It was him. It had to be. There is no other explanation. How did he find me?
It has been six months since I've had any contact with the wizarding world. The Halloween after Ron left had felt so cold and lonely. I wrote to Remus, but much to my surprise he never wrote back.

It was then that I decided to go home.

I needed to feel safe, and considering that my parents knew my children only through the photographs I sent, it seemed logical to return to my childhood home in order to find the safety and love I so desperately needed. My parents were overjoyed with my return. Mother loved brushing my daughter's fiery red locks while trying to name every person in our family history who had the slightest shade of red as if claiming that it came from our side of the family. I didn't have the heart to show her the photo of the Weasley clan.

Father kept busy showing Luke how to make metal soldiers out of dental grade silver. This left me on pins and needles for a moment and then I thought rationally and thanked the heavens that Lycanthropy is genetically selective. I made myself focus on other things and let my guard down. It had been a while since I was able to do that. Its hard to let old habits die. I feel like I have played mother to everyone I have ever met. My poor children will probably grow up thinking that they have a psychotic mother. They would probably be right.

Aside from my paranoia, everything felt so perfect. It was nice to be able to disappear into the world I knew as a child. I had always tried to live in both worlds much to the dismay of my friends, except for Harry. Harry understood that I needed to be able to drive a muggle car, use the muggle post, and cook on a muggle stove. Perhaps it was the time he spent with his Aunt and Uncle, being raised as a muggle, that gave him this understanding even though he chose to live his life as a wizard and nothing else as soon as he could. I needed that "back and forth" feeling in order to feel that it wasn't all a dream. All the hatred that was spurred on by the rise of the death eaters made me want to show my pride in my muggle upbringing. It wasn't until I left Hogwarts that I made the complete switch and found my home in the wizarding world. At the time it just felt like that world needed me more. Looking back on everything I am not sure I would make the same decisions. I know my sudden departure was hard for my parents to understand. Maybe that is why I feel better here. I'm able to release my guilt.

The days turned into weeks and all seemed normal. The children quickly adjusted and were quite taken with "muggle magic". Julie's eyes grew so large the first time she saw my mother cook with a microwave I thought her head would pop. It was wonderful to share those new experiences with my children. I tried to settle in for a normal muggle life.

I was beginning to lose the feeling of hurt and sadness when I thought of Ron. Almost as if he was fading into some distant memory. I kept contact with his family, but only once a month would I write. I wanted a complete break from that world but I couldn't do that to them. They were just as confused about Ron's decision as I was. I couldn't bear to take their grandchildren away and break their hearts again. It was funny how even when I received a letter from Ginny or her mother, Ron still seemed to be a thing of the past. Wounds can heal I suppose. Parts of me still felt as if they were missing but I just keep telling myself that that will heal too.

Things were looking up or at least I thought they seemed to be. I had secured a job in the local book store down the road and it seemed that I would have enough money to move into a small three bedroom flat by the end of the month. I was satisfied with my life in the muggle world. It almost felt less complicated.

Well it did for awhile anyway.

A few days ago Luke woke in the middle of the night and crawled into bed with me. As a mother's instinct I sat up, felt his head for fever, and let out a sigh of relief when I found none. I covered up the half asleep form of my six year old son and gently stroked his hair. He rolled over carelessly taking most of my comforter with him in the process. I couldn't help but smile as I played tug of war with a sleeping child in order to rescue my warmth. His eyes fluttered open from my attempts.

"Did you have a nightmare?" I asked him as he sat up and readjusted himself on my bed . I managed to grab my fair share of the covers in the process.

"No" He replied groggily, "There was a man in my room." A skeptical look crossed my face.

"How can there be anyone in you room? Everyone is asleep, the doors are all locked, and you are on the second floor of the house."

"He was sitting in the corner," he said closing his eyes with a yawn. "Just watching me." A sudden thought sent a cold chill through me.

"Was it Daddy, Luke?" I asked getting out of bed quickly to check on Julie and Joe.

"No," he answered falling slowly back into sleep, "This man didn't have orange hair."

"What color was his hair Luke? Luke?"

It was too late. His eyes were closed and his chest was slowly rising a soft rhythm leaving me with a hundred unanswered questions. I threw my robe on and went down the hall to the other bedrooms. I checked on the two smaller children and reassured myself that they were both sleeping soundly. As I made my way to the bedroom that my eldest son used, part of me felt like running to get my father but the logical side of my mind won the argument. I am a grown woman who had seen evils untold. I could handle this.

When I reached the room the door was cracked just enough to give me a clear view. It was plain to see that the room was empty. I opened the door wide enough to allow me to step in. I looked around and much to my relief I saw nothing. I checked the window to make sure that all was secure. With a small sigh I started back to my room to snuggle with my overly imaginative son. I gave one last look around the room before leaving, feeling confident that all was well. It was in that last look that I realized I had missed something the first time. There, in the corner by the rocking chair, was a small piece of parchment. I went over and picked it up.

The handwriting on the letter was mine.

It was my letter that I had sent to Remus.
to be cont.