It was just past dawn when Remus slipped into the dark entrance hall of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. Kreacher, who was polishing the rungs of the bannister with a twisted expression on his face, looked up and sniffed. "It smells like blood," he said. "Unnatural dark creature..."

He went on in this vein. It was Remus's third transformation around him, and it was the same every time. The first time, it had bothered him. But when he realized that Kreacher termed everyone from Dora (as a metamorphmagus) to the Weasley boys (as twins) to Sirius (as a traitor) "unnatural," it had long since ceased to disturb him greatly.

"Good morning, Kreacher," he said quietly.

Kreacher stopped muttering and glared. "It speaks to me." He crinkled his nose and spat on the stairs, then used his own saliva as a polish, buffing the rung he was working on to a deep shine.

Remus shook his head and went down the kitchen steps. Hermione had gone on several times about being kind to house elves. Remus agreed with her in theory. But her notion that it would make a whit of difference with Kreacher was pure fantasy, and he didn't have the strength to indulge it this morning. The Wolfsbane Potion stopped the more horrific self-injuries of the transformation--there were no longer, thank heaven, any open wounds to tend--but the transformation itself was no different, and the aches and pains only got more acute as he got older. Normally, he would Charm his bedclothes to keep up a nice warmth and curl up under them all day. That wouldn't be an option this year.

The fire cast a great shadow against the back wall of the kitchen, a Muggle-storybook's impression of a wizard or a witch at a cauldron, looking decidedly mysterious and menacing if you didn't recognize the stoop of the shoulders, or hear that the muttering wasn't a doleful Curse or a rhyming couplet, but instead a re-iteration of a recipe.

"...and... let's see... a dash of Mooncalf milk, and one scoop billywig stings." He tossed this last into the cauldron as Remus came around the door. "Morning," he said.

"Good morning. Potion-brewing?"

Sirius shrugged. "Analgesic. And a bit to help you keep awake."

Remus was touched. "For me?"

"I've seen you the day after transformations. You've never been in shape to go to work. And you don't look like you are now." He dipped a goblet into the Potion and handed it to Remus. "It's been awhile since I've brewed anything. It could kill you, you know."

Remus took it and raised it to him with a smile. Sirius had never had the personality to be a strong Potions brewer (Snape flatly refused to try and teach him to brew Wolfsbane Potion), but he was perfectly capable of following a basic recipe. "I'll take my chances."

"Here's to Gryffindor courage," Sirius said, raising a glass of pumpkin juice in return.

Remus downed the Potion, and immediately felt a bit steadier on his feet. "Thanks," he said. "I appreciate it."

Sirius nodded graciously and tossed two plates of an indifferent breakfast onto the table.

Remus looked at it curiously. Sirius had never been one to fret overmuch about his transformations, usually confining himself to trying to jolly a laugh out of him in the infirmary at Hogwarts. Even in the last few months, he hadn't shown any special interest in taking on a caretaking role with anyone other than Harry. He seemed glad that this had passed to Dora.

"You should eat," he said. "School and all that."

"All right." Remus sat down and fiddled with the bland eggs, so famished that he felt vaguely nauseated. "I was thinking about this evening. Dora's off-duty, and I think Dung can come by. We can work out what to tell Harry about--"

Sirius was biting his lip. "Er, yes, about that..."

Remus put his fork down. Of course. "You talked with him in the fire."

"Nothing happened. I just told him not to ask about Hagrid, and not to worry about his scar."

"We talked about this."

"Harry needed to hear from someone. He needed to hear from me."

"And Hedwig was for some reason unavailable?"

"She's upstairs."

Remus slammed his fist down on the table. The bones in his hand, freshly back to their human configuration, protested this in no uncertain terms, and he winced as he uncurled the fist and massaged the joints of his fingers. He clenched his teeth. "Are. You. Mad?"

"I'm beginning to think that's the general consensus." Sirius got up and started pacing. "What's wrong with everyone? Everything went along just fine. Nothing happened!"

"Anything could have."

"Could have," Sirius muttered. "First Harry, now you. What kind of Gryffindors are you?"

"'First Harry'?" Remus repeated. "Harry told you not to do it?"

"Well, I don't think he minded me appearing in the fire. But when I said I'd meet him as Padfoot for the first Hogsmeade weekend..."

"No." Remus stood, found that there wasn't anything handy to hit--which was just as well--and settled for shaking his head sharply (protests from his neck and spine accompanied it). "I'm not saying that as your friend. I'm saying it as a member of the Order. Absolutely not."

"Don't worry," Sirius said morosely. "Harry already forbade it."

"Of course he did. Do you think he wants to see you back in Azkaban?"

"I should see him. I'm his guardian!"

"Yes. You are. Precisely. He's already lost two parents. He's finally got an adult he needs."

"Needs to do what? Sit here in Mum's kitchen, learning to cook? My job is looking after Harry, and I can't do that from here."

"I know you're frustrated--"

"James would have thought it a grand idea."

"At fifteen, that's quite possible."

"Harry's fifteen."

"Harry's been fighting this war for four years already. He's older than James was at fifteen."

"Still..."

"If you think James would have gone along with this now, you need to think again."

"I think I do know what James would expect of me. He made me Harry's godfather--"

"Yes. And I've stepped back as far as I can to let you be his godfather. But I'm not going to let you frighten him to death. You're toying with his greatest fears. You have to stop. No more threats to go out in public where you might be caught."

Sirius sat down sullenly. "Put some Potion in a thermos before you go," he said. "You should take it again at lunch. It keeps better than the Wolfsbane. It should still be fine in a few hours."

"I'm sorry."

"It's all right. You were always grumpy after a transformation."

Remus closed his eyes and decided it wasn't worth continuing. He'd made his point. "Right."

There was a low padding sound, and when Remus opened his eyes, he saw that Sirius had tranformed into a dog and was in the process of curling up in front of the fire, his head resting listlessly on his forepaws.

Remus sighed. "I have to oversee Dudley in detention tonight," he told the dog without changing his tone. "So I'll be a bit late. But we'll get the others together, whoever can come. You can tell us what you heard from Harry and the others."

Sirius wagged his tail and gave a dog-grin. It was the best they'd do for ending the argument this morning.

He got changed into his Muggle clothes, Charmed himself into Raymond Lewis, and headed out, tossing a rag doll that Padfoot liked to chew down the stairs to Sirius before he left. A perfectly human laugh followed it up.

He arrived early on the Smeltings grounds, walking faster than he'd anticipated being able to walk this morning. The dew was still wet on the grass. His feet, still given to sharp pains where the tendons and ligaments had been stretched last night, groaned at the dampness. The Potion Sirius had brewed helped, but it didn't cure, and if it was like any other Potion Remus had tried, there would be a price later--probably an abrupt drop off to sleep, which he couldn't afford any time soon.

He chastised himself for being ungrateful; a mild Potion might not solve all of his problems, but it had been kind of Sirius to think of brewing it, even if it had been meant to distract him from the business with Harry, and the Potion did work to some extent. And as far as sleep went, he needed it and had a right to ask for time to get it.

Alan Garvey was already in their shared office when he got there, answering his computer correspondence. As Remus came in, he abruptly cried, "HA!" and typed a furious response.

Remus smiled. One week, and already, this was routine. "What's today's subject?" he asked.

"Bajoran religion," Alan said, as if it had some inherent meaning. "Sisko playing at being the Emissary, and all that."

Remus considered asking, opted not to, and went to sit behind his desk. Unfortunately, a small paper sack had beat him to the spot.

He picked it up and held it out to Alan. "Is this yours?"

"Hmm?" Alan glanced over. "No. Oh, I nearly forgot. You just missed your wife. Said she couldn't make it for lunch--something about work--but you'd forgot to pack before you left."

"I see."

He looked curiously into the sack. There were two large roast beef sandwiches wrapped in plastic, with a note in Andromeda's handwriting saying "Sorry to miss you last night!" taped to them. A handful of Dairy Milk Chocolate bars. And a flat, rectangular package, with Dora's incongruously careful writing on it: "You forgot!" He drew it out and pulled the off the paper she'd wrapped it in.

It was the photograph. He hadn't realized she'd taken it with her that night--it must have been her own bag he'd seen her drop it into. She smiled out of the frame at him, her eyes dancing, her cheek resting against the side of his head, her arms stretched out to the camera. His eyes drifted to his own hand, hovering there at her elbow.

He didn't know what it was he found so disturbing about that. The hollow of her elbow was not on any recognized list of inappropriate bodily locations, as far as Remus knew. But still, his hand, hovering there...

"What did she leave you?"

"Just a photo," Remus said, bringing his eyes up from it and setting it on the desk, facing out.

Alan looked at it. "Good likeness," he said. He opened his desk drawer and took out a similarly shaped item, handing it across to Remus in a disinterested way. "This is Anna and myself, down at Broadstairs."

Remus took the photo and glanced at it curiously. Anna and Alan were at the seaside, each with a thick book. She was lying on her stomach on a beach towel and he was sitting in a plastic chair, wearing a straw hat. His feet were crossed and resting lightly on the small of her back, but they weren't looking at one another, instead smiling in a vague way at whoever was taking the picture. And yet, there was something about them, something that simply stated union, and left no room for argument. It reminded him of Ted and Andromeda, although the two couples couldn't be less alike if they tried.

He looked back at the picture of Dora and himself, then put it decisively on the shelf behind him. It was a good prop.

"Looks like a nice day," he said, handing Alan's photo back.

"Any day spent with Anna and Isaac Asimov is a good one," Alan agreed, then turned back to his correspondence.

Remus organized his class notes, growing a bit more nervous as the actual day began. It was too soon to be working. By the time he left for his first class, clouds were rolling in, and thunder rumbled in the distance. It was too dark to depend on sunlight, so he turned on the electric lights, wincing at their unwelcome brightness. It was a marvelous technology really, to have steady light without magic or danger of fire (at least not much), but did they really need to make it so unrelentingly ugly?

Any illusion that today would be business as usual was shattered when his second formers filed in, and Daniel Morse's face went white with concern. He rushed to the desk, biting his lip. "Are you all right, Mr. Lewis?"

Remus nodded and waved him to his seat, but when he went to stand up to write an outline on the blackboard, pain flared in his right knee, forcing him to either sit back down or fall down. He took a deep breath and looked out at the class. Daniel still looked horrified, the others uneasy.

"I'm sorry," he said. "My knee isn't quite what it should be today."

"Is it rheumatism?" a spotty, bespecatacled boy asked. "My aunt gets it something fierce when it rains."

"Yes," Remus said firmly, "It's rheumatism." He hoped to cut off discussion of it and made a mental note to look up the symptoms of the disease. He hadn't thought to discuss the subject with the class at all--students shouldn't have to bother themselves with their teachers' personal lives--but obviously, if he was going to appear the morning after transformations, some explanation would be needed. Whatever "rheumatism" was, he supposed it would do.

Daniel raised his hand. "I can write on the blackboard, sir, if you don't feel up to it."

"Thank you, Daniel."

He lectured from behind the desk that day, drawing the class into a discussion and, he hoped, distracting them from his appearance. He was glad that so many in this group were eager and pleasant. Daniel offered to stay behind to write for his next class, but Remus shooed him on to Maths with a thank you. First form was much the same, though he opted not to introduce the idea of the blackboard, and simply engaged them in a conversation about the reading they were meant to have done over the weekend. (He estimated optimistically that more than half might actually have done so.)

He limped back to his office for his free period and inhaled the two sandwiches Andromeda had sent him--like Sirius, she knew that he tended to be famished the day after the full moon--and dosed himself with a thermos-full of whatever Potion Sirius had brewed this morning. The chocolate bars were undoubtedly Dora's contribution. He was still hungry when he finished with them, though he knew it was unwise to eat any more.

There was a light knock on the door, and Daniel looked around the edge. "Are you feeling better?"

Remus smiled. "I'm fine. Don't worry about me."

Daniel nodded uncertainly, and disappeared.

Remus looked at the ruins of his lunch and smiled ruefully at the number of people making a fuss over his welfare. For twelve years, he'd gotten by largely on his own. Andromeda had helped from time to time, with the really horrendous transformations, and Dora had kept up a spirited correspondence with him, but he'd gotten into his own routines, and started to think of himself as self-sufficient and...

Alone.

Yes, that was a habit of thought as well, wasn't it? Remus Lupin, bravely facing the world by himself, despite everything turning against him.

It was a wretched habit, and he was very happy for the opportunity to break it.

He poked his finger to into the plastic wrappings from the sandwiches, and urged out a few crumbs of bread and beef.

Alan didn't show up for lunch, and Remus used the rest of his free time to rest with his head in his arms. Feeling a bit refreshed afterward, he made his way to his fifth form class.

They were already sitting quietly in their seats when he got there, which was suspicious enough in itself. Paul Freehof was looking fixedly at his hands, and Stephen Wells was all but shaking in his seat. Piers Polkiss had an ugly, eager expression his face, and Dudley was just staring straight ahead.

Remus walked slowly to his chair, forcing himself not to limp. From the corner of his eye, he saw Piers lean forward slightly.

He looked carefully at the chair, then went around to the front of the desk and sat on the edge of it instead, pulling himself up on protesting arms. Piers sat back, disappointed.

"First lesson," he said, "chairs splay somewhat when you remove the screws that hold them together. Second lesson?" He tossed his briefcase back onto the chair, and it collapsed with a great clattering. "I'm not that stupid."

Paul Freehof tried and failed to suppress a grin. Dudley continued to stare.

Remus shook his head. "Now, shall we get on with the class?"

They participated in their usual, stiffly formal way, apparently not mortally disappointed at the failure of their prank. (Had James and Sirius failed a prank so dismally, they would have been ignoring class to plan the next one, but none of the fifth formers appeared to be doing so.) When the bell rang, they started to file out.

Remus caught Dudley near the door.

"Mr. Dursley?" he said. "I believe we had an appointment."

Dudley glowered at him, but stepped back into the classroom, dismissing Piers with an imperious flap of his hand. He waited for the rest of the class to file out, then sat down in the front row.

Lily's nephew, Remus reminded himself, still failing to see even a ghost of a resemblance. How would Lily deal with this resentful lump of a boy? (He had an unfortunately clear idea how James would respond to him, but he didn't think Dudley was in a frame of mind where continuous magical pranking--James's thought would be to "get him used to the idea"--would be a helpful approach.)

Lily would probably do her best with the boy if she were alive to know him, being kind as long as she had to, then spend the next two weeks complaining about Petunia's parenting skills to anyone who would listen. James had been especially handy for tirades about her sister, as they amused him greatly.

Neither approach would help Remus get close enough to Dudley to find out what had happened to him last year. To get Dudley's respect, he was going to have to get the upper hand without making him feel threatened. He took a deep breath, crossed his arms, and raised an eyebrow at Dudley. "You may begin by putting the chair back together," he said.

Without speaking, Dudley came around the desk, flipped the chair on its side, and started reinserting the screws that he pulled casually out of the pocket of his knickerbockers.

"Why did you break into my office?" Remus asked as he worked.

"You know why."

"I really don't."

"I want to prove that you're a you-know-what." He finished with the chair and swung it upright. If he took it in his head to swing it at Remus mid-arc, there was no good way to block it. But he didn't.

Remus almost said, Prove it to whom?, but held back at the last moment. He just didn't know how Dudley would react to a confirmation of his suspicions, and it might well be with a counterstrike. No one would believe him if he just said, "Mr. Lewis is a wizard." But if he said, "In detention, Mr. Lewis told me he was a wizard and offered to show me his wand," Remus had a feeling he'd be out on the street fairly quickly.

Instead, he said, "I met Joe Levinson on Saturday."

Dudley, back in the a seat in the front row, looked up in a guarded way. "How is he?"

"He seems to have stabilized since he left Smeltings."

"But no better."

"Not yet."

"Why do I think he'll suddenly recover when you get whatever it is you want here?"

"I have nothing to do with Mr. Levinson's illness."

"Right."

"He told me how hard you worked last year. He was very impressed with you, and wanted to make sure I didn't waste your work."

"What did you tell him?" Dudley asked suspiciously.

"Nothing at all. I was listening to him. He's a good man."

"Too right, he is."

"He said he helped you in a pub fight last year... a woman?"

Dudley looked at him with cold, flat eyes. "That's none of your concern."

"I only wondered... in my office, you said I was like someone named Harry, and a woman last year. Is that the woman you meant?"

"Aren't you going to ask who Harry is?"

Curious about the answer Dudley would give, Remus asked, "Who is Harry?"

"Harry's..." Dudley's eyes glazed over and he looked mildly out the window. "A cousin. Just Harry."

For a moment, Remus thought Dudley was just being vague because of his nature, but then he recognized the dazed look in his eyes. He was under a spell that wouldn't allow him to discuss Harry in any great detail, and certainly not reveal to any wizard that they lived in the same house. That had to be frustrating to him, to find his mind suddenly blanking every time he neared a subject that was so close to him. It wasn't as total as Fidelius, and his non-magical friends undoubtedly would know about Harry, but still... the protective magic would find a way to interfere with his thinking.

Remus had never given much thought to the issue of memory spells and other mental alterations, other than a blanket, distant distaste for them. He decided at that moment that he had no intention of ever using one.

Dudley blinked a few times, then seemed to come back to himself. "So, what? Are we meant to have a bit of a cuddle now?" he asked, wrinkling his nose.

Remus's momentary sympathy for him disappeared in a wash of irritation. "One more quip like that, Mr. Dursley, and you'll be in front of the headmaster."

"What, then?"

Remus sat down at his desk (testing the chair gingerly before sitting in it) and leaned back. He wasn't especially good with standard punishments. He'd set Draco Malfoy to cleaning the grindylow tank after a particularly horrific class, and the Weasley twins--who made a hobby of getting detention in every class--had chased down redcaps with him. There was nothing quite as appropriate here.

"Very well, Mr. Dursley," he said. "Get out your textbook. There's a series of questions at the end of chapter two. I shall mark them at the end of detention"

"Is that all?"

Remus rubbed his temples. "I'd hoped we could talk. But since that's not the case, I'll be more creative tomorrow."