"We must not sink beneath our anguish, Harry, but battle on" - Albus Dumbledore *1

***

Remus did not have the will to get out of bed. The sun shone through the tread-bare curtains of his bedroom. Birds were singing outside. A dog was barking somewhere. It was time to get up. But he could not bring himself to do it. What lay ahead of him today? The usual monotonous agony filled with hunger, a pathetic, invisible existence and that perverse circle of attempt and failure on the finding a job front. He could not bring himself to get up and go through all that again, as he must every day. He just did not have the strength.

Instead, he chose to lie in bed, caught in that wonderful place between sleep and awake, that place where you and slip in and out of dreams at ease, that wonderful place where reality is what you make it, where there is no hunger, no loneliness and no lost friends. Memory and dreams had become his refuge, his great escape from the dark, isolated and pitiable existence that he had to endure for over four years.

He did not know how long he lay in bed, drifting in and out of sleep, becoming lost in happy, pure thought and retreating off to that otherworldly place where memories float around like leaves in autumn. Dumbledore had always preached that it does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live*2, but right now, Remus would choose dreams over life any day. Dumbledore did not know what it was like to be a werewolf in prejudiced society. Dumbledore did not know what it was like to lose all the people you loved all at once. Dumbledore did not know what it meant to be truly alone, with no one, no friends, no family, no loving face to smile at the sight of you. No, Dumbledore knew none of that. How could he? He spent his time surrounded by students, colleagues and friends every second of every day at Hogwarts. No one who knew Remus’s loneliness would say that life was better than dreams.

He turned over under his decrepit blankets. The old bed-springs moaned in protest at his sudden movement. He ignored this, and chanced a glance at the clock on his bedside locker. It was half twelve in the afternoon. He knew he should get up, but he honestly just did not possess the will. His half-shut eyes then landed on the calendar that stood beside the ticking clock. Remus’s heart jolted. A wave of realisation washed over him, ripping open the old grieving wound, pouring hot blood out onto his soul.

31st October 1986.

It had been five years today, five long, lonely years, since it happened.

His thoughts instantly fell on James and Lily. They died five years ago today. He strained his mind back and tried to picture them in his head, picture the two of them together, happy and whole, the way they should be. There was only one problem; Remus couldn’t remember what James looked like. He knew he had been tall and that he had had messy hair that used to stick up at the back, but he could no longer picture James in his mind. He had become blurred and indistinguishable, as though viewed through a veil. When Remus thought of James, he saw in his head a faceless person who was tall and had black hair. What colour eyes did James have? Remus closed his eyes and thought hard. He couldn’t remember.

And Lily, what about Lily? She too was beginning to fade. Remus knew she had had green eyes, but he couldn’t remember the shade. He knew she had had a kind smile, but he could no longer picture it. What did her voice sound like? He strained his mind back years and years. He heard nothing. He couldn’t remember. Lily was fading. James was fading. It had been five years and already he was beginning to forget.

Panicking, Remus threw back the old bed-covers and half-ran to his wardrobe, his heart hammering in his chest. He pulled the doors open with unnecessary force. They groaned, before falling off their rusted hinges. Remus ignored this, he would fix them later. Everything in his house was old and, at this stage, had been repaired so many times that he was surprised that everything hadn’t disintegrated into dust. He glanced at the mess inside the wardrobe, at the hoard of objects thrown incongruously together: old toys, books, clothes, shoes, odd boxes, broken radios, yellowed newspapers and ruffled quills. He began to pull out old robes at random and throw them to the floor in his haste to find the box he was looking for. Dust swirled around the room, illumined by the ray of October-sunlight streaming in through a hole in the curtains covering the window. After a moment’s frantic searching, in which most of the contents of the wardrobe were discarded to the floor, Remus’s fingers enclosed around a box that was hidden in the back of the top shelf. He took it out, sat on his bed and opened it.

The battered, soft-cornered box contained several old photo-albums, their leather covers were caked in dust. Remus pulled out the first one and flicked feverishly through it, searching for a photo near the end. His eyes glanced though the dog-eared pages, not taking them in. He finally found the picture he was looking for. It was of four boys: the four Marauders, the Masters of Mischief, Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs. Remus ran his hand over the photo, every fibre of his being wishing he could just turn the years back around again and fall right into the scene before him.

He stared down at his fifteen-year old self. He looked so young and much less shabby back then. This photo was taken back before his face started to display the lonely, haunted look that could be found in his reflection of late. His eyes were alive and happy here, not lost and despairing as they were now. Things were so much easier when he was fifteen. The full moon was all that worried him then. Oh, to go back and just have that one, single burden on his shoulders would be the greatest blessing in the world.

He continued to stare at the picture. To the left of his younger self was Peter. Merlin, he was so small, Remus had almost forgotten. But poor, shy, meek Peter had been brave in the end, a true Marauder and a true friend. Even still, he shouldn’t have gone after Sirius. Sirius could always best him in a fight. No, Peter should have left Sirius to Remus or to the Ministry. But Peter was probably so torn by grief that he wasn’t thinking straight. He didn’t deserve what happened to him, blown to bits in a street full of Muggles. No one deserved that, especially brave, heroic old friends. Remus shuddered slightly at the thought, before directing his gaze to Sirius.

Sirius, my old friend, why did you do it? What possessed you? Peter was harmless, wouldn’t have hurt a Billywig.

The Sirius in the photograph was handsome and carefree, with a mischievous grin on his face. No one could have predicted that he would become a back-stabbing traitor from looking at this picture. Was he plotting, even then, the destruction of his two best friends? Had he already planned on joining Voldemort, on betraying James, when this picture was taken?

Sirius, why did you do it? What did he offer you that was worth more than the lives of your best friends?

After a moment of staring at Sirius with accusatory eyes, Remus finally let his gaze fall on James. He had his arm around Sirius. They were laughing. Remus stared at the tall, lean boy staring up at him. That was James all right. There was no mistaking him. There he stood with his hazel eyes, long, thin face and wind-swept hair. That was James, his best friend, the man who died, along with his wife, Lily, five years ago today.

Remus stared hungrily at the photo for a long time. He looked at James and Peter’s faces, bidding his brain to memorise and remember them. He wanted to lock both boys away in a special place in his head, a place where they could never be forgotten. He closed his eyes. James was there, just as he was in the photo. Remus could picture him with his lazy grin and messy hair. His heart calmed a little. He flicked through the other photo-albums. He saw scenes of himself and his three friends together at Hogwarts, in the Potter’s at Christmas, at an England qualifying match for the Quidditch World Cup against Ireland (the latter having won by a margin that Remus did not want to remember) and just lazing around London during the summer. These pictures housed scenes that appeared to be from someone else’s life, not his own. It was hard now to think that of these four friends, two were dead, one in Azkaban and the other alone with nothing for company but memories and dark thoughts. So much had changed so quickly.

Lily started appearing in photographs as the years moved on, with her fiery-red hair and bottle-green eyes. How could Remus ever forget the colour of Lily Potter’s eyes? How could he ever forget her blazing look and kind smile? He saw her and James on their wedding day, with the rest of the Marauders. There they all were laughing and grinning in dress robes, Remus’s were noticeably much shabbier than everyone else’s, but no one cared. That was the beauty of having friends; those stupid, superficial things like appearance did not matter, all that mattered was the person themselves.

Remus continued to stare at the various photos, his heart filled with a terrible ache, half grieving sadness, half tragic joy. There were James and Lily with Harry the day he was born. The boy was so small. He had hardly any hair and no lightening scar. Remus had not seen Harry since the boy was little over a year old. He had never seen the lightening scar that marked the lad’s forehead, but he, like the rest of the Wizarding world, knew the lightening scar was there. Harry was marked by Voldemort on this very day five years ago. Voldemort had killed James and Lily, but he could not, for the life of him, kill Harry. No one knew why.

Almost instantly, his thoughts wandered from the photo-album to an imaginary Muggle house in Surrey. Remus had never been in Lily’s sister’s house, so he had no idea what it looked like. He wondered what Harry was doing at this very moment. He was six years old. He was probably deciding on his costume for Halloween and just enjoying his week off from Muggle school, that is, if his aunt and uncle had decided to send him to a Muggle school. Remus was sure they had. It was best for Harry to fit in with the Muggle world for the time being. When he was old enough, he would rejoin the Wizarding World, and then, and only then, would Remus finally be allowed to contact him.

He tried to picture Harry in his head, what the boy looked like now that he was six years old. James in miniature probably, with Lily’s eyes and her kind smile. He wondered if Harry was sad today, wondered if he knew that today was the anniversary of his parents’ deaths. Surely, his aunt and uncle had told him, if not the whole story, than some less violent, easier to understand version of the events. Harry must miss James and Lily as much as Remus did, probably even more. It was cruel that he, Remus, got to spend so much time with James and Lily and Harry so little. But even the time Remus had been allotted was not nearly long enough.

They died five years ago, today.

Remus could picture James, Lily and Peter in his mind’s eye now, as the photographs he had just looked at had practically burnt themselves onto his retinas. Yet, despite this, he couldn’t picture them in scenes independent of the ones housed in the photos. Even in his memories their faces were faded, ghostly, blurred by time. This scared him. What he losing his mind? Was he actually beginning to forget? People say it was part of the grieving process, that once the one you loved had died, their face started to fade, you still remembered them; but, what they looked like and how they sounded, that became lost. It was the mind’s way of helping the heart heal. The old wounds of grief were stitched closed with gossamer strands of memory, causing the tapestry-image of the one you loved to lose detail and disappear into the ether.

The only way to move on was to forget.

But Remus didn’t want to forget. For what had he to move onto? Loneliness and isolation in a world where he was hated, marginalised and treated like a filthy animal. No, Remus didn’t want to forget. His memories of his old friends reminded him that he was still human, still a person and not the ghastly beast the world saw him as. He would cling to memory. It was his life-line in this cold, cruel world.

Remus stared down at the picture of Lily and James together in their home in Godric’s Hollow. He ran his finger tips over their faces. He thought of them, and of poor, loyal Peter.

Wormtail, you were a true friend right to the end.

They had no body to bury. The biggest piece of Peter they could find was his finger. How could Sirius blow him to bits like that? How could he do that to a friend? Hadn’t they all agreed, when they found Benjy Fenwick in pieces, that no one deserved such a fate, no one, no matter who they were? And Peter’s poor mother, she had no grave to visit, all she had was Peter’s finger, that’s all they could salvage. Remus looked at James and Lily again. He would go and visit them later, like he had done, every year on this date, since it happened.

In no time at all, he found himself walking passed neat little cottages with crudely drawn ghosts hanging from the windows and carved pumpkins standing sentinel at door steps. Remus ignored all this, ignored all the Muggle children running around dressed as witches and wizards, as vampires and werewolves, trying to become part of a world they didn’t belong to or understand. He walked to their house, and spent a minute or two looking at the ruin, at the place where Voldemort murdered them, at the place where Harry survived. The roof and walls of Harry’s bedroom had been blasted away. Ivy was beginning to creep its way up the ruin, smothering the edifice slowly in its embrace. The grass was long and littered with weeds. Yellow-headed dandelions bobbed in the breeze, their heads bowed in reverence. This dwelling had enclosed happy memories once, but now those memories and that ghost of that once wonderful life haunted Remus in his waking hours. There was no hiding from it. There was no escape. They were dead. Sirius betrayed them. Voldemort murdered them. They were gone.

It was with this horrible truth hanging over him, that he tore his eyes from the wreck and walked to the little graveyard beside the church. He passed the statue of his two friends and Harry in the middle of the square, but he just did not have the strength to look, because he knew that he would never be able to stop looking. He stood at the foot of their grave, and with a swish of his wand laid a wreath of flowers, and with another flick, disposed of the dead, decayed wreath he had left the year before. No one else, it seemed, had visited the grave in the time since. Remus half wondered why Lily’s sister hadn’t come. Why she didn’t visit her sister’s grave. Why she didn’t bring James and Lily’s son to see them. Perhaps, she did not have the strength to make such a journey, just like he, Remus, did not have the strength to get out of bed in the morning.

After all, loss was not an easy burden to bear.

He stood at the foot of the grave for a long time. The laughter and shouts of Muggle children out enjoying Halloween were carried to him on the wind. Faint mutters whispered to him from the church. A breeze rustled the trees, pulling the leaves from them. Remus stood in silence. He knew he should say something, but no words found him. Would James and Lily even hear him if he spoke? What had he to tell them anyway? Nothing of consequence. Nothing of importance. His life was just a dreary existence. He was going nowhere. They had all set out upon this road of life together: he, James, Lily, Sirius and Peter. But they had all left the path without him and he had gotten lost on it, with no helping hand to guide him and no friendly face to share the journey. No, this was not the first time that life had been unfair to him, but it was definitely the one that hurt the most.

The light began to dwindle, as the sun set and the moon rose. How he hated the moon. It was half-full, looking like a grinning face mocking him from the sky. He had spent enough time here in this graveyard. He would come visit again next year, go through this same ritual in twelve months time. Nothing will have changed. They will still be dead. Sirius will still be in Azkaban. And he, Remus, would still be battling on for his life, a life that did not really feel worth fighting for.

With that, he turned on the spot and allowed time and space to swallow him, to take him where he wanted to go: home, though, that word had lost all meaning now. Home was not a place; home was a group of people, a group of people now gone, never to return.

Remus clutched both sides of the chipped sink in his bathroom with his hands. He stared at the reflection in the cracked mirror. He was twenty-six years old, but he might as well have been fifty. His hair was starting to turn grey. His face was pallid and gaunt, lined with every thought that disturbed him. His whole body creaked with the stiffness of an old man waking from a troubled sleep. He was reaching breaking point. There was only so many times his body could go through the shock of being bent, broken, stretched and battered as he was forced to transform each month. He was not only beginning to look old, he was beginning to feel old too.

As bad as it sounded, Remus missed the war. He missed the camaraderie of the Order, the sense that they were all united against a common enemy, that they were on the same side. He missed that feeling of belonging, that sensation of being part of something greater than himself. He missed the thrill of fighting for his life and how he took risks and jumped out of his comfort zone because he didn’t know how much time he had left. But Remus had loads of time now, so much time it drawled on and on. His friends had all died fighting, all died trying to protect the ones they loved. But he had been left behind, left here with time to watch himself grow old. He was no longer able to cheat death in battle, no, he had to sit here and just wait for death to come and find him and it would take years and years. Yes, he missed the Order very much. He missed the sense of being included, of actually mattering. He had felt like he belonged at Hogwarts and in the Order, but now he didn’t belong anywhere. It was that sense of camaraderie that he missed the most. He missed the feeling of knowing that someone always had his back, that he had friends in his corner, that people actually cared. And Merlin damn it, he even missed Sirius, Sirius the traitor, Mr Stab-You-In-The-Back-Black. Though Sirius had shown his true colours in the end, Remus found it very difficult to forget all those years of friendship, the idea that no matter what happened Sirius would always be at his side, defending him against those who called him monster.

Remus tore his gaze from his own ghostly reflection and looked at his cracked sink with distain. Everything in his house was old, everything was broken. The furniture was all chipped and scratched. The legs of every table and chair had been broken and repaired so often, that each wobbled precariously when touched. All his clothes had holes in them, in fact, most of his robes were more patches than actual robe. Everything was thread-bare and frayed, from his clothes to his carpet to his curtains. Everything was dusty. Everything was dilapidated. Everything needed to be replaced. But he just did not have the gold.

Remus’s stomach suddenly moaned rather violently, as his insides ached with hunger. He was constantly hungry these days, but he had to toughen up and just put up with it. He had to make his money go as far as it could. That meant he could only afford one decent meal per day. His stomach groaned again, and Remus’s insides contracted in a vain attempt to make it stop. Oh, how he hated the first exception Gamp’s Law of Elemental Transfiguration. Most the world’s problems could be solved if there were only four exceptions to that law. His life would be so much easier if he could just wave his wand and make good food appear out of nothing. Sure, he could multiply whatever he had, but the copies always tasted bland and stale, turning into ash in his mouth and, what was more, these dreadful duplicates went off twice as fast as the real thing.

His stomach rumbled again. He punched the wall in frustration. He hated this, absolutely hated it. He wasn’t in this position out of choice. He was here because it couldn’t be helped, no matter what he tried. His hunger was rooted solely in the fact that, try as he might, he could not get a job. There was no legislation banning him from getting work, but there might as well be, as no place would hire a werewolf. His name was down in the registry at the Ministry, and all any would-be employer had to do was check, and once they were privy to this piece of information, Remus’s chances of getting the job were nil.

In desperation, he turned to the Muggle world to find employment, but, even there, it was impossible to get any sort of paid job. Even for the most basic jobs, Muggles wanted A-Level and GCSE results, and Remus could produce neither. His OWLs and NEWTs were worthless here, and, though he hated himself for doing it, occasionally he confunded his job-interviewer, making him forget that Remus had no A-levels. This seemed to work nicely, but it was only a temporary solution, as, when he finally did get job with Muggles, there was one obstacle he could not confund his way out of: his lycanthropy. His Muggle employment only ever lasted about four or five months because there was only so many times he could call in sick at the full-moon. Sooner or later, his boss would demand a doctor’s note he couldn’t provide, or worse still, the manager would come to the conclusion that Remus wasn’t sick, but merely incapacitated from having a few too many drinks the night before.

And that was the perverse circle he was encased in. He simply moved from Muggle job to Muggle job, never quite sure where his next pay-slip was coming from. Job interviews never went well. He didn’t have any decent clothes for one thing, and he could never supply any references either, because his previous Muggle employers would surely comment on his shabby attire, his monthly absences and his suspected drinking problem. So Remus had to go to each interview and confund his way around A-Levels and pretend that he had never been employed before. This really didn’t do him any favours because if you are twenty-six years old and have had no previous job experience, it looked pretty bad in employers’ eyes. Remus couldn’t get a job with a reference and he couldn’t get one without. He was stuck in limbo. He was going absolutely nowhere.

In his growing anxiety about his food situation, Remus looked to finding his own employment, travelling from Muggle house to Muggle house, enquiring if anyone would pay him a few pounds to clean their house or tidy their garden. This rarely produced results. People just did not like the look of him and were very reluctant to let him near their home. He didn’t blame them, willingly letting a stranger into your house was definitely not advisable, and Remus had point-blank refused, on principle, to confund any Muggle in this instance.

Aberforth was kind enough to offer him a job every Christmas, though Remus was fairly sure that Dumbledore had bent his brother’s arm in this instance. But he didn’t care. Work was work. So, for two glorious weeks during Christmas, Remus journeyed to the Hog’s Head and worked behind the bar, serving all the people who had come to Hogsmeade village to do their Christmas shopping. December was the busiest time of year for Aberforth, but he simply did not have the patronage to hire Remus for the rest of the year. But that gold he earned during those two weeks meant that Remus, for the most part, could have a somewhat comfortable Christmas, and that meant more than Aberforth could ever know.

The food situation preyed constantly on Remus’s mind. When things got really desperate and his money had dwindled to nothing more than a fiver and a handful of Knuts, Remus left the house and journeyed to the woods to gather berries. But they only appeared at certain times of the year, and even then, he couldn’t sustain himself on them alone. He would also snare rabbits or summon fish from a lake, when they were in season. He hated killing the rabbits the most. Snuffing the life from their tiny bodies made him feel more like a wolf than anything else in the world. But as much as he hated it, as much as he detested himself and his situation, it could not be helped. He was hungry. He could do nothing else.

One afternoon, when he was re-reading some of the old books he had found in his wardrobe, he come across a photo of Harry lodged between the pages of Practical Defensive Magic and it’s Uses Against the Dark Arts. Remus had forgotten this photo existed. Harry was sitting on his knee, laughing as James made sparks explode from his wand tip. How old would Harry be now? Remus wondered. Well, he was just over a year old when they died, so that would make him six. Six years old, now that was a mad concept. Remus hadn’t seen Harry since he was a baby, but he was six now and completely different to the smiling infant, with the fat little fists and the mop of jet-black hair, who was sitting on Remus’s knee in this photograph.

Dumbledore had, of course, forbidden Remus from contacting Harry; and for good reason too. The enormity of his situation, of what happened to him, and his parents, was too much for a young child to handle. His aunt and uncle would explain everything to him once he was old enough to understand. Remus had often contemplated writing a letter to Harry. He wondered what he would tell the little lad; that his parents loved him deeply, that he had his mother’s eyes and his father’s hair or that Sirius had given him a toy broomstick for his first birthday and that he had nearly killed the cat while riding it. Remus smiled at these reminiscences, but he was sure that his aunt and uncle would have told Harry all that already.

Mad-Eye Moody came over to visit every Tuesday evening, without fail, except when Tuesday fell on the full-moon, obviously. Remus did not know if Moody visited of his own accord or if it was on Dumbledore’s orders. Remus believed it was the latter reason. Dumbledore himself dropped by occasionally too, more so during the school holidays. They would drink Fire-whiskey and Dumbledore would tell him news from Hogwarts, and Remus always found, in spite of himself, that a warm feeling swelled inside him at these visits, but he never knew if it was because of the Fire-whiskey, the company or the stories from the place he loved more than any other: Hogwarts.

It was Tuesday. It was seven o’clock, and, right on cue, there was a knock on the door. Remus sighed and put down the book he was rereading. He pulled open the door and almost instantly found a wand-tip pointed right into this face.

“Declare yourself!� Moody barked.

Remus rolled his eyes and droned his response, for what must be the two hundredth time. “I am Remus John Lupin, a werewolf, and a member of the Order of the Phoenix. My friends used to call me Moony, and you, Alastor Moody, saved my life by pulling me out of the way of a killing curse the night you lost your eye.�

Seeming satisfied, Moody hobbled into the old house, leaning heavily on his long staff. He did not lower his wand. Instead, he pressed his fingers to his lips, indicating that Remus was to be quiet. His electric-blue eye swivelled in his head, searching all the rooms in the immediate vicinity. Then, he pushed passed Remus and began to physically search the rooms in the dank, dusty house with his wand held aloft. Remus had learned from experience that it was just easier to let Moody do this, because no matter how many he times he told the Auror that the house was empty, Moody would still check every room. Occasionally, Remus would hear the sound of something smashing. Mad-Eye had suddenly cursed one of Remus’s possessions, thinking it was a Death Eater in disguise. He would then repair the object, apologise once and mutter something about a trick of the light or a draft coming in under the door. Remus didn’t care. Everything he owned was broken, chipped and cracked anyway. Moody’s attacks on his house really made no difference.

Remus and Moody both went into the sitting room. The latter settled himself on the moth-eaten couch, clutching his wooden-leg for a moment as he did so. Then, he placed a stack of the previous week’s Daily Prophets on the wobbly-legged coffee-table. Moody knew that Remus could no longer afford the paper, so he hoarded the week’s issues and kept them for delivery on these Tuesday visits. Remus appreciated the gesture. It was nice, and it guaranteed that he, at least, had something new to read each week anyway.

“Want a cup of tea?� Remus asked, before he took his usual seat opposite Moody. He knew full-well that the Auror refused to drink anything he had not prepared himself, but nevertheless, Remus made this offering each week, out of politeness.

“No, I’ve got the hip-flask,� Moody growled in response, pulling the flask from an inner pocket of his robes and taking a quick swig of whatever was inside it.

It was actually lucky that Moody never wanted tea, because Remus actually didn’t even have any in the house to offer. Remus sighed and went into the kitchen to get some water. He felt Moody’s magical eye watch his every move. He still wasn’t used to that electric-blue orb. It unnerved him, particularly the fact that Moody could use it to see through walls and even, most grotesquely, through the back of his own head. Conscious that he was being watched, Remus poured some water into a dented metal jug and took a chipped mug from the press rather quickly. He didn’t want to be slow about it and have Mad-Eye think that his delay was due to the fact that he was not Remus Lupin, but a Death Eater in disguise. So, with jug and mug in hand, Remus returned, rather sharpish, to his very paranoid visitor in the sitting room.

Moody fixed Remus with an unreadable stare as he entered. His face got more scarred and battle-worn every time Remus saw him. Soon, Moody’s visage would be more scar than actual skin. His eye was gone, not to mention a chuck of his nose, and, even now, it was becoming pretty difficult to distinguish his mouth from all the other trench-like scars on his face.

Remus set the jug and mug down on the table, which creaked dangerously, before he collapsed into the old armchair opposite Moody.

“You’re thin,� Moody barked.

It wasn’t a question. It was a blunt statement. Remus didn’t know if Moody was just making an observation or if he was voicing some sort of concern.

“Tell me something I don’t know,� Remus replied rather harshly, clutching the bridge of his nose. His insides were aching with hunger. He didn’t need Moody to point out the obvious.

Moody continued to fix Remus with that unreadable look, but then made a decision to steer the conversation back into more familiar waters. He opened his mouth and updated Remus on all the exciting things he had done in the week since they last saw each other. Moody ranted on and on about this new kid, who Moody was convinced would be head of the Auror Office in a few short years, Kingsley Shacklebolt. Remus didn’t care about Kingsley Shacklebolt. He felt that if he heard this bloke’s name one more time he would explode.

Remus both loved and hated his Tuesday evenings with Moody. On the one hand Mad-Eye provided him with that human contact and conversation he craved so much. On the other, Moody was completely incapable of having any sort of conversation, serious or otherwise, that didn’t contain the words: Aurors, Death Eaters, chase, battle, fight, capture, tail or trial. Sometimes Remus found this type of conversation a relief. It was nice to talk about something normal, something every day. But other times, Remus found himself silently screaming out to have some sort of meaningful conversation with another living person. He desperately wanted to laugh and joke with a friend about old times, but he and Mad-Eye had shared no good times to laugh about. The only memories they shared were full of battles with Death Eaters, of images of people being blown to bits and of the sight of friends dying before their eyes as they tried and failed to save them. They could not laugh or reminisce about those times. Those memories had to be repressed, locked away, forgotten.

Every Tuesday after this particular one, Moody came over carrying, not one, two bundles: the first containing the usual pile of newspapers and the second enclosing several loaves of bread, a square of butter and a sack of fresh fruit. Remus felt awful accepting this gift, knowing that he could never pay back such kindness. As much as he wanted to refuse the present, he knew that he had to accept it, he’d starve otherwise. This arrival of Moody with a parcel of food puzzled Remus. Again, he thought that maybe Dumbledore and Mad-Eye were having conversations about him, and that the former had asked the latter to bring over food. But then Remus remembered Moody’s comment of the previous Tuesday: You’re thin. Maybe Dumbledore hadn’t told Moody to do anything, maybe Moody just cared.

Remus smiled. No one had cared about him for a very long time. It was a nice feeling. He felt himself grow a few inches, and that evening he shared a few laughs with Mad-Eye, and didn’t even roll his eyes when he heard about how young Shacklebolt had single-handedly captured two very elusive Death Eaters. That night Remus went to bed, feeling better than he had done in a good long while. The food and company Moody had brought had done him the world of good. But it was the thought that there was at least one person out there that actually cared about him that lit some sort of unquenchable fire inside his soul. As mad as it sounded, Remus was actually looking forward to seeing Mad-Eye next Tuesday, sure, he was even starting to take a real interest in this Shacklebolt character.

The months rolled on and on. Autumn gave way to winter, and with it, the promise of a job in the Hog’s Head for two weeks. It was just a nice feeling to have money again. It made Remus feel safe and secure. But the money never lasted long, no matter how careful he was. The snows of winter soon melted and were replaced by the budding flowers of spring. Too soon for his liking, Remus found himself snaring rabbits in the woods again. In fact, if it hadn’t have been for the food Moody brought every Tuesday Remus was pretty sure he would have died of starvation.

In March, Mad-Eye was sent to St Mungos Hospital after he had suffered a severe reaction to some random, unknown curse from a Dark Wizard. Dumbledore wrote to Remus informing him of the fact. Remus spent the entire week at Moody’s bedside. The Auror was unconscious. He looked more or less the same, with his horribly scarred and distorted face, apart from the fact that a purple bruise ran from his left temple right down to his neck. The Healers assured Remus that Moody would be fine, they were just trying to find the right counter-curse, but once they’d found it, Mad-Eye would be back chasing down Death Eaters in no time.

Remus even got to meet the infamous Kingsley Shacklebolt during these hospital visits. The lad came in to visit Moody, bringing a pocket Sneakoscope with him. He told Remus that it was just a comfort thing. He felt that old Mad-Eye would feel better if he knew he had a Sneakoscope at his bedside. Remus liked Kingsley the more they talked. He was bold and tall, with a deep voice and kind eyes. He was a very sound, down to earth sort of bloke as well. He even told a few tales about Moody and his obsession with Muggle dust-bins. These stories made Remus laugh, but he assured himself that he would eat his socks if even one of these tales proved to be true.

Four days later, Moody was awake and alert, his wand pointing at every single person who entered the ward. He seemed glad of Remus’s company and he point-blank denied everything when Remus informed him of Kingsley’s dust-bin stories. Remus found himself laughing, and, as though he couldn’t help it, Mad-Eye was laughing too.

Before Remus knew it, it was July. The sun was shining and there was very little rain. But still he had no job, and his money situation wasn’t getting any better. He only had a fiver to his name and that certainly wouldn’t get him anywhere. Muggle money was strange. They valued paper over gold, well, it was more that the paper represented gold that was hidden away in a treasury somewhere. They also liked to put their Queen on their money too. It seemed funny to Remus, to have a non-moving picture stare up at him from a piece of paper money. He found the image fascinating. It was something different. He couldn’t take his eyes off it whenever he was lucky enough to actually have Muggle money.

Harry’s birthday was fast approaching. Remus couldn’t forget Harry’s birthday even if he tried. Harry’s birth had just taken them all out of themselves during the war. It was a very dark time; people were dying and Voldemort was building up an army, hunting down all who opposed him and brutally murdering them. It was a time when you didn’t think something as normal as a child being born could happen, but it did. Harry came, and everyone just forgot themselves, forgot the war, forgot the danger, forgot everything really. Harry had arrived, with his bright, happy smile and brilliant green eyes. His presence had just lifted everyone. When Harry smiled, you smiled. When Harry laughed, you laughed. It couldn’t be helped. The boy’s positive mood was just infectious, filling them all with the warmth and hope Remus associated with phoenix song.

Remus went to bed late one night, having lost track of time while reading. Suddenly, he found himself in a dark room. He did not know how he got there. He didn’t even know where ‘there’ was. Wherever he was, it was dark, cramped and covered with dust and cobwebs. Slowly, very slowly, Remus started to hear sobbing. It was barely discernible, but he was almost sure it was sobbing. Wherever he was, he wasn’t alone.

“Hello?� Remus called into the darkness.

There was no reply.

“Is anyone there?� he shouted, louder this time.

There was still no response, but he felt sure that he had heard sobbing. Remus closed his eyes and strained his ears, trying to discern if the sound was real or imaginary. He heard laboured breathing, the sort that came hand in hand with tears. Someone was crying, make no mistake about it.

“Hello? Anyone there?� he repeated, casting his eyes around, hoping to see some sign of life in the blackness.

A light clicked on and Remus suddenly had a clear view of where he was. He seemed to be stuck between two different rooms. One was small and dark, looking, more or less, like a cupboard under a stairs. The second was a bright hallway, with family photos hanging from the brightly wallpapered walls. It was a home, a Muggle home, he guessed by looking at the television and video recorder in the sitting room just off the hall. But it was the cupboard that intrigued him. It was filled with umbrellas, odd shoes, bags, and different shaped boxes. Bizarrely enough though, someone had stupidly tried to cram a sort of cot-like bed into this tiny space, and had thrown ragged blankets over it, as if they honestly expected someone to sleep there. But no one in their right mind would ever want to sleep in a spider-filled, dusty cupboard when the rest of the house looked so neat, clean and bright.

Suddenly, the bundle of blankets stirred. Merlin, someone was actually sleeping there. Remus tried to move forward to get a closer look, but he found that he was not able to move at all. Someone might as well have put a full-body-bind curse on him.

The person lying on the bed turned over, and Remus’s heart skipped an entire beat. It was a child. A child was sleeping in this horrible place. It was a boy, a very small boy by the look of him, maybe five or six years old. The boy was crying. Remus could see the tears cascade down his little cheeks. They were those silent, lost, despairing tears, the ones that only came as a response to a pain that was worse than any that hex or curse could cause. The boy was whispering in the blackness, whispering to Merlin knew who, because there was no one around, save Remus, but he was sure the boy could not see him.

“I want to go away. Please, someone take me away,� the boy sobbed quietly. “No one cares about me. Please someone - anyone - take me away from here.� The boy’s tiny voice was breaking.

Remus felt a knot form in his own throat. He had never seen anything so pitiful and so sad in his life. This child could not be older than five or six, and there he was, completely alone, locked up in the dark, with no one running to comfort him.

“No one loves me,� the boy half-shrieked, his little voice rising several octaves. “I’m a waste of space. No one cares. I’m all alone.�

Even though Remus didn’t know this poor boy, he was filled with a strong desire to just run over to him and hold him tight and tell him everything was OK. Remus tried to move again, asserting all the will power he possessed. It was no good. He was rooted to the spot, doomed to observe, not to help.

The boy continued to cry. His tears drenched the old pillow-case on which he was resting his little head. This was beyond cruelty, locking a child up like this. It wasn’t right. Someone had to do something. Again, Remus tried to move and again he found he could not. He didn’t even know where his wand was. If only he could remember where he left it, then he would be able to help this poor boy.

“Please, somebody, anybody, please help, save me, take me away, please.�

Remus felt his own eyes burn. The knot in his throat swelled, making swallowing difficult. Suddenly, his attention was drawn to the hallway adjacent to the cupboard in which this poor unfortunate boy was imprisoned. A man burst in the front door and ran to the cupboard. Relief flooded Remus. Finally, someone was coming to save the boy. Remus watched the man. He was tall, with black hair that grew all over the place and large round glasses that rested over his hazel eyes.

“Prongs?� Remus said, without thinking.

The man did not answer. Instead he started to bang on the door of the cupboard hysterically. He was shouting a name, over and over, a name that Remus’s heart heard before his ears did.

NO! Remus thought in horror, as his whole body began to tremble with shock and pure fear over what he was witnessing. NO! It can’t be. It’s not. I won’t believe it.

“HARRY!� James shouted over and over. “HARRY! I’M HERE! I’M RIGHT HERE!�

Harry could not hear his father. Harry continued to cry silently in the darkness, completely oblivious to the fact that his dad was so close.

James continued to hammer frantically on the door of the cupboard, calling out to his son, but Harry could not hear him. James rammed the door with his shoulder. It did not move. He pointed his wand at it and shouted. Nothing happened.

“Harry, I’m here!� James screamed. He was near tears. “I’m here son. I’m right here.�

Harry couldn’t hear him. Harry continued to cry. “Nobody wants me. Nobody cares about me. I’m just stupid and a waste of space.�

“Harry, son, I love you,� James screamed, the tears pouring down his anguished face. “I care about you, me and your Mum. Harry, please hear me, please!�

But still, Harry could not hear.

A single tear ran down Remus’s own cheek. His heart hammered and his frame trembled. He was stuck in-between the wall. He could see James on the outside, and Harry on the inside, though neither James nor Harry could see one another.

James continued to pound the door, screaming at his son that he was there. Harry continued to cry in the dark, unable to hear. James rammed the door with his shoulder repeatedly, screaming as he did so. “Harry! I’m right here, Harry! I’m right here! I’m coming to get you son, I’m coming, just hold on! Harry! I’m coming! I’m going to get you out!�

Remus tried to move, but his body was outside of his control. He fought and he fought, but whatever spell was holding him in place could not be over-come.

“Your dad is coming, Harry!� Remus shouted. “He’s coming for you, just hold on!�

But Harry couldn’t hear Remus either.

“Nobody wants me. Nobody cares. I want to go away, please, someone take me away.�

“HARRY!� James and Remus screamed together.

The boy was still unable to hear them. They could use all the magical megaphones in the world and still Harry would not be able to hear them.

James continued to pound the door. He was close to losing the little composure he still possessed. He pointed his wand at the door of the cupboard and muttered every spell that came into his head. Nothing worked. Harry continued to cry in his prison, completely unaware that his dad was just outside, doing all in his power to get in.

James kicked, punched and pounded the little door, but to no avail. Remus continued to struggle against whatever force kept him still. He fought and fought, screaming Harry’s name as he did so. Then, James suddenly slid to the floor, tears falling onto his robes. He buried his face in his hands and cried.

“I’m so sorry, Harry,� he sobbed, his voice muffled by the fingers enclosing his face. “I’m so sorry couldn’t save you. I’m so sorry I didn’t keep you safe.�

Remus had never seen James lose all control and composure like this before. Remus found himself shaking. He was shaking all over. He couldn’t stop shaking.

“You have to save him, Moony,� James said, raising his head and looking directly at where Remus stood, immobilised. “You have to save him. You’re all that he has left. You have to save him.�

But before Remus could open his mouth to reply, he found himself being pulled backwards, squeezed through time and space, before he landed with a thud and a moan of bed-springs on his mattress and woke with a start.

“HARRY!� he screamed into the blackness. He was shaken beyond belief. He was frightened, more frightened than he had been in a long time. He was trembling all over, his pyjamas were stuck to his sweaty skin and his wet fringe was pressed flat against his forehead.

It was a dream, only a dream, he assured himself over and over inside his head. It wasn’t true. It could not be true. No one was so heartless that they would lock up a six-year-old child like that.

A seven-year-old child,, that little voice inside him reminded him. It’s Harry’s birthday tomorrow, today in fact.

That was true. Remus was sure that the dream was brought on because Harry was on his mind, because the boy’s birthday was drawing close; and Remus’s subconscious connected Harry to Remus’s own sense of entrapment and repressed loss and despair. That was it. Harry was perfectly fine. He had to be.

You could check, said that little voice. Just to be sure to be sure.

Remus thought of James and that anguished look on his face; how he had looked as though he was experiencing pain beyond endurance. Just to be sure, just to make quite sure, he’d check on Harry. He owed James that. Plus, he would like to check on Harry himself. That dream had deeply troubled him too. He wanted Harry to be safe and well just as much as James did.

Knowing he would probably be (accidently) jinxed into oblivion if he woke up Mad-Eye at this hour of the night, Remus waited until a little after day-break before he apparated to the Auror’s house. His heart was still hammering and his head was still swimming with the terrible scene he had witnessed in his nightmare the night before.

Remus raised his hand and knocked loudly on the door three times. Suddenly, he realised that he was unable to move his hand. It was stuck, quite literary stuck, to the large oak front door of Moody’s house. Suddenly, a large telescope-like contraption popped out of a panel above the door. It thrust itself into Remus’s face, and from it issued Moody’s growling voice.

“Declare yourself!�

“It’s me, Remus!� he shouted to the telescope, not in the mood to indulge Mad-Eye paranoid tendencies at the present. He still could not remove his hand from the door.

“Prove it!� barked the telescope, moving so close to Remus now that he actually went cross-eyed trying to keep it in view.

“I am Remus John Lupin!� Remus shouted, still trying to extract his hand. He was angry at Moody wasting his time like this. “I’m a werewolf, sometimes called Moony. I was there the night you lost your eye, Alastor. You saved me from a killing curse, by pulling me out of the way. We both saw Fabian Prewett die. We couldn’t do anything, all we could do was watch him fall.�

Remus heard several metallic clicks and suddenly, his hand was released as the door swung open almost instantly. “Lupin,� Moody muttered, casting furtive looks left and right. “You’re alone?�

“Yes, I’m alone!� Remus replied, very frustrated. His hand felt as though it had been burnt.

Moody shuffled aside and let Remus enter. He glanced all around the garden again with both eyes before turning to Remus, giving him a searching look. “What’s happened?� he muttered, his scarred face exceptionally hard to read.

“Nothing,� Remus replied.

“Then why are you here boy?�

“I need - a - a favour,� Remus began, quickly.

“What’s happened?� Moody asked again. Remus thought he heard concern or maybe fear in the Auror’s voice, or perhaps he was just angry at being called on at such an early hour. It was hard to tell.

“Nothing’s happened,� Remus said again, a little exasperatedly. “I just want to borrow your invisibility cloak, if you’ll consent to lend it to me.�

Moody gave Remus as searching look. “Not going to rob a bank are you?�

“Rob a - what? No!� Remus said, slightly offended that Mad-Eye would even think that he would rob a bank.

Moody looked relieved. “That’s good,� he replied conversationally. “I’d hate to have to send my Aurors after you.�

It was Remus who shot Mad-Eye a look this time.

“I mean, what would I do every Tuesday if you were in Azkaban?� Moody mumbled, his real eye staring at his shoe.

Remus opened his mouth to reply, but words seemed to fail him as the enormity of what Moody had just admitted hit him. What would I do every Tuesday if you were in Azkaban? It seemed that Mad-Eye visited Remus every week, not because he pitied Remus for being all alone, but because he, Mad-Eye Moody, was lonely too. Moody desired his company, just as much as he desired Moody’s. Mad-Eye’s Tuesday visits meant as much to him as they did to Remus.

Conscious that he was standing there with his mouth gaping, Remus replied, half-serious, half-amused, “Do you honestly think I’d rob a bank?�

“No,� Moody replied firmly. “But I do think that you are in a very bad space at the minute and in desperate times people do what they have to.�

Wow, Moody really was revealing a lot about his feelings towards his friendship with Remus in this short conversation. It seemed that Alastor Moody was, indeed, capable of having one serious, meaningful conversation after all.

Abandoning all forms of pretence, Remus said honestly, “I want to see Harry.�

“Potter?� Moody replied, completely nonplussed.

“Yes, Harry Potter! Who else would it be?� Remus knew that he should be a little more patient with Moody, but right now he was still filled with the panic and horror of what he had dreamt last night. He was wasting time. He had to go and check on Harry now.

“Dumbledore -�

“Dumbledore forbade me I know!� Remus replied, cutting across his friend. “But I don’t intend to talk to him. I just want to see him, check he’s OK. Please, Alastor, it’s important.�

Mad-Eye gave Remus another funny look, before he limped into a room off the hall.

“Thank you!� Remus called after him.

In the time Moody was gone, Remus looked around the dwelling in which he found himself. He had never seen Mad-Eye’s house properly before. The large telescope device hung just above the back of the front door, which had no less than ten locks on it. Several Sneakoscopes stood sentinel at either side of the door frame. The wallpaper in the hall was old and peeling. Disturbing pictures hung from the walls of tortured souls and dark creatures. Remus could just about see into the sitting room, whose door stood ajar. Moody’s large foe glass stood propped up on the mantle-piece; blurred, ghost-like faces swam around inside it like some sort of bizarre type of gold-fish. The walls were covered in pictures of Death Eaters, old newspaper clippings and large maps of various towns and cities across the country. Different coloured pins were littered at various intervals on these maps, no doubt marking the various sightings of Death Eaters. These pins were all joined together with an intricate spider-web of black thread. The whole thing gave the impression that the room belonged to a giant spider, not a human being. The various photos of the Death Eaters leered at Remus with their wild, mad grins. Some were laughing insanely, others were fighting bonds, and others still were staring with a dangerous, murderous glint in their eyes.

Remus heard the dull clunk-clunk of Moody’s wooden leg pounding against the floorboards of the hall. He suddenly tore his gaze from the sitting room and looked at his friend limping towards him. He had a long silver cloak in his hand. He handed it to Remus.

“You better look after that now,� Moody growled, “they’re not exactly a Knut a piece.�

“Don’t worry, I’ll look after it,� Remus assured him, taking the cloak. “And thanks, for understanding.�

Moody nodded and opened the door to let Remus out. Remus stepped over the threshold, thanking Mad-Eye again as he did so.

“Lupin,� Moody called, as Remus was about half-way down the garden. “I know you’ve been alone for a very long time, and I know you miss him, miss all of them, but Potter’s not his father, don’t forget that.�

Remus turned to look at Moody. The Auror looked worried, perhaps even frightened. The retort of Remus’s lips was quelled instantly. Moody was genuinely worried about him and what he was doing. Moody was afraid that Remus felt so alone that he was seeking Harry out just to have some small connection to the happy life he once knew.

“Don’t worry,� Remus said reassuringly, with a small smile. “I won’t forget.�

With that, Remus tucked the invisibility cloak under his arm, turned on the spot and disapparated, with Little Whinging fixed clearly in his mind.

Remus apparated into the large Muggle housing-estate. He looked around. Every house and road looked exactly the same. He really had not thought this through properly. He had absolutely no idea where Harry’s aunt and uncle’s house was, and judging by the size of Little Whinging, it would take several days to search it properly. He couldn’t exactly knock on every door and say “Sorry, but, does Harry Potter live here?� That definitely wouldn’t work.

Not knowing what else to do, Remus put one foot in front of the other and began to explore the spider-web of streets laid out in front of him. The sun beat down on the road, making the air above it shimmer. Remus could feel the back of his neck burning as the sun’s rays bore down upon him. But this sunshine was a good thing. It was the summer holidays. Harry was surely outside playing with his friends. Without doubt, he was having a birthday party at this very moment. There would be a whole gang of children out enjoying the sunshine. Remus was nearly sure of it.

He turned the material of Moody’s invisibility cloak over and over in his hands as he walked. This cloak was very different to the one that James had. This one was thinner, and it had a few holes in it, no doubt from the various hexes fired at it while Mad-Eye was using it. James’s cloak had been incredibly old, but it was absolutely pristine. Remus remembered how the material had felt like water cascading over his hands. Moody’s cloak definitely didn’t feel the same. But it did its job well, and that’s all that mattered.

Remus spent hours walking up and down nearly identical streets. Trees and little grass verges lined the foot-paths. Low walls separated one home from the next. Every house was almost the same, except for the colour of the curtains, or the style of flower-pots in the garden, or the type of car in the drive-way. After about three hours walking, he passed a little knot of shops clustered together in-between two rows of houses. One of them was a post office, the other an auctioneers, and the last one sold Muggle newspapers and sweets. Remus clutched the five pound note in his pocket and walked inside.

He had, of course, been in Muggle shops loads of times before. Each one was unique and he found each one fascinating. This one was small, but quaint. Large fridges ran along one wall, containing ice creams, milk and different coloured drinks in bottles. The opposite wall was devoted to newspapers and magazines. None of the people in the photos moved. It was just weird to see a single instant frozen in a picture, never to change. In the middle of the shop a teenager stood behind a circular counter that was groaning under the weight of hundreds of different types of sweets. Remus stared at all the brightly coloured wrappers in amazement. Muggles were definitely spoilt for choice. The only problem now was that Remus had no idea what to choose; which piece of chocolate did Harry like best?

Remus walked around the long counter for a while, staring at each of the bars in turn. Occasionally, the teenager minding the shop would look up from his magazine and stare at Remus, as though amazed that a full-grown man found sweets so interesting. Remus saw Mars bars and Moros, Dairymilks and Galaxy Bars, M&Ms and Malteasers, each looking more interesting than the last. He had just decided to pick one at random, when a small boy ran into the shop and stood in front of the counter, his eyes searching frantically. He had dark hair and large grey eyes. He seemed unable to stand still. He suddenly grabbed a Mars bar and gave it to the boy behind the counter.

“This please!� he said excitedly.

“Fifty p,� the teenager replied lazily, flicking his long hair out of his eyes.

The little boy placed a small coin on the counter and ran out of the shop faster than a speeding Bludger, the Mars bar clutched tightly to his chest. That settled it. That boy didn’t even take time to choose the chocolate bar he wanted, he knew right from the off that he wanted a Mars. If the Mars bar was that boy’s favourite, then surely it would be Harry’s too. Remus picked up a Mars bar and placed it on the counter.

The teenager looked at him, as though he had never seen anything as strange as Remus in all his life.

“Fifty p,� he said dully.

Remus handed over his crumpled five pound note. Even though money was very tight, Harry was worth every little Muggle penny. Remus thanked the teenager as he received his change and turned to leave the shop. He stared down at the Mars bar in his hand. Harry deserved so much more than this meagre present. It was Harry’s birthday. Remus couldn’t give him much, but he wanted to give Harry the best he could.

His fingers enclosed around the four-pound-fifty in his pocket. He faced the counter again. He picked up another Mars bar. He then started grabbing sweets at random, Twixs and Milkybars, Crunchies and Opal Fruits, M&Ms and Skittles. Happiness flooded Remus as he stood there, choosing sweets. He hadn’t been able to give anyone a present for a long time. He had forgotten how good it felt.

Remus placed his assortment of sweets on the counter. The teenager looked at the pile, then at Remus, with an expression that just said: Are you kidding me here?

“Four-fifty,� the boy replied, after he had finished counting the bars Remus wanted to buy.

Remus handed over all the money he had. Then, filled with a warm fuzzy feeling, he thanked the teenager and left the shop, pocketing all his sweets as he did so.

“Well, Harry,� Remus said brightly, more to himself than anyone else. “It’s not much, but it’s the best I can do.�

He spent the rest of the afternoon wandering around the housing estates in Little Whinging. He had been hopelessly naive to think that he could just apparate here and find Harry without a problem. In fact he wasn’t even sure Little Whinging was the right place. He had a vague recollection that that was where Dumbledore had told him Harry was going to live, but that was years ago. He could very well be looking in the wrong place. He should have just asked Dumbledore for the address, but truth be told, Remus didn’t want Dumbledore to know that he was making this visit. Surely Mad-Eye would tell the headmaster where Remus had gone, but by the time that conversation had taken place, the visit will have been finished. Dumbledore couldn’t intervene.

At around four in the afternoon Remus’s insides were screaming out in hunger. He was just about to give up and try again another day when he heard children’s voices in the next street. He figured it was worth checking out. Remus walked on and looked down the nearest road. Three boys and a girl were playing football in the middle of the street. Football was such a strange sport. It was like Quidditch, except there was only one ball and no one could fly. There were also eleven players on a team, not seven, and there was only one goal at each end of the pitch, not three, and these goals were large and rectangular, not small and round. Plus, players could only kick the ball, no hands allowed, except from the Keeper. Also, there were three referees in football, not one. Actually, the more he thought about it, the more he realised that football wasn’t really like Quidditch at all, except for that fact that everyone in the Muggle world followed football, just like everyone in the Wizarding world followed Quidditch.

Anyway, the three boys and the girl were playing football, one was screaming something about a yellow card and another was yelling something about Man United, which Remus guessed was some sort of team. But it wasn’t these children, Man United or their game that intrigued him, it was the little black-haired boy sitting at the edge of the road staring longingly at them.

It was Harry.

Excitement bubbled inside Remus, making him forget how hungry he was. Remus threw the invisibility cloak over himself and marched towards the little boy. When he was close enough, he just stopped and stared. Harry was James in miniature, except for the eyes, they were Lily’s bottle-green, containing all her fire and courage. Remus could not help but smile. But then he saw the lightening scar on the boy's forehead, the scar that marked him as the boy who lived. It was really there, just like everyone said. But the more Remus looked at Harry, the more he realised that something wrong. Harry was thin, but not in the way James had been. Lupin felt a rush of anger at this. What were Harry’s aunt and uncle doing? They clearly weren’t looking after him properly. No seven-year-old should resemble a stick.

A sort of raging monster reared inside Remus. He knew what it was like not to have enough to eat and to see Harry in that situation made his blood boil.

Harry was staring that the children playing football. Remus knew that look, it was the look of one who wanted more than anything else to be including in the events going on in front of them. Remus knew what it was like to feel unwanted and excluded. Harry was only seven. He shouldn’t have to go through all that.

Then, with a rush of fierce determination in his large green eyes, Harry rose and walked straight over to the boys and girl playing football. “Can I play?� he asked, very bravely. His voice was so small, so child-like. This was the first time Remus had ever heard him speak. The effect gave him goose-bumps.

The boy nearest Harry bit his lip and frantically looked left and right, as though checking if the coast was clear. “Em...� he began, his eyes darting around, looking anywhere but at Harry.

“Killian,� one of the other boys said warningly, “we can’t, you know we can’t.�

“Sorry, Harry,� said the boy called Killian. “Your cousin - I mean - Dudley’ll kill us if we let you play.�

“I won’t tell him,� Harry said honestly, desperation evident in his little voice. “He won’t ever know.�

“He’ll find out,� Killian replied, looking at his shoes. “He’ll find out and he’ll come get us.�

Harry seemed to shrink on the spot as all the fire when out of him. He looked absolutely deflated.

“Sorry,� Killian said, looking guilty.

Harry said nothing, but returned to the edge of the road, where he watched the children continue to play their game. Harry looked upset, near tears even. He stared at the children hungrily, wishing he could share in the joy and excitement of their game.

This wasn’t right. Harry’s cousin, this Dudley, was stopping all the kids on the road from playing with Harry. It was absolutely outrageous. Why on earth would anyone do such a thing, and to their own cousin? Whatever about not wanting to play with your cousin yourself, but actually going out of your way to beat up kids who did... it was utter madness.

Remus sat down beside Harry, and looked him, drinking in every little detail. His hair stuck up at the back like James’s. His smile mirrored Lily’s. He even looked like he had inherited James’s father’s knobbly knees. Remus couldn’t help but smile. In Harry he saw his two old friends and he felt closer to them than he had done since they died. But all these wonderful things were eclipsed by the simple that Harry looked like a lost, neglected child. His glasses were broken, held together with what must be the Muggle equivalent of Spellotape. And, what was more, he was dressed in old clothes that were at least three sizes too big for him. He looked even more small and skinny for that.

The more Remus saw the less he liked. This wasn’t right. Harry wasn’t being looked after properly.

I’d look after him, Remus thought fiercely.

You can barely feed yourself, how are you going to look after Harry? said that rational voice inside his head.

I’d make him feel wanted and cared for. I’d love him as though he were my own son, Remus replied avidly.

Sometimes that’s just not enough.

I’d make it enough.

What would happen, then, at the full-moon? Who would mind him then? Sometimes love isn’t enough.

Realisation crashed over Remus, ending the naive notion that had entered his head at the sight of Harry. The voice was right. He was too poor and too dangerous to care for Harry. Harry, James and Lily’s son; Harry, the brave little boy who deserved so much more than what he had been given in this life. He deserved to be in his parents’ arms. He deserved friends, deserved a life free from the cruelty he had experienced. In short, he deserved a warm, safe and loving home, which definitely was not the life he was living now, and certainly not any life Remus could provide for him.

A few minutes later, the boys and girl were called in for tea by their parents. Harry watched them leave just as hungrily as he had watched them play football. He saw Killian’s mother put her arm across his shoulders and bring him into the house. Harry watched that gesture, with a look of longing on his little face, as though he wished someone would do the same for him.

Remus didn’t think he could watch anymore. It was too horrible, Harry, little Harry, deserved so much better than this.

Harry stood up and walked over to a discarded bottle that was lying on a grass verge a little way down the road. He picked it up and began to throw it high in the air, and then catch it. For a moment Remus’s mind strayed back to those wonderful summer days under the beech tree at Hogwarts, where James would take a stolen Snitch from his pocket, and release it and catch it, only to release and catch it again. Remus smiled. Harry definitely had the making of a good Chaser, like his father, or maybe even a Seeker. Remus watched as Harry threw the bottle higher and higher. Several times Remus was nearly sure he would drop it, but Harry didn’t. His reflexes were sharp and fast. He never missed a catch.

Harry seemed at peace while he ran around throwing and catching the bottle. He seemed happy, he was smiling at least. The game seemed to take him out of himself, made him feel free. Perhaps he was imagining himself as a Seeker, that is, if he even knew what Quidditch was. Maybe he was pretending to be a fielder in Rounders or Cricket or one of those other Muggle sports that involved catching tiny balls that were hit with a bat. Whatever Harry was imagining, he was definitely very good at throwing and catching this bottle. He was just having fun and it was a nice sight to see.

Remus watched Harry play for a long time. There was something therapeutic about seeing the smile on the boy’s face, about hearing him cheer and shout when he made a particularly difficult catch. Remus was just starting to think about how best to give Harry his sweets when the whole scene changed with the arrival of a gang of boys about Harry’s age. They were a very unfriendly bunch, most of them big in stature. One boy, the leader by the looks of it, was absolutely massive. He had blonde hair and a rather smug look on his face. The others followed his every move. When he walked with his hands in his pockets, the others did too. When this boy spat on the ground, the others copied him. It was a strange spectacle. Harry, it appeared, was too engrossed in his game with the bottle to notice the new arrivals. The leader of the gang spotted Harry almost instantly. He pointed at him, sniggered and gestured for his gang to follow him.

Sensing that something bad was going to happen, Remus drew nearer to Harry.

The leader of the group, who was a lot taller than Harry, reached up and caught the bottle Harry had just thrown up into the air. Surprised and caught off guard, Harry turned around and glared at the blonde boy. His face was set.

“Give it back, Dudley!� Harry said bravely.

So this was Dudley. This was Harry’s cousin. Remus had had misgivings about this child as soon as he and his gang had walked onto the road, but now Remus realised that Dudley was probably going to hit Harry and Remus wasn’t going to let that happen. His fingers enclosed around his wand in his pocket, just in case.

“Give it back, Dudley!� Dudley said in a mocking, high-pitched voice, holding the bottle above his head out of Harry’s reach. The other boys sniggered.

“Give it back!� Harry shouted. Remus really had to admire Harry’s courage here, standing up to Dudley like this when it was blatantly obvious who would win in a fight. Nevertheless, Harry didn’t back down.

“Or what, Potter?� Dudley jeered.

“Or else!� Harry replied, with a look of pure loathing on his face.

“Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh!� all the boys said in unison.

Harry glared at them with the same loathing stare he had given Dudley. Dudley grinned at Harry and threw the bottle over a high wall; it rose in the air in an arc, before falling out of sight. Harry watched it go, with a look of anguish, as though he were seeing his best friend leave. Then, Harry turned to Dudley and pushed him, which Remus thought was a brave, but extremely stupid thing to do. Even though Harry put all the strength his little body possessed into the shove he gave Dudley, the latter barely felt it. Dudley simply laughed, all the other boys joining in.

“I hate you, Dudley!� Harry said angrily.

“Ohhhhhhhhh!� the boys chanted again.

“You’re not going to let him get away with that, are you, Dud?� piped up the smallest boy in the gang. He had a face like a rat.

As though he had been waiting for this invitation, Dudley turned to his gang of friends and grinned at them. Instinctively, Remus drew his wand and pointed it straight at Dudley, the curse already on his lips. But, he hesitated. Could he really use a spell on a seven-year-old child? But he shouldn’t have hesitated, because Harry paid dearly for Remus’s lack of conviction. Just when the rational part of Remus’s mind stopped him from performing a spell, Dudley drew back his fat fist and punched Harry in the face. Harry’s glasses were knocked off his nose. He fell backwards with the force of the blow. He hit the ground hard. His little hands reached up and clutched his nose. There was blood everywhere.

And Dudley and the boys just laughed.

Horror and revulsion rose inside Remus. He was furious with himself for his moment of hesitation. Dudley and his gang advanced forward. He and the rat-faced boy had drawn their legs back, about to kick Harry while he was lying on the ground. It was the absolute height of cowardice. Remus was not going to let Dudley hurt Harry anymore. Harry was not a punch-bag to be hit and kicked. Remus pointed his wand between the advancing bullies and Harry, casting a Shield Charm.

It did the trick.

Dudley and the other boy drew back their legs, but instead of kicking Harry, they kicked the Shield Charm instead. Dudley let out a howl of pain and clutched his foot. Personally, Remus hoped all the boy’s toes were broken. He deserved it. The other boy whimpered and started crying. Taking advantage of the chaos, Harry staggered to his feet and ran off down the road, away from his howling, cowardly cousin and his thuggish friends.

Remus noticed that Harry had left his glasses behind in his haste to exit the scene. He picked them up. They were broken, cut in half right down the bridge between the two sides of the frame. The right lens was cracked and the left one had been knocked out. Remus pocketed these pieces and tore after Harry, his heart hammering.

He was absolutely disgusted by what he had just witnessed. No one deserved such treatment, especially a seven-year-old boy. It was barbaric and disgraceful. And people called Remus a monster because he turned into a wolf once a month? Dudley was worse. At least Remus had no choice, Dudley did, and he actually chose to inflict pain and suffering. And what made things worse was that Dudley was seven. If he was acting like this at age seven, Remus shuddered to think what he would be like when he was older. He was definitely going to end up in prison somewhere.

For a little lad, Harry was very fast. Remus had trouble trying to catch him, despite the fact that his legs were much longer than Harry’s. Remus had no idea where Harry was going. He was tearing through the housing estate, trying to put as much distance between himself and Dudley as he could. His nose was still pouring blood; little droplets were littering the pavement. Suddenly, Harry ducked down a side alley and ran across a large grassy space, stopping only when he had reached a little thicket of bushes that stood in the middle of the green. He pushed his way inside, the bushes rustling and shedding leaves as he did so. Remus followed, still hidden under the invisibility cloak. There was a tiny clearing in the middle of the thicket, the perfect place to remain hidden and protected. Remus was almost sure that this was not Harry’s first visit to this place.

Harry collapsed onto the grass, his little hands caked in blood. He drew his knees up to his chest and hugged them tightly as the tears began to fall, thick and fast down his cheeks. Remus’s stomach lurched and his heart panged with grief. This wasn’t right. Words didn’t even exist to describe the tragedy of this scene.

Remus bent down in front of Harry, though Harry could not see him, and tried to access whether or not the boy’s nose was broken. It was very hard to tell, but judging by the copious amounts of blood pouring from both nostrils, it probably was. Very quietly and daring not to even breathe, Remus removed his wand from his pocket, pointed it at Harry’s nose. The effect was instantaneous. Very startled, Harry suddenly gripped his nose with both hands. Remus guessed he had just felt the bone repair itself. It had been a very long time since Remus had had his nose broken, he couldn’t remember if this healing spell hurt or not, he hoped it didn’t. But, judging by the fact that Harry had not cried out, the healing process must have been smooth and pain-free. The bleeding had stopped too. Remus was just starting to work out a way of cleaning off the blood when Harry grabbed the end of his T-shirt and wiped his own face clean.

Despite his newly repaired nose, however, Harry continued to cry. Boiling hot tears leaked from his green eyes, spilling down his face, before being absorbed by the material of his T-shirt. Remus knew what this felt like. He understood what it was like to be hated. He understood what it was like to feel excluded and to be treated as something sub-human. But Harry was worse off. He was only seven-years-old and no one cared about him. He was a seven-year-old child. He should be in his parents’ arms. He should be having a birthday party and a cake with seven candles. He should be out playing Quidditch with his friends, or off exploring the streets of Godric’s Hollow. He shouldn’t be here with a family that not only didn’t love him, but actually neglected him. At least Remus was thin because he had no money, not because his family didn’t give a damn about him. At least Remus had Mad-Eye and his mad visits every Tuesday, and those evenings with Dumbledore drinking Firewhisky and swapping stories. Harry not only didn’t have a friend in the world, he had never had one. Harry had never known friendship, that sense of camaraderie, of belonging, of other people looking out for him and watching his back. At least Remus had known that. He had lost all his close friends in the war, but at least he had had ten wonderful years to spend with them.

It was at that moment that Remus realised how lucky he really was. At least he had known, and actually still knew, true friendship. At least he had known his parents. He had hundreds of happy memories of them stored safely away in his mind. That was miles more than what Harry had. Harry didn’t even have happy memories of James and Lily to look back on. Remus had that, not Harry. Harry had never been shown any love or affection that he would be able to remember and carry with him. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair. This was Harry, this was James and Lily’s son. He had been so loved but he couldn’t even remember it.

Harry continued to hold his knees as the tears rolled down his little face. Remus was overwhelmed with the urge to just remove the invisibility cloak and hug Harry. He just wanted to dry the boy’s tears and tell him that in spite of all that had happened to him, in spite of how neglected and worthless he felt, there was still one living person on his earth who cared about him, who had cared about him ever since he was born. Remus wanted to hold Harry close and tell him that he loved him, that he cared, that he held him as a baby when he was so small. He wanted to tell Harry how much his parents loved him. How, even though they were gone, they still loved him. But Dumbledore forbade Remus from contacting Harry, so Harry couldn’t know all those things. One day he would, but that day was not today.

Remus suddenly found a bout of fury roar inside him at the thought of Dumbledore. How could Dumbledore have left Harry here of all places? Anyone would have taken the boy in and raised him as their own son, yet, that possibility was not even considered, instead Harry was brought straight here to be neglected and mistreated. How could Dumbledore condemn Harry to such a fate?

Dumbledore loved Harry, just as he loved James and Lily, said that rational voice inside Remus’s head. If Dumbledore says that this is the safest place for Harry, then it is. Dumbledore would only condemn Harry to this life if it was protecting him from something much worse.

Remus’s rage calmed. He trusted Dumbledore completely, more than he trusted anyone else. Dumbledore was kind; he let Remus, a werewolf, come to Hogwarts. Dumbledore really cared about Harry, just as he cared about Remus. If Dumbledore said that this was the best place for Harry, then, it was. As bad as he was treated here, at least he was alive and safe, protected from something much worse. Dumbledore loved Harry, just as he had loved James and Lily. As bad as it was, if Dumbledore said this was the best place for Harry, then Remus believed him. He wouldn’t do anything to mess up the protection Dumbledore had cast for Harry, whatever the reason. He trusted Dumbledore wholeheartedly.

Even still, Remus couldn’t stand the sight of Harry crying like this. He had to do something. He had to show the little lad that there was still one living, breathing person out there that cared about him, that thought about him, that loved him. Remus knew what information like that could do. He remembered how when he had learned that Mad-Eye Moody genuinely cared about him, that it had lit a fire in his soul, a fire than no amount of misery or water could extinguish. This fire gave him hope, gave him a reason to get out of bed in the morning, a reason for living each day as it came. Mad-Eye had given Remus that gift, and now, he, Remus, would give it to Harry.

After all, we must not sink beneath our anguish, but battle on.

As quietly as he could, Remus stood up and walked behind Harry, and from his pockets he took all the chocolate bars he had bought and placed them on the grass at Harry’s back. Next, with a clever flick of his wand, he got all the little daisies in the clearing to surround the small pile of chocolate and spell out the words: Happy Birthday Harry. Then, with another click of his wand, Remus conjured up as small snitch-sized golden ball. Now Harry would have something of his very own to play with. He wouldn’t have to throw empty bottles in the air anymore. Remus took the little ball in his hand and placed it on top of the small stack of sweets. Finally, from an inside pocket of his robes, he removed Harry’s broken glasses, repaired with his wand and left them there too. He stood up silently and admired his work.

Remus turned to Harry. The boy still sat crying with his head buried in his knees. “Happy Birthday, Harry,� Remus said softly, hoping against hope that maybe his gesture would get Harry to smile. The boy lifted his head up and looked left and right, searching frantically for the person who had spoken.

“It’s not much,� Remus continued, “but it’s the best I can do.� Harry turned around, looking in the direction of where Remus’s voice had come from. It was then that Harry noticed the pile of sweets, his mended glasses and the small golden ball, left there just for him. Shock and surprise consumed him. He looked down at the present and he read the words spelled out by the flowers. He closed his eyes, then opened them again, just to have confirmation that he wasn’t dreaming, that this gift was, indeed, left there for him. A smile spread across his little face, it was Lily’s smile, the best smile in the world. Remus smiled too, Harry’s smile was just infectious, as it had been when he was a baby. When Harry smiled, you smiled. It couldn’t be helped. Harry then tore his eyes from the present and looked all around for the giver.

“This for you, Harry,� Remus said, smiling down at the little boy who could hear him but not see him, “and know this, I love you, and I care about you.�

“Who are you?� Harry called, still looking all around for Remus.

Remus couldn’t reply.

Instantly frightened, Harry got up and started to look in all the bushes, “Please, don’t go!� he said, the plea in his voice plain and clear.

With his heart breaking, Remus stayed silent, hidden under the cloak. Harry could not know that it he who had left the present.

Harry continued searching the bushes. He ran out of the little copse and glanced around the green in all directions. But there was no one else there. He ran back inside. He looked at his present again, still amazed that it had not disappeared as quickly as it had come.

“Please don’t go!� Harry said again, his little voice desperate now. He turned around on the spot, looking everywhere his eyes would let him. Desperate to find the one person who not only knew it was his birthday, but cared enough to give him a present. “Please, don’t leave me,� he said, sadness returning to his voice now.

The words tugged at Remus’s heart strings. “I’m sure we will meet again sometime,� the words had escaped his mouth without his volition. He couldn’t help it. “Until then, keep the head up, Harry, and please don’t sink beneath your anguish, but battle on, like your mum and dad.�

Harry was looking directly at where Remus stood hidden under the cloak. He knew Remus was there, because he had heard him speak. Their eyes met, Remus’s brown looking into Lily’s green. A knot formed in Remus’s throat, constricting his wind-pipe completely. It was then, at that moment, when Harry’s eyes held his, that Remus knew he had to go. He had to leave, because if he didn’t, he knew he would never find the strength to stop looking. He knew that if he did not go now, he wouldn’t have the courage to trust Dumbledore and leave behind Harry in this awful place.

His eyes burning, and Harry’s anguished look piercing his heart, Remus turned, leaving Harry alone in the clearing. He had given the boy hope and, maybe, just maybe, that would be enough.