Too Late

"I'm glad you told Harry," Remus Lupin said, adding lemon to his tea.

They were sitting in the dim, warm kitchen of Twelve Grimmauld Place, where they always met. They never discussed the fact that Remus lived there -- he couldn't afford anywhere else, these days, and this way there was always someone to make sure the place was clean and there was food to be had for incoming Order members who might need to stay the night. Still, it was a sensitive point, since Remus didn't take charity lightly, and had very broad definitions of 'charity'.

He squeezed the lemon slice, then added the pulp to the tea. Dumbledore wondered if it was merely a quirk of the younger man's personality, or if someone ought to study werewolf tastebuds. Remus would add lemon to anything, and he loved Molly Weasley's lemon muffins with an almost disturbing passion.

"Told Harry?" Dumbledore inquired.

"About why he wasn't chosen for Prefect last year, I mean," Remus answered, stirring. "He mentioned you'd explained things. He was crushed when he heard it was Ron instead."

Dumbledore watched in mild amazement as Remus sipped, winced, and added another lemon wedge.

"Yes, I've been meaning to discuss that with you," the older man said, blowing on his own cup to cool it -- he took sugar, and a spoonful of milk.

"Me? Whatever for?" Remus asked, sipping idly now that he'd got it mixed properly.

"I know you took it to heart when James made Head Boy, when you were at school," said the Headmaster. Remus looked up sharply, eyes suddenly keen and curious. "I know it's usually Prefects who get the title. I thought it was best -- at the time, you see -- easier. If you didn't know."

"Didn't know?" Remus asked, in a level tone. "Didn't know what? I assumed it was -- well, I thought perhaps I hadn't done well enough in classes, but...Sirius said it had to be because of my..." he gestured with his hands, sketching uncertain shapes in the air.

Dumbledore shook his head, and sighed. "James was...he was a Quidditch player, a charismatic boy. He was well-known, and he made good use of it." He paused. "He was already in the Order. I didn't want it that way, but we needed someone young, someone still at the school, to keep us abreast of what the other students were thinking."

"A spy."

"A monitor. There were already Death Eaters amongst you, someone had to make sure they did no real damage."

Understanding dawned on Remus' face. "And James was popular. People liked him. He could recruit," he murmured.

"The professors fought it. They thought you deserved it," Dumbledore said. "So did I. But James could further the fight. You and Sirius served better by being his checks, making sure he didn't go too far or take too many risks."

Remus nodded. His fingers loosened their grip on the teacup in front of him.

"I'm glad you told Harry," he repeated, slowly. He took another sip, and stood. "You're about fifteen years too late, in my case."

And he walked away, hands in pockets, leaving Dumbledore with his head bowed over his tea.