I've done it!!

[slytherkins]

Bwahahahaha!! I've finally finished another chapter. Here tis. Feel free to tell me why it sucks.


The corridors were unusually empty, even considering it was past curfew. They were almost more familiar to Harry now by moonlight, thanks to years of midnight escapades, but he'd never known them to be so still. He hadn't encountered a soul since sneaking out of Gryffindor Tower; no clandestine snogging sessions, not a single ghost floating about on whatever business the dead attended to while the rest of the castle slept. It seemed the only thing haunting Hogwarts that night was Harry himself.

And after spending what felt like the longest day of his life watching both Hermione and his own back, Harry was practically convinced that at some point in the last few days, unbeknownst to him, he had indeed passed away and was presently languishing in purgatory. His anger and pain had been steadily draining away since the incident at breakfast, but with them seemed to go Harry's ability to feel anything at all. He didn't even feel numb so much as hollow, and he wandered the school aimlessly now like a husk carried on a fey wind, wondering who he really was now that so much that made him who he had been was lost.

Harry's whole life before that morning seemed like a dream he struggled to remember. It was as if he'd only just truly woken to find himself someplace hostile and unfamiliar, with no clear memory of how he'd arrived. The threat that shadowed him, the trials ahead, none of it seemed important anymore. It was like something he'd only read in a story once, like something happening to someone else.

Even the memory of losing Ron seemed distant and imagined. It was no longer a matter of Harry being unable to comprehend how something so unthinkable could have happened. It simply suddenly struck Harry as odd that he could have ever felt so much for the ginger-haired boy. The thought was blasphemous, he knew. A part of him still recognized his past, still argued passionately with the callousness that had seized Harry's heart that he had cared very much, that losing Ron had devastated him. But that voice in the back of his mind that could describe in such detail all that Ron had meant to him was as effectual as someone explaining to an amnesia victim about the life they had forgotten. Harry didn't doubt the voice, it was only that, try as he might, he couldn't presently reawaken what he'd once felt about all it was telling him.

Harry realized that perhaps what he needed was the sound of a voice not coming from within his own head. He'd grown tired of wondering about his mental health and had simply accepted that fact that he was off, and had been for a while now. But the solitude he'd so longed for was not proving to be quite as comforting as he'd expected, and he found himself winding his way toward Remus' chambers long before he'd made the conscious decision to do so.

Harry was still unsure how he felt about what had happened between them that morning. He hadn't thought about it at all really. Each time the incident had breached the surface of his awareness he'd brushed it away, unprepared to consider the implications. Even now he didn't want to analyse why he felt so eager to to see the man again, he simply accepted that he did. After playing the bastion for Hermione all day, Harry realized he needed one of his own far more than he'd like to admit. And the only safe haven he had left was Remus Lupin.

Harry's knock was timid. He'd told himself that he didn't really want to wake his guardian should he have already retired for the evening. But in truth, as quickly as Harry had beaten a path to his door, now that it stood before him, Harry wasn't sure he was ready to face the man again. Even as Harry craved the Remus' attention, it made him slightly uncomfortable. It was so new, so different. It wasn't Cho's blushing, doe-eyed glances, or Ginny's awestruck idol worship. It was mature and knowledgeable, and something unspoken about its nature seemed so forbidden. Which, if Harry would have allowed himself to lend it any thought at all, only made him crave it all the more.

And so he was unsure if he was relieved or disappointed when the door opened to reveal Remus standing in a shabby house coat, searching the apparently empty hallway with a confused expression. Harry thought of slipping inside unseen to silently draw strength from Remus' presence without the necessity of explaining why he'd come, which suddenly seemed like such a painful prospect. But before Harry could act on this mad impulse Remus lifted his nose, as if subtly testing the air. “Harry?” he asked uncertainly.

Damn the man's lupine senses. With a small, bashful smile, Harry let the cloak fall away from his face. “Hullo, Professor,” he greeted.

Remus quickly recovered from the shock of having is ward materialize in front of him. “I thought we'd had this conversation already,” he chided playfully, but his quirky smile didn't quite reach his eyes. “I'm just Remus now, remember?” Harry nodded, then had to catch himself from sighing contentedly. The way Remus' eyes crinkled just so at the corners, as they did now with sudden concern, had become an especial weakness of Harry's. It was something he associated specifically with Remus, and so by extension with the calm he always felt in the man's presence. Seeing it felt like coming home. “But why are you out of bed at this hour?” Remus asked. “Is something the matter?”

“I...I can't sleep,” Harry offered lamely. Closer to the truth, Harry was afraid to dream. He wasn't about to confess that he's yet to venture into the dorms for any longer than it had taken him to retrieve his invisibility cloak.

Remus nodded his sad understanding, but it was more than regret that pinched his expression, and the well-veiled apprehension that caused him to glance surreptitiously down both ends of the dark corridor made Harry uncomfortable. Perhaps Harry shouldn't have come. Of course he shouldn't have come. He'd just go. Harry started to back away, but before he could stammer an embarrassed apology, Remus seemed to come to a decision.

“Come in, Harry,” he offered, lips tensing into a gentle almost-smile. “I'll make us some tea.”

Rather reluctantly now, Harry stepped inside and waited while Remus rushed to clear away the things he'd been studying. The hesitance of Remus' invitation left Harry feeling awkward. Though he'd known where to find them, Harry had never visited Remus' private quarters, and Harry supposed it must be odd for a student to be visiting at all, especially so late at night, despite that Remus had left him with an open invitation that morning. Harry fell very out of place. He was unsure what he had expected when he had decided to come here. If he'd expected anything at all, somehow, this wasn't it.

“Come on in, Harry,” Remus beckoned with a smile, apparently feeling much more relaxed, as Harry was still hovering near the door as though he might bolt. “I'll have this in hand soon enough.” He deposited the former mess in a slightly less disorderly pile atop a rickety side table. “Make yourself comfortable. If you can,” he added with a slightly embarrassed laugh, gesturing to the motley assortment of furnishings scattered about the room. “I'll just be a moment with the tea.”

Harry shuffled further inside, trying to return Remus' smile with the same ease with which Remus had given it and failing.

There really wasn't much to choose from in the way of seating. The wooden chair in the corner leaned slightly to the left and seemed less than trustworthy. Harry cast it a dubious glance and moved instead to the comfortable-looking, if rather smallish, couch set snugly before the grate. It was careworn, but all the more inviting because of it. It suited Remus perfectly. Harry perched on the edge of the cushion and looked around, trying not to fidget.

Remus seemed to have far more possessions than Harry remembered from Grimmauld Place. There were several books lining a set of shelves, sharing the space with a number of trinkets that appeared to be souvenirs of an adventure in some wild place, random object whose significance were understood only by their owner. There were also, most surprisingly, a handful of framed drawings, little more than sketches but highly expressive and very realistic. Harry wondered if Remus had done them himself. They looked as though they might have been from some exotic field journal, being somehow rough and refined at the same time, and the eyes of the creatures depicted shown with a savage humanity. Harry liked them very much, and his admiration of Remus' obvious, unpretentious talent added yet another dimension tot he fondness Harry felt for him. Harry couldn't believe he' never noticed them before.

Though, Harry realized he'd only been in Remus' rooms at Grimmauld Place once over the summer, and he hadn't been very observant at the time. At least, not of anything besides Remus himself.

That memory stirred itself in Harry, further confusing his feelings about both Remus and the present situation. So much had happened immediately after their strange conversation that Harry hadn't taken the time to think about what Remus had said that night. But he remembered it now, understanding it a bit better since their little exchange that morning. And the two events together seemed to put Remus' initial nervousness into perfect context. In fact, as the pieces fell firmly into place, Harry began to feel nervous himself, and more and more like a git with each passing second.

But there was nothing for it. He was there, with no clue how he might excuse himself gracefully. Besides, Harry realized rather selfishly, he didn't really want to try.

Looking about still, for a moment Harry was almost surprised not to find a tank against the wall swarming with grindylowe, though felt immediately foolish for it. After all, they'd simply been a part of the lesson plan before. And what Remus was teaching him now was slightly different. Still, there were no cages swinging in the corners filled with vampire bats. Though Harry thought he did see one in the photo on the cover of one of the books Remus had tidied. It flapped just out of view beneath the crooked stack of parchment that had been unceremoniously dumped on top of it.

Harry also spied, on the mantle beside a jar of floo powder, the photo of Sirius and Remus that he remembered from Grimmauld Place. A furtive glance over his shoulder revealed Remus setting the tea to steep as he went in search of cups, so Harry dared a closer look, rising and lifting the picture from it's stand.

Harry was strangely fascinated by the photo, especially since he now knew it significance. It was much more recent than he'd realized, and the gentle expressions they wore as they looked at each other were now more heart-warming, and also somewhat more confusing. Harry was just so unfamiliar with the concept. It was one thing to know that there existed, somewhere, men who fancied one another. It was entirely another to know them personally. And Harry wondered on how odd it seemed for two blokes to, well...fall in love. How did they even go about it? It wasn't as if societal norms allowed for the same opportunities is it did for a boy and a girl. How and when does one realize they are gay? And having recognized it, how does one man approach another? Without risking a black eye? It wasn't like you could bring them flowers, or invite them to diner... Or could you?

Harry shook his head. It was the logistics of initiating the relationship that baffled him, not the relationship itself. And Harry stared at the photograph he held, wondering how it had begun for these two men who meant so much to him. What had lead up to the taking of this picture of the two clasping arms in a gesture as innocent as it was intimate, their postures speaking of easy companionship? Looking at it, anyone who didn't know better might only have thought them best mates. Anyone who did know could clearly see there was more between them, something perhaps rediscovered after years of respective loneliness and nurtured into...

“Care to take a seat, Harry?”

Harry started and, for a terrifying moment, thought he would drop the picture. He quickly returned it to the safety of its stand and resumed his perch on the couch, blushing as if he'd just been caught peeping. Remus glanced at the photo but did not comment, only slipped the tray with the promised tea onto the table before Harry.

“So,” he said as he poured. “Trouble sleeping.” It wasn't quite a question, but still obviously an invitation. Harry nodded as he accepted the steaming cup.

“Actually, I think maybe I've just had my fill of it for a while,” he said a little grudgingly. Remus nodded, pouring his own tea and, Harry noticed, throwing Harry several, curious, sidelong glances. Harry was already embarrassed for even being there, but now he became very self-conscious, sipping his tea as if he wished he could crawl inside his cup and hide. He somehow fought the urge to smooth his impossible hair. It was with no small amount of horror that Harry realized he'd not combed it at all that day. He groaned inwardly. He and Hermione must have made quite the pair.

“I'm sorry,” Remus said finally, returning the teapot to it's tray. “But would you mind removing your cloak, Harry? It's a little disconcerting watching a disembodied head sipping tea,” he explained with a soft chuckle.

I'm such an idiot.

Harry shrugged the cloak off with an apologetic smile. He'd completely forgotten, and he berated himself for thinking that there might have been some other motive behind Remus' scrutiny. After all, just because Remus was...gay...well that didn't mean that he...

And really, Harry was, for once, wearing a shirt. Just because he had a bad habit of parading around half nude didn't mean that he should always expect Remus to...

Anyway, what was there to look at even? Harry was just a gawky teenager, right? Snape certainly never failed to comment on how scrawny he was. Of course Remus wouldn't be looking at him...that way. There was nothing in his expression now but kindness and good humour.

That Harry realized he was secretly disappointed that Remus hadn't been 'looking' opened an entirely different can of flobberworms. He felt his cheeks colour and decided he was thinking far too much. He made a resolution to top altogether.

“Er...” (That was a good start.) “I'm glad I didn't wake you,” he stammered into his tea, which he had taken up again in his now visible hands.

“It would have been quite alright if you had,” Remus assured him, settling onto the other end of the couch. “Though, there's little danger of it, to be be honest.”

Harry did notice that Remus appeared tired, as usual, but not as bone-weary as he'd seemed at Grimmauld Place. Harry wondered if it was the house itself that had so drained him, and if so he was very glad that Remus was free of it for a while.

“You aren't sleeping?” Harry asked innocently. Remus gave a small laugh and shook his head, swirling the contents of his cup as though attempting to divine the solution to his insomnia in its dregs. Though, the matter seemed simple enough to Harry. “You might ask Snape to make you something,” he suggested helpfully. After all, the man had succeeded in keeping Harry unconscious for ages. But Remus instantly dismissed the idea.

“Oh I wouldn't dream of it.”

“Why not?”

“Because it's my problem, and it isn't his responsibility,” Remus replied with a polite smile. “Professor Snape does quite enough for me already.”

Of course. The Wolfsbane Potion. It hadn't occurred to Harry that Snape must still make it. Harry wondered how difficult it must be, and could imagine Snape grumbled through the entire process. If Harry was Remus, he wouldn't want to ask anything further of the man either.

“I can always ask Poppy for something if necessary. But don't fret about me, Harry,” he said, lightly patting the hand that lay between them on the cushion. “I'm fine,” he smiled. Harry nodded but was very distracted by the way his fingers were now tingling, having been reminded of the last time that hand had touched his, and Harry couldn't understand how something so benign could make him so giddy.

“How was your day?” Remus asked, ruining Harry's warm reminiscence. His tone had been light and conversational, but his attempt at nonchalance was rather betrayed by the concerned attention in his eyes, which were locked to Harry's. Harry looked away. He didn't want to talk about his day; how badly it had begun or how empty he'd become as it progressed. But what had he expected? Chit chat about the weather?

“It was...” Just brilliant, Harry thought wryly. I spent it babysitting a half-mad Hermione. Right after almost getting expelled for sending a boy for an extended stay in the infirmary. Smashing really.

“It was alright,” Harry finally managed to murmur, failing to convince either of them. “MacGonagal's given me my schedule. And all the homework I've missed,” he added with a wince. “But I haven't looked at any of it yet. I didn't quite have the stomach for a week's worth of History of Magic.”

Remus looked perplexed. “A week? I'm sorry, Harry. Has no one explained?” Harry looked at him blankly, realizing he had, once again, been left in the dark about something. “You've only missed one day of classes,” Remus said brightly, as if this was meant to make Harry feel better. Instead, Harry was rather irritated that this minor detail had failed to be mentioned by anyone else that day, and set down his tea and waited, rather impatiently, for Remus' explanation.

“Classes had to be postponed, naturally,” Remus began, somewhat more sombrely. “Come Monday there were still quite a few students in the infirmary. Nothing too serious,” he added, as though Harry might have been concerned about a few bruised strangers. “But most were quite unable to attend classes. Actually, for a moment we thought Hogwarts might have to close its doors. After word of the attack went out, parents began arriving in droves to remove their children. And after the investigation, the Ministry seemed to be of much the same mind as the parents. Dumbledore only convinced them to allow us to remain open on the condition that additional wards be placed on the grounds. That occupied the staff for a couple of days. And then day before yesterday there was the matter of...the memorial.”

Remus' eyes cut to Harry as if to gauge his reaction. But though Harry gave none at all, Remus set his cup on the table and turned to him, posture saturated with apology. Of course MacGonagal had mentioned the memorial that morning. In fact, Harry realized, she might have told him much of what Remus had just revealed, but after she'd mentioned the ceremony, Harry had tuned out.

“I'm sorry you missed it, Harry,” Remus said with aching sincerity. Funnily, Harry wasn't in the least. “We'd debated on waking you, but Professor Snape had said it was...ill-advised to forcibly counter the effects of the Draught.”

Harry broke off his study of the stones beneath his feet to blink quizzically at Remus.

Harry hadn't been taking the potion then. Harry hadn't taken it for days. Snape knew this. And Harry wasn't sure if he should be grateful to the man for his fib on Harry's behalf or upset that he'd been denied a choice in the matter. Harry finally decided his relief at having been spared the ordeal outweighed his indignance. However, Harry did wonder just when Snape had developed such a keen insight into his needs, or had suspended his hostility toward him long enough to see to them. Harry's already mottled feelings toward the Potions Master were jumble within him once again, but as the revelation threatened to overwhelm him, Harry quickly changed the subject.

“How are...” Curiously, Harry found it difficult to voice Ron's name. “How're the Weasleys?” he asked softly. He hadn't yet forgotten about the scene he'd witnessed outside Dumbledore's office, though still felt as detached from it as he did from everything else. Remus shook his had as if remembering the same, though with far more emotion than Harry was capable of at the moment.

“They're...dealing as best they can,” he informed Harry hesitantly. “Arthur's taken a leave of absence. Bill and Charlie are staying over to help Molly. Poor Ginny, she'd had a knock to the head on the train and has only just woken up a few days ago. She didn't take the news very well.”

Remus paused. Harry supposed he'd been present when the news had been delivered, and the memory of it clearly still touched him. Though, the effect was subtle. As was everything else about the man, really. And as much as Harry knew that deep down, somewhere, he must be worried about Ginny, it was Remus who was here before him. It was Remus that concerned him. And Harry reflected on how little emotion he'd ever seen Remus display.

Of course he was always warm and kind and caring. But even that, as well as any distress or concern, was always expressed with a certain reserve. Remus never failed to react, he simply did so very gracefully. And it seemed to Harry that Remus was forever putting his own feelings on hold to act as a source of strength. For everyone. It was something Harry realized he'd come to take for granted. When the world was crumbling around him Remus was there with a strong arm to hold him up, even as it held him back, and a calm voice in his ear to save him from himself. And Harry wondered for a moment if the voice he'd been hearing in his head all this time might not bear a resemblance to Remus Lupin's.

But regardless of his actions, or inactions, Harry could tell Remus did feel strongly. He could see it in the depths of his amber eyes. Though they only seemed to show what Remus chose: patient kindness to hide irritation, concern to mask pain; within them, if one bothered to look, was an inkling of the emotion Remus denied himself.

How important it must be to Remus to remain in command. Harry knew he detested the beast in his blood, could imagine how painful it must be to have one's body betray them so utterly every full moon. And Harry could see that Remus compensated for this betrayal by maintaining such strict self-control the remaining 27 days of the month.

But it was Remus' potential for passion that intrigued Harry. And he suddenly wished he could see it, some glimpse of abandon in that gentle face. Harry wondered if perhaps Sirius had been the only one fortunate enough to witness it. And, inexplicably, Harry found himself rather jealous of his late godfather.

Remus noticed Harry's attention and remembered he had intended to comfort his ward. “The Weasleys are a resilient lot,” he assured Harry confidently. “They'll come out alright. They have each other.”

Harry gave a quiet, ironic laugh at that. Each other. And now Harry had no one.

He allowed himself a moment of self-pity, recalled the bitterness he'd felt watching the Weasleys mourn. He remembered the resentment of knowing he'd been denied that, that Voldemort hadn't simply killed his parents, he'd denied Harry of a family. And again, Harry wondered who would weep for him when...

Harry shook his head and looked away. The anger he'd expected wouldn't come. Now, the realization simply made him very sad, and he sighed as if shifting Reality's burdensome weight to a less uncomfortable position on his young shoulders. That's when he felt Remus shift beside him. But he didn't look up. He refused to ruin what he knew was about to happen. Harry's eyes fell slowly closed as Remus' hand draped itself softly over his. This was what he'd come here for, he realized, and he suddenly wanted to be held so badly he felt the ache might kill him.

“But how are you, Harry?” Remus asked, the gentle concern and anxiety in his voice causing Harry's breath to catch in his throat. He only just seemed to realize how lost he'd really felt. How alone. He didn't answer right away, was almost afraid to breathe lest the hand withdraw, taking with it the strange spell it cast, which was as calming as it was stimulating. As though to ensure its continued presence, Harry turned his hand under Remus' and wrapped his fingers tentatively but insistently around the other man's. After a moment of uncomfortable indecision, Remus seemed to convince himself of the innocence of the gesture and tightened his grasp. When Harry felt Remus' other hand join the first, he felt some of his tension melt away.

“I'm...” Hollow. Bled dry. “...better,” he finally answered in a whisper to the stone floor. But Remus' touch made him feel bold. As though, so long as it anchored him, he might safely brave the sea of insecurities in which he'd been adrift.

“I just feel so...I don't know,” he stumbled, trying to shape his formless uncertainty into words. “I feel like I don't know who I am anymore,” he confessed, still in a whisper, as if to himself. “Everyone treats me like I'm some sort of leper. Like it's dangerous to just be around me. And the professors look at me like they're afraid of me or something. Or like I'm off my head. It's like they don't know what I'm going to do next. And you know?” he said with a desperate little laugh, the words tumbling out of him. “I'm starting to think they're right. All of them. I don't know what I'm going to do next. I don't know how to control...” He stopped and shook his head as if to dislodge some of the panic that came with the confession. “I don't know how I did that to Dumbledore's office,” he said, taking it for granted that Remus knew what he was referring to. The incident seemed to have been swept under the rug with whatever remained of the Headmaster's trinkets, but Harry couldn't imagine the man keeping it entirely to himself. “What if I do it again, Remus? And what if it's worse than before? I-I just get so angry,” he almost growled, running his free hand across his face to collect himself. “There was this boy at breakfast...Remus, I wanted to hurt him,” he said, looking at his guardian as if pleading for him to somehow go back in time and take the vile impulse away from him. “What if I had? What if...”

Harry trailed off, remembering the way his scar had prickled at the prospect of violence. The consequences of his potential lapse in control were just too much for him to consider. Remus swallowed carefully and drew a slow breath as if preparing to respond. But Harry realized he wasn't ready to hear the answer to that question and so rushed to pose another.

“Remus, how did you...? I mean, I know it was different with you and Sirius than it was with me and Ron,” he said quickly, impatient with the blush that rose to his cheeks at having audibly acknowledged Remus and Sirius' relationship. “But did it help you at all? You know. To find Kretcher?” Harry wasn't sure what he would do with the answer. It wasn't as if he could very well track down Voldemort and exact his revenge. But he wanted to know, wanted to think there was some possible solution for the frustration he felt, even if they possibility was a remote one.

Remus gently but quickly disentangled his hands from Harry's, shame and discomfort flashing briefly across his features before they settled into something meditative. Harry was rather gutted by the sudden absence of his anchor and cursed himself, furiously wishing he could take the question back.

“What I did, Harry...” Remus began, looking away with a disconsolate shake of his head. “It was a terrible thing to have killed Kretcher. Being a house elf didn't make him any less-”

“Do you regret it then?” Harry interrupted, almost incredulously. Remus did not answer, but his expression hardened slightly, which Harry interpreted with some satisfaction to mean he did not. Because Harry certainly didn't regret the man's actions, no matter how it appeared he was trying to convince Harry he should. “If you feel bad about it, why hang his head in Sirius' room?” It was, perhaps, an insensitive question, but Harry's impulsive curiosity got the better of him, as it usually did.

Remus looked at Harry as if trying to decide if he would believe what he was about to tell him. Finally, simply, he answered, “He asked me to.” Harry gaped at Remus, too shocked to respond, but Remus hadn't finished.

“I hadn't set out to kill Kretcher, Harry,” he explained carefully. “I'd only meant to retrieve him. His betrayal aside, he had been privy to some very sensitive secrets of the Order. It would have been catastrophic if he'd been allowed to reach Malfoy Manor with an altered allegiance. But...I'd neglected to mind the date. Which was unforgivable,” he said with a sharp shack of his head as though condemning himself. “I came to myself before he...”

Remus paused as if wrestling with the memory, making Harry retract his previous wish. Of all the feeling he'd wanted to see Remus display, this present self-loathing was not one of them. Without thinking, Harry reached out to comfort him, stroking his hand down Remus' shoulder to rest on his back, wishing he could will away the tension twisting the muscles there...and hating himself for enjoying the contact under such unfortunate circumstances. Remus allowed it, even seemed to draw as much strength from the touch as Harry had taken from Remus' earlier.

“It was clear he would not survive,” he went on more calmly, his voice nonetheless proving fickle. “So I asked him if he has a final request. It had been his lifelong ambition,” Remus informed him, rapidly collecting himself, “to join his predecessors on the walls of Black Manor. He considered it an honour. But as we'd already begun removing the others and giving them a proper burial, well, it seemed like a difficult case to argue that Kretcher should be the exception. So I hung him in the one room I had some control over. Molly wasn't happy. But Dumbledore is aware of the circumstances. Kretcher won't be disturbed in my absence.”

Harry stared as Remus as if he were a riddle that could be solved if only one looked hard enough. “Why haven't you told anyone else?” he asked softly, thinking of Hermione's distress, Molly's judgement. Everyone had misunderstood the gesture and simply thought Remus mad...or a monster.

“It was no one else's business,” Remus replied plainly. Harry took a moment to reflect on that, how Remus was willing to bear that cross out of respect for the conniving little bloodthirsty life he'd stolen. He was a much better man than Harry. He felt no such inclination toward graciousness where Phineas was concerned.

Harry was still trying to decide if he was bothered by his own callousness when Remus reached behind him to remove the hand Harry still rested on his back. Harry was disappointed until he realized Remus had only done so that he might hold it in his own again, as if to comfort Harry after the disturbing news. And Harry, still reeling from Remus' confession, found he was rather intoxicated by Remus' nearness, and the intimacy with which he stroked the back of Harry's hand with his thumb.

“Remus, do...do you think I'm dangerous?” he asked distractedly. Remus sighed and shook his head as though gathering his thoughts.

“Harry, it's perfectly human to feel the impulse toward violence when something precious is taken from you,” he confided. “But even more human to rise above it. What I did, I did while...less than human. Don't feel bad for having the impulse, Harry. Reassure yourself that you did not act on it.”

But Harry was far from reassured. The absolute only reason Harry hadn't attacked Patrick was because Snape had intervened. He seemed to be the only person smart enough, or perhaps just cynical enough, not to credit Harry with more strength and maturity than he deserved. Harry never thought he's appreciate Snape's low opinion of him, but for the first time it at least seemed realistic. Snape was right. Harry was a boy, and treating him otherwise did not make him so.

But at the same time, Harry was enormously grateful for Remus' faith in him. He found he needed it, having no faith now in himself.

“Don't let it worry you so much, Harry,” Remus urged, pulling Harry fro his thoughts. “I know who you are even if you don't. You're your father's son. You are strong enough to make it through this. But if ever you aren't convinced, if ever you are just tired of the struggle, I'll always be here for you.”

Harry was almost overcome by the unexpected emotion the comment evoked. It was heady, considering he'd spent the last several hours feeling practically nothing at all. Just when Harry didn't think he could be any fonder of Remus...

But Harry's statement of gratitude caught in his throat, so he only nodded, willing himself not to shed the tears that threatened. And he realized he was very glad he'd chosen to seek out Remus' company that night. It almost pained him knowing he'd have to leave soon. But there was always...

“Will we be starting our lessons together again soon?” he asked impulsively, looking up into Remus' face, which he suddenly realized was very close to his own.

“As soon as you'd like,” Remus responded with a smile.

Now, Harry replied inwardly.

“Of course, you were meant to meet with Hagrid first thing tomorrow. But he's away unexpectedly. We could meet instead, if you'd like.” Harry did not fail to catch the note of hopefulness in Remus' voice.

“Of course!” Harry agreed, a little too enthusiastically, earning a kind-hearted chuckle from Remus. But as excited as he was by the prospect, the news of his friend's absence made Harry anxious. “But where's Hagrid gone?”

Remus only smiled in an apologetic way that meant he wasn't at liberty. “You'll be able to meet with Hagrid again soon enough. But for now, I think perhaps you should try to get some sleep. I need you to actually retain what I'll be teaching you tomorrow,” he said almost playfully, patting Harry's hand before finally releasing it. Harry nodded his acceptance, trying to prepare himself to leave this warm sanctuary to return to his lonely dorm room. Remus stood and waited as Harry retrieved his cloak so he might shepherd him to the door, but Harry hesitated, shuffling awkwardly.

“Remus, would it be okay if...I mean, could I...?” Harry didn't know quite how to word his request, having never asked for a hug before. He'd never had anyone from whom he might request one before. He glanced shyly to the floor, twisting the cloak in his hands and becoming very irritated at how often he seemed to blush in this man's presence.

But Remus seemed to intuit Harry's need. He stepped forward to wrap his ward in a firm embrace, and Harry relaxed into it with a sigh, enjoying the way Remus lay his cheek on the top of his head as Harry rested it against Remus' chest. And while it was not the epic embrace they'd shared at Grimmauld Place, Harry felt it would sustain him, at least until he saw Remus again.

They wished each other a goodnight, and then Harry donned his cloak for the lonely walk back to Gryffindor Tower.