Here Be Monsters II: Psalm of the Wolf

Friday, 5 July, 1996

21 32 GMT

The silence holds for long minutes. Finally, Hermes the Third clears his throat with a sound that impacts my lupine hearing like the rumbling of a thundercloud two inches from my head.

"Mr. Black left personal letters for all of you," Hermes says in his gentle tenor. "We will leave you with them, now. There are still some papers to be signed before our business is through this evening. We will be waiting outside when you are ready."

He picks up the small pile of envelopes and begins to distribute them with grave little bows to each occupant of the room. Harry takes his as if seizing a life preserver, gripping it so hard I can see his knuckles grow white across the room. Hermes pauses in front of me and, catching my eye, gives me a sad smile as he hands me my envelope. As I catch sight of my name written in an all too familiar script across the vellum I feel acidic tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. I am not surprised to see my hand trembling as I slit the envelope with the opener that Hermes the Second, following in his son's wake, thoughtfully hands me.

Remus,

I'm dead. That's as much as I know. If you're reading this, I'm dead. I'll take a guess that some Deatheater finally caught me in the wrong place at the wrong time. It seems the most likely explanation of my passing at this particular time.

I'll assume that you have already read the will and know that I've left you some money and a house. More importantly, by far, I've left you the care of Harry. If you mess it up, I'll be waiting for you on the other side and even though you are the last of my friends, I'll chew your meat to the bone.

Of course, that assumes I'm able to chew anything once James and Lily get through with me. I've made a right hash of being Harry's godfather, haven't I? I get myself tossed into Azkaban, then mostly live apart from him all the rest of the time, trying not to get tossed back into Azkaban. Then to make things even worse, I'm not at all sure that I did such a great job when I was with him. Maybe Molly was right, after all.

Anyway, I'm gone now and it's up to you. You have the money and the house now. You don't have the Ministry hunting for you under every rock. Make a home for Harry like I was never able to.

I know Dumbledore will talk about Harry's destiny. How he is the one with the power to defeat the Dark Lord and all that. Excuse me for saying so, but Bugger Dumbledore! Your job is to worry about Harry now, not the wizarding world, not the Dark Lord, not the fate of all magic, but Harry! I may not know much about being a guardian, but I know that much. Let Dumbledore deal with the big things. You have enough to occupy yourself with now.

Forgive me for what I have to say next, old friend. I know you won't like it, but it's for Harry. I know you love him, even if you don't like to admit it much.

Harry needs you, Remus. He needs the real you, a strong wolf to guard him and nurture him and help him. He does not need a prefect to usher him around and read him the rules and twitter about what Dumbledore wants.

It was a mistake for you to take that prefect's badge, Remus. I know you resented it when I said it then, but I'll say it again now. I was secretly pleased that Harry did not get one. The last thing he needs is to be Dumbledore's good little boy. That was the last thing you needed, too.

Well, anyway, Harry is in your care now. Do a better job than I did. The Weasleys will help you. Much as she and I argued, Molly at least really has Harry's interests at heart. His friends will help you, too, especially Ron. He has potential, that one. Hermione, on the other hand, is a little too obsessed with the rules for anybody's good. But she loves Harry, too.

And remember, I'll be waiting. And if that doesn't scare you enough, think of James. And if THAT doesn't scare you enough, think of Lily.

SIRIUS BLACK

By the time I finish reading I can barely see the paper, so bleary with tears are my eyes. Dropping the paper to my lap, I wipe the tears away with the back of my hand and look around.

Albus is sitting nearby, an inscrutable look on his face, his letter held in his hand. Molly is crying softly on Arthur's shoulder. Tonks has slumped in her chair, looking at something far away. And Harry -

-- Harry is sitting with his head in his hands, his shoulders heaving. I start to push myself out of the chair and go to him, but at that moment Hermione suddenly embraces him, burying her head against his shoulder. Ginny follows suit on the other side. And then in a blur of red hair and lanky limbs Ron is kneeling before them, throwing his long arms wide to hug the three of them. The four young people disappear into a tight knot of comfort and grief.

I feel Dumbledore's hand descend, claw-like, on my forearm. I turn to him and see a questioning look in his eyes. I nod, receiving his unspoken message. We rise together and exit the room quietly.

Hermes the Third rises from the secretary's desk to greet us as we pass through the door. "Hermes," Albus says softly, "Might we make use of that excellent room again?"

"Of course," Hermes replies, picking up a large stack of papers, "But while you are in there, perhaps you could sign these, Remus? I have marked the places requiring your signature. There is quill and ink in the room."

"Could you have Mr. Potter drop in and speak to us when he comes out?" Albus asks. "Thank you."

I take the stack of papers silently and follow Albus down the small corridor to the room where we spoke before. I sink into my chair once more and proceed to busily sign the various papers. It isn't until I look up that I see that Albus has not sat down, but is standing with his profile to me looking into the empty hearth.

"I never meant to harm Harry," Albus says softly.

I remain silent.

"What I meant and what has happened are two different things, however," Albus continues with a sigh. "So many plans have gone awry."

"Everyone's plans have a way of doing that, Albus," I say at last.

"Yes." He continues to stare into the empty fireplace. I wonder what Sirius put in his letter?

"Has Harry said anything about Severus?" Albus asks.

"Snape?" I snarl. I am too tired to maintain my usual veneer of courtesy. "Yes. I fear that Harry's... dislike... for Severus has deepened into... something else."

Albus closes his eyes briefly and an expression rather like pain flits across his face. Then he sighs heavily. "I had feared as much."

I feel a flare of pain in my gums and sigh. "Albus ..."

"Yes?"

He needs a strong wolf. Whatever you say, Sirius.

"Albus, I know you trust Severus. But I must say, I... I don't understand why you thought he could teach Harry. He has never made a secret of his feelings."

Albus stands as still as a statue for a moment. Then he speaks slowly. "I suppose I was too close to both of them."

"How do you mean?"

"Simply that both of them are extraordinary people. I knew, of course, that they had an antipathy for one another. But I thought that, in the press of necessity, they could put aside their dislike to work together."

Albus turns towards me finally and gives a wan smile. "I forgot that Harry is only a fifteen-year-old boy, however remarkable. And I suppose, in truth, I forgot the lengths to which Severus had gone to antagonize him over the past five years. Or at least I no longer appreciated what the feelings of a young boy would be when faced with such persecution."

I rub the back of my neck and frown. I had noticed, during my time teaching at Hogwarts, that Albus had a regrettable tendency to find Snape amusing. He had so long ago learned to see through arrogance and bitterness, had for so many years found them ridiculous, that he had perhaps lost the ability to empathize as much as he should with students who took Snape's injustice to heart. "And Severus?"

"I have grown used to the idea that Severus is more than he appears. He is a man with many hidden depths - as you well know. He has been one of the pillars of my fight against Voldemort and his followers. But I forgot that even the deepest oceans have their shallows, and even the strongest pillars have their weak points."

Albus gives me the faintest hint of a twinkle. "I also found it hard to believe that anyone who saw inside Harry's mind, who saw his soul, could not... appreciate him."

"You underestimated Severus again, in other words." Brave words, but I am trying to be a strong wolf.

"Yes. And perhaps I overestimated Harry." The twinkle dies a little.

My frown deepens. "Albus, as you say, Harry is only a fifteen-year-old boy. An extraordinary boy, it goes without saying, but still just a teenager. I do think you asked too much of him."

"I have a way of doing that," he answers softly.

That you do.

"Why did you wait so long, Albus?" I ask, giving vent to a question that has troubled me for several weeks. "Why did you not begin Harry's Occlumency training immediately?"

He sits and looks down at the table as if fascinated by his own reflection in the polished wood. After a moment, he looks up with a grave expression. "I had a plan. I always have a plan. It went wrong."

The pain in my gums is almost unbearable. "That doesn't tell me much, Albus."

"I know." He seems about to continue, but there is a knock at the door. He breaks off and gives me a warning look, to which I reply with a quick jerk of my head. "Come in," he calls.

The door opens to reveal a smiling Hermes Reed the Third and a decidedly morose Harry Potter the First. Hermes ushers Harry in with the fussy efficiency of one of those tiny Scots herding dogs, babbling meaningless compliments about his dress robes and asking for the name of his tailor. But as his eyes meet mine I see they are filled with concern. I give him the bravest smile I can, then turn my attention to Harry who is staring hard at the floor.

"Well, young man," Hermes says brightly, "I will leave you here with Remus and Professor Dumbledore. Please don't forget to come by my office and sign the papers when you are done!"

"Okay," Harry says quietly, resting his hands on the back of one of the chairs.

With a final worried look to Albus and me, Hermes backs out. Albus moves forward close to Harry, and I rise to stand across the polished table from the two of them.

"How are you doing, Harry?" Albus asks with incredible gentleness.

Harry shrugs. "Not too well, but I guess I'll live." He still has not looked up.

Dumbledore frowns slightly. "How have your relatives been treating you?"

"They've ignored me mostly." Harry shrugs again. "That's better than usual. It's not like they give a damn, anyway."

"Harry," Albus says in the same gentle tone, "I want you to believe that if I could have found another road to you having the protection you had to have, I would have taken it."

Harry shrugs again. Dumbledore's expression is unreadable.

"I have decided to let your friends come and stay with you tomorrow," Albus says softly.

Harry looks up at that, and a ghost of a smile tugs at his lips. His eyes actually seem to have some light in them. "Thank you, sir."

"I think it will be good for all of you," Albus answers, his own eyes twinkling brightly now.

"Could we...?"

"No, Harry, you may not attend the Grand Opening. It is too dangerous."

Harry presses his lips together and flushes angrily. Then suddenly he winces and hangs his head with a soft groan.

"Are you OK?" I ask, feeling a stab of panic.

"I don't know," he answers without looking up. He coughs, his entire frame shaking. Albus and I exchange deeply worried looks. "Have I been poisoned?" Harry asks in a low voice.

I look at Albus pleadingly. His eyes are like two windows into the heart of tragedy. With a deep sigh he turns to the coughing teen. "We don't know, Harry. Madame Pomfrey is researching the question now."

"I thought so," Harry says softly. He stands, shoulders slumped, staring determinedly at the floor.

Slowly, hesitantly, Dumbledore extends his hand. With a tentativeness that speaks of fear the headmaster places his hand against Harry's cheek, moving as gingerly as if he is cradling something extremely fragile and infinitely precious in his aged fingers - which indeed he is.

Harry takes a couple of breaths, his chest heaving. Then, with a jerky motion as if he is moving against his will, he turns his head into Albus' hand, letting his cheek rest against the wizard's weathered palm. With his eyes tightly shut he stands with his head cradled in Dumbledore's hand, his breath coming in soft gasps.

Dumbledore stands stone still. It is as if he has a rare bird in his palm and is taking care not to frighten it away. "Harry," he says in a low voice, "We will have you out of Privet Drive on Monday evening and must determine where you are to go. Do you have any wishes? I'm afraid the Burrow is too dangerous. But you can come to Grimmauld Place if you wish."

Harry opens his eyes and stares at Dumbledore. His green irises are filled with pain and loneliness.

Softly Dumbledore repeats, "Do you have any wishes, Harry?" His own eyes are blazing like two blue suns.

Harry takes a few more ragged gasps and speaks, or more accurately groans. "Home. I want to go home."

For a long moment they stand that way, stock still, Harry's eyes full of hurt and vulnerability looking into Dumbledore's shining irises. The headmaster smiles and his eyes grow brighter, if possible. "Very well, Harry. You will come home."

To my surprise, far from seeming happy, Harry's eyes fill with moisture. A moment later, a tear escapes one eye and rolls slowly down his cheek. "Don't," he says softly, pleadingly, "Don't do it again. Don't lock me away again. Please."

Albus moved his thumb to wipe away the tear. Somehow that simple half-arc of a wrinkled thumb was the most tender gesture I have ever seen. "I won't," the headmaster answers softly, "You have my promise."

This time Harry really does smile. It is a very small smile, but it is genuine, and I feel my heart soaring. "To Hogwarts?" he asks.

"To Hogwarts," Albus replies firmly. "Now, I think Mr. Reed has some papers for you to sign."

"Yes, sir." Harry gives us both another smile and departs, still trudging, but his shoulders more square than before.

"Oh, Harry!" Albus calls as he reaches the door, "Do we have your permission to examine the vault Sirius mentioned? I thought that Remus and I might do that on Monday. It would probably be best to do it as soon as possible."

Harry stops and turns. He looks at Albus guardedly. "Can I be there?"

I answer that. "Harry, I don't think that would be a good idea. Sirius specifically gave Albus this task because it's so dangerous. I think we should respect his judgment."

Harry looks at me with narrowed eyes. "Okay," he says coldly, "Do whatever you want to." He spins on his heel and leaves, letting the door close sharply behind him.

We watch the door for a moment. Then I sigh softly. "He does have a temper."

"Yes, he does," Albus allows. "All things considered, it isn't at all surprising."

"Are you really going to take him back to Hogwarts?"

"I would not lie to Harry."

"Albus," I say, "I thought Hogwarts regulations strictly forbade students to be present on the grounds over the summer."

"They do," he replies, "But, as you well know, Remus, rules are made to be broken." With a small chuckle he folds himself into a chair. I do likewise.

Albus looks at his palm, rubbing his fingers together lightly. "Harry needs to shave," he says in a wondering tone.

"Yes, he does. Time does get away from us."

"I suppose that means someone had better speak to him about other adult matters." He looks at me with that infuriating bland expression of his.

Oh, God, no. He can't be serious.

His expression does not waver. In fact, he steeples his fingers and looks at me over his glasses.

"Albus, I don't know that I'm the one who should do that."

"And who else would you suggest?"

"Well, you...."

"I am approaching 150, Remus. Although scarcely ready for the grave, I am also not the person Harry is likely to be comfortable talking to about such things."

Good point.

"Well, how about..."

"You are his guardian now, Remus."

Oh, God.

"How about I just take care of defeating the Dark Lord and somebody else handle this little detail?"

"Remus!"

"I'll teach him how to shave, how's that?"

"Remus!" He gives me a severely disappointed over-the-glasses look.

"Do I have to?" I'm whining and I know it.

"No, you do not."

"Oh, all right I'll... what?" Did I actually hear that correctly?

Albus smiles pleasantly. "No, you don't have to, Remus. We'll have Arthur do it. I need to have a little chat with Ronald at his behest, anyway, so this can be a quid pro quo."

I let out a heavy sigh. "Thank goodness! That doesn't fall under the category of Defense against the Dark Arts, you know!"

"I suppose not, although you were a prefect, and I guess it could by a stretch of the imagination be considered a prefect duty."

"By a long stretch!" I counter. "By the way, that reminds me of something I've been meaning to ask." Actually, Sirius' letter brought it up. "Why didn't you name Harry a prefect? I mean, it caught us all be surprise. We thought you would if for no other reason than to show confidence in him."

Dumbledore frowns then, looking suddenly tired. But he smiles anyway. "I did not want to punish him, Remus."

I snort in appreciation at that comment. Being a prefect may be prestigious, but the honor very quickly seems rather small in the face of onerous duty. As with most such things, the newness and excitement wears off quickly and one is left only with the work. "Is that related to why you did not want to begin his Occlumency training early in the year?" I ask.

"Yes." He traces a vague pattern on the table with one long index finger. "What do you know about Occlumency?"

"I'm scarcely an expert. I know enough to understand its most general applications to DADA."

Albus nods. "The occlusion of a mind is readily discernible by a skilled Legilimens. I knew that if - when - Harry began to become skilled in closing his mind, Voldemort would sense it. Undoubtedly, he would launch a full scale attack in response."

"Was that not inevitable in any case?"

"I did not think it had to be," Albus answers. "A full attack is not without risk to the Legilimens. Even someone as unstable as Tom would make sure that there was something to be gained before undertaking it."

"You thought you could convince him otherwise?" Certain things are beginning to fall into place.

"Yes. Tom is not a patient man. I thought that by isolating Harry, keeping him from the Order and from me, I could convince him that there was nothing worthwhile to be gained in expending energy invading Harry's mind."

"I see." And I do. "You were hoping that Voldemort would get frustrated and divert his energy elsewhere."

"Yes." Albus nods. "That was my plan. I knew that Harry would be hurt and angry by being isolated all summer. I also knew his feelings would probably be wounded by not being picked as a prefect - although in truth I doubt he would have enjoyed a prefect's duties very much, not after the trauma he had been through. But I thought that once he got to Hogwarts, among people who cared for him in familiar surroundings, he could --relax."

"Relax?"

Albus smiles sadly. "As I say, that was my plan. I wanted Harry to have a relaxing year, for once. I thought that, if we could convince Tom to turn his attention elsewhere, and if I could shield Harry from distractions and burdens such as prefect chores, he could rest and heal."

"I don't recall fifth year as being a restful time, Albus."

"Compared to what Harry usually faces, what are OWLS?" Albus smiles at me and gestures expansively.

"You have a good point, there." I rub the back of my neck and motion for him to continue.

"I hoped that he could concentrate on OWLS and classes, playing quidditch, and maybe a romance or two." Albus' eyes twinkle merrily. Then suddenly the twinkle dies completely. "Unfortunately, I did not count on Fudge's reaction."

"Well, he certainly made his position clear after the Tri-Wizard Tournament," I venture.

"Yes, but I suppose I have too much faith in humanity." Albus leans forward and rests his hands on the table. "We, that is, Minerva and I, were taken aback by the speed with which the press and public rallied to Fudge's position. And we certainly had not expected anything like Dolores Umbridge."

"I can readily believe that," I say bitterly.

"And so Harry's restful year turned into a nightmare." Albus now looks like he is about to cry. "And what I wanted so badly to avoid happened in the worst way possible."

"Childhood's end," I say flatly.

"Yes."

We sit silently for a time. Then Albus speaks in a heavy tone.

"Harry needs you badly, Remus. I know that you are hurting. But he needs you badly."

"Yes," I acknowledge, "I know." I sigh. "But I am a werewolf, Albus."

"I know what that means, Remus."

"I wonder if you do." I look at him with a grim expression. "I can hurt Harry in a lot of ways, Albus. And I don't mean by infecting him."

"What do you mean then, Remus?" He gazes at me over his glasses again, giving me his "headmaster" expression.

I'm not sure I can explain. To one who has never experienced life as a wolf or a werewolf, it is a forest of concepts, all of which pale before the reality. Wolves, and most especially werewolves, are extraordinarily intimate creatures. They are fiercely demanding of others in their pack, and fiercely giving as well. If I open to Harry, there will be no closing. If I open, my hurt and pain will pour into him, and I will not be able to stop it.

I just shake my head and drop my eyes to the table. "I will do my best, Albus."

"I suppose that is all I can ask, Remus." His voice is disappointed.

I feel a rush of anger. Damn him to Hell! He has no right! He doesn't know!

The problem is though, that although he has no right, he is right. Harry does need me. And I realize now that I can't turn away.

"Remus," he continues softly, "We need to plan for defending Harry from the Ministry."

I look up and nod fiercely. "I agree. What do you suggest?"

"Firstly, the Wizengamot will move as quickly as possible to remove Fudge. But," he gives me another over-the-glasses look, "Until then, I think you should take Percy up on his offer."

"Why?" I am not totally surprised, but I would like to hear his reasoning.

"The Ministry hopes to use you to get to Harry. That much is plain. We can try to use contact with the Ministry to foil their plan. They will expect that of course. But there is something they don't know."

"The stigmata," I say.

"Exactly." Dumbledore leans forward to emphasize his point. "They must not discover the stigmata. If they do, it will give them the leverage they need. By working with them, even in a suspect position, you can give invaluable service in blocking them from gaining information."

"Very well," I say slowly. "But helping Harry has to come first. And I won't accept money."

"Agreed. I think the Ministry would be highly suspicious if you did take their salary offer. Well, more suspicious than they will be, anyway."

"I will go see Percy on Monday," I say.

"Good." Dumbledore smiles. "Go see him first thing in the morning, then come to Gringott's and we will examine the vault. Hopefully we will find the book Tyrrhenius Black stole from the Sidhe."

Oh yes, the map and spells to Cromm Cruach's mound. The Order had briefed me on that, but I had nearly forgotten. "Do you believe that will prove important?"

"Extremely, I suspect. Come now, let's go join the others."

The lobby of the office proves quite a crowded place. The elder Reeds are nowhere in evidence, but Hermes the Third is deep in conversation with Arthur and Molly. Tonks seems to be engaged in some sort of argument with a large mirror hanging over a small bookcase. Arthur especially seems very animated by whatever the subject of his conversation is, and Molly is watching him fondly as he gesticulates to make his point.

I point the scene out to Dumbledore as we skirt the edge of the room.

"Arthur misses Percy terribly," Albus says quietly. "He was more hurt by that breach than he lets anyone know."

That is a point I had not considered, but now that he mentions it, I see the resemblance clearly. Hermes is very like Percy. No, Hermes is Percy as he should have been (although as far as I know, Percy is determinedly heterosexual). The solicitor's fussy kindness and gentle eccentricity must awaken deep and painful memories for Arthur. But somehow Hermes managed to balance ambition with loyalty, anger with compassion, competence with insight. What formula succeeded for him that failed for Percy?

Hermes sees us and walks over, smiling. "Have you finished with the papers, Remus?"

"Yes, thank you, Hermes." I hand him the documents.

"Very good. You will have access to the funds and property immediately."

"Okay. Where is Harry?"

"He and his friends are in my office, I think. Oh, here they come!" The four teens come boiling out of the solicitor's private chambers, holding signed documents. Harry's pile of parchments is so thick it takes two hands to carry. Hermes bustles over and takes them busily.

As Hermes gathers the documents, Ginny steps toward him hesitantly. "Mr. Reed?"

"Yes, Miss Weasley?"

"Thank you for letting us look at your phials." She smiles at him a little sadly. "They're very nice."

"Why thank you, young lady!" Hermes positively beams. "Very few people care about that type of thing."

"Here," she says, extending a square of cardboard, "it's an invitation to the Grand Opening of a shop my brothers are opening in Diagon Alley."

"I've heard! Thank you, I will try to stop by!"

I'm not at all sure Ginny has done Hermes a favor, but I can't resist giving her an approving grin as her gaze catches mine. Molly walks up to her and bestows a silent hug.

I stroll up and put my hand on Harry's shoulder. "Are you ready to go, Harry?"

"I think so," he says tiredly.

"We'll see you tomorrow, mate!" Ron exclaims brightly.

"Yes, Harry. Tomorrow." Hermione is much more subdued, and the glance she shoots Harry and Ron seems fraught with meaning. For a moment the three of them exchange that uncanny unspoken communication they share. Then Hermione comes forward and gives Harry a hug while Ron claps him on the back. Ginny waits until last, and gives him a firm embrace, whispering something in his ear. Is it my imagination, or does Harry blush slightly?

"Problems, Harry?" I ask as we walk into the outer hall.

"What? Oh, not really. Ron and Hermione are just at each other again. It's enough drive you mad, the two of them!"

"I can imagine!" I allow. I pull out the portkey. "Tonks will be going back to the Headquarters. Oh, we forgot to ask!"

"Ask what?"

"Can we still use the house?" I grin at Harry's surprised expression.

"Errr, sure."

"Good. I'd hate to have to move furniture right now!"

A moment later we materialize behind Number Four Privet Drive. With a weary sigh, Harry fishes out a set of keys and lets us into the house.

"Harry Potter and Professor Loopy!" Dobby exclaims as we enter the kitchen. He is in the middle of cleaning. The kitchen was sparkling already, but you would never know it by the energy with which he is scrubbing the floor.

"Hello, Dobby," Harry says, "You don't have to do that."

"Oh yes I do, Harry Potter sir! Dobby must clean for Harry Potter! Dobby has finished with the upstairs."

Harry just shakes his head, obviously recognizing a losing argument when he sees one. "Thank you, Dobby."

"Harry Potter is very welcome!"

We walk into the living room. Harry is reeling on his feet.

"Why don't you go on up to bed, Harry? Take a shower and get some sleep. I'm sure Ron and Hermione will be here early in the morning. Alastor is coming as well."

"Professor Moody?" Harry rubs his back and frowns.

"Alastor, Harry. He will be spending the day with us."

"Oh." The frown deepens.

"I thought you liked Mad Eye, Harry," I say half-laughing. In truth, Moody is an acquired taste.

"I do," he hastens to say. "I was just surprised."

"It's okay, Harry. All these plans are coming together on the spur of the moment." As a matter of fact, I hope that Albus is making arrangements for Hermione and Ron to come here in the morning.

"I think I will go to bed."

"Don't forget your Occlumency."

"I won't." Harry trudges up the stairs. He pauses halfway up and turns to give me a little smile. "Good night, Moony."

"Good night."

Dobby has left my bag on the living room table. I settle down on the sofa and withdraw the letters I have not yet had a chance to read.

The note from Hagrid is cheery and bluff, not surprising considering its author. He tells me that Madame Maxime is recovering nicely and that he expects to return to Hogwarts soon. He also asks that I pass the note along to Harry. I set it aside to let Harry read it in the morning.

The letter from Flitwick is thick. I slit it open and withdraw several sheets of parchment. A brief note is inscribed on Ravenclaw stationary atop the stack of pages.

Professor Lupin,

I write to you after consultation with Professor McGonagall. She tells me you are aware of young Mr. Potter's activities this past year. I am speaking of the Defense Association. Several of my Ravenclaws were members - including, I am sorry to say, Marietta Edgecombe, who betrayed them.

Enclosed are letters from two Ravenclaw parents, expressing their appreciation for the skills their children have learned in Defense this year. They quite correctly attribute this to Mr. Potter's tutelage, rather than the teaching of Dolores Umbridge. I am aware that you share both personal and professional ties with Mr. Potter, and thought you would be gratified to see the success of one of your former pupils.

I understand that you are in close contact with Mr. Potter, and ask that you pass these letters on to him at your convenience. I also understand that Mr. Potter has a role to play in the events to come. Albus holds his cards tightly, but we Ravenclaws are quite talented at assembling clues and hints. Please assure Harry that in the dark days ahead I will join with Albus and Minerva to bring him what help and support I can.

Yours truly,

Filius Flitwick

I smile broadly. Dear, gentle, funny Flitwick! Many would find his offer of aid laughable, but I do not. I remember his wrath so long ago, and know that fire that burns within him. Voldemort has quite an enemy in the Head of Ravenclaw, whether he knows it or not.

The letters are just as Flitwick has described them. Both are glowing testaments to wondrous progress made by fifth year Ravenclaws in the area of Defense. I feel my heart expand with pride, growing so enormous within my chest that I think it will burst from my ribs.

I take up the last letter, the one from McGonagall, and open it. As is her wont, it is brief and to the point.

Remus,

I wish to once again express my condolences in this difficult time. I have enclosed something that may be of help to you. I believe that, given your family background, you would find this information useful. I also have reason to believe that it will bring you enjoyment.

Minerva McGonagall

I look at the small piece of parchment she has enclosed. The words written on it are - interesting indeed.

I slowly gather all the letters together and replace them in my bag. "Dobby," I call.

"Yes," he cries, appearing in front of me.

"We will probably not be needing you for the rest of the evening. Feel free to do - whatever you do when we do not need you."

"Yes, Professor Loopy. Dobby will be scrubbing the kitchen."

"Very well."

To my surprise, Dobby does not disappear immediately. Instead he stands awkwardly, a worried look on his face.

"Yes, Dobby?"

"Professor Loopy, how did Harry Potter get hurt?" He looks like he is going to burst into tears.

"We aren't sure, Dobby."

"Please tell Dobby, Professor Loopy! Dobby has to know so he can help Harry Potter!" He is wringing his hands so hard I'm afraid he'll break his wrist.

With a sigh I motion him to come closer. "Well, Dobby," I say in a low voice, "we aren't sure, but we think it might be that his mind is causing it. He feels guilty and hurt and this is the way it's coming out. Do you understand?"

"No, Professor Loopy," Dobby says flatly. "Oh, Dobby understands what you are saying, but he does not understand you."

"What?" Criticized by a house elf? And I haven't even done anything!

"You wizards," he explains. "You see, for us, to be and to do and to think is - well, it is all the same. You wizards make everything so messy. Is why you need house elves, Dobby thinks."

I ponder this for a moment. What a fascinating piece of information! I wonder what Hermione Granger would make of it? "It may be why we need you, Dobby."

He still stands, wringing his hands. "Yes," he says softly, "for us to be and to do and to think is the same. That is the problem."

"What problem, Dobby?"

"Dobby did not want to tell Harry Potter, he is so unhappy already," Dobby really does seem like he will cry any second, "but he will find out very soon. It is filthy Kreacher!"

"Kreacher? What about him?"

"Master Sirius, he left the house to Harry Potter, didn't he?" Dobby's ears twitch.

"Yes."

"Dobby was afraid of that. Kreacher said it was so."

"How would he know?" My gums suddenly feel like they are burning.

"His bonding is tied to the house. He said he felt it pass - pass to Harry Potter."

"Oh, God, no." The salty taste of blood fills my mouth.

"Yes, Professor Loopy. He felt it, and he laughed."

"When?"

"Many days ago. Dobby was hoping he was wrong."

"No, he wasn't. What a mess!"

"Kreacher hates Harry Potter, and Kreacher hates himself. Kreacher will act." Dobby's ears droop like sails in a dead calm.

"How?"

"Kreacher will ask Harry Potter to punish him. Kreacher will ask Harry Potter to kill him."

"Oh, no." Horror wells in my stomach.

Dobby nods sadly. "Yes. He knows it will destroy good Harry Potter. He wants Harry Potter to be twisted like him, like them." He sighs. "Dobby will do it, if Harry Potter wants. Harry Potter must not do it himself."

I put my head in my hands and groan. "Is there anything we can do, Dobby?"

"Maybe. Dobby will ask around. Please do not tell Harry Potter yet, Professor Loopy. Give Dobby some time. But Dobby thought you should know."

"Yes. Yes, I should. Thank you, Dobby."

"You are welcome, Professor Loopy." He vanishes with a crack.

I walk wearily upstairs and make my way to the bathroom. I lean heavily over the sink, feeling all the weariness of this horrid day settling on my shoulders like a set of heavy chains. Gingerly, trying not to aggravate my aching back, I toe off my shoes
and socks, then gently slip my shirt over my head. I run some cold water in the basin and splash it on my face and torso, where it runs in rivulets through my forest of chest hair (I am a werewolf, after all). With one finger I rub my aching gums and spit, not surprised
to see bloody fluid land on the tile.

"Oh, Padfoot," I think, "Why did you have to leave us now?" I squeeze my eyes shut against the hot tears and groan.

Then I hear the whimper. It is soft and low and nearly not a sound at all. But I have a wolf's ears, and it is clear enough to me. It is the soft, smothered whine of pain escaping through tightly pressed lips.

I can move very quickly and silently when I have to. In a few heartbeats I have crossed to Harry's bedroom and opened the door. He is huddled under the covers, shuddering. I nearly bound across the room and scramble onto the empty side of the bed, every instinct
screaming to reach Harry as quickly as possible.

A red flower is spreading under the covers, which I wrench back with one convulsion of my arms. Streams of blood are gushing from Harry's hand, and he lets out the soft, nearly inaudible whine again.

With a choked sob I reach out and cradle his hand in mine. I know already what I will see. Etched in crimson, a gleaming insult against his skin, I MUST NOT TELL LIES.

Pulling his poor, wounded hand to my chest, I lean over, driven now by protective instincts more canine than human. Tears running freely down my face, I nuzzle his cheek, gently scraping my teeth along his jaw. My mind is spinning away, overthrown by love and horror and a kind of fierce softness.

Mustering my will, I force the wolf down and make myself form words. "Wake up, puppy. Oh, God. Wake up for Moony."

Harry stirs wearily and mumbles. I look over to the nightstand and see that the bottle of Dreamless Sleep potion has not been opened. "Wake up, Puppy," I say softly.

With a groan he sits up. "What? Moony?"

"Your hand, Puppy."

Harry draws his hand away from me and looks at it blearily. Slowly his eyes widen with horror. "What?"

"Were you dreaming, Harry?"

He looks at me, his eyes filled with fear and confusion. "Yes, but I don't remember..."

I get up off the bed and pad over to the dresser where Madam Pomfrey left the jar of healing salve. Bringing it back over to where Harry is sitting up, looking more confused by the second, I resume my seat on the bed and dip my fingers into the jar. "Here, let me, Harry."

I take his hand again, and slowly smear the salve over his wounded skin. The cuts close rapidly. I slowly put the jar down and continue to caress his hand. "Oh, Harry," I say softly.

"Moony, I.... I don't remember."

"I know, Puppy." His pajama top is smeared with blood. I help him unfasten the buttons and remove it. His torso is painfully thin and heaves as he gasps for air.

I look at him silently for a moment, then reach out for his hand again. Suddenly he jerks back, his eyes clouded.

"What's wrong, Harry?"

"You don't have to, Moony," he says quietly.

"I don't have to what, Harry?"

"You don't have to... carry me." He drops his gaze to the bed. "I understand."

"What Harry?" Sick fear and sorrow is exploding in my chest. "What do you mean?"

"I know that Sirius saddled you with me. Leave now." He looks up, and his eyes are cold.

"Sirius didn't...."

"Yes, he did, Moony. You don't know what he did to you. He didn't know what he was doing to you."

"Harry...."

He turns his back on me. His should are so thin, his clavicles standing out in sharp ridges. "Go, Moony. I don't want you to... just go. You don't have to stay."

I sigh deeply. This isn't going to be pretty. A strong wolf. Whatever you say, Sirius.

"Harry, I know what you are thinking."

He snorts angrily. "You and Dumbledore. I'm glad you're such a good Legilimens, Remus."

"Harry," I take a deep breath, "Albus told us."

He stops breathing. His shoulders become utterly still. Then he turns around, his face a visage of shock. "He what?" His voice is a whisper.

"He told us about the prophecy."

"He had no right," Harry says. "HE HAD NO RIGHT!!" Harry comes to his feet, his face and bare chest flushing scarlet. His fists clench convulsively.

"He thought there had been too many secrets," I sigh.

His eyes are filled with betrayal and pain. "Too many secrets?" he hisses.

"Yes."

"Well, then you know." He clenches his teeth. "Now you can leave."

"No, Harry."

"I don't need your pity, Remus," he says, his teeth still clenched. "I DON'T WANT YOUR PITY!"

"I'm not staying because of pity, Harry."

"No?" His voice is disbelieving. I don't suppose I can blame him. "Why else?"

Because I love you, you teenage jackass. Somehow, I don't think that would be the best thing to say.

"Harry," I say, "I'm staying because," I swallow hard, "Because I'm thirty-four years old and I'm an old man." I lean forward, fixing his eyes with mine. "I'm staying because I'm torn to pieces inside, and nothing can heal the wounds. I'm staying because Padfoot and James and Lily are all gone, and you and I are left, and I miss them all so much - so very much..." and then I'm crying, I'm crying and sobbing and heaving and I don't give a damn anymore.

Well, I made a right hash of that. I'm sorry, Padfoot. Harry will turn away from me, and I will die of the pain inside, and Sirius and Lily will be waiting on the other side to eat my soul for failing the most important task I ever undertook.

And then I feel soft fingertips on my face. I look up, and realize that Harry has scooted close and is gently stroking away my tears with his fingers. And his own cheeks are wet.

"Oh, God," I groan, and reaching out I pull him against me in a tight hug.

Time stops then. My mind fades before the intensity of the feelings and instincts that well up. The warmth of his skin against mine, the overwhelming smell of him in my nostrils, all have overthrown me. I smell the poison still, but the other smell, the deeper smell, is stronger in my mind, in my soul. The smell of Harry.

"Oh, Puppy," I moan, burying my face in his hair. I rock him back and forth as we sob. He shudders in my arms, and I desperately nuzzle his hair and ears and cheeks, pressing gentle kisses onto his scalp and skin.

Slowly, slowly, our crying lessens. I gently caress his back and shoulders, continuing my nuzzling and kissing. My mind is stronger now, but still I gently catch his ears in my teeth, worrying them lovingly. Bending down I nuzzle and chew his shoulders, continuing to growl praise. "Sweet Puppy. Wonderful, beautiful, brave, Puppy." The feel of my wonderful cub, my babe, my child cuddled against me, his warm skin on my chest, his taste on my lips, his smell in my nostrils, our breath mingling - I feel a joy welling within me that is pure and wild and sweet beyond the ability of poor human sensation to encompass.

Finally we reach the end of our tears. I continue to rock him, pressing my nose and mouth into his fragrant hair. He gradually relaxes against me, making sounds of contentment.

"Moony," he finally says sleepily, "You're really hairy, you know that?"

"Yeah, Puppy," I growl, "I'm a werewolf, you know."

"Mmmm," he moans, snuggling in my arms. His left hand accidentally moves down my side and pauses when he encounters a mass of scar tissue. Opening his eyes, he looks down at my abdomen, which is disfigured with slashing scars. "Is that....?"

"Yes, Harry," I say, "That's the way I got infected."

"Oh." He looks up at me, and I see that his eyes are filled with tears again.

"Shhhh, Pup," I say gently. "We both have scars, don't we?" I stroke a white mark above his right elbow. "What's this?"

"That's where Wormtail stabbed me - and the basilisk bit me." He shrugs, as if it is nothing. "This is the important one," he points to his forehead.

"No," I say softly, "This is the terrible one." I press my lips against his scarred forehead. He gasps for a moment, then relaxes again.

I let my hands drift down his torso in a comforting caress. He giggles as my fingers stroke across his ribcage.

"What's this?" I ask archly. "It seems someone is ticklish!" I dig my fingertips into his sides.

"Ho, ho, no, Moony," he chuckles.

Well, that I really can't resist. With a soft chuckle of my own, I deftly flip him down onto the bed and straddle him. Catching his wrists in my left hand, I gently force his arms up above his head. With my right hand I proceed to tease his ribs and stomach, darting upwards to flutter my fingers in his sensitive armpits. He dissolves into an apoplexy of laughter.

"Moony, ho, ha, ha, hee, hee, plea..., hee, hee, ho, nooooo, ho, ho, ha, please, hahahaha!" Tears roll down his cheeks again, this time from laughter. Finally he begins to cough and I stop instantly, letting him catch his breath.

Leaning forward I gently kiss him on the nose. "Shush, now, baby boy."

"No more, Moony, please!" he grins up at me as he begs.

"No," I whisper, stroking his cheek, "I think the baby boy has been sufficiently tickled for one night."

I flop down on the bed beside Harry and draw him against me, his back to my chest, spooning together.

"Do werewolves always sleep this close together?" he asks sleepily.

"Yes," I answer. "Except usually in the nude."

"Nude?"

"Well, wolves don't wear clothes, you know." I press a kiss into his hair.

"Errr, I don't have to do that, do I?"

"You don't have to do anything you don't want to, Puppy."

"Moonywolf," he says quietly, letting his head fall back against my torso.

"Yes." My mind is spinning away again. I draw my body instinctively into a protective curl, wrapping it around my puppy. Deep growls begin to emanate from my chest, creating a deep thrumming to sooth the sweet cub in my arms.

"That's nice," Harry murmurs.

I gently nuzzle his ear. "I love you, Puppy," I whisper.

He looks up at me, his eyes now filled with happiness and hope and a desperate fragility.

"Moonywolf loves his puppy," I repeat, smiling.

After a long moment, he closes his eyes and relaxes trustingly against me. And with a joy that fills my heart and mind like blinding light, I rock my cub to sleep.