Feral green eyes glittered madly in the candle-light, “Men are but fairy webs and spider wings,” Harry chortled, “So delicate, so easy to tear apart.” Spidery hands flexed. The dark haired man flashed a toothsome grin at the werewolf sitting down across the tiger oak desk before seeming to float away on his own smile.

Remus shifted uncomfortably, the heavy bass from the club beyond the oak doors echoing through the darkened room. He remained silent, wondering why he still came to see his once-honorary godson.

Another wicked laugh echoed down to him, “Only you can answer that, Remus.”

Golden eyes widened, “What?”

“That's a terribly vague question, Moony. Do try to be more specific.” Another snicker rained down on his ears, closer this time. Harry lounged in his chair, flicked a wrist; once, twice. He extended a hand to grasp the hookah hose that appeared. Remus endured a long silence as Harry drew in a deep, slow breath from the mouth piece. A smoke-wreathed laugh. “Ask what you will. It certainly keeps me focused, which is to your benefit,” he half-sang.

“Why? Why did you abandon us?” It was a question he had examined every night he couldn't sleep, shot bluntly from his lips.

A muffled chuckle rolled across the desk as Harry crossed his arms and rested his chin on them. The hookah was still between his lips, Remus noted. The other man extracted it and blew a stream of cool blue smoke in his face. It smelled like licorice.

“I didn't abandon the Wizarding world or the Order. I did kill Voldemort after all.”

“You took his place!”

“Peace, Moony.” Another wild smile, “I didn't do that either. I haven't banned muggleborns or vampires or werewolves from our world, now have I? Really, all I do anymore is run this club,” Harry waved a hand vaguely at the door behind Remus as he leaned over the hookah bowl, critically examining his coals. Looking satisfied, he leaned back in his chair. “I can't help that people are always willing to take my advice, Remus.” Lucid green eyes examined his expression, his posture, noting the tenseness of the body in front of him.  “It is good advice, after all.”

Remus paused. How do you phrase this, he wondered, without getting killed.

“Just say it, Remus,” Harry shrugged. “I very much doubt your question will be harmful to you.”

“Then why,” he asked, “do you control all of England?”

Harry looked surprised, but there was a hint of sardonic amusement in his eyes. “I certainly don't control it. Colin's the Minister, not me.”

“Colin Creevey is your lackey.”

“So he looks up to me,” Harry shrugged. It was a sharp, almost clumsy gesture.

“If you wanted him to, he'd vacate the position for you,” Remus pointed out.

Harry inspected his nails, “Perhaps,” he agreed. “But I'd rather he keep it.”

“So he takes the fall if you advice doesn't work?”

Another shrug and a puff of smoke, “It always works, Moony my dear. That's why he continues to come to me.”

“That doesn't explain—”

“Explain what? My madness?” A huff of laughter echoed at him through the smoke. Remus hadn't thought Harry was aware of his behavior. “Of course not. That's an entirely different story. Did you want to hear it?”

A shift. “If it would explain why you are...as you are.”

“It would,” a smile. Gentle, almost sweet. “You are aware that I had a shit childhood?”

“Yes,” the word was sad, a tinge of bitterness in it.

“Oh hush, Moony,” Harry admonished, “There wasn't anything you could have done at the time, given Ministry policy towards 'dark creatures,'” Harry rolled his eyes as he added air quotes. “I imagine you'd have been a fine parent for me, had you had the chance.” A bright smile, “But you didn't, and here we are!”

A drag on the hookah and he tapped his teeth with the mouth piece, click click click. “Where to begin? Ah. So crappy childhood. Living in cupboards, wearing ickle Duddy's cast offs, no food. Rejection, neglect, abuse. All of that. And then imagine having your hopes raised—finally a place you fit in! A place where there were people just like you! And then, discovering you're still different—because you're the bloody Boy Who Lived.”

A dry chuckle, “Famous for something you did with shit in your nappies.” He paused for another drag and let it out in a gust, “Hm. So, a poorly socialized child enters a world where he's the center of attention. And then the attention shifts from uncomfortable adoration to hate and loathing. Not the first time he's been loathed. But this time it's by an entire society, not just a neighborhood. And the  strange, uncomfortable shift happens over and over again, making the child progressively more frightened and distressed.

“The child also has to live up the almost impossible expectations of the new society—killing a man that even the most powerful wizard of the age could not. He actually manages it—goodness knows how—and the world is jubilant at his triumph for about ten seconds. And then it worries he's going to follow his victim's foot steps.” A huff of bitter laughter, “And just when he thought the bipolar shift of popular opinion was over, poor child. Then that society promptly goes back to the same destructive behavior that created the monster that terrorized it. The child's life's work thrown in his face.”

Jade met gold, “I didn't react well. I didn't have the back ground or the...mental set-up, I suppose, to deal with it.”

“You had us,” came the soft reply.

“And it is because I had you that I haven't left Diagon Alley a smoking ruin. Even if you all are reluctant to have anything to do with me—and who can blame you when I run a glorified sex club?—I know that there are indeed perfectly fine people out there. People who didn't mistrust me at one moment and worship me the next. And that ridiculous reasoning is why The Daily Prophet is still standing, even if Rita Skeeter,” a vicious grin, “is not.” Another zeppelin smile and a laugh floated down to him. “I think I lost focus. And this is probably a good time for you to leave. Good bye, Remus. I love you.”