Notes: This fic is part of the 'Mortal Moon' Harry/Remus 68. Remus loses his memory of the past few months or years. He can't reconcile with the fact that Harry is his lover. Harry is terribly hurt, and also not sure how to go about convincing Remus AGAIN that they should be together -- it was hard enough the first time! (Scarlet Carly)

Beta: Danijo

Remus blinked sleepily and wondered why he awoke in the kitchen. The kitchen looked different. Very different. Come to think of it, where was that damnable house elf? And where was Sirius? Where was the rest of the Order?

"You're awake!"

Whipping out his wand, Remus faced the dark haired stranger angrily. What was he doing in Sirius' house? He looked like James did, right before he died, except he had green eyes. Remus would have thought it was Harry, but Harry was much younger than this and had a very prominent scar.

The man dropped his coffee and raised his hands, as if to say 'I am unarmed.' "Whoa. What's gotten into you this morning, Remus?"

"Who are you?" Remus snapped.

The strange man looked both extremely hurt and nervous. "Why don't you sit down and explain what's going on? Is this about what happened yesterday?"

Remus did not sit. He knew better than to relax around complete strangers, especially those who randomly appeared in houses in which they did not belong. "What would you know about yesterday? I spent the day with Sirius." Remus could hit himself. Why did he mention Sirius? If this man was from the Ministry, both he and Sirius could be in Azkaban before sundown.

The green-eyed man seemed to deflate entirely. "Sweet Merlin, Remy, what are you...Sirius?"

The werewolf glared suspiciously at the man. He was about seventeen, maybe a little older. His wiry frame could hide his age easily. Remus sniffed. The stranger smelt of fear and sadness, but mostly sadness. Oddly, too, he smelt of sex. But Remus would not think of that. He needed to know why this man was here, in Sirius' strangely decorated kitchen.

"Who the Hell are you?" Remus' voice grated roughly on his own ears, causing a strange echo effect in the kitchen.

The man looked close to tears. "I'm Harry Potter, Remy. I'm goddamned Harry Potter."

Remus just stared at him. He was lying. Harry was fifteen, and at Hogwarts no less.

"Were you having nightmares again? Is that's what's wrong?" The man who claimed to be Harry Potter bit his lip. "You could have come and found me. I was just in the kitchen. I couldn't sleep; you know how I get when the Ministry gets involved in our lives."

"Who the Hell are you?"

"I'm Harry," the man whispered.

"No, you're not! Harry's fifteen! He has a scar! He's at Hogwarts!"

The man's eyes widened. "What did they do to you yesterday? Remy, what did they do!"

Remus stepped backward, shocked by the stranger's anger. "I told you. I didn't go out yesterday. I stayed here all day."

The man collapsed into a chair, a fine wood one that Remus did not remember being there yesterday. He seemed to think for a moment. "Would you step into the front hall with me?"

Remus narrowed his eyes. "Very well. But you will remain unarmed and will stand in front of me at all time. You are aware that I am a werewolf?" As much as Remus hated his affliction, he was not averse to using it in his favor, should the occasion arise.

The raven-haired man led the way into the front hall, with Remus' wand digging into his back. Remus was shocked by the room. Instead of seeing the curtained portrait of Mrs. Black, the gloom of damp and disuse, the crumbling woodwork, and the heads of long dead house elves, he saw a room painted a chipper butter yellow, sunlight streaming in through two new windows, and the head of only one house elf. The wall along the stairs was lined with framed wizard photographs.

"Why don't you look at the pictures?" the man suggested, trying to sound innocent and very not dangerous.

Remus glared at him suspiciously, but inspected the photographs nonetheless. He was shocked to see that most of the pictures involved him and the stranger. In the first picture, they had their arms around each other on a beach. In the second, they were holding hands and the stranger kept whispering in his ear. The Remus in the picture would always blush when the man did that. Remus walked further. Here was one where the man had a scar like Harry's. Next to it was a photograph of a whole group of people: Remus, the stranger, McGonagal, Snape, Moody, and what looked to be an older version of the Weasley tribe. The stranger did not have the scar in this picture. At the end, there were two pictures, both in ornate black frames. One picture was of Sirius, Remus, and Harry, but Remus did not remember the picture being taken. It had to have been quite recent, judging from Harry's face. The last picture was of Harry and Remus in a graveyard, both weeping and holding onto each other, while it rained and a strong wind blew through the few trees scattered about the cemetery.

"What is this?" Remus asked, finally. "Why are there pictures of you in Sirius' house?"

"Remy, this isn't Sirius' house. It hasn't been for a long time."

"What do you mean?"

"Look, I don't know what they did to you yesterday, so I'm not going to say anything right now. Why don't you go back up to bed and I'll talk to Minerva and Severus about this."

Remus blinked at him. He was not that stupid.

The man sighed. "I promise not to kill you in your sleep or anything. Look at that picture," he pointed to the beach photograph "Do I look like a homicidal maniac there?"

Remus had to admit that he did not. So he sighed and made his way upstairs. If this stranger was going to talk to Minerva McGonagal, he probably could not be that bad, even if Remus would have preferred Dumbledore.

He finally found his room, but it did not look like his room anymore. The bed was larger than he remembered, and covered in a red duvet rather than the old blankets Sirius had given him. There were more pictures of him and the stranger here. Remus was very tired, though, not that he knew why, and fell asleep almost as soon as he rested his head against the pillow.

When he awoke again, in the evening, judging by the fading sunlight, Remus could hear two voices talking downstairs. One he recognized as the stranger's and the other could only belong to Minerva McGonagal.

So he did his best not to stumble on the stairs, but managed to fall down the last three steps, anyway. Remus had barely fallen in a heap when the strange man was already at his side, helping him to stand and asking if he was okay, what hurt, and if he needed help, why didn't he call for some. Remus was embarrassed, but he ended up leaning on the young man who led him into the drawing room. He was even more embarrassed when the stranger forced him to lie on the sofa, with his feet in the man's lap.

"Minerva, what happened?" he exclaimed in shock when his former teacher and colleague entered the room.

The Scottish woman, who leaned heavily on an ironbound cane and whose hair was almost entirely silver, scowled at him slightly. "Do I look worse than usual?"

Remus gaped at her. "But you're using a cane and-and your hair!" He suddenly wished he were more articulate. He had sounded more intelligent when he was a teenager.

Minerva frowned worriedly at the werewolf. "I see Harry wasn't lying when he said you weren't yourself."

The stranger, whom Minerva agreed was Harry, exploded. "Why would I lie about that?"

Just then Severus Snape stepped out of the fireplace. Which, Remus thought, would not have been entirely odd - if the fireplace had been connected to the Floo system. He jumped slightly and the man named Harry absentmindedly rubbed his leg in a soothing fashion.

"Lying, Potter?" Severus asked.

"I wasn't lying," Harry said. "Nor was I exaggerating. What information could you find?"

Severus shrugged, something Remus had not seen him do since his school days. "Very little. He was given the potion, as promised, but there weren't supposed to be an unlooked for side effects. I have Ron running a check on the ingredients and trying to find a sample."

Remus blinked in shock. "Why is Ron doing that?"

Severus raised an eyebrow. "I may as well get something out of having an inept apprentice."

"Apprentice?" Remus echoed. "But he's only fifteen! What does Molly think of this?"

The three other faces in the room turned to masks of worry. Minerva broke the silence. "Remus, Ron is nineteen."

"No," Remus replied. "He's fifteen and he's in his fifth year. And he hates Potions."

"I see Potter was right," Severus sighed.

Harry pouted. Remus thought it was cute, but then mentally berated himself for thinking such things about James' son.

"What do you remember?"

Remus paused. "It's 1996. The Order has reconvened, after Voldemort was resurrected. I've been staying here with Sirius and we've been working with the Order all year."

"Great Circe," Severus swore. "That's it?"

"Am I missing something?"

Harry leaned over and took Remus into his arm. Remus felt awkward, almost sitting in the boy's lap while the boy pet his hair. "Are you sure that's all you remember? You don't remember anything after 1996?" he whispered, huskily.

Feeling decidedly uncomfortable, Remus hauled himself out of Harry's lap. "Is there something I'm missing?"

Minerva sighed. "Severus why don't you go find Ron and make sure he isn't botching up the research? We don't need him blowing up the castle."

Severus left through the fireplace with a growl and Harry helped Remus into the kitchen. Remus wondered why Harry was always holding him, whispering to him, touching him. The Harry he remembered did not initiate physical contact. While Harry made sure that Remus was comfortable in his chair, Minerva brought the tea things to the table.

She stared at him levelly across the table. "This is going to be hard for you to take, but you lived through it once and you can live through it again. Since 1996, we've fought a war. We've had casualties and we've had gains." She reached out a gripped his hand. "Remus, Sirius died in the spring of 1996. Harry defeated Lord Voldemort in 1998. When Sirius died, Harry inherited the house."

"No."

Harry wrapped his arm around Remus' shoulders. "Yes. It's been hard; the war hurt everyone, but we managed to get through it. We've had a year and a half since the war ended. The world is getting back on its feet."

"A year and a half?" Remus asked. Then he paused and tried to shrug Harry's arms off, unsuccessfully. "Who else died in the war?"

Harry buried his face in Remus' hair for a moment before answering. "Dumbledore... he fell in the last battle to a Killing Curse. Hermione was poisoned - that's why Ron's Severus' apprentice. The Creevey brothers, Bill Weasley, Mundungus, Neville, most of the Order, more Hogwarts' students than I really know," he whispered. "I created a memorial garden at the Ministry for them, but it's never enough."

"Sweet Jesus," Remus replied. "All of them?"

Minerva nodded sternly at the werewolf, before turning to Harry. "Take care of him, would you? I'm going to go back to the castle. I'll get everyone I can to see what's wrong. With the both of you being war heroes, I shouldn't have any trouble. That is, if you don't mind me telling people?"

Harry nodded sharply. "We really need to find out what's wrong. I can't leave him like this."

Smiling grimly, Minerva replied, "I understand. Why don't you try to explain things to him?" With that, she left.

Remus remained at the table, silently, while Harry prepared them a simple dinner. He was shocked to see how easily Harry performed the household magic. He wondered who taught him to do that; Remus and Sirius did not know it. Wait. Sirius could not have taught him. Sirius died before that. It was odd to think of Sirius as dead, Remus supposed the shock had not set in; after all, he had seen the man yesterday. No, not yesterday. Four years ago. But it seemed like yesterday.

Harry watched him worriedly while they ate their chicken, but did not break the delicate silence. Nor did he speak while they walked up the stairs, nor when he followed Remus into the bedroom. Nor when he began to climb into Remus' bed.

"What do you think you're doing?" Remus yelped, realizing just what Harry was doing.

The raven-haired man stared at Remus quizzically. "I'm going to bed."

"This is my bed!"

"Our bed," Harry said.

"What?"

Harry froze. "You don't remember." It was a sentence in structure, but phrased in doubt, begging for it to be a lie.

Remus propped himself up against the headboard. "I don't remember what? Why do we share a bed, Harry?"

Harry pursed his lips, in that way which was oh-so-attractive but should not be. "I don't want to shock you, Remy, but... well, we're lovers."

"Lovers!"

Harry nodded seriously.

"But-but you're half my age - less! You're James' son! Sirius' godson! Practically my godson! For Merlin's sake, you were my student!" He buried his face in his hands. "How could I do this to you?" he moaned.

Harry took Remus' hands into his own. "You didn't do anything to me." Then he blushed and Remus could smell his desire and embarrassment. "Look, this was my idea to begin with. There is nothing wrong with our relationship or inappropriate."

Remus pulled his hands back. "No, Harry, it would be inappropriate. We can't... It's wrong! I went to school with your parents. I'm a werewolf. You need to find someone your own age."

Harry muttered something that sounded distinctly like 'not again.'

"I can't believe I would seduce you like that... did..."

"Remus, no! You didn't! I approached you," Harry explained. "It was during the war and I was in my final year at Hogwarts. It was after an Order meeting and you said no - for all of those reasons and more. But we made it work, Remy. We did."

"No, no, no. You deserve someone younger, someone safe, someone..."

"Someone not perfect for me?" Harry stared up at him with his entrancingly verdant eyes.

Remus looked away. "I'm not perfect for you... I'm old, for one. I'm a werewolf, for another."

Harry slipped behind Remus and wrapped his arms around him, from behind. "Remus, these arguments didn't sway me in the beginning and they certainly won't sway me now. We've been together for roughly two years and lovers for eight months. I can't imagine life without you in it. When the world was literally coming down around my ears, when I was watching my friends die in front of me, when I was planning battles that would lead people to inevitable death, when I was faced with a predestined Fate, when I thought I wouldn't live to see twenty, you stood there beside me. When I was being a teenaged asshole, as I have been known to be, you put me in my place. When I was a war general, facing the pain and stress that comes with it, you comforted me. When I was in mourning for family, friends, and enemies, you mourned with me. When I had the weight of the world on my shoulders, you took some of it onto your own. When I was publicly mocked and humiliated, you reminded me that none of that mattered. When I was honored with medals and badges, you reminded me that none of that mattered. And, in return, I've tried to do the same for you. So I can't really understand why we aren't perfect for each other."

Remus really did not feel that he could argue with that profession of love, despite the fact that he did not actually remember doing any of this. "We aren't doing anything-"

But Remus could not finish his sentence before Harry kissed him. Remus thought blindly that Harry did not kiss like his old boyfriends, back when he was hiding in the Muggle world. Harry was warm and wet and tasted like honey and cloves. Remus knew he should not desire his best friends' son, but Harry was warm and willing and he could smell the strength of the emotions Harry felt. Even if this relationship had begun as coercion or seduction - Remus did doubt his young lover's protests - it was far more than that now. He found that he really could not resist Harry and, more surprisingly, that he did not want to deny Harry this.

The next morning, Harry insisted on walking Remus down to the sofa in the drawing room and bringing him breakfast in there. Remus protested that he merely had amnesia, that he was not an invalid. But Harry pointed out that he had nearly killed himself on the stairs yesterday. Remus was beginning to realize why Minerva and Severus had not taken Harry's fears seriously.

While Harry was trying to feed Remus some fried tomatoes and Remus was explaining that he could feed himself, Severus stepped out of the fireplace. In one hand he held a rather disgusting-looking vial of potions and in the other he held a scroll. His normally sallow face was an interesting shade of puce.

Remus struggled to pull himself into a sitting position, but Harry pinned him down.

"Is there any news?"

Severus scowled at him. "Mr. Weasley has finally done some good in Potions, shocked though I am. He used his family ties at the shambles we call a Ministry and found the recipe for the potion Lupin was given yesterday."

"What was it? What's wrong with it?"

Remus was embarrassed to realize that Harry was clutching his head in his hands.

"It is supposed to be a cure for lycanthropy," Severus spat. "And it would be - after all some of the best Potions Masters in the world developed it."

"But?"

"The fool idiot who brewed it added to much fennel too early and too little dragon blood during its second boiling and stirred the belladonna counter- clockwise rather than clockwise."

Harry did not bother to wonder how Severus knew this. "What does that mean?"

"It means that your pet werewolf is no longer a werewolf, but he does not remember anything from the past four years."

Harry looked close to tears, but Remus had to ask, "Is there anything we can do about this?"

Severus handed Remus the foul-looking and foul-smelling potion. "Drink this. It is a modified Remembrance Drought. Weasley and I worked on it through the night. You should remember everything soon enough."

Severus departed and Remus drank the potion. He frowned at the taste; sometimes he swore that the man purposefully made his concoctions unpalatable. It seemed that some things never change.

Roughly an hour later his memories caught up with him. So he decided to surprise Harry by jumping him in the hallway. And Harry was quite pleased.