At first, Remus didn't remember where he was.

He was aware of serious pain in his shoulders and hips, and a bolt of agony in his right elbow, but it took a few minutes to recognize the chains wrapped around him for what they were, or to notice that his forearm (really still more of a forepaw) was twisted brutally against them, trying to pull free. He drew in a hiss of cold breath through the sharp teeth that still filled his mouth, straining against one another as his face shrank around them. An incisor caught on his lip, and he instinctively tried to move his hand to dislodge it, sending another twist of pain through his elbow. When he went to cry out, his lip stretched against the tooth (shrinking now, but not soon enough) and covered his chin with blood.

"Damn," he muttered, his voice still recalling the Wolf's growls.

One of the other Wolves, still more transformed than Remus was and apparently either not using Wolfsbane or using an inferior mix, howled at the smell of it, and he heard chains rattling furiously behind him.

Gradually, he became aware of rapid panting near at hand. He looked up and saw Edward Holmes, bathed in sweat, his hospital-issued robes shredded to nothing against the tightly binding chains. His face was dead white except for a line of blood that was flowing from the corner of his mouth. The chains had cut him deeply enough to draw blood on his thighs and one looked like it was pinching in a particularly uncomfortable place.

Remus felt the Wolf still moving in him, wanting to strike the helpless, chained human prey, smelling his blood, wanting to fill his mouth with it. The Wolfsbane Potion muted it to a point where it was possible to fight even transformed and to shunt aside unceremoniously even the morning after, but the voice was still there.

But the moon was down now, waning once again, taking away the tide of blood and madness. Remus took a deep breath and let the Wolf settle far back, curling into whatever corner of his soul it lived when the moon was small. He looked tentatively at Holmes. "You made it," he said.

Holmes just blinked, still panting.

The door set high in the wall opened, and a female voice called down, "Is everyone back?"

Remus forced his head to turn against the chains, and recognized the shape he saw there. "Yes, Andromeda. We're here."

Andromeda made the stairs reappear and started down.

Holmes whipsawed suddenly against his chains.

"What is it?" Andromeda asked, running over.

Holmes tried to roll away, but the chains pinched him hard. "Robes..." he managed. "I lost my robes."

"Oh." Andromeda pulled out her wand, Conjured a blanket, and let it fall over him. "I'll Vanish the chains now, and then you can wrap up. I'll need to look you over, though." She turned to Remus. "What happened to your arm?"

"Chains."

"Sorry." She Vanished them and moved on to the other three werewolves in the room while Remus got his wand and repaired the damage to his elbow. The robes he was wearing weren't in very good shape, but they at least concealed what it was necessary to conceal.

Andromeda checked the others over and apparently found nothing seriously wrong with them, then came back to Remus and Holmes. "You haven't transformed here for quite a long time," she said.

"He came for me," Holmes muttered.

"Just a casual matter," Remus said. "In compliance with the werewolf laws, I'm not counseling anyone. I may have casually mentioned finding a Wolfsbane brewer, and possibly advised against some fraudulent Charms."

"Yes, I know how compliant you are. You have an owl upstairs."

"At this hour? From whom?"

"I didn't recognize the handwriting." Andromeda glanced at Holmes--who, to Remus's alarm, had not moved to sit up yet--and said, "I need to check Mr. Holmes over more fully. Wait for me upstairs."

Remus left the room. Behind him, he could hear Holmes struggling to keep the blanket over himself, and Andromeda patiently explaining that she was a Healer, and that she'd been married for twenty-five years. Holmes, who had apparently not spent much of his life in medical care, did not seem impressed with this.

A young apprentice Healer with what appeared to be a permanent sneer on his face handed Remus the clothing he'd brought last week, then irritably said, "And that owl over there is for you. She's been flapping about for twenty minutes."

Remus went behind a screen to pull on his clothes, crooking a finger at the owl to signal it to follow him. It landed on a wooden table, and Remus untied its message absently while he was between robes. It flew off without waiting for payment, so he supposed it was someone's private post owl. He pulled on his robes quickly and picked up the envelope.

He paled as he recognized the contents and the name on the small accompanying note, and rushed out. Andromeda was still downstairs, so he went back to the apprentice. "Tell Healer Tonks that something came up. I'll be back later."

He didn't wait for a response.

Back at Grimmauld Place, he laid the items in the envelope out on the dresser in Buckbeak's room. Sirius picked up the note from Mrs. Pettigrew and read it with an expression of disbelief on his face. He tossed it aside. "Why is she so stupid? Why in bloody hell would I send her these things?"

"She's his mother," Remus said. "And that's not why I showed you this."

"Right. Of course." Sirius picked up the ticket, with its red lightning bolt and dark X. He shrugged. "It means that he knows Harry won't be on the Hogwarts Express."

"Yes, I picked up on that complex code," Remus said. "The question is, why is Peter telling us what he knows?"

Sirius understood immediately, and wrinkled his nose. "Tell me that you're not even bothering to imagine what I know perfectly well you're thinking."

"A man who turned once might turn again."

"You should mention that to Dumbledore. According to Phineas Nigellus, he has a mad scheme to put Harry alone in a room with Snape."

It was Sirius's mode of dismissal, and Remus decided not to take the bait. "Sirius, he sent it to us. He used his mother for it, but he--"

"But nothing!" Sirius went to the door and checked the corridor outside. When he turned, his voice was lower. "Remus, he's been tormenting his mother, collecting up werewolves who are deliberately biting people, and shattering your arm when you didn't decide to join him. Does that sound to you like some scheme to come back? And he knows I'd kill him anyway."

Remus looked at the ticket, the moment of hope that had sprung up when he first saw it dwindling to a disappearing point. "Then why? What's the point of telling us what Voldemort knows about Harry's travel plans?"

Sirius tossed out a few half-hearted notions, and the next day, they discussed it with Dora and Mad-Eye, both of whom found the intelligence baffling. Kingsley, after dinner on Wednesday, declared that it was nothing but a mind game, meant to throw them off by mentioning that Voldemort had gotten hold of a bit of negative information. "So he knows where Potter won't be," he said. "It doesn't suggest that he knows where he will be. And the holiday is almost over. Whatever it is they're planning, they'll have to act on it soon if they mean to act on it at all.

Grudgingly,

...or I could tell you who organized most of the raids against werewolves last time...

Remus decided that someone should ask Snape exactly where Peter stood in the scheme of things.

But Remus was back at Dora's getting the last of his marking done before school started on Monday when Snape came to Grimmauld Place, and did, in fact, propose a plan that involved putting Harry more or less in his total power. According to Arthur Weasley, who was released from St. Mungo's that day, he'd come into the kitchen to find Snape and Sirius at wandpoint with one another, with a terrified Harry standing between them and trying to stop the duel. No one had thought to ask Snape about Peter or the ticket.

"I don't know what they're doing," Dora said at breakfast the next morning. It was her second breakfast; she'd already had her book club meeting with Miriam, Regina, and Anna, and was still dressed as Dora Lewis. She'd apparently decided that it was as good a disguise as any for the trip up to Hogwarts. "They're definitely planning something. Bill's been watching the vaults at Gringotts--the Malfoys, the Macnairs, and so on--and the money's been going out of them so quickly that the goblins are complaining. Last moon, we rounded up four more werewolves, up in Oxfordshire this time. And Kingsley got an owl from Dumbledore this morning. Olympe Maxime said she'd heard rumors of re-establishing the giants in Britain. Some poor Muggle bloke claimed he saw one up in the Highlands."

"That could have been Hagrid," Remus said. "I don't think Muggles really know how large giants are."

Dora thought about it and nodded. "Still, they're obviously doing something, and it's going to have to be today if Harry's their target."

"What else would Voldemort be after?" Sirius asked. "And we know he's tracking Harry's movements because of the ticket."

"It is the most likely."

"Unless his plan involves those lessons with Snape," Sirius hissed.

"I don't think so," Dora said. "He's a hateful man, but I do think he's on our side. He's had enough opportunities not to be."

"And Harry does need to learn Occlumency," Remus added half-heartedly. "And Dumbledore can't very well teach him."

Sirius grumbled about this, but couldn't argue--the need for Harry to learn to protect his mind was growing with every day. Harry was bitter enough about it without having Sirius plant ideas in his head.

"So, we're back to today's little jaunt," Dora said. "Whatever happens, Kingsley told me to stick with Harry. If they try for him, I'm authorized to--"

"Capture, I know," Sirius said.

Dora looked down. "I'm authorized to do a lot more than capture. The Crouch laws are still in effect for Death Eaters. I don't think I could. I mean, not unless there was no other way. I've no interest in--"

The door opened, and Harry and Ron came in. The conversation immediately stopped. Remus noticed the narrow, suspicious look on Harry's face, but there was no way to answer it. Aside from questions of frightening Harry, there was the distinct possibility that Voldemort himself could hear how ill-prepared they were.

Molly created a companionable atmosphere for the children's breakfast (Remus, Sirius, and Dora lingered over their own), and after the meal, there were long rounds of goodbyes. Sirius steered Harry away from the others and gave him some kind of package and a one-armed hug. Remus half-expected him to demand to accompany them, but he didn't.

Remus led the way out of the house, with Dora keeping the rear-guard. He glanced around the square, but nothing seemed out of place, no one seemed to be loitering who didn't belong there. When he turned around, Dora was examining it as well, looking more troubled than she usually did. "Come on," she said. "The quicker we get on the bus, the better."

Remus agreed. He flung out his right arm, and the Knight Bus appeared. The man--barely more than a boy--who greeted them started the welcome speech, but Dora interrupted them, herding the children onto the bus. The man gaped at Harry as he passed. "Ere!" he said, far too loudly. "It's 'Arry--!"

Remus put his hand on his wand, and Dora leaned in. "If you shout his name, I will curse you into oblivion." She pushed Hermione and Ginny on board. The man looked at her stupidly, looked at Remus's wand hand with some alarm, and apparently decided that he would go along with her wishes.

The bus was crowded, and there was no single group of chairs for all of them. Dora sighed and sent Ginny and the twins to a group of chairs at the far end of the bus's first level, apologetically sending Remus along with them. She accompanied Harry, Ron, and Hermione up to the second level.

Ginny winced as she sat down. "Sorry," she said. "I guess you'd rather be sitting with Harry."

It was, of course, true--Remus had barely spoken to Harry at all, and he had hoped they'd be able to talk while they traveled--but that was nothing Ginny needed to apologize for. He smiled and sat down beside her, the twins across from them. "Don't be silly," he said. "We can find plenty to talk about."

Within minutes, the twins were talking about their business. Apparently, Dora had showed them a set of dolls that Remus, Sirius, and Peter had Charmed for her when she was small, and the Charm was--miraculously--still working. They again set about trying to convince Remus to sell them both the controlling spell and one he'd used to turn the key doll into a metamorphmagus (or a rather poor imitation of one, which could produce rough facsimiles of everyone who had been in the house that day when its head was squeezed). He told them that he'd teach them for free, and Fred laughed and told him that was why he was always broke. Remus finally promised to consider the matter, though he had no real intention of going into business with the Weasley twins.

They arrived in Hogsmeade much more quickly than he'd anticipated (Dora, Remus later found out, had flatly bribed the conductor), and the Knight Bus rolled to a stop at the gates of Hogwarts. Remus and Dora helped them with their luggage, ignoring the stares of the other passengers on the bus as they realized that Harry had been with them.

Dora cast an eye around the landscape, obviously troubled by its quietude. "You'll be safe once you're in the grounds," she said. "Have a good term, okay?"

Remus told them all to look after themselves, and shook everyone's hand. Ginny looked prone to a hug, but he raised an eyebrow at her and she stuck her hand out instead. While Dora was saying goodbye to the others, Remus drew Harry aside. It was the only real chance they would have to talk, and there was no time whatsoever. "And listen..." He lowered his voice. "Harry, I know you don't like Snape"--And there are any number of good reasons not to like him--"but he is a superb Occlumens and we all--Sirius included--want you to learn to protect yourself, so work hard, all right?"

Harry looked up and studied his face for a moment. His eyes--so like Lily's--were hungry, though he didn't seem to have any clear idea what he needed. After awhile, he just said, "Yeah, all right. See you, then."

And then they were gone, headed up the long road to the castle, dragging their luggage behind them.

"I don't understand it," Dora said, pursing her lips and scowling at the empty road. "They didn't try a thing."

"You don't think they'll attack the Hogwarts Express anyway? That they were trying to throw us off?"

"I don't know. Kingsley and Mad-Eye thought they might be, so they're on board, though as I understand it, Umbridge wasn't happy to hear about it."

"I didn't know that."

"We talked about it at work. I don't know why Mad-Eye bothers pretending to be retired sometimes. And there was no point telling Sirius that it could be anything other than Harry. We told Dumbledore. I guess he didn't think it was likely."

Remus sighed, feeling put out that he hadn't been informed--he was supposed to be aware of nearly everything Dumbledore was--and feeling petty for feeling put out. "Let's hope he's right. There wouldn't be much for Voldemort to gain from it."

Dora closed her eyes and took a deep breath, and Remus noticed that her skin was starting to tighten as she relaxed her morph. "Well," she said, frowning slightly as her lips became fuller, "I suppose that means I'm done for the day."

"Are you going to Apparate back?"

"Maybe later." She opened her eyes, which were dark again, and smiled. Her nervousness about the trip seemed to simply disappear. "I have an errand to run in Hogsmeade. I may as well run it while we're here anyway. What do you say? Do you want to join me for lunch?"

"We should get back to London..."

"Are you in that big a hurry to get back to Auntie's?"

"Sirius--"

"Still has Molly and Arthur until this afternoon." She squeezed her face in concentration, and shrank four inches. The bottom of Dora Lewis's long-ish skirt dragged in the snow and the buttons on the front of the jacket she was wearing strained a bit as Dora Tonks's slightly rounder form pushed against the clothing. "Come on, Remus. We'll take an afternoon and just do something. No Lewises allowed." She looked down at her costume. "Though I suppose I should have left my body alone. Bit stupid, really. Oh, well." She shrugged. "My errand's at the seamstress anyway; I'll just have her resize this a bit while I'm there."

Remus glanced up toward the castle. The children still hadn't looked back, and everything seemed to be all right. In one of the high turrets--Dumbledore's office--he saw a flash of scarlet, then a feather fell into the snow at his feet. The children were safe within the grounds, and under Dumbledore's eye.

Dora started down the road. "Are you coming or not?"

"Really, I should--"

She raised an eyebrow in a challenge he knew perfectly well: Go on. I dare you to make an excuse.

He rolled his eyes and started after her. "What if I just said I didn't want to?"

"I'd say, 'Suit yourself,' and go find my old mate Sanjiv. He lives above that horrid little tea shop and sells portraits for a galleon apiece. He's always good for a good time." She turned and smiled. She'd morphed back entirely, her gray hair deepening to black as it disappeared under its scarf. "But I'd rather have lunch with you. Not at Auntie's, and not in costume. Isn't it a mad idea?"

"Barking, as the children would put it."

"So are you in?"

He pretended to weigh his options. "You convinced me."

She clapped her hands. "Our first date. Well, without benefit of costuming, anyway."

"You said that when I took you out for ice cream when you were eight."

"I'm a bit older than that now."

"Yes, you look at least ten."

She turned up her nose playfully. "Perhaps I'll go look up Sanjiv after all."

He laughed, feeling the tension fall away. "All right. Twelve. At least twelve."

She punched his arm, then linked her own through it. "It's a pretty day, isn't it?"

"Mmm."

"Talkative as always, I see."

"Well, you can generally carry on the conversation for both of us."

"What are you going to do while I'm being measured? Just stare at the wall?"

"What are you being measured for?"

She shivered melodramatically. "Robes for Maddie's birthing party. I thought the miserable things she put me in for the wedding were bad."

"You're going to the birthing party?"

"Yes. Of course I am." She smiled as they came around a bend. "I don't know what she's going to ask me for. Guess it doesn't matter. Mum gave me my scroll when I came of age, and the only three people who signed it were Sirius and Granny Tonks and--I can't believe this--Gilderoy Lockhart."

"According to Harry, Lockhart will sign anything."

"He was supposed to teach me to take pleasure in my beauty or some such. Sirius was meant to teach me how to laugh, and Granny Tonks was to make sure I knew where I came from." She looked troubled, then shook it off. "At least Granny and Sirius had excuses for not being there. Lockhart only came around about four times. Though, to be fair, he did bring me ribbons and jewelry and such. Did anyone from yours give you anything?"

"My mother was Muggle-born. She thought it was a barbaric idea and had no intention of playing hostess while she was giving birth. So I only got Charms from her and from my Dad."

"Have you ever been to one?"

"Just Harry's. Unlike Mum, Lily thought it a grand idea that Muggles should all adopt."

"Oh, what are you supposed to teach Harry?"

"Lily asked me to teach him how to feel safe and calm and... I think she said grounded. I don't think I've done a very good job. Is this your first?"

She nodded. "I watched a unicorn being born in Care of Magical Creatures, but this is my first person."

They rounded a bend, and the outer houses of Hogsmeade started to appear. Remus cast around for a different topic of conversation, as this one made him a bit uneasy. "So this Sanjiv you mentioned," he said after awhile. "Is he a boyfriend?"

She stopped and looked at him, amused. "No," she said. "He's just a friend. And anyway, I'm a married lady." She stuck out her tongue and started moving again.

"I thought we were leaving the Lewises behind."

They reached a small white house with a pair of large wooden scissors moving above the door, and Dora turned up the path. "Are you coming in?"

"Do you mind if I find something else to do while you're buying clothes?"

She gave an exaggerated long-suffering sigh, then said. "No, it's a good idea. I'll meet you at the Three Broomsticks in an hour."

"Good." Remus resisted an absurd urge to pinch her nose, then watched her disappear inside, the sodden hem of Dora Lewis's skirt dragging against the stones. He went on.

If he was going to eat lunch out, there wasn't much he could do--he could shop or eat, not do both, and any friends he had once had in Hogsmeade were so distant that he couldn't immediately call them to mind. He sat on a bench in front of Honeydukes and pulled out a small, flat bit of tin, then tapped it with his wand, releasing the sketchpad and art supplies that Sirius and Harry had given him. He'd Stored them almost immediately, hoping he'd have a chance to go somewhere and draw, but there hadn't been time over the holidays. Now, he supposed he had an hour, and it was as good a way to pass the time as any.

He chose a thin charcoal stick and quickly sketched the Whomping Willow from memory, its branches waving as well as he could make them wave. He glanced around the village and drew a line of shops, rough, boxy shapes that didn't please him much. Finally, he settled for trying to capture Dora's transformation on the road--the loose skirt dragging in the snow, the shoulders of her coat dwarfing her real shoulders, her large winter scarf growing loose as a bit of black hair escaped from it. He never tired of watching her morph, but had never actually tried to express it on paper, and he kept at it for nearly half an hour before the icicles above him started to melt. He put an Impervius Charm on the paper before it could be damaged, but that also prevented him from marking it any further.

He checked his watch. It had been nearly forty-five minutes. He supposed he could nurse a butterbeer for the remaining fifteen before he was meant to meet Dora. He went to the Three Broomsticks, not bothering to Store his art supplies for the short walk, and found a seat at the bar, where he spread the sketchbook out again and looked for something to draw. There was an old man by the window, looking out at something Remus couldn't see. Rosmerta bustled around the bar. A couple huddled in the back corner, sharing a large drink between them. None of these appealed to him.

A lovely woman was sitting by the fire reading the Daily Prophet. She was curled up comfortably on one of the armchairs there, absently twisting a bit of her long black hair around her finger and letting her free foot sway a bit. Her graceful, swan-like neck cast a flickering arch of shadow onto the back of the chair. He couldnt't see her face clearly in the wavering of the fire, but he could tell she was fine-featured, with high cheekbones and large, dark eyes. He started to sketch her, hoping that she wouldn't notice him, letting the charcoal trace the pretty bend of her jaw, feeling the dainty curve of her shoulders with his eyes.

Abruptly, she seemed to feel his gaze on her, and he unceremoniously snapped the skectchbook shut, hoping that she hadn't realized he was drawing her. She didn't seem angry, at any rate. She just smiled and stood up, raising a hand in greeting. "Wotcher, Remus," she said. "You're early."

Remus froze.

The woman he'd been drawing slipped out of the shadows of the hearth and into the bright daylight that came through the windows, and she was Dora--no question about it, no ambivalence. It was the smile. It was always her smile, no matter what face she was wearing, and there it was and...

"Remus?"

He flailed for a moment, found a smile, and didn't look at her. "Hullo, Dora," he said, and was pleased to hear that his voice was relatively even. Just like he hadn't been touching her with his eyes a moment ago.

She laughed lightly and sat down beside him. "Are you all right? You look a bit peaky."

"Just..." He shook his head and looked away from her. "I wasn't expecting you yet, either."

She shrugged, and a tiny hollow under her collarbone deepened, and he realized that he was looking at her again and made himself look away. "There was no one in the shop," she said. "No waiting. And Maddie's design is already chosen. It only took a few minutes, even when I asked Lucille to tweak the shape on the clothes."

"Oh, you did get the outfit changed," Remus said.

"Just had the length changed a bit and got the waistband tightened. And the hips let out. I wish I had slim hips. I can, but it seems like a bit of a lie."

Remus found his eyes tracing the curve of her hip as she said this (it was, indeed, generous), and he forced his head to turn back to his drink. He had only been looking in a disinterested way when he hadn't known her, really nothing he needed to apologize for. But the thought that he had looked at her in that way at all seemed to make it impossible to stop looking.

She waved for Rosmerta. "Another pint of mulled mead?" She turned back to Remus. "And I took off the horrid sweater and scarf, of course."

Rosmerta brought her drink. Remus held a hand over his own, which he was drinking as slowly as possible. "Are you morphed?" he asked.

"Not even my hair. The pink didn't match Dora Lewis's wardrobe. Why?"

"I was just wondering. I didn't recognize you for a few minutes."

She gave him a somewhat cross look, her eyebrows lowering, but the corner of her mouth rising in a puzzled half-smile. "Aren't you the man who said on New Year's Eve that I always look like Dora to you?"

He nodded and concentrated his attention on the charcoal stick that was still in his hand, trying to dance it over his fingers the way James used to with his wand when he was bored. He'd once dropped it and accidentally made daisies grow out of Lily's ears.

She rolled her eyes and took a sip of her mead. "Honestly, Remus, how long have we known one another?"

"A long time," he said. "Your mum brought you to the platform the year you were born. We'd all helped Sirius sneak out for the birthing party, and she said that made us all honorary guests." He noticed that some dust had fallen from the charcoal stick, and began to dust it off of the bar. The day at King's Cross came back to him--sneaking to a far off corner in the Muggle part of the station, where Ted and Andromeda were waiting with their little bundle of brightly colored blankets. He remembered the smell of powder overpowering the smell of the trains. "She let all four of us hold you. You were frightened of James's glasses for some reason. You just started howling. I took you then, and you smiled."

"Good to know," Dora said, and when he looked at her, she had a slightly bemused look on her face.

"I'm sorry," he said. "You don't care about that, do you?"

"It's an interesting enough bit of history. Did you give me a Charm?"

"No, I just held you." He realized how that sounded and felt blood rushing to his face. "Just holding a baby, you know. I hadn't done it before. It was nice. And I liked being better at it than James was. And you really don't care, do you?"

"I'm a bit puzzled by the voyage down memory lane. I only meant that we've known one another long enough that I thought you always knew me on sight. You usually recognize me even when I am morphed."

"Just..." He shook his head and sighed deeply, making himself look at her now, remembering her as a baby. It helped with the current problem, but it also hurt him sharply--he had loved that day, and this business of having looked at that baby like a stranger, of noticing things he had no business noticing... it seemed to cheapen it somehow, as if their entire history together were suddenly tawdry and tainted. "It was just a trick of the firelight, Dora," he said. "I'm sorry."

"It's all right, really. You were the only one of my friends who hadn't had an is-that-Tonks-or-not moment so far. I guess you were due." She looked over at him, and he realized with something like horror that she was eyeing the sketchbook. "I'm glad to see you got that out. I was wondering if you would. That was from Sirius and Harry, wasn't it?"

He nodded. "Harry said it was mostly Sirius's idea. He wouldn't have any reason to know."

"You should let him get to know you. He wants to."

"Sirius is his guardian."

"Did you see him when we went to collect him Surrey? I never saw anyone as relieved to see someone as Harry was when he saw you. It was all over his face."

"I'm not his guardian."

"You're not my guardian, either. I still like knowing you. What were you drawing?"

Remus put his hand over the sketchbook, wishing he'd thought to lock the covers before it had become too late to do so unobtrusively. "Nothing, really," he said. "Just getting back into the habit. Casting around, drawing what I was looking at." Which happened to include a child I tutored in Latin and have cuddled after nightmares when her parents were out, only--funny thing, really--I didn't know her, and what I drew was a beautiful woman. He closed his eyes, wondering what Ted and Andromeda would say if they happened to come across it. It wasn't a suggestive picture by any stretch of the imagination. He'd only had time to trace the lines of her body and capture her casually elegant pose, but those lines, the curves and bends they made, that he'd traced with his fingers to urge them into what he saw... They weren't the sort of thing parents would want to see coming from a man they had trusted to care for their child. "A bit of this, a bit of that. Shall we order lunch?"

"Good plan."

They ordered stew and bread, and Remus steered the conversation as far away from the drawings as he could while they ate it. They couldn't very well talk about Smeltings or the Order here, so the subject drifted to the past, to ancient lessons and long-ago Christmases spent with her family. Remus let himself relax a bit. After all, it had been an understandable slip, and he hadn't meant anything by it. He'd get rid of the sketch when he got home, but it didn't really make any difference. She was still Dora, and if he happened to be fascinated with the way she looked at this moment, it was because she spent so much time in various altered forms that seeing her true form--the young woman that the girl he'd known had grown into--was a surprise. It was like seeing an old friend whom he hadn't seen for some time and noticing all the little differences. He found himself laughing again by the time they were finished eating, looking at her normally, simply enjoying her company.

"Do you remember that time you came caroling with us when I was ten?" she asked. "And Dad insisted on doing a solo?"

"Someone needs to tell your father that he can't carry a tune."

"Don't look at me. It would break his heart." She smiled fondly. "I remember that we went into a Muggle house, and the lady there made us tea. I wanted to look at her stove. Mum had to pull me away."

"You were always interested in everything."

"Guilty." She grinned. "At the moment, I'm interested in another drink. What do you say, do we have time for another round?"

"Time, we have," Remus said. "But, I should check--" He didn't finish the sentence. Dora knew perfectly well that he was checking his remaining money, but she looked away while he reached for the battered leather pouch he kept it in.

Unfortunately, he was paying more attention to where she was looking than to where he was, and his traitorous elbow caught the edge of the sketchbook, which flew off the bar and landed in a sprawl of open pages on the floor, a spill of charcoal and crayons it had caught going with it. Before he could stop her, Dora had slid off of her stool to help him pick it all up. She started with the sketchbook.

And stopped.

"Dora--" he said, but didn't finish.

"These are nice," she said, glancing at the drawing of the Whomping Willow and the boxy mess he'd made of Hogsmeade's business district. She flipped the page and looked at the pictures he'd made of her morphing. They were only quick sketches, no more than five minutes apiece, so perhaps that was why she was looking at them with such an utter lack of recognition. She smiled. "What a cute child," she said. "Who is--" She frowned at the picture, ran her finger along the line of the scarf, looked at her own scarf, which was draped over the chair, and looked up at him again. Her eyes, to his shock, seemed deeply hurt. "Is this me, Remus?"

"I was trying to catch the way you looked transforming on the road."

She looked down at the pictures again, her smile entirely gone now. When she spoke, her voice was quiet. "I really do look ten to you, don't I?"

"It's the clothes," he said. "They got too big for you..."

"It's not the clothes. You look at me--no matter what--and you see a little girl. Sweet little Dora. That baby from King's Cross."

Remus closed his eyes. "Keep going," he said, not wanting her to see what he'd drawn, not wanting her to keep feeling hurt. "Just turn the page."

There was a pause before he heard the motion of the paper, and she didn't say anything right away. He opened his eyes. She was looking at the most recent drawing, the one in the firelight, her fingers hovering above the figure like it might burn her. "I'm beautiful here," she said.

"Yes. You are." Remus pulled out his wand and began Summoning the rest of the supplies that had gone flying. "I'm so sorry, Dora," he said. "I didn't mean to look at you that way. You must think I'm a filthy old man."

"Yes, you're ancient," she said absently, her eyes not leaving the drawing. "And I'm dead offended that you think I'm beautiful."

"You know what I mean."

"Actually," she said, "I haven't the first bloody idea what you mean." She snapped the sketchbook shut and stood up, slamming it down on the bar (her stew bowl went flying; Rosmerta caught it with a Charm, studiously looking away from the scene). Her hands were shaking. "Do you know why this picture offends me, Remus?"

She seemed both to be waiting for him to give an answer and to give one herself. He shook his head.

"It offends me because you didn't know who I was. Because I know that if I went back to that same chair, with the same paper and the same fire, you'd draw me like you did on the road."

"Dora--"

"When you see me as a little girl, you love me. I know that. I can see it when you draw, and I... I just know it. I've always known it. But when you see me as a woman, I'm a stranger. Just something pretty to draw." She put her hand over her breastbone. "But this is me, Remus. And you don't love me at all like this, do you? You don't even know me like this."

Remus caught her hands and held them until she calmed down a bit and sat miserably on the stool beside him. He let go. "I always love you," he said, then smiled. "I thought I was reading too much into the damned drawing."

She tried to look reproving, but then looked down and laughed softly. "I'm sorry," she said. "I suppose it's just a sore spot. I really... After New Year's Eve... I just..." She rolled her eyes. "Apparently, I've lost my ability to finish a sentence. I know you don't think of me like that. And if you want to think of me the way you think of Ginny or Harry or Hermione, I understand. I know you love them, so I know you love me. I shouldn't have said you didn't. I know better. If you want me to be little Dora again, I can always--"

He saw her starting to concentrate for a morph, and he put his hand on her wrist. "Don't, Dora."

She looked at him, surprised.

"You don't owe any apologies," he said. "And I never want you to feel that you need to morph around me. I've been unfair to you." He moved his hand back to his drink. "I'm the one at fault here."

"That's true," she said, and smiled. "All right, then."

They ordered drinks (Remus felt one was needed, although it depleted his money supply fairly badly), and drank them amiably enough, letting the talk drift from subject to subject, finding less dangerous terrain. He made himself look at her as she was, see her as an adult. There was no reason that needed to be inappropriate--he had loved her yesterday and would love her tomorrow; being an adult didn't mean she was suddenly a different person to whom he could only respond like an over-eager adolescent. Remus knew many women and looked at them as adults without having a single lewd thought about them. Certainly, he could be fair to Dora and see her as a woman without also seeing her as an object to be coveted.

It all sounded well and good, and he congratulated himself on getting past the ludicrous interlude, but when he dreamed of her that night with the shadows of the firelight dancing across her skin and her soft, full lips brushing against his own, as soft and rich as living smoke, he awakened in terror and he knew that nothing at all was all right between them.

Everything had changed.

And he wished with all his heart that he'd just taken the Knight Bus home.