Be All My Secrets Remembered

Chapter Thirty-One: Hanging in the Stars

February - March 1980

"You did what?" The last word emerged as a high-pitched squeak from Peter's mouth.

Remus winced. "Yes, it's exactly what you think it is." Then, after several seconds punctuated only by Peter's truncated attempts at speech, he sighed. "You don't seem to approve."

Of course Peter wouldn't approve. This affair involved Sirius, after all, and Peter's opinion of Sirius--while tempered with obvious admiration and affection--was perhaps less than what it could have been. But, Remus reasoned, Peter was the only person he could tell. James would expire on the spot, and he would rather juggle flaming knives than even consider telling Dorcas. And as for Lily...she had enough on her mind.

"Look, I don't even know how it happened," he began, sinking deeper into Peter's dilapidated couch. "It was being in Hogsmeade. It was the twins---you heard about the twins, didn't you?"

Peter shook his head. "The Prewetts? No, what...?" He trailed off, eyes widening. "Oh God. You don't mean to say--"

"Both of them. Within seconds of each other. Padfoot and I were there." Remus lowered his eyes to the ground, suddenly interested in his feet. "It was awful. Five against two."

"I'm told Death Eaters don't play fair," Peter observed bitterly. "But back to you, Moony. What on earth were you thinking?"

"I wasn't," he admitted. It was the simple truth, after all.

"Obviously," Peter shook his head. "Have you said anything to him?"

Remus laughed. "No, what on earth would I say?"

"I don't know," Peter sighed. "You know how he is."

"Yeah, I do." In more ways than one. But he wouldn't think about that. It was far safer not to. "What should I do? I can't not talk to him forever. Someone might notice."

"You'd be surprised."

Remus glanced up, puzzled, but then it occurred to him that he really hadn't seen very much of Peter recently. Nobody had, for that matter. With a twinge of shame, he was forced to admit that even he had only occasionally noticed it, and had done nothing. "How have you been?" he finally asked, hesitantly.

Peter shrugged. "Things don't change in my life, Moony. I'm in the one area of the Ministry that has little to do with the war. And Dumbledore's got me on secretarial duty for the Order, so..." he shrugged again. "Things are quiet. But they usually are."

Not like you three. The words sounded within Remus' head as if Peter had actually spoken them aloud.

"Be careful, Moony," Peter was saying, and Remus jerked back to reality. "We know Padfoot better than anyone. He's careless, Moony. You of all people should know that."

Yes, he really should. The next time you want to kill someone, Black... Remus nodded, mouth tight. "I do know that. I've not forgotten it." A few moments passed, with Peter's gaze focused on his own feet, before Remus finally blurted out, "Peter, I'm not...you know I'm not a...you know."

"No, actually, Moony, I don't know," his friend replied, without looking up. "I never did see you with girls, after all."

"I didn't announce it all over the school, if that's what you're saying," protested Remus, feeling his cheeks redden. "Not all of us are Padfoot!"

"Then how do you explain this?" Peter finally looked at him, one eyebrow quirked upward in a disturbingly Sirius-like expression. "Evidence and all."

"It's not evidence for anything. I can't explain it. I don't even know why it happened. It just...did." He wanted to say more. Something about how Sirius had an annoying habit of making the strangest thing sound oddly appealing. Or how to call Sirius persuasive was putting it gently. But Remus bit his lip and kept silent. That way lay madness. "It's certainly not going to happen again."

He might have imagined it, but for a second, he could have sworn he saw relief flash across Peter's face. "That'd be awkward, to say the least. Does Prongs know?"

"God, no. He'd die of shock and horror, and Lily'd kill me for leaving her child fatherless." Remus smiled without much humour. "If I've got any say in it, he won't know. Somehow I think Padfoot knows him well enough not to say anything."

Peter returned the smile, albeit faintly. "That's the first sensible thing you've said today." Then, leaning forward, he continued seriously, "You know you can't tell anyone else."

He almost argued the point, but thought better of it. He couldn't think of anyone else, at least not at the moment. And it wasn't as though he was a stranger to keeping secrets, after all, he acknowledged in bitter finality.

***

A quick enquiry with one of the secretaries in the Auror Office directed Peter down a corridor he'd never seen before to a network of large rooms. He stood in the middle of the hall for a moment, frowning between two doors in perplexity.

"Wormtail?" Spinning, he found himself facing James. "What are you doing down here?"

Peter shrugged. "Got lost. Easy to do here." He couldn't have said why he'd lied. Surely it wasn't a crime to talk to Dorcas. Especially after what he'd just found out about Padfoot---

"That's for sure," James replied. "I think I accidentally ended up in the Department of Mysteries the other day. The Unspeakables were less than amused."

"Given that they're supposed to be the biggest secret in the Ministry, that's not surprising," retorted Peter, managing a smile. It was only then that he noticed the dark circles around James's eyes, and the worry lines carving themselves around his mouth. "Are you alright? You look like you haven't slept."

James shook his head vaguely. "I've been better."

Peter glanced over his shoulder before drawing James to one side. "I'm open to listen if you want."

"Thanks, mate. I don't think it'll help, though." He offered Peter a rather grimace-like smile. "Did you read the Prophet this morning?"

"Not today. I was late..." Peter narrowed his eyes. "What happened? Is Lily alright? Are you--?"

"It's Mum. She was attacked outside St. Mungo's last night." James's eyes were intent on Peter now. "She was able to get away, but only barely." Pushing off from the wall, he began to pace. "I don't understand. Why her? She never hurt anyone."

"Maybe someone was trying to come after you?" offered Peter timidly. "She wasn't hurt, was she?"

James shook his head. "Thank goodness. Shaken, though. Lily took the day off to stay with her."

"James, what are you doing hanging about here?" It was Dorcas, emerging from the door across the way. "Shouldn't you be headed home? It was all you could talk about ten minutes ago."

James looked vaguely sheepish. "Wormtail was here. I hadn't seen him in awhile, so..." he trailed off. "Anyway, I should be off. Good seeing you, mate. Stop in sometime."

Peter murmured a vague goodbye as James loped down the corridor toward the lifts. Finally turning to Dorcas, he found he couldn't quite look her in the eye.

"Cat got your tongue, Peter?" she teased. "Is something the matter?"

"Yeah," he admitted. "I need to talk to you...but it's not easy to say. You know."

Dragging his eyes upward, he caught the furrow of her brow in puzzlement. "Well, I do know of one remedy for that. There's a pub round the corner. Care to join me?"

Peter had once contemplated counting the number of pubs named The King's Head, but gave up after his mother pointed out that they all referred to different kings, and that everyone wanted to please the king. It was in one such pub that he and Dorcas found themselves some ten minutes later, seated at a small corner table.

"So..." Dorcas prompted, eyeing him curiously.

"I just..." Peter hesitated, before everything spilled out of his mouth in a single breathless flow, "Moony spent the night with Padfoot. I don't know everything that happened, since Moony's too embarrassed to tell anyone, so he'd obviously not tell you, and you know Padfoot won't say anything because he's Padfoot, and I thought you ought to know because...well...you ought to know."

Dorcas studied him for several seconds. Then, suddenly, she started laughing. "Oh Peter! You're a sweet and lovely person, but there's no need for that. I know."

"Well, I'm glad someone thinks--" The rest of her words caught up with him, "You know?"

She nodded.

"How? I know Moony didn't tell you. Did Padfoot?" Maybe he hadn't given Sirius enough credit. It was easy to do, after all, especially for Peter.

Dorcas took another sip of her gin-and-tonic. "No, Sirius didn't tell me. I saw them."

It was Peter's turn to stare, drink frozen halfway to his mouth. He ought to say something to that. God knew he had things to say. Unfortunately, they were stuck somewhere between his brain and his vocal chords.

"Lily told me that James had heard from Sirius, and that he and Remus were laying low at his flat until morning. I couldn't sleep, so I decided to stop in and see how they were." She shrugged. "I wasn't altogether surprised."

"Of course you weren't!" The connection fell into Peter's head with all the subtlety of an anvil. "You've been encouraging it all this time! Moony told me so! And it occurs to me that that makes no sense whatsoever..."

Dorcas shrugged. "I don't suppose it would to just anyone. I wanted to see if I was right."

"Right..." Peter did his best to still his whirling thoughts. "You mean you guessed it before? I thought I was the only one..."

"You'd guessed?" Her brows rose in surprise.

"I saw. Christmas of sixth year. In the broom closet."

"You mean that actually happened?" She began to laugh again, head dropping into her hands. "I suspected something as much, but I didn't think he'd actually done it."

"What? Snogged Moony?" Peter took a rather large swallow of his drink. "Yeah. Not a pleasant sight to wake up to."

"You'd be surprised. But that's beside the point," she added quickly, with a smile so wicked that Peter was sure his face had turned the colour of the cherries on a nearby painting. "It was terribly simple, Peter dear. For better or worse, I suspected something, made a guess, and was insatiably curious as to whether or not it was correct."

"So...that was all? Just a guess?" He wasn't sure precisely how one ought to react to that. Relief that she wasn't angry or upset or bursting into tears warred with utter bafflement at how very calm she was. Amused, even. But this was Dorcas. Everything tended to amuse her.

"You think I'm mad, don't you?" she asked, regarding him with a smile. "Or at least incomprehensible."

Peter nodded. "I don't understand why you aren't upset."

"Why should I be upset? So long as neither of them minds, why should I?"

He looked at her for several seconds, debating whether or not to tell her about Remus' current state of dismay. "I suppose," he finally conceded. "But it seems to me that if you love someone, you ought to...you know...just be with them."

"That works for some people. James and Lily, for instance." Her smile had grown wistful. "Not for others, though. And it's far easier if you don't mind. Saves you hours of torment, really."

"I wouldn't know," Peter confessed gloomily.

"You still miss her, don't you?" There was no question as to who she meant by that. Peter nodded, and Dorcas reached across the table to cover his hand with hers. "I'm sorry, dear. It'll go away, I promise. I just can't say how long it'll take."

Forever, Peter wanted to say. If James or Sirius were about, one of them would almost certainly have changed the subject as quickly as possible. They didn't seem to like hearing about Laura. He'd overheard James say something about 'wallowing in self-pity' a few months before. The knowledge had stung, but, as usual, he'd kept it to himself.

"He doesn't deserve you," Peter finally blurted out, red-faced.

"And I don't deserve him. Makes us a brilliant match, I'd say." In spite of the teasing tone, she had ducked her head just slightly, enough to denote some flattery. "And as for your Laura, I do wish there was something to be done."

Peter nodded wordlessly, and took another drink.

"Although..." One corner of her mouth rose in a mischievous half-smile.

"Oh no," Peter said on reflex, noting a rather ominous resemblance to Sirius or James in a particularly prankish mood. "Should I be worried?"

"Not at all. I'm hurt that you even think so." She didn't sound hurt in the slightest. "It just came to my attention that there's a very pretty young lady at the bar who keeps sneaking glances at you."

Peter needed no more encouragement to blush. "You're making it up."

"I am not. See for yourself," she challenged. "Go on."

Left without a choice, he turned very slowly, willing the colour to recede from his cheeks. There certainly was a very pretty girl at the bar, though she was deep in conversation with whoever was sitting beside her. Before he could make the move to turn back to Dorcas and refute her point, however, the girl glanced up and smiled. Peter ducked his head and swung back round.

"I told you so," Dorcas informed him, smiling smugly. "Now, I'm not asking you to forget la belle Hennessey, because I know you won't. Why don't you just...have a nice conversation? Discuss something that isn't misuse of Muggle objects, or this entire bloody war. It'll do you good."

Peter opened his mouth to protest, but she was already throwing back the last of her drink, and adjusting the scarf around her neck. "But what about you?"

"I've got an evening planned with one exceedingly fluffy cat, a book, and several cups of tea. Believe it or not, even I need the night off every so often. Ah yes," she reached out and ruffled his hair, "I was hoping for a smile. Now go on, and don't think too hard. Bad for the complexion."

You make it sound so easy. Peter watched her leave, watched the door swing shut behind her. Just walk up and start speaking. Like James. Like Sirius. But it wasn't like that for little Wormtail. He didn't shine.

Even so, he gathered his courage and started toward the blonde girl with the flashing smile--Like Laura, the traitorous voice remarked--only to stop short when a cool hand wrapped itself around his wrist, nails and rings biting into his flesh. He turned, startled, to gaze into a pair of black-lashed dark eyes, so dark one could fall into them.

When she spoke, it was in a voice rich and throaty with promise. "Surely you remember me, little Peter Pettigrew." There was a slight singsong to the words, accompanied by a slow smile. "Because I remember you."

***

Lucius Malfoy was one of the strongest proponents of increasing the scope of the Statutes of Secrecy. It just so happened, however, that his wife was an avid lover of ballet, and one of her rare indulgences involved a privacy-charmed box at a live performance. It was as if the Muggles didn't exist at all, Narcissa had observed once, since on the stage, it hardly mattered.

Giselle had always been Narcissa's favourite. When she was eight years old, for Christmas, Andromeda and her Uncle Alphard had conspired to sneak her out of Grimmauld Place to attend a performance at the Royal Opera House. As far as he was aware, she had not seen it since.

"Are you alright, love?" he asked, leaning toward her. "I thought this might cheer you."

Narcissa smiled weakly, her eyes fixed on the golden-haired ballerina playing the guileless peasant girl of the title, and her equally fair-haired lover. "It was the last thing I expected, Lucius. Thank you."

Lucius didn't remember the story particularly well, and was only half-following it at the moment, but it was plain to see that something was upsetting her. "Darling, is something the matter?"

"Lucius." Her eyes were downcast, her hands resting almost protectively over her abdomen. "I'm pregnant again."

At first, he was speechless. Joy warred with that surge of unreasoning fear as he looked at her, so beautiful, so strong, but somehow so very fragile. "Darling, that's wonderful," he finally said, feeling the smile spread across his face. "Are you sure?"

Narcissa turned to return the smile. "I spoke to the Healers at St. Mungo's. I even went to the midwife near Mother's home, the one who delivered us all. A boy, Lucius. An heir."

"Did she say anything else?" he queried, noting the sudden shadow flitting across her delicate features.

"I needed no midwife to tell me he's in danger, Lucius." There was a flinty sort of set to her jaw now, and her eyes better resembled ice. He could hear the strains of the peasant dance on the stage below, a deceptively sweet undertone to her words. "I know what your Dark Lord is capable of."

"I won't let anything happen to him, love," Lucius said, steel in his tone. "I swear to you, our son will lack for nothing. He will be safe, and strong. He's a Black and a Malfoy, after all," he concluded with a quirked smile. "You don't find better blood than that, not anywhere."

"Of course he'll be perfect," she replied, a smile of her own blooming. "Is he not made from us?"

At that, Lucius did laugh, as he drew his wife close to kiss her. That was when he heard the strains of a waltz from below. A familiar waltz. For a second or two, memory held him captive, first of the little blonde girl dancing on a portico, and then of her older self blushing and laughing beneath the floating candles in the Hogwarts Great Hall. And now his wife, rising to her feet with a teasing smile. "You do plan to ask me to dance, don't you, Mister Malfoy?"

He scarcely needed to answer. The box shifted as they danced, the chairs moving out of the way with unobtrusive swiftness. Faster and faster they spun, in time with the dancers on the stage, and it seemed to Lucius that everything else had ceased to matter at the sight of his wife's brilliant smile.

***

The botched attack on the village two weeks before had kept most of the Death Eaters as far away from Hogsmeade as possible. This did not, however, hold true for Severus Snape, who had not been there that night. His position as Professor Agrippa's assistant had been very quickly exploited by his other employer, and he found himself spending at least several hours a week huddled at a corner table at the Hog's Head, waiting for something to happen.

Severus glared into the none-too-clean glass of butterbeer, half-tempted to demand a new one. Not that any replacement was likely to be much better, he observed, noting the dusty rag in the bartender's hand. Rumour had it the man was related to Dumbledore, of all people, but he really was a bit too covered in dust to make out any resemblance that was more than superficial. After a certain point, men with long white beards did look alike.

He pushed the half-finished glass backward, and stood, drawing the hood of his cloak further forward. He had taken all the necessary precautions, but all the same, it never hurt to be extra-careful, especially these days.

Or so he thought, before he tripped over a pile of rags. At least, what appeared to be a pile of rags on first glance. That was before it moved.

"Watch where you're going!" muttered a scratchy voice. Severus, not entirely able to form words, restricted himself to a snort, and disentangled his robes from the--creature--on the ground. "Who do you think you are, anyway?"

"None of your concern," snapped Severus. Some twenty seconds later, however, he found himself grateful for the distraction, as the door swung open to admit Albus Dumbledore himself, accompanied by a cloaked figure wearing what appeared to be a pair of overlarge spectacles.

So much for an early evening, thought Severus to himself, as he watched the pair ascend the stairs into the darkened upper floors. After a moment or two of silent reaction, the pub's denizens returned to their conversations and drinks. From behind him, a rasping snore echoed. Rolling his eyes, Severus moved quietly forward, taking the empty seat closest to the stairs.

Five minutes or so passed before he deemed it safe to approach further. Dumbledore's unexpected entrance seemed all but forgotten, except by the watchful bartender who kept glancing toward Severus as though warning him to stay where he was. That was before Severus' old acquaintance from the middle of the floor tripped yet one more person. The man reeled and went crashing into several nearby patrons, breaking glasses and spilling drinks. Muttering curses under his breath, the bartender left his post, and Severus made his exit.

The stairs were narrow and dangerously steep, but there were only two rooms at the top. As he neared the first, he could catch snippets of Dumbledore's soft voice, and his companion's replies, given in tones wispy enough to render her annoying within several minutes of having to listen to them.

He could feel himself nodding off, despite the unpolished wood digging into the small of his back, and the growing numbness in his legs.

How long he dozed, he could not have said, but something jerked him awake, sending pins and needles driving into the lower half of his body, and adrenaline surging through the rest. Biting his lip against a groan of pain, he suddenly realised that there was a third voice in the room. Three-toned, rasping, and dreadful.

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches..."

Severus lunged forward, completely forgetting that he was meant to keep quiet.

"Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies..." Even as he listened, Severus was calculating. Was there anyone who had defied the Dark Lord three times? Dumbledore, naturally, but he certainly wasn't having children. In fact, Severus was quite sure Dumbledore had never had children, nor was he ever going to. But that was beside the point. He racked his brain, but it came to nothing.

"And the Dark Lord will mark him--"

That was the last he heard, as a hand clenched around his ear and dragged him to his feet. "Eavesdropping's not a very nice thing to do, now, is it?" It was the bartender, Severus realised belatedly.

A sudden burst of light dazzled his night-blinded eyes, and he felt himself flung forward, coughing as a cloud of dust enveloped his face. He forced himself to focus, beyond the pain in several different parts of his body, and the utter embarrassment of his position, and found himself looking up into Albus Dumbledore's face.

This was not at all what he had planned.

***

Remus was more than slightly relieved that the only person he saw in the Potters' parlour was Lily, curled on the couch. "Lily, is Prongs around?"

She started, one hand at her throat. Then, noticing Remus' head in the fireplace, she relaxed a little. "He's due back in half an hour or so. Why don't you come now? Mopsy just put the kettle on. I'll have her bring out two cups."

Smiling, he did as she suggested. By the time he'd cleaned himself up, Lily had returned from the kitchen. "And how are you this evening?" Remus asked, enfolding her in a hug after she set down the tea tray.

"Exhausted," she replied as she sank back down onto the couch. "Long day. Two people were brought in today, both bitten by what they said looked like a large dog."

"Werewolf." There was no question in Remus' voice, just flat resignation. "You've mentioned this before, too. How many have you seen so far this year?"

"It's been barely two months, and we've already had seven attacks. This can't be an accident. James went to tell Professor Dumbledore." Reaching out, Lily poured two cups of tea. "Milk and sugar?"

"Just a little of each, thanks." Remus studied her pensively, noting the circles beneath her eyes and the flat line of her mouth. "Are you alright, Lily?"

She smiled faintly. "I've not been sleeping well, that's all."

"I can't imagine that's very comfortable," he glanced down at the growing swell of her abdomen. "Or is it something else?"

"Remus, I'm frightened." As Lily's eyes met his, he could see confirmation of the words. "It's not right to bring a child into a world like this. It's too dangerous. What chance has a baby when grown men and women are being slaughtered every day?"

"The chance to be overlooked, Lily. Have you thought of that?" One look at the expression on her face and Remus backpedaled. Quickly. "Have you talked to Pro--James about this?"

Lily shook her head. "He can't possibly understand, Remus. He's never been scared of anything in his life. As far as he's concerned, we can protect this baby, no matter what happens. He can't even conceive that maybe we're not strong enough."

"I think you're wrong there. I can think of one thing that scares Prongs out of his wits. Losing you. That is what he can't conceive of, Lily. Because it scares him too much. Last month, in Hogsmeade, I've never seen him like that before. Moody stunned him to hold him back, and thank goodness he did. Otherwise he'd have ended up like the Prew--" Suddenly realising precisely what he had said, Remus clapped his mouth shut. There was far too much else associated with that particular night. "Have you thought about a name yet? For the baby?"

It was a clumsy change of subject, at best, but Lily took a sip of tea, and was apparently willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. "We're thinking Anne for a girl, and Harry for a boy."

Remus raised his eyebrows. "Nothing more unusual?"

Lily shook her head. "Normal names." She smiled ruefully. "It might be wishful thinking on my part. Maybe normal names might give them normal lives. Not this," she gestured toward the newspapers lying on the coffee table. "Is it horrible of me to wish this baby didn't exist?"

"Not for the reasons you have," he assured her, "but you'll make the best of it. You both will, I promise. Although you really ought to talk to Prongs. Maybe the two of you could...I don't know...leave town for a few months, until the baby's born. Stay out of the way, that sort of thing."

"We can't do that, Remus. You know that. James hasn't finished his training, and then there's the Order..." Lily sighed. "It would be wrong. Frank and Alice aren't going anywhere, and she's due the same time as me."

"Have you talked to her? It might not be a terrible idea, you know."

Lily considered this, biting her lip. "You do make a good point."

They chatted for a few more minutes before James came in, lines of exhaustion drawn sharply on his face. At the exchange of looks between husband and wife, Remus excused himself as discreetly as possible, Flooing directly to the Dancing Rat, where his shift was due to begin in another hour or so.

There was a somewhat battered-looking piano at the corner of the pub, and surprisingly few clients for the late evening, so Remus settled onto the somewhat rickety bench, and ran his fingers idly over the keys. He had just launched into a particularly thunderous sonata when the realisation that he was being watched shifted his attention elsewhere.

"Please don't mind me." The words were exquisitely polite, all the stranger given that the voice was Sirius Black's. "I didn't mean to disturb you."

The retort died on Remus' lips as he turned. Whatever the voice may have implied, the young man--no, he corrected himself, the boy--standing a few feet behind him was not Sirius Black. "Regulus? What are you doing here?"

"My brother isn't here, is he?" Regulus shuffled his feet, visibly nervous.

Remus shook his head. "You looking for him?"

"Sort of. I mean..." He stared at the floor. "I was looking for you, actually, but I wanted to make sure Sirius wasn't...you know what he'd do if he saw me."

"Actually, I don't know what he'd do if he saw you," Remus countered coolly. "What's the matter?"

"It's a bit...it's complicated." Regulus glanced back, as if to make sure nobody was listening nearby. "Look, I know you're a...I know what you are."

Remus just looked at him, baffled. "And?"

"Look, can you just talk to someone for me? They'll give me grief if you don't. And I'd rather not deal with them any more than I have to..."

"You do realise you aren't making any sense?" Remus finally observed, glaring at Sirius' brother in his best Prefectural manner. "Who are 'they'? Why do they want to speak to me? And why on earth did they send you?"

"I can't tell you. They'll tell you. Because I look like Sirius." The grey eyes glared back at him defiantly, though there was a suggestion of petulance around Regulus' mouth.

"You really didn't until just now," was Remus' reply, smiling unbidden. "Although I'm not sure what family resemblance has to do with anything. If 'they' wanted me to mistake you for him, I'm afraid there would need to be far more alcohol involved."

To Remus' surprise, Regulus blushed deeply. "It wasn't so much that..."

Remus stared for a moment. Then realisation struck, coupled with more than a little annoyance. "Where on earth do people get these mad ideas from?" He forcibly squelched the voice of reason that tried to point out--more than a little ironically--that he didn't quite have the same moral high ground for indignation that he previously might have done. Realising then that he'd spoken louder than he'd intended, Remus grimaced and lowered his voice. "If it's any consolation, it wouldn't have worked. Your people seem to have a mistaken impression."

The grin on Regulus' face could be described as nothing less than relieved. "I'm almost glad of it, honestly. That would have been a little awkward."

"A little?" echoed Remus with a shake of his head. Then, something else came to mind. "What are you doing here anyway? Shouldn't you be in school?"

"Family business," was all Regulus vouchsafed to that. Then, with a nervous glance over his shoulder, he said, "Please? For my sake, if nothing else?"

Remus studied him for a moment. "How do I know you're not going to lead me into a back alley where I'll be set upon by Death Eaters and killed?"

"Death Eaters?" All the colour drained from Regulus' face, but he didn't seem to realise it. When he spoke again, it was in a flurry of words so fast that Remus was barely able to catch them all. "Who said anything about Death Eaters? I don't know any Death Eaters...well, I suppose there's Bella, but nothing's ever been proven, and you don't choose your family, after all."

No, indeed. He did sound like his brother, making that last point, much to Remus' chagrin. "Can I have your word on it, then?"

"On what?" Regulus looked decidedly unhappy about that.

"That if I'm willing to talk to...whoever you want me to talk to...I won't die, lose limbs, or suffer any damage to my mental stability?"

"Oh." Regulus frowned. "Of course. It's just talk. Nothing more."

Remus couldn't have said why he followed, in all honesty. He supposed insatiable curiosity might have had something to do with it, although the indulgence of said curiosity was not normal behaviour for him. That being said, very little that had happened over the past few weeks could constitute normality.

Mr Vance was very careful about keeping the streetlamps near The Dancing Rat fully lit at all times, especially these days. One could never be too careful, it seemed. Unless one was Remus Lupin, he added despondently, as he watched a tall shadow detach itself from the corner of a nearby building. At first, he did not recognise the man, grey-haired and--frankly--in dire need of a bath. That was before he grinned, showing dangerously pointed teeth, and said, "I see the bait worked."

He knew that voice. Shouldn't be wandering alone at night. You never know who you'll meet. Or what. Teeth sinking into his shoulder, mingled with rasping laughter. The lights of his house seeming so much farther away than they truly had been, and his own high-pitched cry of pain, stifled beneath one dirt-encrusted hand. Nearly fourteen years ago, and he still remembered it as if it had only just happened.

"You recognise me."

"How could I not?" Remus retorted hoarsely. From the corner of his eye, he could see Regulus shrinking back. "This was who you wanted me to see?"

The younger Black nodded jerkily. "It wasn't my decision. I do as I'm told." Not like Sirius. The words were unspoken, but Remus heard them all the same.

"Say your piece then," he snapped. "Say it and be done."

"You're on the wrong side, Lupin. Surely you know that as well as anyone. Surely you feel it, caged up as you are." Remus recoiled on instinct as one hand, nails long enough to be called claws, reached toward him. "You've got no reason to fear me now."

"No, you've done your worst already," Remus muttered. "Do you honestly expect me to listen to you? Of all the people? And I use the term loosely."

Fenrir Greyback shrugged, his threadbare robes rippling around him. "It's not in our nature to lock ourselves away, and you know that as well as I do."

"Our nature?" echoed Remus scornfully. "I didn't choose this. You know it better than anyone."

Greyback bared his teeth in what might have been a grin. "I'm offering you a choice--"

"The one you didn't offer me before?"

"--the Dark Lord offers us freedom, Lupin," Greyback continued without even missing a beat. "Can you even imagine what that might feel like?"

"Funny you should call it that," Remus remarked. "He doesn't seem like the sort who'd let anyone on his side just do as they pleased." He took several steps backward. "I think my answer should be clear enough."

Greyback's almost-smile transformed into a grimace. "You're a fool, Lupin."

Remus shrugged. "Somehow that doesn't trouble me very much." And, turning deliberately on his heel, he started back toward the pub.

He had barely taken several steps when he felt, rather than heard, the other werewolf lunge forward. Followed quickly by an order far more strident than any he had expected to emerge from Regulus Black's mouth. "Greyback, control yourself!" He stopped short, glancing back in open astonishment as Black continued, "We have our orders."

It was as simple as that. And, for the first time, he looked every inch a Black. With a mutinous growl, Greyback retreated. "Only for now."

This time, when Remus began his retreat, he made very sure not to turn his back to either of them.