Disclaimer: I swear I'm not JK and HP and other characters don't belong to me so please don't sue!

Author's Notes: I know, I know. I took my time, didn't I? And I am sorry, and if you're even the tiniest bit interested as to why I did take my sweet time, I've posted up answers in my bio space thingy…Anyways, I'm really sorry and I hope the next chappie will come up sooner than this one did.

oOoOoOoOo

"Can I help you, sir?" the voice pierced Pettigrew's train of thought as he prowled the many shelves lining the shop, filled with potion ingredients of all kinds.

Pettigrew grabbed a jar from the shelf he was standing in front of and put it up to his eyes, pretending to be interested.

"Ah, yes," he said, his voice deepening instinctively. "Do you have Horn of Bicorn?"

The witch who had kindly offered her assistance beamed at Pettigrew. "Why, yes we do," she said, in a high and joyful voice. "We got them in stock just yesterday. If you'll kindly wait here…"

She hurried off and Pettigrew replaced the jar he was holding, sighing. He was finally back on track. He had all the ingredients that he needed now, minus, of course the Fluxweed. The final product was so close, Pettigrew could smell it.

"Here it is, sir," the smiling lady had returned, carrying a jar and through the glass Pettigrew recognised the Horn of Bicorn sitting there. "Now, would that be all?"

"Actually," Pettigrew turned his face away from the lady to stare quite fixatedly on a glass vile on a stand. "I suppose you don't sell Fluxweed, do you?"

The lady's smile evaporated. "Sounds like you're brewing a Polyjuice Potion," she said. "Wouldn't be in too much trouble, are you?"

Pettigrew laughed. "Oh, no," he said. "Not Polyjuice Potion. My dear wife has strange cooking habits, you might say."

The lady didn't look very convinced, but nevertheless, her smile returned. "You need to pick that on a full moon, love," she said sweetly. "Some shops might sell them, but they only sell right after a full moon."

Pettigrew sighed. "That's too bad," he said.

"Your wife's dinner will have to wait then," the lady said carefully. "Now would you please follow me to the counter so we can check those out?"

She turned her back on Pettigrew and headed towards the counter. Pettigrew hesitated, but only for a second, before he followed her. His head down as he reached the front while she stood at the back.

"That will be three galleons and five sickles, please," she said quite business-like.

Pettigrew made a big deal of patting his pockets and shuffling around for his wallet. "Oh, no," he said. "I must have left my money at home. Do you mind if I pay you another day?"

The lady frowned. "I'm sorry, but we just don't give our stock away," she said. She tried a feeble attempt to grab at the jar, but Pettigrew had a strong grip.

"I wish you'd reconsider," he said, his head bowed but his voice strong and confident.

"I'm sorry, sir, but I run a business here," the lady said defiantly.

Pettigrew reached down to his pocket, where he knew Smith's wand was sitting.

"Obliviate!" he shouted as he pointed his wand at the lady.

The kind faced lady stumbled backwards to the bare wall behind her. Her eyes glazed over for just a minute before they found their focus.

"Can I help you sir?" she asked kindly, finally spotting Pettigrew, who refused to meet her eyes.

"I have to say, Madame, these are outrageous prices," Pettigrew laughed, finding his ability to act quite astounding. "My pockets have never felt so empty!"

The lady looked confused as she stared at Pettigrew. She flushed red and then in a shaky voice she said, "I'm sorry, sir, but I am running a business as it is."

"Of course," Pettigrew nodded, his grip on the jar becoming slippery. "Well, I'll be off then. Good day."

"Good day," the woman said, her voice croaky.

As Pettigrew reached the door, he smiled to himself as he heard her recite the alphabet in a small and scared sing-song voice.

oOoOoOo

Three days following the trial, Remus had come down with what he now realised was post-traumatic stress. He would get jumpy at the smallest mentions of enclosed spaces or at the quietest noises. It was something had had no control over for three days. But it seemed to him that he was over it. By the fourth day, his food no longer held a nauseating stench and he could walk out of his home without fearing imprisonment. Remus found it extremely odd, that something so risky to a person's day to day lifestyle could be overturned by simply doing nothing. Maybe it was Moony's strength that had given him what he needed. The full moon would come in two days time and already Remus could feel the strain of the wolf. Moony wanted freedom and this full moon was his passageway to that. But Remus was nervous. His full moons were never graceful and Moony was mad. He was mad at the authorities for locking him up in a place that haunted your nightmares.

"Remus?" the voice snapped through his train of thought and Remus brought his head up to face James.

"Sorry, James," Remus said. "You were saying?"

James sighed. "About Harry," he said. "I wanted to ask your opinion on it."

Remus furrowed his brow in confusion. In truth, he had no idea what James had been talking about for the last twenty minutes. He had simply gone over to James' house to pass the time. Unemployment was a sad business for Remus.

"My opinion?" Remus queried.

"On Harry," James persisted, looking at Remus strangely. "Are you alright? You don't look too good."

"Yeah," Remus mumbled. "Do you mind if I use your toilet?"

"Go ahead," James said, turning his back on Remus and walking out of the room. "I'll be in the den."

Remus stood up from his seat and made his way to the nearest toilet. Admittedly so, Remus was feeling a bit off. But he expected this. It was a rough few days before the full moon. He remembered every single one as though they had all played out within hours within each other and none of them were very flattering.

Reaching the toilet door, he yanked it open and almost ran in. He sat in front of the open bowl and breathed heavily, tasting the first signs of acid in his mouth. He glanced down into the toilet bowl, watching the water swirl and somehow, this just made him more nauseous. He felt the acid touch his teeth and he opened his mouth. The sound of retching filled the small space and soon the once clear swirling water was now a haven for sick.

Remus stopped almost as quickly as he had started and sat, trying to gain his breath and composure. Breathing deeply, he wiped his mouth and stood up to flush the toilet. Ruffling his hair, in a very un-Remus like way, he opened the door and strode out. Within minutes he was standing in front of James.

"You were saying something about Harry?"

oOoOoOo

Sirius glanced up at Aglaia from his desk, watching the way she muttered to herself as she wrote on the paper in front of her. He found himself examining her intently as she leant forward to retrieve a quill that had caught between stacks of papers on the other side of her desk.

"Did you need something, Sirius?" Aglaia asked, noticing the way he continued to stare intently at her. She positioned herself back down, the retrieved quill held firmly in her grasp.

Sirius' eyes snapped downwards at an alarming rate. He shifted slightly in his seat, shuffling papers absentmindedly, only too aware that his face had grown warm.

"Uh, just wondering if you've seen my letter?" he asked, avoiding all possible eye contact as he continued shuffling papers on his desk with no real intention of finding the letter.

"You mean that one?" Aglaia pointed to a sealed parchment lying right by Sirius' elbow. She raised an eyebrow at him, scepticism plastered on her face.

"Right," Sirius glanced at it and picked it up. Still avoiding eye contact, he made to leave the room.

"I told you I was sorry," Aglaia's voice sounded sincere. It made Sirius stop by the door and turn to finally look at her.

"I know," he said, his voice sounded confident, but Sirius was shaking inside. Like a school boy, all he could think was 'She's talking to me, she's talking to me.'

"And I meant it," Aglaia put down the quill and set Sirius with a defining stare.

"I know," Sirius repeated, his voice now sounded erratic to his own ears, but whether Aglaia noticed, Sirius couldn't tell.

Aglaia huffed impatiently, her nostrils flaring slightly and her eyes glaring. "Then why do you insist on ignoring me?"

Sirius looked slightly offended. "I don't ignore you," he objected. "I asked you if you've seen my letter, didn't I?"

Aglaia averted her eyes. "So you're not ignoring me," she reasoned, but Sirius could still see that she was bothered. "You blame me," she said, a hint of defiance in her tone as though she did not need Sirius' agreement.

"I don't blame you," Sirius said. "You're the one that saved Remus right?"

Aglaia stared blankly at the opposite wall and Sirius became increasingly confused.

"Wait, we are talking about Remus, right?" he asked slowly.

Much to Sirius' surprise, Aglaia giggled. "Yeah," she said. "Go and post your letter."

Sirius blinked, but he suddenly found himself much too eager to leave the room, and took off. Opening the door, he stalked out, his mind still wandering back to the discussion they had just had.

"What was that all about?" he muttered to himself as he took off to the Ministry's owlery.

oOoOoOo

Over the past few decades in London, there have been reporting's of strange comings and goings of owls. Very few people ever had any idea where they had come from, but those who knew swore the owls had come from below. As if they had flown up through hard concrete. Anyone who made such ridiculous claims was silenced quite simply with a title such as 'mentally unstable' put to their name. Muggles were such a foolish and ignorant bunch. Wizards and witches, however, knew the more wonderful truth to the 'phenomenon'. The Ministry was becoming increasingly worried that their owls were causing a fuss within London. They often wondered whether owls should be sidelined for a while, maybe another form of sending letters would be more appropriate. But for now, as they pondered this, the Ministry had to make-do with owls.

Pettigrew had sat on a hard brick wall all day, watching as an occasional person would pass the alley in which he sat. To many he would seem like a dubious fellow, a soft, uncertain look plastered his face as though he was lost, but that soft, uncertain look only came when he drifted off into his thoughts, when he revelled in his aspirations of becoming a second to his master…his Lord. But he didn't sit on a hard brick wall all day to daydream, he came for the 'phenomenon' that was.

All day Pettigrew had stunned owls as they passed him by, picking them gently off the ground so their feathers remained unruffled and seized the parchment clutched within their talons. He read through each one carefully, no matter whom it was from or to whom it was being sent off to. He read the last word of each sentence, the first word of each sentence and the second word of each sentence, trying to find clues within. But nothing. He knew what he was really looking for and no matter how many letters he opened, the send and return names, just didn't do it for him. Where was To Remus? Where was From Sirius? He needed to find any information on meetings, on their personal lives. He needed information. And in if in answer to his unspoken plea, a barn owl flew out from the hard concrete. Pettigrew didn't waste a minute.

Stunning the owl, he caught it as it fell; it had barely begun to gain altitude. Stroking it gently on the head, careful not to tousle any feathers, he jumped off the brick wall, feeling adrenaline pump in his veins. Almost tearing the parchment from the owl's talons, Pettigrew opened the letter and read with growing excitement, its contents.

Horris,

Mate, where the bloody hell are you?

Sirius

Pettigrew read the one line several times before he came to the conclusion that nothing even remotely useful was hidden. Pettigrew, in his growing frustration, had a sudden urge to scrunch up the parchment, throw it down on the ground and jump on it in a fit of rage. But he squashed his desire, knowing better, sealed the parchment once more with Horris Smith's wand as though it had never even been touched. He attached the parchment back to the comatose owl and stood back, pointing the wand at the owl. With a twitch of the wand, the owl had jerked awake and without a blink of its great eyes, he took flight.

As Pettigrew stared after it, he couldn't help but wonder idly where the owl would go.

oOoOoOo

James tapped his fingers on the kitchen table, watching the second's hand tick by on the clock hanging from the opposite wall. He drew a sigh and continued to tap his fingers. It was Harry's first day back at school from the holidays and although it was not the first day of school ever, James couldn't help but feel a twinge of worry. Damn his mothering instincts.

It was nearing three o'clock and Mrs. Figg had left twenty minutes ago to pick up the budding child. James took his eyes off the clock for a while, deciding it probably wasn't a healthy choice as his eyes had started to lose focus. Finding himself suddenly restless, he jumped from his seat and strode the length of the kitchen and back again, now wishing he hadn't hurried Remus to leave, pondering now that the werewolf might have been a good distraction. James had to admit to himself that his old friend did look a bit worse for wear, but that was to be expected considering recent circumstances.

James had to hold in his excitement as he heard the front door swing open and voices filled the tranquil house. There was a loud slamming noise and James surmised that his son and his housekeeper were now making their way towards the lounge. James waited a minute, tapping his foot lightly on the cold tiles below, before hurrying off towards the lounge, finding an apoplectic Arabella, who was seated on the couch, running a hand through her hair and a harassed looking Harry, who stood in the middle, watching her contritely, with his school bag slung from one shoulder.

"Hey, how was your first day back?" James asked, finding his enthusiasm too hard to hide as he took a mere step to reach his son and pull him into a hug.

Harry could only pat his father's back half-heartedly, finally letting his arms swing to his side when it was apparent he wasn't in the mood.

"It was fine," he said in a hollow, monotonous tone.

James let go, his enthusiasm draining as he realised his son's apathetic mood was probably not going to amend any time soon.

"What happened?" James asked, concern etched in his tone.

"Nothing," Harry replied silently, sneaking a glance to Arabella who had stood up from her seat and now watched him with glowering eyes.

James also turned his stare on Arabella, highly affronted to see that she was glaring at his son in such a manner.

"What's…what's going on?" he asked cautiously.

"Nothing," Harry responded quickly, far too quickly.

James cocked a brow and turned to Arabella as she gave a small tutting noise. James gave her a questioning look, trying to appear intimidating. He applauded himself silently as Arabella gave a small sigh and nodded.

"Harry, let's tell your father what happened," she said in a brisk style, her eyes softening slightly as she noted Harry's horrified look.

Harry shook his head fervently, but stopped almost as quickly as he started when James turned his gaze upon him.

"A few boys at school were calling Harry names," Arabella said in hushed tones, as though she were speaking cuss words.

James couldn't explain it, but an anger, such as he had never felt before, built up within him and he turned on his son, bearing down on the boy as though he were to blame.

"What happened?" he demanded.

Harry gave a fleeting, pleading glance to Arabella before turning back to his father.

"It was nothing, honestly," he said softly, so much so, that James had to lean forwards to catch it.

"They were teasing him and pushing him," Arabella responded on his behalf, obviously taking his plead for help in the wrong way.

James could think up many ways of punishing these children who dare to hurt a Potter, but in the mean time, all he could think about was getting the whole story.

"What did they call you?" James asked, forcing his voice to remain still and calm, but inside his rage was building.

"Uh," Harry brought his gaze down to his shoes, noticing the patterns and stitching with great interest.

"Harry," the tone in James' voice was enough to break the wall around Harry's stature of confidence.

"Freak," he said, barely a whisper. "They call me freak."

James stopped, his anger receding and now a new emotion formed. Guilt. He didn't need Harry to explain to him what made the children call him freak. He thought he already had a pretty good idea.

"Harry, go play upstairs," he said in a deadpan voice.

Harry complied almost thoughtlessly, nearly racing out the lounge, his bag bounces animatedly on his back as he did.

"You need to tell him," Araballa hissed when they were sure the child was out of hearing range. "He needs to be able to control his magic."

"He is six years old," James replied, running a hand down his face and scrubbing awfully hard. "When you were six…Oh, wait, sorry I forgot." He smiled apologetically and continued. "When I was six I couldn't control my magic. He already has the idea that he's a freak, I don't want him to feed on it even more."

"When will you tell him?" Arabella demanded, sitting back down on the couch.

James sighed and sat beside Arabella, clapping a hand on her thigh in a friendly manner.

"Not yet."

oOoOoOo

Remus' lower back started to ache. It was no wonder as he had sat on the same park bench for little more than two hours. When he had stepped out of James' house, he had a sudden, unexplainable desire to simply sit in the park and stare up at the towers that shouldn't be there.

He knew that there were no towers perched on top of James' house, how could there be when he had stared up at the roof a sheer two hours prior, only to discover nothing. But there they were, three of them. They were mocking him, he surmised. There were no towers, they were figments of the imagination. Azkaban had turned Remus insane that was the only explanation. However, wasn't it true that he and Sirius had seen them before he was prosecuted?

It was all very confusing and Remus had to fight another wave of nausea as he glared resentfully up at the tower that was supposedly perched on James' house.

"This is not right," he concluded.

Seconds later he wondered if he was talking about the towers or why he was throwing up in the middle of a deserted park.

Authors Notes: As I was reading back on this I noticed something. Sirius' letter was 'where the bloody hell are you?' . That was very similar to the Australian ad that was banned in England and Canada for using the words 'bloody' and 'hell' and I was wondering that maybe I might have offended someone with the language used in my story. I have used 'mongrel, bloody, hell, damn and so on and so forth and I don't mean to offend anyone, but if I have, please tell me so I can tone down on the swearing.

I've been out of writing for some time and I'm probably going to get reviews that will criticize me on that, so I am very sorry once more and thankyou to all my reviewers!

Thankyou's : I would like to say thankyou to all my reviewers These are in the order from which you reviewed, from last to first. Centra-gal86(thankyou so much for reviewing both of my fics. You said lovely things!), Ginerva Molly Potter(I'm sorry!) Windstar, Blackqueen, Shadow, Shadows of the Dark, Oreo92, Crumz, Jenny on the block, Starry Fluff, fenderbender505, Void Arts, Ellen-D, Yami noHikari-Chan(ooh, I love your name), SailorHecate, hedwig136(I'm really sorry!), CodT, GMUXMenSoaps, Kay05, SeriousSiriusFan(chika! You make me laugh…your reviews are bril!) , athenakitty, dweem-angel