Judging by the sunlight, it was just past noon.

Remus buried himself in the bedclothes, wrapping them around his joints and waiting for the last of the pains to pass. That they wouldn't--not really, anyway--until tomorrow was something he knew perfectly well, but why let it interfere with a good lie-in, really?

Because it's past noon, and you can't just lie about all day.

"Why not?" he muttered to no one.

You know why.

He took a deep breath and forced himself to sit up, pushing his spine against the headboard of the bed. His head was swimming a bit, as it usually did when he slept this late, and he waited for it to settle down. He would force himself out of bed, though, because it was too easy not to.

When Lily and James had died (and when he'd believed that Peter had), he'd expected a bad turn, and had forced himself to go on. Dumbledore had found him a job away from London, teaching Squibs, and he'd made himself do it. But the transformations had been horrendous that year, just before the Wolfsbane potion, and he was out so often that in June, they'd regretfully told him that they would need to find a teacher who was more reliable the next year.

After the next transformation, he simply hadn't gotten out of bed.

At all.

He'd missed a Sunday lunch at the Tonkses', and Ted had come over and found him, and he'd ended up spending a week at St. Mungo's. Ted said it was just too much happening. Stress. Emotional overload.

It could be named anything, but Remus knew what it had been: abject surrender.

Remus wasn't a fighter like Sirius or James, and didn't enjoy fights as Peter did. He wasn't a hero, like Lily, or fearless, like Dora.

But he was damned if he'd just give up.

He put his feet on the floor, braced himself for the stabbing pains in his toe bones, and stood up.

The first few steps were lurches, barely controlled falling across the room until he could get his hands on the wall, but after holding on for a moment, some of the strength came back. He straightened his legs and pushed away from the wall, steadying himself for a moment before slowly picking his way down the stairs. It had been easier immediately after the transformation; sleeping, however healthy in moderation, made all of his sore muscles stiffen.

"Are you already up?"

Remus looked down the stairs. Sirius was at the bottom, examining the space between the wall and his mother's portrait, careful not to disturb the curtains. Remus could hear snoring coming from behind them.

He nodded and started down the stairs. He kept his voice low. "What time is it?"

"Twelve-forty."

"Quite late enough." He reached the bottom of the stairs and leaned on the newel post. "What are you doing?"

"Trying to work out the sticking Charm. I can't figure out what she's used to bind it."

"Any luck?"

Sirius grimaced. "I'm beginning to think I should have listened to a few of her lectures from time to time. I don't like not knowing what she's done around here."

"Hmm."

"What do you mean, 'Hmm'?"

"Does 'hmm' mean something?"

"You tell me."

"It means that I actually don't have an opinion on the subject." Remus yawned. "I should eat something. Do you want anything?"

"There's shepherd's pie from last night," Sirius said. "I've got a Warming Charm on it."

Remus shuffled across the hall and made his way down to the kitchen, his muscles loosening up a little bit with each step. By the time he'd served himself, Sirius had come down as well, installing himself at his habitual spot at the table, sharp elbows planted on the wood.

"Do you want any?" Remus asked.

"I already ate." He watched Remus sit down. "How's the cut?"

Remus, who had forgotten entirely about the gash on his side, stretched a bit. "Seems fine. Thank you for helping with that."

"Well, I suppose I could have just let you keep bleeding, but then Kreacher would complain about having to clean it up."

"Well, we can't have that."

Sirius watched him eat for awhile. "You just missed Dora," he said. "She came by at the beginning of her lunch to check on you. I told her you were still sleeping."

"Did she have any trouble reaching Smeltings?"

"Not that she mentioned."

"And they were able to find someone to take my classes?"

"They didn't tell her, but I'd imagine they'd have to. At least you can be sure it wasn't Snivellus this time." Sirius grinned, knowing how much that particular substitute had galled Remus. "Though I'd give a sack of galleons to see him mucking about with a computer and a telephone. Or asking a student for help with them."

Remus sighed. Sirius had loathed Snape from day one--all of them had, to be honest; he'd allied himself with Bella's gang on the Hogwarts Express, and that was more than enough to draw the wrath of James, Sirius, and anyone under their influence--but since their forced alliance, the petty attacks had become constant. Sirius couldn't protect Harry from Snape's torments, so he seemed to have adopted a policy of simply striking back, even if it was just his imagination calling up a Severus Snape humiliated at facing unknown Muggle technology and having to swallow his pride and ask for help. Mainly, it was a return to his role as Snape's own tormentor. Remus didn't think he was doing Harry any favors.

And, at any rate, Snape had long since learned to handle that mode of attack.

"She seemed quite concerned," Sirius said.

"Who?"

"Dora."

"Oh."

Sirius was quiet for a long time (for Sirius), then said, "When I left... did she remember me?"

"What?"

"She says she did, but--"

"Yes. She did. She didn't know quite what to make of you, but I promise, she remembered you. I think that's why she was so aggressive about making sure I kept checking in."

Sirius laughed. "Right. I'm certain that's exactly it. Remus Lupin, substitute cousin."

"I don't mean that I replaced you," Remus said quickly, and bit his tongue on saying, Or Peter, although the latter would have been a more likely connection in young Dora's mind. "Just that she felt the loss. And she didn't want to lose anyone else. She remembered you." He smiled. "She still has the dolls you Charmed for her when she was five. Last I knew, a handful of them were wandering around her flat, driving her cat quite mad."

"I am good with toys," Sirius said, grinning broadly.

"Brilliant. I still can't believe you bought Harry a Firebolt. You had to know we'd guess it was from you and strip it down."

He shrugged. "There was nothing wrong with it. I assumed, if he turned it in, that you could strip it to your heart's delight. Though I still can't believe he turned it in."

"Hermione."

"Of course. Clever girl. I like her."

"So you've said."

Sirius picked up his wand and started levitating the dishes over to the sink. "Can I ask you something, Remus?"

"What?"

"Why didn't you write to Harry?"

It was the last question Remus had expected, and he found himself vaguely confused by it. What on Earth...? "He... he seemed anxious to write to you. To get to know you. I had a whole year with him."

"As his substitute godfather."

"As his Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher." Remus tried not to snap--he knew Sirius was just making conversation, trying to fill in blanks. But twice now, he'd used the word "substitute"--an impermanent replacement, a transient post. It was an especially dreary corner of employment purgatory, where holding one's own job was entirely dependent upon the misfortunes of others, and hoping for their recovery was hoping for another long period of scrabbling for spare knuts.

Sirius didn't notice any change in tone. "So you kept yourself to yourself to help me."

"And Harry."

Sirius gave him an uncertain look, then twitched his head quickly, like a dog shaking water from its ears. "All right," he said, his voice more business-like. "Dora will be by after her shift to tell us how she pulled our prank last night. Here's hoping she was brilliant."

Dora came by after dinner to fill them in on the previous night's adventure and ended up staying until nearly midnight, giving a full performance (morphing characters included) of the visit to the Levinsons, and then relating a wild story about an arrest she and her team had made during the day. "The usual run of barmy old bat," she said. "She claimed she was a Death Eater and--get this--Voldemort's lover, out to avenge his death."

"She seems to be a bit out of the loop."

"Apparently, he wasn't too fussed about getting her back."

"Is there a tattoo?" Remus asked.

"Drawn on her forehead. In purple ink."

Sirius rolled his eyes. "A real danger to society, that one," he said.

"Well, she had killed all of her pet fish, and she was working up to eating a spider when we found her." Dora shrugged. "I sent her to spell damage ward. Maybe Mum can do something with her."

After she left, Remus went back to bed and slept soundly until six-thirty. He woke up feeling stronger, and filled with the mild euphoria that followed his monthly recovery.

He was starting to get used to the Smeltings grounds, even appreciating the too-neat footbridge and the ersatz gold dome, but the office building he inhabited was simply never going to enthrall him. He sighed as he got onto the lift and took it to the third floor; once you got past the oddness of all the motors and electricity, there was really nothing at all to recommend this place.

From the end of the corridor, where the office door was open, he heard Alan loudly mutter, "Bugger," and then there was a flurry of soft tapping as he wrote one impassioned argument or another to his correspondents. He had to be hitting the keys hard enough to make his fingertips swell. Remus shook his head and smiled. He had a feeling he'd miss Alan when this assignment was over.

When he got into the office, he saw a large wooden basket filled with fruit and brightly colored paper on his desk. It looked incongruously cheerful in the drab building, and he wondered for a moment if Dora had left it--the bright pink paper would appeal to her--but that didn't make any sense, as she'd been over at Grimmauld Place until quite late, and had no occasion to be leaving him gifts.

"Good morning, Alan," he said.

Alan grunted something over his shoulder that might have involved the word "morning," then said, somewhat more clearly, "Miriam had Joe bring that thing in yesterday."

"Joe Levinson?"

"He was feeling a bit chipper, so he came in to take your classes while you were out. Felt wretched again by the end of the day, but he was hoping a bit of rest would get him up and around again. He--oh, please."

"What?"

"Whole business about the fate of the Federation going on, and they're worried about who's in love with... oh, never mind. Anyway, Miriam wanted to thank Dora, but no one could find an address for you. Bit odd."

"Yes," Remus said quickly. "I'll look into that. I can't imagine why it's not available." He briefly considered doing a Persuasion Charm to reinforce the idea that it was all a mistake, but Alan was already shrugging it off. Administrative oddities at Smeltings could cover any number of sins.

"At any rate, she sent the basket with Joe and told him it was to be a get well sort of affair for you as well as a thank you for Dora and her sister. Who Joe found right entertaining, I should tell you. He was full of Andromeda stories."

"I'm glad it helped. I'm sorry I couldn't be with them when they visited."

Alan was back at his computer. "Well, Saturdays at my place are a regular thing for us all. Anna told me to remind you that you don't need an invitation, as I always forget to give you one."

Remus nodded, uncomfortable. He didn't want to have to make excuses every week, but with an open invitation, he'd have to create some reason not to go.

Or, on the other hand, you could just go. Why not spend an afternoon playing cards with other teachers? Is that a crime?

But that was simple enough--he and Dora were wrapped in enough lies to make the Ministry look upfront and earnest. And this was a short-term business. It wasn't the best way to approach a friendship.

He taught his third and fourth form classes that morning, enjoying the sunlight as long as he could before he was forced to turn on the electric lights (in fact, he had turned them on first thing, but his third form class had made faces and begged for the sunlight instead, and he had been happy to oblige them). A boy in his fourth form class who had recently joined the history club--Landon Fitz--walked back to his office with him, going on in an animated way about the Viking explorations of North America. This was not, of course, the topic of his class, but Remus didn't mind. Landon had been doing mediocre, disinterested work until Stephen Wells had hooked him into the club and gotten him to find something that liked. Landon had become quite passionate about Vikings, and Remus rather enjoyed letting his students do the lecturing from time to time. It certainly wasn't a subject he'd studied particularly intensely himself.

"So the Vikings really were the ones who crossed the Atlantic first," he said as they came out of the lift. "Not Columbus."

"Hmm," Remus said. "But they didn't really start the massive exploration--"

"They were ahead of their time!"

"I suppose you could see it that way--"

"They were! Everyone thinks they were just brutes with great horns on their helmets, but--Mr. Levinson?"

Remus looked up.

Joe was standing by the office door, leaning on his cane and smiling faintly. "I left my medicine in the desk yesterday. Miriam was going to come, but I thought I'd come and see if you were in. Hullo, Mr. Fitz. Vikings, eh?"

Landon nodded. "I've joined the history club. We're still looking for a name."

"Well, history doesn't lack for names," Joe said. "I'm sure it's just a matter of time until you find one."

"You seem to be feeling better," Remus said.

"And you. I'd wondered if we could talk."

Remus looked at Landon. "Do you have anything after classes this afternoon?"

"No."

"Could you come back then? We can talk about the Vikings all you like."

"All right." Landon gave him an agreeable smile, then tapped his Smeltings stick on the floor and gave Joe a quick bow. "Hope you're around more, Mr. Levinson." He turned and went quickly down the corridor.

"Good boys," Joe mused as Remus unlocked the door. "I've missed them."

Remus let him in. "How are you feeling?"

"After your wife and your sister-in-law left, I was feeling wonderful. Miriam and I took out the old records and danced for a bit. It was a good night." He smiled and sat down in the extra chair. "And I was fine most of the day. I probably shouldn't have tried to have dinner with the boxers. I was already tired after fifth form, but they practically kidnapped me. It was too much stress." He shrugged. "A bit of rest at home helped, but I suppose I'm just not going to be able to come back. I know I shouldn't think about it--it's your job now--but I do miss it. How are you?"

"Oh, I'm perfectly fine."

"Just a twenty-four hour thing, then?"

"Yes."

"I'm glad to hear it. It wouldn't be good for the boys to lose another teacher. They've really got to like you, you know."

"I like them, too."

Joe looked out the window for awhile. "When you said you had them in a dialogue--that you had them talking and so on--I thought you were one of these New Age sorts. I was sure they'd tell me how they felt about everything, and not really know what what it was they were talking about."

"How could they have any sort of feelings about something they don't know about?"

"A good point." Joe turned back. "My point is, I underestimated you somewhat. I wanted to think that maybe they really needed me back. I'm sorry."

"It's all right. I've left jobs before. The last time, I was horribly jealous of my replacement. He had my fourth forms far above where I would have put them, and they did fine. Very disconcerting." Of course he had also been mad as a hatter and working under the direction of pure evil, not to mention trying to kill one of the students... but he had been, for all of that, a good Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Remus had kicked himself for not thinking of actually teaching his fourth years how to cope with the Unforgiveables.

"I suppose we all want to believe that we're irreplaceable, don't we?" Joe laughed humorlessly.

Remus smiled, but he was puzzled. "What did you need to talk about, Joe?"

Joe pursed his lips and furrowed his brow, obviously meaning to say something rather serious. "Stephen Wells tells me that you basically have the boys themselves running their history club. That you're happy to help them find subjects to study, but you're not even their faculty advisor."

"Well, I thought--"

"You haven't taken any extracurriculars. Even Alan has his medieval swordfighting business, and he doesn't really like children, if you ask me."

"Well, he likes swords."

"Polkiss said that you haven't been to any school sporting events--"

"I don't really know--"

"--and they all said that you're rarely here after hours at all. In short, Raymond, the general consensus is that you seem to be a very good substitute teacher."

Remus sat back in his desk chair, not sure what to say to that.

"Don't get me wrong," Joe said. "I like you and I think you're a fine educator. But you don't seem to be involved. You're not committed, and the boys pick up on that. They like you, but they're not going to trust you completely as long as they think you're just passing through here." He took a deep breath. "Well, that was awkward."

"A bit."

"I wouldn't have done it if I didn't think you were a damned good teacher. I wouldn't want them giving you their trust if you weren't. I like you, but it's them I'm responsible to. Leaving the job doesn't change that, as I would assume you know."

"Yes."

"They're away from their parents. You're the one who's with them every day, and they need you. They'll never say it--not in so many words. They'll just say that you don't really care about the school and so on. But what they mean is that they believe you don't care about them."

"I understand."

"I know you do. And I know you'd like to have a life outside Smeltings, and anyone with eyes can see that you'd like to get home to your wife as quickly as possible. But she seems like she likes the boys all right. You could invite her to come to various sporting events. The football matches are actually quite a lot of fun, and our boxers are excellent, if you like that sort of thing." He sighed. "The point is, go to them. Get involved. Stop substituting for me, because you're not going to get a telephone call some morning saying that I've recovered and thanking you for your time. Am I being clear?"

"Yes. And thank you. I hadn't realized I was doing that."

"I imagine you're the sort who keeps himself to himself anyway. And it's not easy to just jump in. But you need to."

"I will."

"Then that's that." He extended his hand. "Still on speaking terms?"

Remus shook the hand. "Of course."

Joe stood slowly leaning heavily on his cane. He closed his eyes and swayed a bit when he was upright, but held his hand up to keep Remus from helping him. "I hate this," he said. "Do you know what I'd give to actually feel well for a week?"

"I imagine quite a lot."

"You imagine right." He opened his eyes and smiled. "Well, I'm glad we talked. And you tell that cute sister-in-law of yours that she's welcome to come by any time. A wonder worker, that one, I'll tell you."

Remus stood and walked him to the office door, half expecting that he'd need to catch him at some point, but he got to the corridor without incident, and Remus just watched as he made his way to the lift.

When he was gone, Remus went back to his desk and stared at the pile of essays that his classes had turned in yesterday. He'd meant to just mark them and then go back to Grimmauld Place.

Back to real life.

Except, for the boys, this was real life, and Remus was turning his back on it, waiting for the end of the assignment, when the real authority would come back, at which point he would abandon them, as he'd more-or-less abandoned Harry when Sirius returned.

Of course they hadn't given him their trust.

Outside the window, he saw Joe making his way laboriously across the car park. Students hailed him and he raised his hand in a cheerful return.

Before his afternoon classes, Remus walked over to the gymnasium, where the various upcoming athletic events were announced on one of the ubiquitous Smeltings pinboards. Football, next Wednesday. Fencing, Tuesday. Boxing practice and demonstration--that would be Dudley... no, that had been last night, they just hadn't taken it down.

There were major sports and smaller sports and some teams that seemed to play within the school, house to house (the Smeltings Houses were Iron, Copper, Steel, and Bronze), while others were scheduled to compete against other schools. He looked at the schedule uncertainly, not sure if he should just attend home games for several sports, or follow a single sport to all of its games. Hogwarts, really, had only had Quidditch, in terms of athletics.

And he had not, quite honestly, particularly enjoyed Quidditch.

He hadn't hated it, but he'd never understood James's fascination with the game, and as often as not, he would have rather been back in Gryffindor tower than shivering on the edge of the pitch while Peter and Sirius cheered enthusiastically.

A club, perhaps. He thought there was a dramatics club, and of course there was the history club, and Alan's medieval club. It occurred to Remus that those two clubs could potentially work together.

Neither of them is going to get you a whit closer to Dudley Dursley, he reminded himself. Don't forget why you've come here.

Remus consciously shoved the voice away. Keeping focused on Dudley didn't seem to do any particular good, either--Joe was right. None of the boys, including Dudley, would trust him if he seemed likely to bolt.

He hadn't taken on any clubs at Hogwarts, but his door had been open nearly all the time, and Harry had not been the only student to come through it. Ginny Weasley had been a regular visitor most of that spring. When she'd first seen him at Grimmauld Place, she'd nearly leapt down the kitchen stairs to throw her arms around him, then jumped back and clapped her hands while crowing "Professor Lupin!" which had made him madly happy, although he didn't normally allow his students to pummel him with affection (well, except for Dora, and honestly, that had never been a question of "allowing," per se; one might as well speak of "allowing" rain to fall). The Patil girls--whose mother was a distantly amiable acquaintance of long standing--and Lavender Brown had invited themselves to tea several times. Luna Lovegood had come to him with a notion to get a school newspaper started, but it hadn't come to anything. The Weasley twins had somehow intuited that he didn't mind their hijinks, and had mined his office with harmless tricks--quills that turned into squawking birds when he picked them up and so on--and Pansy Parkinson had enjoyed coming in to complain about the state of politics in the wizarding world, and describe what she intended to do when she came into power. It seemed to largely involve the enforcement of a social code that no one other than Pansy actually understood, but Remus was oddly touched by her willingness to include him, even provisionally, in her circle, despite the fact that he had been rejected soundly by both Severus and Draco Malfoy, whose opinions she valued.

It had all happened quite naturally; he'd made no decision to "become more involved" in the life of Hogwarts. The notion of fishing around for activities here seemed profoundly awkward. But the fact was, he had lived at Hogwarts. He was there on Saturdays and in the evenings, to meet his students in the corridors and talk with them in the Great Hall at dinner.

Remus was almost violently homesick.

"Mr. Lewis?"

He turned. Daniel Morse was standing beside him, grinning, wearing all white and carrying a play sword with some sort of ball on the end of it.

"Are you feeling better?"

"Quite a bit, thank you."

Daniel came over and stood beside him, scanning the notices with his lips slightly pursed. "Were you looking for something?" he asked.

"I thought, since I'm here, that I might like to come to some school events," Remus said. "There are certainly a lot of them."

"We all have to play a sport, even if it's just between the Houses. So there are a lot of matches." He looked up with guarded eagerness. "You could come to my fencing match on Tuesday, if you'd like. It's after dinner, at seven o'clock, here. It's just Copper House against Iron House, first level, and I'm not very good, and I suppose no one else really is either, and Mum says it's not much fun to watch people who don't really know what they're doing--she was a fencer at university, you know--but--"

"I'll be there."

Daniel stopped, the increasingly quick flow of words chopped off at mid-sentence. He blinked. "You will?"

"Count on it."

Daniel smiled brightly, as though he had been given a grand gift. Remus made a show of copying down all the information and promising to put it on the wall at home so that he'd be sure nothing got in the way, and he did, in fact, do so. Sirius frowned and asked exactly how much more time he was going to be putting into Smeltings rather than the Order of the Phoenix, but seemed to understand when Remus explained. Dora promptly checked her own schedule and was quite disappointed to find that she was taking a shift at the Department of Mysteries that night and couldn't attend. (At this, Sirius looked at her as though she had fully lost her mind.)

The Iron-Copper fencing match seemed to put a permanent wedge in the office door. Boys in the history club started, first tentatively but with increasing casualness, to tell him when their various events were, and he found himself watching Andrew Metcalf jump hurtles, Paul Freehof perform in a one-man play, Stephen Wells handily win a debate against another school, and Landon Fitz fumble his way through an interhouse football game. Dora delightedly joined him for this last, cheering Landon's team (Iron House) with gusto. Alan Garvey--a Bronze House alumnus who was cheering for the other team--came over after the game and mentioned the difficulty at finding the Lewises' home address to deliver Joe's fruit basket, and Dora promised on the way home that she would figure out something more clever than a Persuasion Charm.

A week later, she announced that she'd given up her Diagon Alley flat, moved her Charmed possessions back to her parents' home, and taken a Muggle flat above a book shop in West Kensington.

"Isn't that a bit extreme?" Remus had asked as Sirius got dinner in the Grimmauld Place kitchen.

"Well, it's not like I was ever home anyway. Between work, the Order, Mum and Dad, and you, I was only there for a few hours a night, and not doing much magic. I may as well sleep and not do magic at a more useful address."

"I'll help you with the cost..."

"I've got it. Granny Tonks left me a bit of Muggle money, and it's gotten a lot of interest. So she's got us covered. You should bring some of your things."

"What?"

"You know... in case the Garveys or anyone else comes to visit, so that it doesn't look like I live there alone. Some ties, a suit or two, shoes... man things."

"You're going to have visitors?"

"Well, it's just rude to accept all of their invitations and never offer one."

"And you think they'll be checking the wardrobe?" Sirius asked, sitting down. "Nosy friends you're making."

"I'm not bringing my clothes over, Dora. I don't have that many."

"Fine. I'll borrow some of Dad's."

"I think you're over-playing it," Sirius grumbled. "The both of you. You're putting in more time on making up these people who don't exist than you spend here." He looked down at the table. "With the Order."

Dora grinned at him and ruffled his hair. "The Order can help us decorate tomorrow, if it can stand being Disillusioned and on a lead for a bit."

Sirius gave her a sheepish grin.

"I'm not sure that's a marvelous plan..." Remus started, but didn't bother to go further. "We should have talked about this," he said.

"I had to decide quickly. It's not that easy to find a flat, and if I hadn't taken it right then while the Persuasion Charm was working, the landlady would have given it to someone else."

The three of them made the trip to West Kensington the next day--Sirius transformed--and spent several hours creating a stage set real enough that Remus felt vaguely uncomfortable in it. Dora and Sirius spread out the photographs they'd taken in September while he visited the bookshop downstairs and bought several used paperbacks (and a battered hardcover or two) to stock a small set of shelves Dora had. He reluctantly used Dora's money, as his second check had also gone mainly to debts after Gringott's had converted it to wizarding money. Dora's cat--an ancient, graying tabby named Granny--spent the day sniffing suspiciously at the power outlets and giving her disgusted looks until Sirius picked her up and played with her for half an hour (after which she fell asleep contentedly in his lap while Dora and Remus finished hanging draperies in the front room). They got back to Grimmauld Place to find Kingsley Shacklebolt in the kitchen, furious and threatening to sack Dora if she took such a foolish chance with Sirius's security again. ("It's our jobs as well as his freedom if he's caught here, if that makes any difference to you!")

It turned out that someone had reported a sighting of him in the Home Counties--an erroneous one, but still a danger sign, as people were on the lookout--and Kingsley was more or less forced to lock the doors of Number Twelve on him, only grudgingly allowing him to go out to the courtyard garden after a thorough inspection of its concealment Charms. Andromeda Tonks was put under even greater surveillance, in case he tried to contact her, which made any further visits to Joe Levinson impossible. ("On the upside," Dora said, "Aunt Narcissa is finding other places to keep herself amused.")

Remus found himself at Smeltings for longer and longer hours. He took on sponsorship of the history club, and found himself involved in an elaborate examination of a series of disturbing Whitechapel murders in which the boys took an inordinate interest. They arranged a "Ripper dinner," in which they took turns acting out theories of the crimes, the "victims" dressing in frilly women's clothes borrowed from the dramatics club. Dora attended it, and confided on the way home that she was glad for the Statute of Secrecy, as it would entirely spoil their fun to know that the murderer had been a Dark Wizard who was caught and sent to Azkaban. She'd come across the file during her training.

The change wasn't at all gradual--it was as though the boys had been waiting for a sign that they could trust him, and they sought him out fairly eagerly... almost hungrily, he thought. Once his eyes were open, he saw it to be true with several of the teachers, even Alan Garvey, who tended to be short-tempered and impatient with his students. Remus had spent his own boyhood in a boarding school and seen nothing remotely like this level of need among the students, but here at Smeltings, it was a tangible thing, and it was as exhausting as it was exhilarating. The boxers, who had given their trust to Joe Levinson, were still distant and wary, but even after only three weeks, Remus could see a difference in them. There were no more dagger stares, and not as many conversations that stopped as soon as he entered the room. Dudley himself grew more sullen in his inability to tell everyone else just why he was holding back, but even there, Remus would sometimes see a tentative approach. So far, it was always followed by a quick withdrawal and a look of self-disgust, but on the whole, it was encouraging.

The time seemed to flow by in a slipstream, and sometimes Remus found himself forgetting that it was just a temporary assignment, that he wasn't Raymond Lewis, that he couldn't make plans that would materialize in another school year or two.

Whether he was completing his assignment adequately or not, he couldn't say. But he was considerably happier at it.

As October drew to an end, the weather became miserably damp and cold, and on Hallowe'en, a rowing match which he'd promised a third-former he'd attend was cancelled. He found himself with an unexpected free afternoon, and gone back to Grimmauld Place, not sure what else to do with himself.

When he got there, Sirius was sitting on the floor of the parlor, staring up at his battered family tree. A patch of material had been recently soaked, and its edges were smoking. On the floor below it was a shattered bottle of firewhiskey.

Sirius looked up at him accusingly, his eyes unfocused. He reeked of alcohol. "Oh, look," he said, his words slurred. "A stranger in the house."

In an instant for which he would never fully forgive himself, Remus Lupin thought: Leave me alone. I'm happy. This is your problem, not mine.

Then the surprised irritation shattered, and it was just Sirius, drunk and haggard, but somehow as young and bewildered as any of his students. It wasn't right that this should be so, that Sirius Black should have gone from being a protector and a leader to needing protection and guidance, but it was so, and fate had left only Remus to provide it.

He squatted down and put his hand on Sirius's elbow. "Come on," he said. "Let's get you into a chair. There's a draft."

Sirius gave him a sour look, but allowed himself to be led to one of the threadbare armchairs. He jerked his arm away when he was sitting down, and muttered something that ended with "...not my bloody-damned father."

Remus ignored it. "What happened?" he asked.

Sirius gave him a look that was both disbelieving and furious, then raised his wand. A bottle of firewhiskey and a heavy crystal glass shot across the room and hit Remus in the chest, then hovered in the air in front of him.

"Have a drink, Moony."

Remus took the bottle and glass and set them on an end table. They flew up again.

"Have a drink," Sirius said again, darkly "Drink to James and Lily."

Remus closed his eyes. Of course. He'd had thirteen Halloweens of new experience since that awful night in eighty-one, and he'd done all he could to normalize it, to not make the holiday into a ghastly personal haunt, but for Sirius, Halloween would always and only be the ultimate horror, the line of demarcation between life and death, potential and waste, trust and betrayal. It had been bad last year, marked by a deep depression; Remus had stayed up with him, but he'd refused to talk. This year, trapped in the past, it had come alive, and all of his anger and bitterness had come with it.

Remus poured himself a glass of firewhiskey and raised it to the patch of burn marks on the tapestry that he assumed had once been the Potter family, as it was here that Sirius had thrown the last round. "To James and Lily," he said, and drank.

Firewhiskey was Charmed to bring up strong images of any subjects being toasted with it, and his mind was filled with visions of James flying, James laughing madly after a prank, James disappearing beneath his Invisibility Cloak. They broke to a single image of Lily, clear and distinct. She was weary, sitting at a table in the Gryffindor common room, trying (unsuccessfully) to get him to talk about their prefect duties, particularly about controlling Sirius and James. He had been sleepy, watching the flames from the fireplace catch the golden chain of her necklace, and she had said, out of nowhere but quite clearly, Do you want to kiss me? and his mind had run for cover, stammering over a no, stuttering around a yes, finally stopping his mouth from saying anything at all other than "James likes you," which had at least caused the terrifying invitation to be permanently revoked (with an enraged lecture about about treating girls as property, if he recalled correctly). Neither of them had mentioned it again, to anyone.

Sirius was watching him warily when he came up from the firewhiskey images. "What does it make you see?" he asked.

"James and Lily. What would you expect it to make me see?"

Sirius wasn't interested in pursuing the subject further. "When I drink to James," he said, "I always remember the night I ran away, when I got to his place and he opened the door and let me in. It was cold and raining outside. And it was night. But I was warm when I went in, and it was dry, and all the torches were burning. They all smiled and welcomed me."

"They were good people."

"And when I drink to Lily, it's the morning after my brother died. She never liked me--"

"She made you Harry's godfather."

"She let James make me Harry's godfather." Sirius sighed. "She never liked me, but that morning, she wrapped me up in a blanket and talked to me and listened to me. I must have been a horrible mess."

Remus couldn't think of anything to say. It had been the morning after a full moon, and he hadn't found out until considerably later.

"I killed them."

"No you didn't," Remus said, more by habit now than by thought. "Voldemort killed them. Peter helped."

"I gave them to Peter. I should have given them to you. You wouldn't have broken. You never break." He stared morosely at the empty glass in his hand, then summoned the firewhiskey.

Remus said nothing.

Sirius laughed bitterly at the ceiling. "I kept saying how I didn't want it to be you, but who else could it be, really? It was the only explanation. And you play things so damned close. I knew--all of us knew--how much you could cover up if you wanted to, at least if no one was living in your room. And if you were... we couldn't risk it... " He wiped a hand across his face. "I can't even blame Peter. It was me being too clever by half, though every time James objected, it was Peter who pressed the idea, now that I think of it. But I didn't argue with him." Sirius reached across and grabbed Remus's arm. "I didn't argue."

Why the bloody hell not? went through Remus's mind, but what he said was, "I believed the worst of you as well. Peter saw to it well. I didn't think you were a spy before... before. But after? I kept remembering things. A lot of them were things Peter mentioned, with the caveat that he didn't want to mention them, but he just had to."

"And the rest?"

"The rest of what?"

"Why you believed. Other than what Peter told you that he didn't want to tell you."

Again, Remus bit down on a string of responses which boiled down to, You suspected me without a shred of evidence; why should I explain it? He took a deep breath. "Schoolboy antics," he said. "Reinterpreted through what I thought I knew on November the first."

"Right."

Remus looked down into his glass, where tiny blue flames were making patterns on the surface of the firewhiskey. "I sometimes wonder if we do the same with Peter."

"Wormtail is a Death Eater," Sirius said, his voice cold. "In case you forgot."

"But how long?"

"He was passing information for at least a year, and I'll wager Voldemort spent some time buttering him up before he started spying. Maybe back at Hogwarts. Did you ever think of that?"

"No. And I don't think it now."

"Right." Sirius sank back into his chair, poured himself another glass of firewhiskey, then held it in both hands like a small boy might cradle a mug of hot chocolate. "I wish it was then," he said. "That night. I wish I'd stayed with Peter--told him that they'd go for me first and he could get away or some such thing, rather than trying to get their attention. I wish--"

"I wish it, too," Remus said, cutting him off. "All of it."

Sirius drew his knees up to his chest and said no more. Remus let his gaze wander to the tapestry, at all of those ragged, ashy marks that had once been people who had lived under some part of the shadow of this house. Somewhere in the ashes that drifted down from the absent names, James and Lily would appear, a line between them, and Harry's name beneath their own, and possibly all the other children they might have had if Voldemort had never targeted them.

A glass crashed to the floor and he looked over to see Padfoot jumping down from the chair. The great dog trotted to the parlor door, and Remus heard him make his way down the corridor. A series of claw taps marked his progress to the kitchen.

Remus finished his glass of firewhiskey and followed him down.

Padfoot had curled up in front of the kitchen fire and was watching the flames in a dazed and stupified kind of way.

Remus sat down beside him and scratched the scruff of his neck until he fell into a troubled, twitching sleep, then dropped a blanket over him, went back to the parlor, and didn't sleep.

They didn't speak of it in the morning.