't important, as she would have been calling about her 'date' with Ron. If it was from Draco . . . . Harry wasn't going to burn that bridge just yet. He knew that didn't want to damage his friendship with Remus by propositioning him; after all, the both of them had few enough friends as it was. If things . . . if things got too intense between them, then Draco was a standby, someone Harry could use to burn off tension.

Forcing himself away from such thoughts, Harry ran his hand through his hair, wondering why Remus didn't meet his eyes. "How have you been?"

Remus seemed surprised. "As well as ever," he said. "I'm sure Hermione's told you."

She had, when she wasn't crying on his shoulder over fights with Ron.

"Well, yes." Harry sat forward. "Why're you so surprised that I asked? I realize I'm a selfish git, but I thought we were friends."

Had been hinging on it, in fact.

"We are, of course," Remus said easily. Harry envied his composure - even when he was obviously bothered, he still seemed in control. That must have been a handy talent, especially when he was teaching. Not that he taught anymore. "It's just that there's nothing wrong."

He lifted his eyes and their gazes met in a stubborn fashion. Harry relented slightly and said, quietly, "You haven't asked me how my investigation's been going."

"I don't care," Remus said coldly. Harry looked at him, startled. "Harry, things like this have happened before. And they'll -"

"- not happen again, if I can help it." Harry left his chair and went to sit at Remus's side, light-headed by his own daring but terribly concerned. He knew that look on Remus's face; that dark, grim look. He wondered why it had taken him so long to recognize it. "Look over here."

Remus did.

"You could help me," Harry said. "I can use your help. I'm getting nowhere, you know that."

Remus was frowning at him intently, brow slightly furrowed. "Harry -"

"You shouldn't be wasting yourself like this," Harry said vehemently. "You're one of the best Aurors the Department has ever seen. You know more about Dark Creatures than some so-called 'experts'. You're an astute judge of character; you're a war hero . . . ."

Remus looked away. "My career," he said, very coldly, "is none of your business."

Harry drew back, face coloring, stunned. His first instinct - to storm out angrily - faded after a moment of careful consideration.

"I know it's not," Harry said softly. "But you're my friend. And I care about you. And I don't want to come here one day when Hermione phones me again and find you dead." He heard the way his voice grated, almost angrily, and looked away, fighting to get his emotions under control.

"Harry."

"You think," Harry said, "that I don't know that look on your face? That I don't recognize it?"

Remus was puzzled when Harry looked around at him. His confusion turned to worry as Harry asked, "Do you even realize who you look like at times?"

"No," Remus said, with quiet honesty. "I don't."

"Sirius." Harry bit the inside of his cheek, hard, as his face flooded with color and Remus stared at him. "Sirius," he said again, voice the barest bit unsteady, "when he was tired of being cooped up, angry with the world. Sirius, just before his recklessness and my stupidity got him killed."

Remus closed his eyes briefly with a sigh, and looked away.

"Help me," Harry said. "Won't you, please?"

He'd known that Remus could not resist a direct plea, and it was slightly wrong of him to use that knowledge. But he felt a rush of satisfaction and relief anyway, when Remus nodded and said, "Of course, Harry," in a soft voice that could mean almost anything at all.