I woke up, and was like ‘Ugh,’ so I went back to sleep.

(The temptation to leave that as a whole chapter is quite strong.)

I then properly woke up to, “Harry? Harry? Harry!”

I opened my eyes and realised I was still sitting in the corner with my arms wrapped around my legs. I meowed because yawning is stupid and stood up.

No one was in the room.

“Thanks for waking me guys.” I said to no one, and I sat down on the lounge as my head felt like it was going to explode. Fucking headaches turn me into a bitch.

“Ron! I’ve found him.”

Ron’s annoyed voice echoed distantly from several floors below.

“Good! Tell him from me he’s a git!”

A few minutes later I heard.

“Ron! RON! Get up here, quick!”

I noted the fact that no one called for me.

About an age passed, and I heard them all running down the stairs, for a moment I was glad that they’d finally thought of me, but they continued to thunder down past the level I was on.

I sighed in the air, knowing full well I could go and join them if I wanted too, but I didn’t want to. I wanted nothing more to sit here and brood in my broodiness, with a headache of rage.

I don’t actually know what the fuck I’m talking about.

Meow.

About an hour passed before anyone came up to look for me, and even then I don’t think they were looking for me, I was pretty sure they stumbled across my existence by accident. It happens a lot.

“Willow!” Hermione said a little shocked.

Oh wow, they actually did forget that I’m a person.

“We’ve found out all this stuff.” Ron said, and then the golden trio of slutty dicks started to inform me about how R.A.B. (who was this fake Horcrux locket guy) was Sirius’ brother and how Mundungus had a Horcrux.

I sat there and stared at them all blankly.

“Will,” Harry said after I showed no emotion towards anything they’d told me. “Are you okay?”

“Fucking dandy.” I said with a smile, and then hormones were like ‘hey, let’s be awful’ and I burst into tears.

“What’s wrong?” Hermione said, her brow furrowing.

“I don’t know!” I shouted unintentionally, as tears streamed profusely down my face. “WHAT THE FUCK EYES! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”

“You know you can tell us anything.” Hermione said, and it struck me as weird that she’d said that. Isn’t it principle that you tell your best friends everything about everything? Isn’t that just the universal law of friendship? It made me wonder if she considered us as close as I considered us to be.

I tuned out and tried to figure out why I was bawling my eyes out, and apparently something happened, because I tuned back in and Harry was hugging me, and Ron and Hermione were nowhere in sight.

“-And I know you’ve been sad before, like really sad, in our first year. But I thought stuff had happened since then, I thought things were better.”

“So many things have happened. Good things; and not so good things. Things have changed. Things will keep changing; there is so much more to come, and I just don’t know if I want to see everything leave Harry.” I said dramatically.

The tears stopped! Woo!

He looked at me, directly in the eye and said, “I’m not entirely sure what you’re talking about.”

“I know that my time is almost up Harry. I don’t know how I know, but I do. I know I’m going to die Harry, and I’m terrified. I’ve tried to kill myself, but now I’m scared of death. It’s so fucked up Harry.” I said. Harry’s were filled with concern. “I’m just used to people telling me what to do all the time, and I don’t know what to do. I’m so alone.”

Harry looked a little confused.

“I don’t know if that was an actual sentence, because I think I missed something.” Harry said honestly. “But how are you alone? We’re here aren’t we? And I can always tell you what to do.”

 I smiled at him, but I wasn’t happy. He didn’t understand. I didn’t even fucking understand myself so how could I expect anyone else to?

I sort of wanted to talk to Lupin, because he was good with the whole ‘I know what the fuck you’re talking about’ business.

Fuckity fuck fuck.

Swear words.

Fuck Weazel.

Tit wank.

Shit monger.

“Thanks Hazza,” I smiled. “You always know just what to say.”

“You’re welcome Wizza.” He grinned back before his face fell. “Oh Jesus. I’m not calling you that again. Far out. What the –“ he walked out of the room, embarrassed.

That’s where we’re different. I would have been enthralled that I’d just called someone a toilet.

“Hey Lucy, are you there?” I asked.

“What?” she replied, impatiently.

“Whoa, touchy. Are you on your period or something?”

“NO! BITCH YOU JUST KILLED ME! I WAS PLAYING TEMPLE RUN! FUCK YOU BITCH!”

I ignored the fact that I didn’t know what she was talking about.

“So, um, you know, do people call you Lulu?”

“FU- What? Yeah, sometimes.”

“What about Lu, do they call you Lu?”

“Sometimes...”

“And Toilets are called Loo’s.”

“Fucker.”

“You’re a toilet.”

“I honestly hate you.”

“People shit in you Lucy, people shit in you.”

“And it tastes mighty good.” Her voice snorted.

“What?”

“What?”

“What did you sa-“

“I didn’t say anything.”

“But-“

“Shh, don’t speak.”

***

Apparently, Harry had sent Kreacher to find Mundungus and I was all like ‘Thanks for telling me’ because I’m moody and a bitch.

Anyway, we (and by we, I mean everyone else except me.) were all getting edgy. (I wasn’t edgy, just moody and bitchy. (Those three words kind of mean the same thing. (I need to stop using brackets.) They’re synonyms!) (Subthought.))

Anyway, to my anyway, Hermione and Ron were bickering, (because I think that’s how they say how they love each other.) and it irritated me so I left.

Halfway down the flight of stairs into the hall, however, I heard a tap on the front door, then metallic clicks and the grinding of the chain.

“Yay! Murderer!” I said too loud, and Harry appeared beside me, wand raised.

He’s a fucking hawk.

The intruder took a step forward, and Moody’s voice asked, “Severus Snape?” Then the dust figure rose from the end of the hall, and rushed him, raising its dead hand.

“It was not I who killed you, Albus,” said a quiet voice.

The jinx broke: The dust-figure exploded again.

Harry pointed his wand into the middle of it.

“Don’t move!”

He had forgotten the portrait of Mrs. Black. At the sound of his yell, the curtains hiding her flew open and she began to scream, “Mudbloods and filth dishonoring my house—”

Ron and Hermione came crashing down the stairs behind us, wands pointing, like his, at the unknown man now standing with his arms raised in the hill below.

“Calm the fuck down.” Said the man’s voice, stepping forward. “It’s Remus (fucking) Lupin.”

“Oh, thank goodness,” said Hermione weakly, pointing her wand at Mrs. Black instead; with a bang, the curtains swished shut again and silence fell. Ron too lowered his wand, but Harry did not.

“Show yourself!” he called back.

Lupin moved forward into the lamplight, hands still held high in a gesture of surrender.

“I am Remus John Lupin, werewolf, sometimes known as Moony, one of the four creators of the Marauder’s Map, married to Nymphadora, usually known as Tonks, and I taught you how to produce a Patronus, Harry, which takes the form of a stag.”

“Oh, all right.” said Harry, lowering his wand, “but I had to check, didn’t I?”

“Speaking as your ex-Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, I quite agree that you had to check. Ron, Hermione, you shouldn’t be quite so quick to lower your defences, and Willow, I’m pretty sure you didn’t even raise your wand.” He said.

“I’m immortal!” I said, because I could.

“No sign of Severus then?” Lupin asked, as the trio fell down the stairs (because I pushed them) and I fell down the stairs (because I’m clumsy.).

“No,” said Harry, “What’s going on? Is everyone okay?”

“Yes,” said Lupin, “but we’re all being watched. There are a couple of Death Eaters in the square outside—”

“We know—”

“I had to Apparate very precisely onto the top step outside the front door to be sure that they would not see me. They can’t know you’re in here or I’m sure they’d have more people out there; they’re staking out everywhere that’s got any connection with you, Harry. Let’s go downstairs, there’s a lot to tell you, and I want to know what’s happened after you left the Burrow.”

We descended into the kitchen, where Hermione pointed her wand at the gate. A fire sprang up instantly. It gave the illusion of coziness to the stark stone walls and glistened off the long wooden table. Lupin pulled a few butterbeers from beneath his travelling cloak and they sat down at the table. I sat on the table because I’m rebellious.

 “I’d have been here three days ago but I needed to shake off the Death Eater tailing me,” said Lupin. “So, you came straight here after the wedding?”

“No,” said Harry, “only after we ran into a couple of Death Eaters in a cafe on Tottenham Court Road.”

Lupin slopped most of his butterbeer down his front.

“What?”

They explained what had happened; when they had finished,

Lupin looked aghast.

“But how did they find you so quickly? It’s impossible to track anyone who Apparates, unless you grab hold of them as they disappear.”

“And it doesn’t seem likely they were just strolling down Tottenham Court Road at the time, does it?” said Harry.

“We wondered,” said Hermione tentatively, “whether Harry and or Willow could still have the Trace on them?”

“Impossible,” said Lupin. Ron looked smug, and Harry felt hugely relieved. “Apart from anything else, they’d know for sure you were here if they still had the Trace on him, wouldn’t they? But I can’t see how they could have tracked you to Tottenham Court Road, that’s worrying, really worrying.”

“Tell us what happened after we left, we haven’t heard a thing since Ron’s dad told us the family were safe.”

“Well, Kingsley saved us,” said Lupin. “Thanks to his warning most of the wedding guests were able to Disapparate before they arrived.”

“Were they Death Eaters or Ministry people?” interjected Hermione.

“A mixture; but to all intents and purposes they’re the same thing now,” said Lupin. “There were about a dozen of them, but they didn’t know you were there, Harry. Arthur heard a rumour that they tried to torture your whereabouts out of Scrimgeour before they killed him; if it’s true, he didn’t give you away.”

“The Death Eaters searched the Burrow from top to bottom,” Lupin went on. “They found the ghoul, but didn’t want to get to close—and then they interrogated those of us who remained for hours. They were trying to get information on you, Harry, but of course nobody apart from the Order knew that you had been there.

“At the same time that they were smashing up the wedding, more Death Eaters were forcing their way into every Order connected house in the country. No deaths,” he added quickly,

forstalling the question, “but they were rough. They burned down Dedalus Diggle’s house, but as you know he wasn’t there, and they used the Cruciatus Curse on Tonks’s family. Again, trying to find out where you went after you visited them. They’re all right—

shaken, obviously, but otherwise okay.”

“The Death Eaters got through all those protective charms?” Harry asked, remembering how effective those had been on the night he had crashed in Tonks’s parents’ garden.

“What you’ve got to realize, Harry, is that the Death Eaters have got the full might of the Ministry on their side now,” said Lupin. “They’ve got the power to perform brutal spells without fear of identification or arrest. They managed to penetrate every defensive spell we’d cast against them, and once inside, they were completely open about why they’d come.”

“And are they bothering an excuse for torturing Harry’s whereabouts out of people?” asked Hermione, an edge to her voice.

“Well,” said Lupin. He hesitated, then pulled out a folded copy of the Daily Prophet.

“Here,” he said, pushing it across the table to Harry, “you’ll know sooner or later anyway. That’s their pretext for going after you.”

Harry smoothed out the paper. A huge photograph of his own face filled the front page. He read the headline over it:

WANTED FOR QUESTIONING ABOUT

THE DEATH OF ALBUS DUMBLEDORE

“I’m sorry, Harry,” Lupin said.

“So Death Eaters have taken over the Daily Prophet too?” asked Hermione furiously.

Lupin nodded. “But surely people realize what’s going on?”

“The coup has been smooth and virtually silent,” said Lupin.

“The official version of Scrimgeour’s murder is that he resigned; he has been replaced by Pius Thicknesse, who is under the Imperius Curse.”

“Why didn’t Voldemort declare himself Minister of Magic?” asked Ron.

Lupin laughed.

“He doesn’t need to, Ron. Effectively he is the Minister, but why should he sit behind a desk at the Ministry? His puppet, Thicknesse, is taking care of everyday business, leaving Voldemort free to extend his power beyond the ministry.

“Naturally many people have deduced what has happened: There has been such a dramatic change in Ministry policy in the last few days, and many are whispering that Voldemort must be behind it. However, that is not the point: They whisper. They daren’t confide in each other, not knowing whom to trust; they are scared to speak out, in case their suspicions are true and their families are targeted. Yes, Voldemort is playing a very clever game.

Declaring himself might have provoked open rebellion: Remaining masked has created confusion, uncertainty, and fear.”

“And this dramatic change in Ministry policy,” said Harry, “involves warning the Wizarding world against me instead of Voldemort?”

“That’s certainly part of it,” said Lupin, “and it is a masterstroke. Now that Dumbledore is dead, you—the Boy Who Lived– were sure to be the symbol and rallying point for any resistance to Voldemort. But by suggesting that you had a hand in the old hero’s death, Voldemort has not only set a price upon your head, but sown doubt and fear amongst many who would have defended you.

 “Meanwhile, the Ministry has started moving against Muggleborns.” Lupin pointed at the Daily Prophet. “Look at page two.”

 “‘Muggle-born Register,’” she read aloud, “‘The Ministry of Magic is undertaking a survey of so-called “Muggle-borns,” the better to understand how they came to possess magical secrets. “‘Recent research undertaken by the Department of Mysteries reveals that magic can only be passed from person to person when Wizards reproduce. Where no proven Wizarding ancestry exists, therefore, the so-called Muggle-born is likely to have obtained magical power by theft or force. “‘The Ministry is determined to root out such usurpers of magical power, and to this end has issued an invitation to every so-called Muggle-born to present themselves for interview by the newly appointed Muggle-born Registration Commission.’”

“People won’t let this happen,” said Ron.

“It is happening, Ron,’; said Lupin. “Muggle-borns are being rounded up as we speak.”

“But how are they supposed to have ‘stolen’ magic?” said Ron. “It’s mental, if you could steal magic there wouldn’t be any Squibs, would there?”

“I know,” said Lupin. “Nevertheless, unless you can prove that you have at least one close Wizarding relative, you are now deemed to have obtained your magical power illegally and must suffer the punishment.”

Ron glanced at Hermione, then said, “What if purebloods and half-bloods swear a Muggle-born’s part of their family? I’ll tell everyone Hermione’s my cousin—”

Hermione covered Ron’s hand with hers and squeezed it.

“Thank you, Ron, but I couldn’t let you—”

“You won’t have a choice,” said Ron fiercely, gripping her hand back. “I’ll teach you my family tree so you can answer questions on it.”

Hermione gave a shaky laugh.

“Ron, as we’re on the run with Harry Potter, the most wanted person in the country, I don’t think it matters. If I was going back to school it would be different. What’s Voldemort planning for Hogwarts?” she asked Lupin.

“Attendance is now compulsory for every young witch and wizard,” he replied. “That was announced yesterday. It’s a change, because it was never obligatory before. Of course, nearly every witch and wizard in Britain has been educated at Hogwarts, but their parents had the right to teach them at home or send them abroad if they preferred. This way, Voldemort will have the whole Wizarding population under his eye from a young age. And it’s also another way of weeding out Muggle-borns, because students must be given Blood Status—meaning that they have proven to the ministry that they are of wizard descent—before they are allowed to attend.”

“It’s . . . it’s . . . ” he muttered, struggling to find words that did justice to the horror of his thoughts, but Lupin said quietly, “I know.”

Lupin hesitated.

“I’ll understand if you can’t confirm this, Harry, but the Order is under the impression that Dumbledore left you a mission.”

“He did,” Harry replied, “and Ron and Hermione are in on it and they’re coming with me.”

“Cheers.” I said moodily.

“You’re in by default.” Hermione covered, and I rolled my eyes.

“Can you confide in me what the mission is?”

“I can’t, Remus, I’m sorry. If Dumbledore didn’t tell you I don’t think I can.” Harry said.

“I thought you’d say that,” said Lupin, looking disappointed. “But I ought still be of some use to you. You know what I am and what I can do. I could come with you to provide protection. There would be no need to tell me exactly what you were up to.”

“But what about Tonks?” Shemione asked.

“What about her?” said Lupin.

“Well,” said Hermione, frowning, “you’re married: How does she feel about you going away with us?”

“Tonks will be perfectly safe.” said Lupin. “She’ll be at her parents’ house.”

“Remus,” said Hermione tentatively, “is everything allright . . . you know . . . between you and—”

“Everything is fine, thank you,” said Lupin pointedly.

Hermione turned pink. There was another pause, an awkward and embarrassed one, and then Lupin said, with an air of forcing himself to admit something unpleasant. “Tonks is going to have a baby.”

“Oh, how wonderful!” squealed Hermione.

“Excellent!” said Ron enthusiastically.

“Congratulations,” said Harry.

I couldn’t find it within me to smile.

Lupin gave an artificial smile that was more like a grimace, then said, “So . . . do you accept my offer? Will four become five? I cannot believe that Dumbledore would have disapproved, he appointed me your Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, after all. And I must tell you that I believe that we are facing magic many of us have never encountered or imagined.”

“Just—just to be clear,” Harry said. “You want to leave Tonks at her parents’ house and come away with us?”

“She’ll be perfectly safe there, they’ll look after her,” said Lupin. He spoke with a finality bordering on indifference. “Harry, I’m sure James would have wanted me to stick with you.”

“Well,” said Harry slowly, “I’m not. I’m pretty sure my father would have wanted to know why you aren’t sticking with your own kid, actually.”

“You don’t understand,” said Lupin at last.

“Explain, then,” said Harry.

Lupin swallowed.

“I–I made a grave mistake in marrying Tonks. I did it against my better judgment and I have regretted it very much ever since.”

“I see,” said Harry, “so you’re just going to dump her and the kid and run off with us?”

Lupin sprang to his feet: His chair toppled backward, and he glared at us so fiercely that

“Don’t you understand what I’ve done to my wife and my unborn child? I should never have married her, I’ve made her an outcast!”

Lupin kicked aside the chair he had overturned.

“You have only seen me amongst the Order, or under Dumbledore’s protection at Hogwarts! You don’t know how most of the Wizarding world sees creatures like me! When they know of my affliction, they can barely talk to me! Don’t you see what I’ve done? Even her own family is disgusted by our marriage, when parents want their only daughter to marry a werewolf? And the child—the child—”

Lupin actually seized handfuls of his own hair; he looked quite deranged.

“My kind don’t usually breed! It will be like me, I am convinced of it—how can I forgive myself when I knowingly risked passing on my own condition to an innocent child? And if, by some miracle, it is not like me, then it will be better off, a hundred times so, without a father of whom it must always be ashamed!”

“Remus!” whispered Hermione, tears in her eyes. “Don’t say that—how could any child be ashamed of you?”

“Oh, I don’t know, Hermione,” said Harry. “I’d be pretty ashamed of him.”

I slammed my head on the table. Okay, so Harry is kicking Lupin out and I kind of want to talk to him, and pffg.

 “If the new regime thinks Muggle-borns are bad,” Harry said, “what will they do to a half-werewolf whose father’s in the Order? My father died trying to protect my mother and me, and you reckon he’d tell you to abandon your kid to go on an adventure with us?”

“How—how dare you?” said Lupin. “This is not about a desire for—for danger of personal glory—how dare you suggest such a—”

“I think you’re feeling a bit of a daredevil.” Harry said, “You fancy stepping into Sirius’s shoe—”

“Harry, no!” Hermione begged him, but he continued to glare into Lupin’s livid face.

“I’d never have believed this,” Harry said. “The man who taught me to fight dementors—a coward.”

Lupin shot a spell at Harry and stormed off.

“Lupin!” I called running after him, but he slammed the door in my face.

“Remus, Remus, come back!” Hermione cried. “How could you?”

“It was easy,” said Harry. “Don’t look at me like that!” he snapped at Hermione.

“Don’t you start on her!” snarked Ron.

“No—no—we mustn’t fight!” said Hermione, launching herself between them.

“You shouldn’t have said that stuff to Lupin,” Ron told Harry.

“He had it coming to him,” said Harry. “Parents shouldn’t leave their kids unless—unless they’ve got to.”

I walked back into the room.

“Harry—” said Hermione, stretching out a consoling hand, but he shrugged it off and walked away, his eyes on the fire Hermione had conjured.

There was a very long silence and Harry broke it.

“I just wish my parents were here.” he said.

“Our parents.” I said, and my voice broke. The trio looked at me.

“sorry,” Harry said.

“No you’re not.” I shrugged. “You’re never sorry. I continuously take all this shit from you and you’re never sorry. You couldn’t give a shit about me Harry. Just admit it.”

“What?” Harry laughed. “You want me to admit that I don’t care about you? That’s rich.”

“You’re trying to say that I don’t care about you?” I asked. “Why am I here again?”

“You’re here because you’ve got no where else to go.”

“Okay, try this then. Why’d I go get the philosopher’s stone with you? Why’d I fight the basilisk with you? Why’d I stop you from falling to your death? Why’d I go with you into the shrieking shack? Why’d I save your arse in the graveyard? Why’d I follow you into the ministry? Why’d I fight the night Dumbledore died?”

“I don’t know!” he boomed, and then he looked at me and added, “You just want glory.”

“Okay.” I said, and I sighed sadly. I was beyond tears. “I’ll go seek my glory elsewhere.” I walked over to him, and he flinched, but I just kissed him on the forehead. “I love you Harry, even if it isn’t mutual, but I can’t stay with you.” I hugged Hermione and Ron, and disapparated.  

 Sorry for how long this took, and sorry it's weird and doesn't make sense, but eh. I feel pffg. love all y'all