Note:

Welcome to 2025 - we made it! Though honestly, 2024 felt like it lasted about two days. Can someone pause the clock for me? I’ve got way too much to do. Send chocolate… or a time-turner!

...

Remus' POV:

»And what became of Harmon and you?« Sirius' question broke through the hum of conversation.
We were having lunch, with Gryffindor Quidditch practice looming afterwards. Wormtail would join the others, but my destination lay in the library. With the full moon only three days away, I was determined to finish as much homework as possible. My mood, already brittle, frayed further at Padfoot's question, and I merely shrugged.
»We talked, and she wants to go to Hogsmeade with me,« I explained, taking a sip of tea. Hunger eluded me, for reasons all too familiar. »She was quite drunk at the end of the celebration and became... clingy.«
»That's brilliant!« Padfoot exclaimed, his enthusiasm lost on me. I failed to see the brilliance in the matter, aside from the fact that I had somehow secured a date. Perhaps weariness dulled my appreciation for life's silver linings.

The full moon - a curse like no other...

»I don't know if she's someone I could truly like. She struck me as a bit superficial. I couldn't figure out why she laughed so much; I wasn't that amusing.« My gaze shifted to Prongs and Padfoot, who were staring at me as though had lost my wits.
Raising an eyebrow, I sought clarification, though Sirius only erupted into his familiar, bark-like laughter. The sound, which usually brought a grin to my face, only served to deepen my irritation.
»What?« The sharpness in my tone betrayed my mounting frustration, the tension that had already taken root within me. I did not need their reactions to compound it.
»And you say I know nothing about women,« Sirius teased, though he offered an explanation: »She laughed because she finds you attractive and wanted to impress you.«
»Right,« I replied flatly, inwardly conceding that I truly had not understood. The girls I usually spoke to - like Phil and Lily - did not laugh excessively. Their behaviour seemed... normal.
»So, will you go to Hogsmeade with her?« Prongs asked, his plate already cleared.
»I'm not sure,« I admitted, finishing the last of my tea. »I'm too tired to think about it right now.«
The lads exchanged understanding looks, leaving the matter at that. Harmon was undeniably attractive, and, as Padfoot had pointed out, she seemed to like me.
Intimacy would inevitably follow, and I could scarcely fathom exposing my body to someone else. Although I had grown somewhat more comfortable with myself this year, the scars of self-consciousness remained.
Time would reveal everything, but for now, I was simply too tired.

As we left the Great Hall, our paths diverged. I headed to the library, though every fibre of my being craved the solace of my bed.
At present, the world felt hateful. The looming full moon and the transformation it brought filled me with dread. The thought of losing control, of forgetting, was suffocating. Worse still was the growing fear since Phil's arrival at Hogwarts - the fear of harming her. It had already happened once, last full moon, when she ventured too close to us. Though the blame was not mine to bear, guilt clung stubbornly, despite my promise to Phil in the Hospital Wing to let it go.
I had hoped our relationship might improve after that ordeal. In some ways, it had - Phil spoke to me normally again - but not as she had before the incident.
A few nights ago, she had surprised us by confessing that she did not hate us, a revelation I had not anticipated. It was reassuring to hear, though I had never believed she truly hated us. Still, it was good to have it confirmed.
That entire encounter with Phil had been intriguing. Her familiarity with the castle was undeniable, and her sharp tongue in sparring with Padfoot had been amusing. She now knew of the Marauder's Map, or at least suspected its existence. In return, she held a favour over us, much to Sirius' dismay. He had grumbled about it in the dormitory that night, irritated by the amount of time Phil spent with Lestrange.
Yet, I believed Phil was simply settling into Hogwarts, her true nature beginning to surface - a nature subdued by her past experiences. She was not inherently reserved; life had merely taught her to be.

But those are only theories.

The future alone could confirm them.
I set thoughts of Phil aside, only for them to resurface the moment I entered the library. There she was.
A faint smile tugged at my lips as I saw her, head resting against her arm, her eyes shut.
I approached the table and set my books on the seat opposite hers. Sitting down, I watched her for a moment before reaching out. Gently, I tapped her arm, certain she had not fallen asleep in the library on purpose.

She's tired too.

At my touch, she startled awake, sitting upright with a piece of parchment stuck to her cheek. Blinking groggily, she peeled it off, grimacing at the smudged ink now staining her skin. She would have to rewrite it.
»I fell asleep?« she murmured.
»Yes, I found you like this.«
Leaning back in her chair, Phil ran a hand over her face. Her hair, once tied in a bun, had loosened into disarray. Noticing this, she let it down and quickly wove it into a low plait.
»Three days,« she whispered.
I understood. The full moon loomed, and fatigue pressed upon her as much as it did me. Yet, there was a contemplative air about her - a heaviness I had sensed in recent weeks.

Was something weighing on her?

I could not say. We were not close enough for me to ask, though another idea took root.
Reaching into my bag, I spoke: »Place your hand on the table, palm up.«
Phil frowned but complied. Pulling my hand from my bag, I placed it over hers and released the object I held. Her blue eyes locked onto mine, puzzled, until I withdrew my hand. Her gaze fell to the small, wrapped piece of chocolate in her palm. Quick to close her fingers around it - eating in the library was forbidden - she glanced up.
»Chocolate always helps.«
»Thank you,« she replied. Our eyes met, and she smiled - a genuine, heartfelt smile that warmed something deep within me.

Phil's POV:

The wind greeted me as I stepped out of the hidden passage. It was night, and though the path was familiar, its chill was sharper today. My steps carried me across Hogwarts' grounds, but I avoided the Whomping Willow. Tonight was a full moon.
My destination lay elsewhere - one that could also be reached from the Shrieking Shack, though it would take an eternity on foot in human form.
And so I retraced the path I had taken years ago in my fourth year, when panic had driven me out of the castle. That night, I had run to the place where my former pack once waited for me. Everything had felt overwhelming - my mind, his voice, the weight of newness. I had believed there was no space for me in the world of humans, that my path led only to the abyss.
Even now, I was not entirely sure, but I had given life among humans a chance and took pride in my progress. I remained cautious, yet I no longer saw monsters lurking in every shadow.

But am I the real monster?
And if not, am I the daughter of one.

Yes, that's how it seemed - the daughter of a monster. A monster I was about to meet.
Uncertainty churned within me, but there was no turning back now. At least, that's what I told myself, though deep down I knew there was always a way to retreat until the final step. In my mind, however, the decision had been made.

But is it the right one?
I don't know...

I had left the castle earlier than usual to avoid crossing paths with the Marauders. The night was clear, the stars glinting like tiny diamonds against the vast darkness. Soon, the moon would rise.
Moments later, I reached the forest's edge and stepped inside. Darkness enveloped me, a familiar companion. My whole life had been spent in the Forbidden Forest's depths, as I had grown up near its far edge, close to another settlement near Hogsmeade. My place lay along that route.
The last time I had fled the castle in tears, the journey had felt shorter. But after nearly an hour of walking, I arrived. Climbing a small slope, tension coiled in my body.
Fear washed over me like a cold wave, and each step grew heavier as dread clawed at my resolve. My body rebelled, but this had to be done. I needed to confront the figure who had shaped so much of my life - the one who had cursed me. A figure loathed and hunted by the wizarding world. A murderer.
My father was not someone to meet alone in the forest at night. Yet I was not afraid - not for myself. He would not kill me, though he might attempt to take me away. In his letter, he had written that his hideouts were never secure, so even that seemed unlikely.
Logic dictated he only wished to talk. He could do so now, for I had reached my place, and before the great tree that marked it, a man sat in the grass, watching me.

My father.

As I approached, the man, dressed entirely in black, studied me. I walked halfway to meet him, my body numb, unnervingly calm.
The wind whispered through the forest's labyrinth, and when my father rose, a shiver crept down my spine. He looked exactly as I remembered, yet entirely different. Tall - taller than Remus - lean, with fiery red hair tied at the nape of his neck. His face was cloaked in a red beard, and his blue eyes gleamed unnaturally.
»Phil...« His voice was deep and coarse, almost a growl. »You came.«
When he stepped closer, I instinctively retreated two paces, signalling that this was not to be a joyful father-daughter reunion. He understood and halted at a respectful distance, his gaze sweeping over me.
I mirrored his scrutiny and noticed the long claw mark across his face. No hair grew over the scars on his right cheek, though otherwise, he bore no signs of the hardship one might expect. His black clothing was clean, showing few signs of wear. His cloak, the oldest of his garments, had two missing buttons but no holes.
»You've become a fine young woman,« he said, pressing his lips together. »I've missed so much.«
»You left,« I countered.
It had been seven or eight years since I had last seen him.
»I had to,« he replied.
»Because the Ministry's hunting you,« I said bluntly. He seemed to understand my perspective - he had abandoned me, endured nothing of what I had, and now I was old enough to know the truth of his crimes.

You're no saint to me, no matter how you see yourself - a creator of a new breed of werewolves.

»What happened after your mother's death, Phil?«
»You should first ask how she died,« I said with a sharp edge, turning my gaze to an owl taking flight from the inky canopy.
The forest was quiet. I fiddled with the sleeve of my jumper, my breathing shallow. Alone in the dark with my father, life felt eerily simple. The world's problems dissolved, for my father was a problem unto himself.
There he stood before me, and my body remained numb.
»I can imagine,« he replied. »I should have taken you with me, even if it was dangerous. She didn't understand your nature. But you could come with me now.«
»I don't want you in my life,« I said.
He nodded, a brief motion of understanding. Too much had happened for me to see him as a father. He was a bad man.
Evil.
»There's still much you need to know, Phil. I suspect you struggle with many things - magic, for instance.«
My brows knit in confusion. What was he implying?
Could he use magic?
»You must learn to wield your gift.«
»Gift?« I scoffed. »What gift? I'm cursed. You chose this curse for me.«
»It's not a curse.«
»That's how I see it,« I retorted.
Looking skyward, I noticed the change. The moon was rising, calling to us.
»There's so much I could teach you,« he murmured, his gaze lifting to the heavens as well. When his eyes met mine again, I flinched.

Those eyes...

They glowed, an intense, almost feral blue. Not luminous, yet brighter than they had any right to be.
»For instance, you can delay the transformation,« he said, stepping closer. This time, I did not move away. His gaze held me captive.
»You must listen within,« he instructed, placing a firm hand on my shoulder. »Use the magic you draw on during the transformation - tap into it without the full moon. But controlling it takes practice. Listen to the moon's call, feel its pull, but don't let it control you. You can control it. The moon doesn't rule us; we rule it. That is the gift.«
Closing my eyes, I focused. The moon's call echoed within me, insistent, yet I resisted while absorbing its energy. It felt like transforming under a new moon - a surge of power without the shift. When I reopened my eyes, the forest seemed sharper, clearer.
McGonagall's words about channelling magic to enhance senses came to mind. My father had drawn out exactly that.
He relished this power.
That thought churned my stomach as his proud smile surfaced.
It had always been this way since childhood. My father, the mentor, despite being one of the wizarding world's most dangerous men. I, the pawn, moved by his will.
And now, here I stood, once again under his control.
I could not allow it. Breaking free of his grasp, I faced him.
»Why did you reach out? What do you want from me? Why am I like this?«
The questions I had longed to ask since the beginning spilled forth, though I dreaded the answers.