As always, HP isn't mine.

Albus was worried about Remus.

More specifically, he was worried about how Remus' recent behavior was affecting Harry. That's not to say Albus didn't care about Remus himself- he did- but Harry had, over the last few years, slowly crept his way into the Headmaster's withered old heart, and would now always come first with the elderly man.

Which was why Albus had called Remus to his office partway through Harry's sixth year. The werewolf was once more teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts, much to Fudge's lasting and oft-expressed displeasure.

Remus entered the room slowly, looking worn and tired and a whisper away from shattering. Albus waited until the thin man sat before wordlessly conjuring up a bit of tea. Remus accepted the cup and saucer with a strained smile of thanks, and sipped at the liquid as if reacquainting himself with a sorely missed lover.

"Chocolate Frog?" Albus blandly broke the silence, knowing Remus had a particular weakness for chocolate. To his surprise, the Defense Professor refused with a minute shake of his head.

He waited until the tea was mostly gone and the silence had become comforting, rather than awkward. And then- "How are you holding up, Remus?"

"As well as can be expected," the werewolf said quietly, setting his cup and saucer gently on the corner of Albus' desk.

The Headmaster hummed noncommittally in response.

"Why am I here, Headmaster?" Remus asked, after a few moments filled with nothing but the rustling of the portraits in their frames.

"I have asked you here," Albus said, "because I am concerned about your behavior. Or rather, your behavior around Harry."

Something flashed in Remus' eyes, too quickly gone for Albus to recognize.

"My behavior?" Remus asked with obviously contrived confusion.

"Yes," Albus agreed with a tired smile. "I may be old, but I am far from blind, Remus. I can see how you refuse to even look at the child; you ignore him for the most part, and when you must face him, you are cold and detached."

Remus didn't meet his eyes; instead, he stared solemnly down at the cuffs of his sleeves.

Seeing that he would get no reply, Albus ventured on. "You must understand, Remus, that Sirius' death is in no way Harry's fault."

Startled, Remus straightened in his seat, his brow furrowed. "Of course it isn't," he agreed, sounding surprised that Albus had even brought the subject up.

For once, Albus didn't know what to make of a situation. "Then why do you continue to give him, as young Miss Granger put it, the silent treatment?" he demanded, his protective instincts coming to the fore. "You are hurting him terribly, Remus."

Remus closed his eyes and sat back in his seat, something very like despair etched on his gaunt features. The silence stretched until it shattered.

"I was never attracted to James or Lily, you know."

Albus had experienced over a century and a half of life, and his wit was as sharp as ever. It didn't take him more than the barest of moments to grasp Remus' meaning.

"How long?" he asked, wishing rather abruptly for a lemon drop. Anything to take his mind off of Remus' confession.

And yet, deep down, he found that he wasn't particularly surprised. Remus had always liked to be liked, and Harry- so much his father's son, so much his mother's, and even more himself- had always been unreservedly fond of the werewolf.

"Longer than I care to admit. It was easier to hide when Sirius...before Sirius fell." Remus sounded old, old and as worn as his patched and frayed robes. Sirius had left him quite a bit of money, but Remus had yet to take advantage of his dead friend's fortune.

"I see," Albus said, very quietly.

Remus' eyes opened, and the sheer pain in them struck Albus like a blow to the gut. "Do you?" the Professor said sharply. "All my life, Albus, I've been told I'm nothing more than a beast, a monster. All my life, I denied it- and it turns out everyone else was right all along."

"You are no monster, Remus," Albus said, willing the younger man to believe him. "You cannot control what you feel, no one can, but you can control how you act, what choices you make. You have done nothing, Remus, nothing, to deserve the label of 'monster'."

The werewolf merely looked at him bleakly. "I love him. I'm in love with a boy- a sixteen year old boy. And my control...my control is wearing thin around him. I dream-" He cut himself off abruptly, took a deep breath, then started again. "All I can give him is silence, Albus. If I do more...I don't know where or when I'll stop. This is safe, even if it hurts."

"Sometimes risks are necessary."

"Damn it, Albus! This is James' son- Sirius' godson! Do you know what they'd do to me if they were here? What Lily would do?"

"But they aren't here," Albus said gently but sternly. "And if they were, I imagine they'd say what I am about to say: do not hurt him more than you already have."

Remus flinched.

"I-"

"Regardless of how you feel," Albus continued on inexorably, "you cannot keep on treating Harry as you have been. He deserves far better."

"Better than a monster slavering over him," Remus said bitterly, his shoulders hunching.

"Self-pity does not become you."

Remus jerked in his seat as if he'd been slapped, but then he relaxed very slightly as his eyes hardened, as his face drained of expression, his shoulders straightening. Picking himself up, putting himself back together- just as he always did, because there was no one else to do it for him. "Is that all, sir?" His soft voice was unusually hoarse.

Suddenly feeling every second his age, Albus sighed and nodded wearily. "That is all."

Remus stood, then paused and opened his mouth to say something. Albus waited, but Remus, rather than speak, closed his mouth and shook his head.

The office was very quiet after Remus left, the portraits of Headmasters past for once left with nothing to say. And Albus himself drew the silence about him like a blanket, wishing with all his battered heart that he would never have to speak again.