Remus was waiting at the bus stop outside of the muggle college, sitting on the bench and looking down into his briefcase, trying to think of some spell that might enchant the paper for Spencer, when he felt as though he was being stared at.

His eyes scanned the area around him, but everyone seemed to be on about their own business. He closed up his briefcase and his hand moved discreetly to the pocket his wand was stowed in as he looked at the details of the people around him on the crowded London street. Suddenly a hand was on his shoulder and he jumped - for there was no hand there - and muttered, "Who's that?" under his breath, knowing someone was invisible.

Please let it just be Sirius larking about with James's cloak, Remus thought.

But then he smelled the lemon drops just before Dumbledore spoke. "Mr. Lupin," Dumbledore's voice was low, and from directly over his shoulder, "Hop up and come with me. I need to speak with you immediately."

Remus got up, wincing as his knees took on the weight of him and said, "Sir, how am I supposed to follow you, I can't see you?" He hoped nobody was paying much attention to him - they'd think him mental, talking to himself on the street corner like this. He could only imagine what Lula would think, and he flushed.

Dumbledore's hand came upon his shoulder again, squeezed to hold on, and  directed Remus along. They ended up in an empty courtyard beside the school. The wall had been painted with a mural that Remus remembered Spencer and Lula talking about when he'd first come to the classes. Benches dotted the grass and trees for shade that were just empty stark branches cutting across grey skies. The benches were empty, the courtyard too miserably cold this time of year to have many people in it, and Dumbledore came to a stop in front of a colorful charcticture of the Queen.

When the headmaster came into view, it was without having removed any sort of cloak and Remus looked stunned. "How'd you do that? Go invisible without a cloak?"

"When you've been around as long as I have, Mr. Lupin, you learn many tricks." Dumbledore smiled. "How long has Mr. Potter had his cloak, by the by?"

"I think it was his father's," Remus replied.

"Interesting," Dumbledore mused. "And do you happen to know where Charlus might have come upon such a unique object?"

"No clue," Remus answered.

"Is it charmed or --"

"Sir... I know you didn't come to talk to me about James's invisibility cloak," Remus said.

Dumbledore chuckled, then shook his head, "No my dear boy, you are right. I did not." He paused. "Do you recall just a couple months ago when we talked about the possibility of you taking on a mission to the werewolves?"

Remus shifted his weight. Did he remember? How could he have forgotten? It had pounded through his head like the most obnoxious parade known to man ever since Dumbledore had suggested it, racketing about his brain like a drum beat. He couldn't let it drop from his thoughts for even a moment. He only nodded simply, though, "Yes."

Dumbledore's hand squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. "That time has come, Remus, and it is, I am afraid, of the essence. The Order needs you now more than ever in order to obtain inside information to the plans which Voldemort is enacting through the werewolf pack - and Blackburn will be our key in. I have obtined information from a credible source that details the location of the werewolf pack - and confirmed that Fenrir Greyback is staying with the families in Blackburn at the time being. For how long, we do not know, and as the Ministry inches ever nearer to discovering the location of the pack house there in their search for Greyback and the wolves whose bitings have been in the recent news, we may very well lose an opportunity to make our move should they succeed in locating it."

Remus frowned.

"The pack in Blackburn is host to Greyback today because they have previously resisted him and his attempts to bring them onto Voldemort's cause... The family at Blackburn appears to be generally good people, as opposed to the rather questionable sort residing in the Great North Woods, by comparison. His presence is meant to turn them for the worse, and to encourage their allegiances to change." He paused. "The last thing that the Order wants is for these werwolves to fall into the hands of Voldemort.... and perhaps by their preservation, we shall find a way to redeem others."

Remus felt hot and cold at once as nerves settled into him. He kept his nerve only by thinking of the pain and confusion Spencer was feeling. How many others were in the same turmoil? How many needed someone who could help them, how many lives could Remus change?

"What do we do?" He asked, "How do I help them?"

"Come 'round my office tonight, Mr. Lupin, I shall see to it that Hagrid is at the gates of the school to see you in around ten o'clock, and then we shall discuss in detail the plans that I have for you in a place that is more private." Dumbledore's eyes moved to the gateway of the courtyard, where a few students were standing, smoking and talking, well out of ear shot but present nonetheless. "Tell no one where you are going."

"No one, sir?" Remus asked, laughing, "I can hardly be expected not to tell my husband where I am going at such an hour as that. He'd never let me go out the bloody door!"

"Not even Sirius, I am afraid," Dumbledore said, and added, "And most definitely not James, either."

Although it was a strange thing to say, Remus didn't notice the oddity, and simply reacted to the exclusion of his own husband instead.

"Sirius would never tell anyone else, sir. It's just silly to think he would better off not knowing... He's going to wonder where I am, he's going to ask questions and get angry when I don't have answers to give him. He'll make far more racket for not knowing than knowing and --"

"He must learn to accept such things!" Dumbledore interrupted. "For now, he must not know as he will try to accompany you, and that will not work for what I need you to do."

"I don't mind going sir, it isn't that. It's just my husband has a right to know where I am."

"We will discuss this further tonight, Mr. Lupin, but for now, for tonight at least, please honor my wishes." Dumbledore's tone was firm and final, and Remus was surprised at the way it made him feel - very, very small. It was as though Dumbledore's words had shrunk Remus down somehow and Remus felt out powered by the headmaster's looming presence.

"Yes sir," he murmured.

"I will see you tonight," Dumbledore said and he disapparated away.

Remus let out a breath and sank into the nearest bench.

"What is the last thing you recall doing, James?"

"I - I suppose when I kissed Lily goodbye this morning on my way out. I got ready for work, and I was doing up the buttons on my vest, and she came downstairs to see me off," he answered.

"And to think we were so nauseated today neither of us felt like moving and yet she went all that way just to bid farewell to your sorry arse," Sirius muttered.

Underhill glanced at Sirius with confusion.

"Don't ask, it's easier not knowing," James said.

No matter how many questions Underhill grilled James with about the morning, James couldn't fill in anymore details about the investigation in Blackburn, which left him with only the information James had shared with him during their brief encounter at the map board before Underhill had left. It wasn't much but it was something: all six stops had towers. James had also said he felt nothing magical at any of the stops in particular. However, there was obviously something at one of them that was dangerous, something that considered it worth the effort to blot the memory of it completely from James's mind... However, also there was the fact that whoever had attacked James and wiped his memory had not killed him or done any physical harm. They had even counted it worth the effort of seeing to it that he was left in the location he would be easiest found in, once he was noticed to have gone missing, while still protecting the location he had been at when the attack occurred.

The greatest clue, Underhill thought, was the necklace for Lily. It came from somewhere and the craftsmanship on it had a few unique features so that it would be easy to identify. They knew it came from somewhere in Blackburn, and wherever it was it was likely at least near where James had been attacked.

So it was that he let Sirius Black take James home, but stayed at the office himself, working at drawing in the stops on the map from memory. He knew only the vague locations - northwest, due west, and southwest, so that combined with the three he'd looked after they formed a circle around Blackburn proper - and with the board in Blackburn changed, he wasn't sure what to do.

Underhill was still lost in thought that night as he sat around the dinner table with Marjorie and Carl's family. He'd stopped and got takeout food so that they sat about eating from containers from the chippy, which excited Carl's boy, Storm, quite a lot.

"This is the best food ever, Mr. Underhill," Storm said, practically inhaling his chips like a vacuum. He licked the salt from his fingers, and when his mum couldn't finish hers, Storm took them gladly. Marjorie watched, once again fascinated by the volume Storm was able to pack away, and giggled when he was amazed by the taste of the tartar on the fish when she showed him how to use the condiment properly. It was beyond evident that the boy hadn't eaten things with "luxuries" like condiments and seasonings very often, and Underhill's heart broke for the lad for about the hundredth time, his resolve hardening all the more to help the werewolf community.

He lay in bed that night, staring up at the ceiling, one arm tucked beneath his head, picturing Carl's kids and their enthusiasm for everyday things - things often taken for granted by Marjorie, by himself, by anyone treated with the decency that ought to come part and parcel with being a human being - with existing at all, for that matter, humanoid or not.

Underhill dreamed of a world where life itself was respected, where it didn't matter where a person was born or what lot in life had been dealt to them, but they were treated well so long as they treated others well in return. And he was crazy enough to think that if people simply lived by that rule they might actually find that when others were treated well, far less people turned out bad because they had less to be angry at, less to fight against. Sure, there would always be the odd apple in a bunch, but generally the world could be a better place if all men were treated equally.

He dreamed of a world where a killing curse wasn't necessary, where he didn't have to train others in spell-work that he himself was morally opposed to. He'd wanted to stop the training for the curse the moment it had been announced. Nobody had listened to his opinions on it, they were too fired up with revenge in their mouths to consider the idea of fixing over fracturing.

Someone needed to run for Minister that would look at fixing things, Underhill thought, sighing.

People were crying for Dumbledore to run, pointing to the duel against Grindelwald, saying if Dumbledore ran then Voldemort would be destroyed. But Underhill remembered that duel more clearly than the people claiming that seemed to - and he had studied the Duel in great detail. Dumbledore had won, yes of course, but there had been something more to the duel than what was commonly known. It had been manipulated somehow - in some way - because wand for wand, and spell for spell, there was no reason why Dumbledore ought to have won. It was like Grindelwald's magic had refused to work properly against Dumbledore.

Underhill couldn't vote for a master manipulator like Dumbledore and feel proud of it.

Further, if Dumbledore could fix things, he would have done it already during his meddling, wouldn't he? If he truly believed he could defeat Voldemort in a duel, he would have called one by now. People claimed Voldemort feared Dumbledore, but Underhill felt that there may be some bit of Dumbledore scared of Voldemort as well. He didn't have the key to manipulate Voldemort the way he'd had with Grindelwald.

Luckily, Dumbledore had so far refused to run.

And no other candidates had stood up.

What was keeping them from running? Did people really believe Millicent Bagnold was the answer? She was smart and quick, and firm with her decisive actions, she was far from perfect and she was focusing on damage control as the way forward so far, focusing on cracking down on the crimes being committed.

It was Minchum all over again.

But the wizarding world needed less "we will seek revenge on the bad people" and more "why are so many people turning bad?"

What was keeping someone like that from running?

What was keeping Underhill himself from running?

He squirmed at the thought of it. Him - a Minister! The idea was laughable. He hadn't even managed to win out for Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Sure he'd worked his way up and was second, the top tier in the training program at the same time as being Second in the Department, but what was that compared to Minister for Magic?

But bloody hell, the things he could do, the policies he could change, the reforms and new protective laws he could put in place...

What was keeping him from running?

Fear of losing? Sure one can't lose if they don't run, but they also can't win if they don't run.

Underhill sat up and levitated a quill and parchment to himself, lighting the lamp beside his bed, and started writing.