“It’s all his fault. I’ll get my revenge!”
Obsessed by that thought, Fenrir Greyback watched the man’s house from the shadows of the forest.
A small child was playing in the back yard and a woman was sitting on a lawn chair, sewing. Every so often the boy would find something interesting and run to show his mother, who smiled and tousled his light brown hair.
It was a quiet afternoon, the perfect picture of happiness.
They had no way of knowing that a werewolf was hiding close by, watching them as a ravenous beast observing its prey…..
The full moon approached, as always, punctual and predictable. The werewolf crouched beneath the boy’s bedroom window and waited for that precise moment. When the moon appeared from behind the hill, showing its perfectly round, silver disc, Fenrir’s body changed into that of a monster. Howling once, he leapt through the boy’s window, scattering shards of glass everywhere. The infant boy had been awakened by the frightful noise and was sitting up in his bed, eyes wide with terror fixed upon the nightmarish appearance of Fenrir. The werewolf stretched out a claw towards the boy, saliva dripping from its fangs.
Calling his child’s name, a man rushed into the room. He stopped, astonished, at the gigantic shadow that loomed there.
The werewolf howled once more and, before the wizard could pull out his wand, it snatched up the boy and escaped from the window.
Curses chased after the creature from the window, but they were all too easy for the werewolf, alerted by its wild animal instincts, to avoid. It ran through the woods, stopping only when it reached a meadow where the full moon shone brightly on the grass. It peered into the face of the boy, who had been too frightened to even cry out. His wide eyes reflected the light of the moon and his still babyish face had been drained of all color.
With no compunction, Fenrir bit the child’s shoulder. For the first time the boy cried out in pain, but his scream only served to inflame the wild beast’s blood.
The werewolf clawed at the boy’s pajamas, ripping them apart with its long nails to expose his soft, white skin. The blood flowing from the deep punctures of the bite wound looked almost black in the moonlight.
As the werewolf was much larger than a regular man, its male organ was also enormous, and it was now pointed straight up at the moon in excitement. Licking the boy’s forehead, the werewolf rubbed its large organ against the child’s naked body. The infant had no idea what it meant, of course, but continued to cry from fear at this unknown terror that had him in its grip.
Mercilessly, the werewolf ignored the boy’s tears and lifted his body up in both hands, only to lower him onto its organ, which had already begun to secrete fluid. The boy’s rectum was in no way big enough to admit such a large object, but the werewolf forced him onto it by brute force. His skin ripped and his blood flowed freely. Feeling the boy’s warmth wrap around it, Fenrir was driven into a frenzy, lifting his body and cruelly pushing him down again and again. The quiet glen echoed with the child’s screams. The beast continued to lift the boy, who was shaking uncontrollably from pain and fear, thrusting upward with its hips as it brought him down, forcing itself ever deeper into the tiny body, pushing aside his internal organs and claiming the largest area as its own. Even so, its male member was not even halfway in.
Finally, blessedly, the boy lost consciousness.
Fenrir used the child’s small body like a toy, moving it up and down to rub its engorged male member. The violated body was nothing more than a receptacle for it. Blood flowed profusely from where it had forced its way in and spattered the ground every time the werewolf moved. Repeatedly pulling out and pushing in, Fenrir’s movements gradually grew faster and its breath became ragged. When its thrusting could not possibly become any faster, suddenly the werewolf pushed hard into the child, stopping all movement except for an involuntary shivering. From between its dripping fangs, another great cry tore the air.
It was a cry of ecstasy and triumph.
White-hot fluid spurted into the boy’s rectum. Fenrir pushed into the boy with all his might, forgetting that it had ever been human, heedless even of the fact that it was now a monster in every sense of the word, drunk with the sensations that overwhelmed its honed, bestial senses.
Having experienced the height of pleasure to its fullest, the werewolf finally removed the child’s body from its organ and cast him aside on the ground. Then it, too, lay on the grass, looking up at the full moon with a deep sense of satisfaction.
After a while, it looked over at the boy’s body and noticed that from between the white buttocks, both reddish-black blood and silvery werewolf seed were trickling down. Craving blood, Fenrir placed its snout over the crease in the boy’s buttocks as if to bite the soft flesh, then licked both fluids clean. The iron taste of the child’s blood made it lust once more.
Werewolves copulate as most canines do — from behind with its partner on all fours — when in wolf form. Fenrir wanted to do so with the boy, but not only was the child now unconscious, he was so small that even standing he was too low for the werewolf to reach. But as the beast looked around, it saw a large tree that had fallen in the forest. With its vaguely remaining human intellect, it picked up the child like a limp rag doll and took him to the trunk, laying him down onto it on his stomach. To its delight, the child’s gaping hole was now at the perfect height for it to press its organ in.
Crouched over the boy on all fours, Fenrir penetrated him again, enjoying the pleasurable sensations to its heart’s content. As its most sensitive organ was rubbed by the hot body, it thrilled at the feeling of domination that came from thrusting into the narrow tunnel of flesh with full force. The blood that slicked the entrance made delightful slurping noises as it moved. Then, as the werewolf panted to release some of the heat of excitement, its saliva dripped onto the child’s back. Looking down at that small, white form, it noticed the blood still oozing from the bite wound, so it bent lower to lick it. Inside the boy’s body, Fenrir’s male member became engorged once more to its greatest girth.
As silver seed erupted from its organ, the werewolf howled over and over. When it had squeezed every last drop into the boy’s limp body, it collapsed onto him, panting heavily.
“This was the best prey! Even if I couldn’t get all the way in, it was so narrow and tight!”
At long last the werewolf arose, pulling out its wilted organ from the boy’s torn rectum. The boy’s buttocks were once more soiled with blood and seed.
“I’ll only do children from now on!”
The werewolf left the boy, still unconscious, to return to its den.
Albus Dumbledore was awakened unexpectedly by a Floo Call from one of his former students. Although Reginald Lupin had long since graduated from Hogwarts, they had kept in close contact since he worked in the Ministry of Magic, in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, and he often asked his former Head of House and Transfiguration teacher for advice. Hearing the panic in the young man’s voice, Albus was immediately alert and alarmed.
“Professor! It’s got him! My boy… my little Remus!”
“What is it, Reg? Who’s gotten your son?!”
“That werewolf, Fenrir Greyback!”
Albus froze, trying his best to keep his expression unreadable. He had feared something like this would happen, ever since Reginald’s superior, Newton Scamander, had created the Werewolf Register; however, it was only recently that Reginald had been promoted to a position of enforcing that law in the Werewolf Capture Unit, due to Newt’s preoccupation with his new Ban on Experimental Breeding. Apparently, Reginald had been too successful in his crackdown of unregistered werewolves, and this was retribution.
“Tell me exactly what happened,” Albus directed, hoping the calm in his voice would soothe the distraught father enough for him to give clear answers. As Reginald described what he had seen, Albus hastily pulled on his socks, boots, and traveling cloak.
“Have a few of your boy’s hairs ready for me, Reginald, perhaps from a hairbrush or his pillow. I’ll need them to find him. Don’t leave the house — I’ll be there as quickly as I can!”
Albus hurried out of the castle to the Apparating Point and arrived outside of the Lupin home in a flash. He noted the broken window and went inside without bothering to knock. Reginald was clutching his wife, trying in vain to comfort her while he himself was fighting off tears.
“It’s all right, Janet, we’ll find him and bring him home,” Albus said, carefully making no promises as to the boy’s condition, and directed the father immediately to the task at hand. “Reginald, where did you last see them?”
“It ran that way, into the forest. I should have followed, but…” he faltered. “It happened so suddenly, I think I was still in shock, and I couldn’t leave Jan without an explanation…”
“It’s just as well that you didn’t. You could never have kept pace with a werewolf, and if it had turned on you, you would have been no help to your son.”
“I—I know you’re right, but… I wish I could have done more!” the young father cried out in anguish. “I was scared, I’ll admit, but I just couldn’t think!”
“Reginald, you did the right thing. Not many would have had the presence of mind to call me so soon,” Albus pointed out. “Now, do you have the boy’s hairs?”
The father nodded and handed him a hairbrush. Albus pointed his wand at it and pronounced, “Ostendo Qua Sit!” When he released his wand, it floated in mid-air and turned, compass-like, to point towards the woods. “Reginald, have your wand ready!” Albus cautioned, then took off running with his wand leading the way.
Even though Albus kept a fast pace, which astounded the much younger man who followed him, they were constantly faced with obstacles in the forest that a werewolf could clear with a single bound. In fact, since the wand was pointing directly to the current location of the boy, rather than following the route he had been taken, they had much harder terrain to cross. Since Albus’ wand was occupied with pointing the way, it was up to Reginald to clear away the fallen trees, part the brambles, and Levicorpus them over escarpments — and it was not easy for him to concentrate, terrified as he was for his son’s safety. His hands were shaking from fear of what was happening to his boy as well as the prospect of coming upon a werewolf during the full moon.
When they finally reached a part of the woods where the growth was less dense, Albus glimpsed something white and sprinted to it with a new burst of speed. What he saw rent a cry of anguish from his throat. Horrified, he nonetheless grasped his wand and immediately began to chant healing spells over the boy’s mutilated body. He felt a flutter of life still left in the small chest, but it was growing faint. Reginald, coming up a moment later, fell to the ground as gut-wrenching sobs racked his frame.
“Remus… my boy! Oh, my son… What have I done? What have I done?!” he wept.
Albus could spare no time for the father as he had all he could do to keep the boy alive, so he concentrated his magic on healing the normal (as opposed to cursed) wounds in the boy’s posterior. He knew that the bite marks, being infected with the werewolf’s saliva, would not heal well. As he worked feverishly to knit together the tissues in the boy’s internal organs, he realised with dread that the werewolf had left its secretions in another form also, deep inside the ravaged child. He removed all traces of the monster’s presence with an Evanesco, then proceeded to heal the lacerated flesh from the inside out, but he wondered what accursed effects the werewolf’s attack would have on the boy long-term. He had no way to know what would come of having the monster’s despicable body fluids embedded in that part of the boy. All others who had been assaulted in this manner had died before help could arrive — assuming there were any willing to risk a confrontation with a werewolf at all.
Albus was not sure that he was doing the boy a favor by saving his life, but knowing his parents and their love for him, he could not do otherwise.
“It’s all my fault, Professor,” Reginald confessed, his head still in his hands. Sensing that the young man had something to get off of his chest, Albus remained silent and listening.
They had gotten Remus to St. Mungo’s for more specialized treatments and observation once Albus had stabilized his vitals. Having been given a strengthening potion as well as a sleeping draught, the boy was breathing normally now and looked to be sleeping naturally in the hospital bed. The staff had also needed to administer a calming draught on his mother and had kindly laid her in another bed next to her son. Reginald sat in an antique armchair between the two of them, drained of tears from having shed them all in the forest and exhausted from having to hold his wife back from touching her son for fear of re-opening his wounds. Janet had always been a mild-mannered girl while at Hogwarts, blending in well with her housemates in Hufflepuff, but her maternal instinct had driven her nearly mad upon being kept from her injured little boy. She, too, lay quietly sleeping now and would no doubt be placated upon waking by finally being allowed to hold her son.
Reginald drew in a ragged breath before he continued.
“You know I named our son ‘Remus’ after my grandfather Romulus, thinking the wolf reference would please him,” he said bitterly. “I never even stopped to consider what a werewolf would think of it. Someone… I think it was Humboldt… asked me the other day why I would burden my child with two names related to a Dark Creature. I was furious! I told him I would never even CONSIDER a werewolf to be related to real wolves and would hunt down every last one of them like the vile vermin they are. I didn’t even stop to consider… that there may have been… unfriendly ears, listening in on our conversation…”
Albus sighed and looked at the ceiling as Reginald wiped his eyes with an already soaked handkerchief.
“Reginald… it may not even have been that. Just the fact that you’re in charge of enforcing the Registry… and I know you’ve been working hard at it — not that you’ve been unfair on the ones who abide by the Code of Conduct, of course — but you have made it difficult for those like Greyback to live as they do.”
Reginald remained unmoving. “Yes, I know there’s no love lost between the worst werewolves and me, but for this to happen… so soon after I said that… I can’t believe it’s coincidence.”
Sadly, Albus had no reason to deny that, so he did not attempt to.
“Your son is safe for now,” he said, offering what comfort he could. “With your permission, I’d like to have Alastor come and get your statement before he goes to arrest Greyback.”
At last Reginald raised his head to face Albus, his face drawn in misery, and nodded. “Yes, he would be the man for this, even if he is retiring next month.”
As Albus turned to leave the room, the young man’s voice halted him. “I suppose… there’s really… no hope? You’re absolutely certain… he’s been… infected?”
“I’m sorry, Reginald,” Albus quietly replied.
Just as quietly, the father wept.
Albus stayed with the boy and his mother as the Auror, Alastor Moody, interviewed Reginald. Although the abduction had been swift, there was no mistaking the werewolf’s grey-haired back, which was enough evidence for an arrest. Even without it, Fenrir Greyback’s refusal to be registered and his repeated attacks on wizards and witches should have been sufficient to send him to Azkaban. The problem lay in finding him, first of all, but more importantly in subduing him once found — for in his werewolf state, the enraged Fenrir was a difficult quarry for even the best of Aurors. Albus knew that his friend Moody, at least, would not shrink from the challenge.
He heard movement from the bed by the window and went over to peer into Janet Lupin’s wan face. She blinked up at him, not remembering immediately where she was or why, then the full realisation came rushing back to her and she burst into tears.
“There, there, now,” Albus soothed her, petting her hand. “Your son is out of danger, and Reginald is speaking with Alastor to have the formal arrest for Greyback issued.”
“Th—Thank you, Professor,” she managed. “I know Remus wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for you!”
“I’m just glad we found him in time. He has lost much blood, but they’ve given him potions to build up his strength. Would you like to hold him? He may not wake for a while, but I’m sure he’ll feel better in your arms.”
Janet nodded and he helped her over to the other bed, where the boy was sleeping peacefully. She leaned down to kiss his forehead, then slipped her arms around him, shedding silent tears. Hearing her sniffle, Albus conjured a handkerchief and gave it to her.
“Thank you… for everything. I just can’t believe this has happened to our little Remus… He’s so sweet and gentle… he’d never hurt a fly and,” she laughed through her tears, “just the other day, he was walking in a funny tip-toe along the sidewalk, and when I asked him what he was doing, he said he was trying not to step on the ants.”
Albus smiled sadly. “Nobody deserves a fate like this. Especially not a child… I know this will be very difficult for him, and on you and Reginald as well, but should he show signs of magical ability, I promise you that he will be welcome to attend Hogwarts. We would, of course, need to set up some precautions, but I’m certain that we can work things out.”
“Oh, Professor! Thank you!” Janet cried, clutching her son tightly to her bosom. Suddenly, the boy stirred in her arms.
“Mummy?” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes.
“Mummy, where are we?” he asked, taking in his surroundings.
“Oh! Don’t worry, dear, we’re just at the hospital.”
“Darling, you… you had a bad dream, and we wanted to give you some medicine for it!”
Albus did not know if it were wise to try to deceive the child, but he did not interfere with his mother’s plan. The boy shuddered.
“I remember now,” Remus said slowly, grasping his mother’s robes. “There was a bad man… a monster, in my room…”
“He’s gone, darling, it was only a dream,” Janet assured him, gently rubbing his back and kissing his head. “You can forget all about it. You’re safe now!”
There was a thoughtful look on his face as he was pressed against his mother’s shoulder. Albus wondered what the boy could be thinking. Just then, he looked up and saw Albus standing there.
“’Fessor Dum’dore!” he called, a warm smile lighting up his face like sunshine. “Hi! Did you have a bad dream, too?” he asked.
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I did. And the worst part is, I left in such a hurry, I forgot to bring my lemon drops with me!”
Remus laughed, and it did both the adults good to hear him. The boy always looked forward to Albus’ visits, for he knew the bearded old man brought him sweet treats, which they would share while discussing the finer points of candies and chocolates.
“That’s too bad. I think the best medicine for bad dreams is lemon drops.” This serious pronouncement from the child brought tears to his mother’s eyes again. “Mummy, why are you crying?” he asked as she sobbed into his shoulder.
“Nothing, dear, I’m just… glad that you’re feeling better.”
Remus stretched his arms around his mother’s neck, as far as they could go, to embrace her with all of his being. “Don’t cry, Mummy, I’m all better! I’m all better, Mummy!”
The door opened and Reginald walked in with Moody behind him. When he saw his son sitting up and hugging Janet, he rushed over to clasp both of them in a crushing embrace. “Remus! My boy!”
“Hi, Daddy!” came the cheerful answer. “I’m all better now!”
“Of course you are,” his father managed, kissing his son, then his wife. “We’ll go home in a little bit, all right?”
Remus nodded, then looked pointedly at Moody. “Who’s he, Daddy?”
“Oh! Remus, this is Mr. Moody.”
“Hullo, Remus,” Moody said in his gruff voice, but his tone was surprisingly gentle.
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Moody,” Remus replied with a sweet smile.
“Son, Mr. Moody needs to ask you some questions… about what happened,” Reginald began, but Janet gasped in horror.
“Reggie, no! Don’t make him relive it, that’s… that’s too cruel!” she begged. Feeling her son’s intense eyes on them, she hurriedly added, “Besides, it was just a… a bad dream!”
Reginald raised his eyebrows but understood what his wife was trying to do. “Well, dear, Mr. Moody thinks Remus must have had a… very interesting bad dream… and would like to hear all about it. I’m sorry, dear, but if it can help…” His eyes were pleading with her. Every scrap of information could help lock away their son’s attacker, possibly forever. After a long moment, she nodded.
“Remus, darling,” she said, trying her best to sound coaxing. “Can you be brave and tell Mr. Moody what happened? In your bad dream?”
Remus gazed at her, then looked at Moody, then looked back at both his parents in thoughtful silence. Albus was surprised at the intelligence in the young boy’s eyes, but they were all shocked by what he finally said.
“All right. But I can only tell Mr. Moody. And ’Fessor Dum’dore.”
His mother attempted to protest, but his father promptly shushed her and told his son that they would wait outside. “Mummy will be right here if you need me,” Janet assured him as they left the room.
When he was left with only Albus and Moody, Remus lay back with a tired sigh on his pillow. Moody sat down in the armchair by the bed.
“So, Remus,” the Auror began, tentatively, “what do you remember about your dream?”
“It wasn’t a dream,” came the firm reply. “If it was a dream, I wouldn’t be here in the hospital. Mummy just wants me to forget, but I remember everything.”
Moody seemed to choke on thin air when the boy declared his knowledge of his mother’s ruse. If the situation were not so tragic, Albus might have laughed aloud to see the renowned Auror’s discomfiture. Instead, he was saddened even further by knowing that the child would carry the terrible memory of his attack with him.
“Well, then,” said Moody, clearing his throat unnecessarily. “Let’s cut to the chase. What exactly do you remember, Remus?”
The boy closed his eyes. “There was a loud noise, outside, like a dog getting his tail stepped on, but louder and longer. Then my window broke and this huge monster came into my room. He looked sort of like a man, but he had hair all over. He was scary. He tried to scratch me with his fingernails — they were long and pointy — but Daddy came in. The monster picked me up and jumped out of the window. I was scared because it was running so fast. It smelled bad, too. And it took me someplace… far away.”
He sighed, then inhaled deeply. “That’s where it bit me and took my jammies off…” He hesitated, struggling for words to describe the horror he had lived. “The monster… it… it put his wee-wee on my tummy… then… it put it… in my poo-poo hole.”
The men ached to hear of his violation. The childish terms only emphasized the atrocity of the crime.
“It hurt so bad… it… it hurt so much, I thought I was burning up…”
Tears began to flow down the boy’s pale cheeks. With a colossal effort, he stifled his sobs.
“I thought the monster would tear me into two pieces, like a paper doll, and I would die. He kept pushing it in, over and over,” he explained. “I cried, but he wouldn’t stop. It… it hurt so bad! I don’t want to hurt like that again — never-ever-EVER!”
The child finally broke down and allowed himself to cry. Albus rushed to his side, sitting beside him on the edge of the bed to hold him. Thankfully, Remus did not flinch from his touch — he knew Albus was a friend, one who understood important things like candy, and in any case his attacker had been so un-human that he did not yet suspect that men could inflict the same kind of pain.
Remus finished crying after a minute or two, his body wracked by hiccoughs as he leaned into the old wizard’s embrace. Moody tousled his hair kindly and assured him, “You did good, son. Real good. And you can be sure that we’ll catch that bas—” Albus raised an eyebrow. “That beastly monster as soon as we can and send him to Azkaban, so he’ll never hurt you, or anyone else, ever again. That’s a promise, boy!” Moody vowed.
Remus looked at Moody, one cheek still pressed against Albus’ chest, so that half of his face was obscured by the wizard’s beard. “Are you… Are you an Auror?”
“That’s right, lad,” Moody answered. “And I’ll catch that werewolf if it’s the last thing I do!”
Suddenly, Albus felt the boy stiffen in his arms. Remus’ eyes widened with horror and sought out Albus’ for answers. “That—That monster… was a werewolf?!” he gasped.
Too late, Moody realised what he had said. The boy was watching Albus’ expression intently, and the professor knew that it would be no use lying to this bright child.
“Yes, Remus. I’m afraid it was.”
“Then… Then I’ll turn into a monster, too? Every full moon?” The boy’s lips quivered, anticipating the answer. Albus sighed.
“I’m sorry, Remus. By the time we found you… there was nothing we could do.”
Remus fell silent and buried his face in the white cloud of Albus’ beard again, stretching his arms around the old man as far as they could go in what was probably the strongest embrace he could manage.
Moody apologetically caught Albus’ eye, but Albus nodded to communicate that this news would have had to be told the boy, sooner rather than later, for he would transform at the next full moon. He needed to be prepared for it. They both grew worried, though, when Remus did not move or speak for a long time. Albus continued to hold the boy and was relieved when he drew in a deep breath and pulled away.
“’Fessor Dum’dore… I don’t want to hurt anybody,” Remus whispered, anguish evident in his liquid eyes. “I don’t want to turn into a monster and bite Mummy or Daddy… or you.”
“I know, Remus. I know you’re a kind boy and would never hurt a soul,” Albus reassured him. Remus nodded, then drew in another breath, as though bracing himself.
“Mr. Moody,” he said, turning to the Auror, “I—I want you to take me to Azkaban… before I hurt anybody.”
The men were shocked into silence for a moment. Then both of them began speaking at once.
“Remus, my boy, you haven’t done anything bad yet—”
“Don’t be silly, lad, we don’t send children to Azkaban—”
“—and we can make sure you won’t hurt anybody, I promise!”
“— not even werewolves, unless they’ve actually done something…”
“We can magically confine you, Remus, lock you up in a room so you can’t get out to hurt anyone,” Albus explained, causing the boy to look at him thoughtfully.
“So I won’t ever hurt Mummy or Daddy?”
“Never!” Albus promised.
Remus considered this a moment. “All right. If you’re sure…”
“I’m sure. Cross my heart,” Albus said with the proper gesture.
The boy seemed relieved. He lay back on his pillow. “Good. I don’t really want to go to Azkaban.”
“I know, Remus. You won’t have to.”
Remus sniffed and wiped his damp cheeks with the sleeves of his hospital gown. Then thinking of something else, he looked up timidly at Albus.
“’Fessor Dum’dore, you won’t tell Mummy, will you? That I cried? I promised I’d be brave…”
Albus found himself at a loss for words. He had rarely been so caught off guard by a child this young before. Moody stood up and answered in his stead.
“Remus, you’ve been braver than most grown men would be in your situation. You’ve lived through the worst kind of nightmare imaginable and were brave enough to tell us about it. Not only that, but you were willing to give yourself up to protect others. That’s real courage, son — don’t you ever forget it!”
Remus managed a weak smile. “If you say so.”
Albus reached out to smooth the boy’s hair back, then leaned over to kiss his forehead.
“He’s right, Remus. You’ve been very brave, and your parents will be proud of you. But there is one thing I can do that may make things a little easier for you,” Albus offered. “I can erase your memories of what happened tonight. You won’t be able to remember anything about the attack.”
“That’s nice,” Remus replied with a sigh. Then he frowned. “But ’Fessor, I have to be locked up every full moon now, right?”
“Yes, that is true.”
“If I didn’t know why, I’d be scared to be locked up. And… I don’t know… it would be… weird, to forget something like that…” The boy’s soft brown eyes seemed to turn inward, remembering. “I don’t think I want to forget. It’s awful, but… I don’t want to lose… a piece of my mind.”
Albus gazed into the boy’s face, seeing a wisdom etched there far beyond his years. “You’re right, Remus. I’m sorry I thought you would want to forget. You’re far stronger than that.”
The boy stared at him in mild surprise but accepted the praise for what it was — the truth. He was confident that Albus would always be honest with him.
“If there’s anything that you need, though, Remus,” the old wizard added, sincerely, “just ask. I shall do everything in my power to assist you.”
Remus thought about this a moment, then ventured, “There is… one thing, if it’s not too much trouble…”
“What is it?”
“Next time you come,” Remus said, in all seriousness, “please don’t forget the lemon drops!”