“It’s six minutes past five on this freezing, snow-caked Friday evening, and we’ve just heard a brilliant interpretation of the Muggle composer Peter Tchaikovsky’s Overture from the Swan Lake, performed by the Academy of Saint Martina in the Plains Magical Orchestra. Next on ‘Music from Beyond’, we’re listening to Joseph Haydn’s String Quartet, Number Three, played by the Inspired Quartet from Spain.”





Slow, soft tunes of a violoncello initiated an elegant string of melody. The music emanating from a tiny radio on a bathroom shelf poured itself into the steam, moving gently up through the ceiling in big, fluffy clouds of vapour. From behind the mist covering the mirror, the reflection of a hand was trying to wipe off the steam. Its efforts, however, were in vain, because the owner of the hand currently lay in the bathtub, submerged under hot water except for the head and the arms. His head was rested at the side of the tub, eyes lightly closed with a relaxed expression on his face. His still dry hair was light brown, unkempt and slightly overgrown. Grey streaks ran the length of his hair; curious, for even with the signs of weariness on his face, he seemed to be still in his thirties.





A deep sigh escaped the thin lips, and Remus Lupin -for that is who it was - slowly raised his head from the side of the bathtub.





It had been a long week.





Monday morning had found him teaching a geography class in a little Muggle school. It would suffice to say, as he firmly instructed himself to think so, that those particular third-years simply weren’t accustomed to kindness. After a quite unpleasant four hours at the school, he had returned to his flat for a quick lunch. Unfortunately, on his way out to Parramon’s Bookstore where he worked part-time, he had been caught by his landlord. The otherwise agreeable old wizard had been insisting for the last couple of months that Remus pay three extra Galleons for the use of the newly-connected Floo Network, and so far, it had only been Remus’s constant state of being in a hurry that had saved him from a serious discussion of the topic. He had not, after all, been the one to suggest connecting the Floo. It was not like he needed to constantly stay in touch with the rest of the Wizarding World, he had thought rather bitterly. For old Mr. Garner to expect three more Galleons a month from him was ridiculous to the point of absurdity.





The quality of his afternoon job at Parramon’s Bookstore, which was located in a little road off of Diagon Alley, hadn’t improved much since the days of his youth. Remus had spent three subsequent summer holidays working for Mr. Parramon while he had still been at Hogwarts, and despite the less than agreeable shop-owner, Remus had always loved working there. Mr. Parramon, Remus had learned, had passed away some years ago and left the business to his utterly disinterested niece. Remus had only once met Miss Plummet, the day he had applied for �“and thankfully, had gotten- the job. In the last three months, he had been the only one to run the business aside from the middle-aged witch who ran the shop in the mornings.





Remus still loved the job. He was quite good at managing the business, as he had pleasantly discovered (if you don’t count the way he had failed to handle a herd of angry witches who had wanted an explanation for the lost promotion stacks that were supposed to come with the latest issue of Witch Weekly, anyway), and truth be told, he enjoyed the freedom he had as an employee. Now, if only his salary were in closer proportion to his workload...





He sighed again.





“What an astonishing performance by the Inspired Quartet �“ inspired and inspiring, indeed!” bellowed the announcer as Haydn’s tunes neatly came to a close. “We will now take a little break, and then we’ll be back with the French composer Camille Saint-Saens’s ‘Rondo Capriccio’.”





Remus closed his eyes, and for no apparent reason at all, smiled as the adverts began rolling over his head in the little, steam-filled bathroom.





He was at a good place in life. In the last four months, between his employment at Parramon’s and the part-time teaching job in the Muggle school, his lycanthropy had gone pleasantly unnoticed. The last three full-moons had been spent without serious repercussions (the day after the September full-moon he had nearly collapsed in class, much to the annoyance �“and occasional amusement- of the students, and had been kindly excused by the school headmistress). At the moment, Remus only hoped that life didn’t fall apart just again.





A life in order was something he hadn’t had since leaving Hogwarts. He had been trudging from one petty job to another for almost a decade; ever since the Order of the Phoenix had been disbanded...





His tentative smile faded. He reached for the sponge with a slight frown.





Order of the Phoenix... How long had it been since he had last allowed himself to think about those days?





He certainly did not miss his days with the Order. The oppressive atmosphere of the raging war and the dread he used to feel at every single Order meeting were easier to live with when they were memories. He did not miss losing a friend every other day, or living in fear for the Potters.





The Potters.





Another smile found its way up to his lips. He had not thought about James or Lily in a while, either --or little Harry, for that matter.





But that was hardly surprising. It was nearly impossible to think of them without thinking of Si�”without thinking of Black. It was impossible to remember James without Black at his�”at their side.





He squeezed the sponge in his fist, and watched the soapy drops hit the surface of the water with a lifeless splash. The question he had asked himself a million times since that day once again came up in his mind. Why did Sirius betray all of us?





No anger blazed within him at the thought; anger had faded away a long time ago. It had burned Remus for months, tortured him during countless days and nights, followed him wherever he went. But eventually, it had died down, leaving in its wake an ashen, bitter disappointment that he could taste to this day. He had long ago accepted that what had happened had happened, and there was no point in questioning why. The bitterness that was left behind, however, would not ever be washed away.





With yet another sigh, he pushed the gloomy thoughts away from his mind. He was at a good place in life. There was no point dwelling on the past.





Oh, he had been telling himself that for-ever.





He laid his head back at the side of the tub, and allowed the joyful notes of the playing symphony to replace the thoughts in his mind. When the piece finished a minute later, the thoughts simply came back. Truth was, he missed living in the Wizarding world. In his own world. But life for him had always been too hard, and at some point, he had discovered that losing job after job in the Muggle world was easier to handle than losing job after job in the Wizarding world. At least, neither of his Muggle employers had ever fired him on account of being a werewolf; they had merely, and rightfully, in Remus’s fair opinion, wanted a healthy and dependable employee. None had ever screamed and ran away from him after working alongside him for weeks.





He sighed again as he reached for the shampoo. Sometimes, he longed for a friend’s company. He was used to not having friends who knew all there was to know about him- no, Black had taken care of that so many years ago. But even after all this time, living all alone in the Muggle world was simply exhausting.





He couldn’t help but smile sadly as Perlman began playing a Seranade by Schubert. He finished his bath with a veil of sorrow over his heart.





~ * ~





The next day, he had a visitor.





He was startled from reading the Daily Prophet’s headlines when someone knocked on the door of his flat. Confused, he checked his watch; it was just past ten-thirty. Who could be knocking on his door this early? It couldn’t be Mr. Garner; if the landlord ever needed to stop by, he would pop up in the Floo and call Remus through the fire, if only to have an excuse to demand his extra Galleons. Besides, Remus had most certainly not invited anyone over Saturday morning. He never invited anyone.





He picked up his wand from the crooked table in the hall and leaned towards the door.





“Who is it?”





“It’s me, Grace Leonard,” came the muffled reply. His frown dissolved into an expression of surprise; Remus stuffed his wand into his pocket and pulled the door open.





“Grace?”





“Hello.”





In the dim light of the hallway, a petite young woman stood with a friendly smile on her face. The huge, snow-white earmuffs she wore created a stark contrast with the dark fringes surrounding her elliptical face.





“May I come in?” she asked, raising her eyebrows slightly at Remus’s prolonged silence.





“Ah �“ yes, please, come in,” Remus replied automatically, feeling stunned at the unexpected arrival of a Muggle colleague as he stepped aside to allow her in. Immediately, a voice screeched against it in his mind, but there was nothing he could do.





He gestured awkwardly towards the archway which connected the tiny hall to the kitchen and the living room, unable to find the words to speak.





Grace Leonard walked in and Remus closed the door. His visitor seemed hesitant to walk in further into the flat.





"I'm sorry for dropping by like this, John," she said. The top of head barely reacher the height of Remus's shoulder. "Is this a good time?"





"Yes, yes, of course," 'John' heard himself say again. He had taken care to use his middle name in the Muggle word; it helped to avoid the curious glances at the mention of his first name.





"Please," he said, once again gesturing towards the archway, and Grace walked into the kitchen. Remus's unfinished breakfast �“one scrambled egg, a piece of toast and a half-drank cup of tea- still lay on the tiny, round table just across the fire.





Grace walked past the open kitchen and towards the tiny living area. Taking advantage of her turned back, Remus grabbed the Daily Prophet from next to his tea-cup and stashed it as quietly as he could into his shabby sweatshirt.





“I would call, but I don’t have your phone number,” Grace continued, “and I haven’t seen you since Wednesday, so I couldn’t ask... ah, thank you,” she said as Remus showed her a seat at the only couch in the room. She sat down and continued to speak, pulling off her earmuffs and removing her gloves as she did. “There’s something I want to talk to you about, but...” She glanced around the room uncertainly (during which few seconds Remus fearfully expected her to notice all the things magical in the room), “do you think I could use your bathroom first?”





“Sure, of course,” Remus replied a little too quickly as Grace rose to her feet. “Second door on the left, straight across from the front door.”





“Thanks.”





With a nod, Remus anxiously eyed Grace’s retreating form, and pulled the folded newspaper from beneath his shirt with a huff. As the click of the bathroom door echoed in the bare hallway, he whipped out his wand.





“Scourgify!”





Right on cue, an old issue of The British Charms Review on the coffee table flipped close and flew up to the bookshelf, nearly colliding with the set of robes that were folding themselves as they glided out of the room. The half-eaten breakfast plate snuck into the pantry as the tea cup emptied its cold contents and settled dutifully next to the sink. Remus turned around and walked to the tiny desk in the corner. After the quills and parchment scraps vanished into the drawer, he stuffed the Daily Prophet in after them and shut it. The only thing that was now visible was Remus’ extremely old broomstick, but thankfully, it was so old that it actually fit the poor decor in the old, rundown flat.





With a relieved sigh, he walked over the counter and tapped the kettle with his wand. Steam puffed out of it with a tiny whistle, and Remus stuck his wand safely into his sleeve.





He silently hoped that he wouldn’t have to modify Grace’s memory by the end of her visit.





“You have a... nice place.”





He glanced over his shoulder to see Grace walking in, her hair pulled back in a braid. She approached the fire and began warming herself.





“That’s quite a compliment,” Remus allowed with a crooked smile. On the basement of a century-old building, the flat was dark, damp and gloomy; the furniture, minimum and ancient.





Grace shrugged good-humouredly. “With the wages we get, I’m sure this place puts a lot of others to shame. The fireplace is rather old-fashioned, though; it must be difficult to keep a fire going all winter.”





“I manage,” Remus replied politely. “Would you like a cup of tea?”





“Oh, yes, please. It’s freezing out there.” She took a seat at the table. “This place is quite remote from the school. How long does it take you to get to work every day?”





“There’s an underground station just around the corner,” Remus replied, pouring the tea (he had never once used the underground to get to work, so he didn’t elaborate on the topic). “Grace, if you don’t mind me asking, how did you find my address?”





“Oh, John, I’m sorry,” Grace apologised, but Remus thought that she didn't look very sorry. “I asked the school secretary to look it up from your file. I know I shouldn’t have, but as I said, I didn’t have your phone number.”





Remus nodded, pushing the sugar bowl towards her. “That’s all right. Although I have to admit, I’m curious as to what could be so important that couldn’t wait until Monday.”





“Yes, well,” Grace began, stirring her tea and taking a careful sip before continuing. “I need to be somewhere else at noon and the only time I got was now. I figured, the sooner I talked to you, the better." She placed her teacup on its plate and carefully turned the patterned surface to face Remus.





“John," she began slowly, "Something has been going on that closely concerns you, and I feel that you should know about it.”





“What do you mean?” Remus asked with a frown.





There was something unidentifiable in Grace's brown eyes as she regarded him from across the tiny table.





“I came to warn you,” she said suddenly.





Remus blinked. “Warn me?”





“Yes.” She looked solemn, but her voice remained soft, as though she was trying to spare Remus from �“ from what, Remus didn’t know.





“Warn me about what?”





Grace did not immediately answer. Remus found himself slightly tensing at the look in Grace’s eyes, but he certainly wasn't prepared for the words that spilled from her lips a second later.





“John, there’s a conspiracy against you. And I’m right in the middle of it.”

---