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Chapter Text

Summer, Remus decided, was boring.

It had only been a few weeks, and he'd already told his parents every single story he could think of about Hogwarts. Sometimes, over supper, he'd repeat stories on accident, and then his mother would shake her head lovingly and join in halfway through, and Remus would be embarrassed. He began starting all his stories with "did I tell you about the time that I", but his parents would always interrupt before he could get into the story.

"Did I tell you about the time Bufo escaped? Madam Pomfrey had him in..."

"Her pocket. Yes, you told us."

"Did I tell you about the time I defeated a Boggart?"

"The time you turned it into a plate, or the time Professor Questus used it to distract you during duelling lessons?"

"Never mind. Did I tell you about the Marauder scavenger hunt?"

"Yes, you did."

"And the rock Sirius got Peter for his birthday?"

"Yes."

"And the personalized Marauder knocks we have so that we know which one of us is at the door?"

"Yes."

"And the time Professor McGonagall came into the Hospital Wing as a cat?"

"Yes."

"And the time I nearly failed the Transfiguration exam?"

"Yes."

"And that time Madam Pomfrey accidentally gave me the wrong potion and I sprouted antennae?"

"...No, actually, we haven't heard that one."

"Makes sense," said Remus dully. "It didn't happen. Madam Pomfrey's way too careful for that. I just wanted to see if you were paying attention."

Things got boring very quickly. In fact, Remus couldn't even remember what he did before Hogwarts—how had he entertained himself when it was just the three of them? How had he functioned without his friends running around and being lovably stupid? How had he had any fun without feasts and classes and magic?

Remus' father had a pet Boggart named Garrison (he lived in the cupboard near the kitchen), and Remus entertained himself with that for a while. He was getting rather good at his nonverbal Riddikulus, which Professor Questus had drilled into him during their duelling sessions. When he got bored of that, he read all of his second-year textbooks (he didn't have the book lists yet, but he could predict some of them). He finished all of his summer assignments in one week, and then he rewrote them all in the second week with neater handwriting. He wrote to his friends constantly. He worked more on his novel (a fake autobiography he'd started last year to help him keep track of his lies). He memorized poetry (reciting memorized poetry often helped him calm down before a transformation). He colored pictures. He tried to learn how to do a handstand.

Sometimes Remus' parents would talk about him while they thought he was asleep, but Remus tried to ignore them. Heightened senses could be a curse, especially since Remus' parents were worrywarts and Remus was tired of being pitied. Usually, Remus was a shameless eavesdropper, but even eavesdropping got boring after a while. It was just the same thing every time: Remus looks tired, Remus hasn't had much energy lately, did you see how little he ate at dinner? It was enough to make Remus' head spin.

It felt like forever until the next full moon, which was July twenty-sixth. Remus could never sleep very well before the full moon, so he pattered downstairs at about four-thirty am, wrapped in a blanket. His mother woke up shortly after and followed him, where they sat on the couch in silence as Remus tried not to sweat all over his blanket.

"Madam Pomfrey wrote," Remus' mum finally said, and her voice seemed to cut through Remus' eardrums like a sword.

"What did she say?"

"She wondered if you were doing well."

"Tell her I'm fine."

"I told her you seemed down."

"Down?" Remus gave his mum an incredulous look. "I'm fine. I am just as I've always been."

"Yes..." Remus' mum's forehead was crinkled, and Remus wasn't sure what she was insinuating. "It's exactly as it's always been, even though everything's changed, hm?"

"Nothing's changed," said Remus, growing panicked. "Nothing at all. What are you getting at?"

"Dad and I are worried, that's all."

"Yeah? That's nothing new," said Remus, and his mum hit him playfully.

"All I'm saying is... it must be hard, isn't it? When your friends can all do things together and you have to stay here? Now that you know what other people have, isn't it boring here?"

"Nope," Remus lied. "I have you and Dad and Garrison. A pet Boggart, Mum. That isn't dull at all! And I like sitting around and reading textbooks and memorizing poetry and... and things..." He wasn't being very convincing.

"From the stories you've told me, you and your friends had some sort of adventure almost every day. Isn't it...well, depressing? When you're here all alone?"

"Mum!" said Remus. "I am not depressed!"

"I know, I know..."

"And I'm not alone!"

"I'm sorry, love..."

"And I'm not feeling down at all. It's just quieter now, and there's less to talk about. And... oh no, Dad's awake." Remus could hear his father's bedsprings creaking, and he groaned a bit. His parents were probably going to team up against him. That was how it usually seemed to happen.

Remus' father came down the stairs, yawning hugely, and plopped into a chair. "Good morning," he said. "What are you two shouting about?"

Remus blanched, worried that he'd lost his temper. Werewolves tended to have pretty bad tempers, and Remus sometimes forgot to do his breathing exercise (in through his nose, out through his mouth), which was really the only thing that helped. "I wasn't shouting," he said, panicked. "Was I shouting?"

"Nope," said Remus' mum. "But I might have been."

Remus started breathing—in through his nose, out through his mouth.

His mother watched him fondly and stroked his hair. "I was just telling Remus that we're worried about him..."

Remus' dad snorted. "Yeah, because he likes to hear that so much."

"I'm not depressed," repeated Remus. "I'm not. I'm fine."

"Remus, we've lived with you for twelve years..."

"Eleven and a half," said Remus stubbornly. "I was at Hogwarts for half a year, and I've changed. I'm allowed to be quiet sometimes."

"I don't care how many years. We know you. And you seem a little sad sometimes, like you're missing Hogwarts—which is completely normal!—but maybe we need some help from Madam Pomfrey in this particular case..."

"What is she going to do?" said Remus. "Because you know full well that I don't take mind-altering potions. A Calming Draught is completely out of the question."

"I think you need someone to talk to," said Remus' mum. "Someone who already knows, and who isn't us..."

"I had people to talk to for ten months! I talked to Madam Pomfrey, and Professor Questus, and Professor Dumbledore..."

"And it helped, didn't it?"

Oh, Remus would never admit that it did—not in a million years—even though it definitely did. "Not always," he protested. "Look, I miss Hogwarts like I missed home when I was there. I'm not depressed. I'm just not as talkative because I've already told you all my stories."

"The thing is," said Remus' father very carefully, as if he was afraid that Remus would break if he spoke too quickly, "you might have to leave someday—you know, permanently. Maybe even someday soon. If someone finds out, then you can't stay at Hogwarts, Remus. And we're worried about you when you leave for good."

"I'll adapt," Remus said crossly. "Isn't that what animals do?"

There was a long silence.

A statement like was completely out-of-character for Remus. His family never talked about werewolves—whenever the conversation turned to lycanthropy and full moons, Remus' father would look guilty and Remus' mother would cry. It was often a carefully-avoided subject, and Remus never spoke of it in such a flippant, self-pitying way. Not around his parents. Maybe around Madam Pomfrey and Professor Questus, but not here.

Remus wanted to feel sorry—after all, his parents were probably very worried about him now—but he couldn't. He physically could not regret the statement. He was tired of people telling him how he was supposed to feel. Why couldn't he just tell them that he was fine, and let that be that? Why couldn't they just accept what he said as truth? Why couldn't he deal with things on his own?

When Remus' father spoke, his voice was low and dangerous. "Please tell me you didn't actually mean that."

Remus suddenly realized that he had done a very bad job of convincing his parents of his sound mental state.

He waggled his head. "Nope. Didn't mean it. I just wanted to get your attention. Are you listening now?"

Remus' father and mother both nodded slowly, obviously in a state of shock. "I am not depressed," said Remus. "Not at all. And you should probably stop telling me how I'm supposed to feel, because frankly, I've been through much worse than coming back home for summer vacation, and I'm going to be fine."

"Are you... are you ill?" said Remus' mum, pressing the back of her hand to Remus' forehead. "Oh, gosh, you are ill. You're burning up."

"Tonight's the full moon!" said Remus.

"Ah, right." She pulled her hand away. "You're not usually so... open..."

"I had to talk about it a lot at school," said Remus, shrugging. "I'm really sorry if it bothers you."

"It doesn't bother us," said Remus' father, although he was already looking guilty again. "But if I hear you referring to yourself again like that, then you are going to be in a lot of trouble."

Remus nodded. He hadn't actually been in trouble in a long time. He did regret the statement a little now... a little. "I'm sorry," he said truthfully. "But those things don't bother me."

"Of course they do," said his father. "It would bother anyone to be called such awful names, Remus."

"There you go again! Stop trying to tell me how I feel!"

Remus' father fell silent for a moment. "I'm sorry."

"I've heard it all before. I'm desensitized," Remus explained.

Now Remus' mum looked horrified. "They've been saying things like that to you at school?"

"No, Mum! Of course not! Just... in books, and newspapers... and sometimes, maybe, the other kids talk. They don't know, of course, but I overhear things anyway."

"Like what?" said Remus' father quietly.

"It's going to bother you," Remus warned, thinking of Sirius' painfully oblivious insistence that werewolves shouldn't be allowed to live.

"I've heard it all too," Remus' father said, and he looked terribly ashamed. "I work in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, Remus. I've heard it all, too."

"Then I don't think I need to repeat it."

"Of course you don't, dear," said his mum. "Can you stomach some tea before the nausea sets in?"

Remus shook his head mournfully and pulled his blanket over his head. He was cold now, and the warm blanket felt good on his face. "I'm going to go to sleep now."

"All right, love. We're going outside to eat."

Remus always kicked his parents out of the house during mealtimes on the day of the full moon. The smell of any kind of food made him incredibly nauseous. "You do that. Have fun. I'll be here."

And he was. He stayed there on the couch until his father tapped him on the shoulder, waking him up from a weird fever dream about Peter turning into an owl, and told him that it was time to go down to the cellar.

Remus prowled around the dark room, hating how the stone floor felt on his paws. At least the other house had a wooden floor. That was easier to run on. And the other house was so much larger, with more to do... but this place was so cramped and cold. Remus wanted to murder the man with the brown hair who had put him in here.

Well, anyone would do, actually.

He sniffed the air, and it smelled just as it always had on all those other nights before the other house. He smelled the man, whom he knew to be his father. But it didn't matter at all—family was just another word for human. It wasn't truly his own flesh and blood, was it, when they were separate species? He also smelled the Muggle, who was his mother. But he didn't care. He didn't care at all. Everything itched.

He gnashed his teeth together, hoping to relieve some of the tension. The itching. He'd do anything to get rid of the itching in his teeth.

He walked around and around and around. He listened, but he couldn't hear anything at all. At least the house—the other place—had been near enough to the village that he could hear the humans walking around and talking to each other. That was sometimes entertaining, but there was nothing to do here.

He could smell soup coming from upstairs, but he didn't care for that. He could hear the people upstairs walking, but they didn't come down to the cellar. There was no escape—there was nothing—nothing but these walls.

And the itching.

Remus had been here many times before, yet he'd never escaped. He knew he wouldn't this time, either. Remus wasn't allowed to go outdoors in this form. The worst part was, he was allowed to go out in the other form (even though it was much weaker), and he had clear memories of being outside—the wind on his face—wrestling with his friends—yes, he'd like to do that again. Only it wouldn't end with brushing off and laughing; it would end with someone's throat torn out. The other boy, most likely. Sirius. He seemed to be the strongest. Or maybe his own, if Sirius was stronger than he was.

He snorted. Yeah, right.

Remus knew he would never escape, but he tried anyway. What else was there to do to relieve that horrible needing feeling in his teeth? It wasn't simply a want, a desire; it was a need. An instinct of the highest order.

Itching.

And until someone came to give him what he so desperately needed, his own flesh and blood would have to suffice.

Daytime. Sunrise. Ten fingers and a blessed lack of fur.

Remus shuddered, trying to forget the pain. He dragged himself into a sitting position, spat out some blood, and coughed. When Remus' mother and father entered the cellar, they didn't yell at him for sitting up (like Madam Pomfrey did). They didn't put on a no-nonsense Matron Voice (like Madam Pomfrey did). Everything was so different, and Remus grinned in spite of himself.

"I can walk," he said (he always insisted on walking back to the castle with Madam Pomfrey), but his father ignored him and scooped him up in his arms. Remus honestly didn't mind. It was different with his dad, somehow, and it was much better than being helplessly floated along with magic.

Suddenly, an owl flew through the window. Remus recognized it as his father's work owl. "Dad, there's—an—there's an—owl, I think," Remus slurred, and Remus' father's face went white.

"No, no, not now," he whispered. "Hope, open that for me." He laid Remus down on the couch and started healing him. The numbness that always accompanied the aftermath of a transformation began to wear off, and Remus clenched his teeth furiously.

"Dad, careful," he whimpered.

"Lyall, the owl says that you're expected at work," said Remus' mother, her fingers shaking. "Can't you... can't you tell..."

"Why am I needed? Does it say?"

"Werewolves," she whispered. "A werewolf attack in Peebleton. Someone's died. They need as many people on the case as possible; they're trying to stop the... them... before they get too far."

"Well, it's too late now," said Remus' father, rubbing Dittany and silver on the wound on Remus' arm. "Werewolves are quick and uninjured when they've had a meal." Remus squeezed his eyes shut and made a small noise, and it wasn't just from the pain. "Still... I have to go, Hope," Remus' dad continued desperately. "I... I really need to keep this job. It's the only source of income we've got."

"Okay." Remus' mum stood up and handed the letter to Remus' father. "All right. We'll be fine, won't we, Remus?"

Remus tried for a smile, but it didn't quite work out. "Mm-hmmmm," he mumbled. "B-Bye, Dad."

"He does not sound good," said Remus' father. "Oh, we shouldn't have bothered him yesterday. Dumbledore said that stress makes it worse, didn't he? Hope..."

"I can owl Poppy if I need to," Remus' mother said firmly. "Bye, Lyall."

She planted a kiss to his cheek, and then he grabbed his coat, dazed, and Vanished some blood off of his clothes. "Good luck," he said helplessly.

Then there was a sharp crack, and Remus was alone with his mum.

"So," she said, more to herself than Remus. "What would Lyall do?"

"Mum, I can d-do... do it myself."

"You most certainly cannot, Remus. Do you need any Pain-Relieving Potion, dear?"

"N-no, we can s-ssssave it."

"If you're sure." She studied the wound on his forearm and winced. "I'm so sorry, Remus..."

"Dunn-no why y-you're sss-sss-ss-sorry. Ac.. actually, I think... I think I w-w-was the one to... do that," he managed, trying to make a joke and failing miserably due to the incessant stuttering. His speech wasn't always so bad after a full moon, but he thought perhaps he'd bitten his tongue. Maybe he'd hit his head. He wasn't sure, but he hoped his speech would improve soon.

"It would be so much easier on you if I could use magic."

Well, that was just silly. He wanted to tell her so, but Remus was a little nervous to pronounce the soft S sound. Sometimes, he got stuck and ended up hissing for five seconds before he could get anything else out. "It w-would be much eas-s-sier if I wasn't a... w-werewolf... too..." he pointed out.

His mum was either ignoring him or could not understand his ridiculously slurred speech. "Hang on, now. I know how to use silver and Dittany and bandages, at least. We're going to be fine. Is anything broken?"

Remus gave a short cry of frustration. "I d-don't kn-now, Mum!"

"Okay... shhh. We'll figure this out. I feel so useless. All right, I've bandaged your arm and right leg the Muggle way, so hopefully that should be all right until your father comes home. Can you take a breath, honey? You haven't breathed in a while."

Remus took a breath. it hurt his chest.

"Good. Do you think you can go to sleep?"

"M... m-maybe," Remus murmured. "Would you m-maybe read?"

"Of course."

"There's a b... b-b-book. In my..." He did not want to say the B sound again; all of the sudden he had forgotten how to make it.

"Your bag?" she clarified, and Remus nodded fervently.

"There are lots of books in your bag, dear. Which one?"

"Don't care."

"Okay. Here's one. Er... I'm afraid I can't pronounce all these words. Quintessence: a Quest."

"Tha's a good one," Remus mumbled, eyes half-shut already.

"The four elements..." Remus' mum began, and Remus was nearly asleep before she even started on the second page. He heard her stop reading, mumble, "Thank goodness I don't have to read more," and then felt her brush the hair from his forehead. "You're so boring," she said affectionately. "I hardly know what quintessence means."

Remus woke up and winced. "Feeling better?" asked his mum hopefully.

"Yeah," he said. It was amazing, how much worse he was at enduring pain now after taking Madam Pomfrey's potions month after month. He'd gotten spoilt. Perhaps that was why his speech had been so bad—he'd have to work on that. "I'm fine now."

"Can you tell me if you've broken any bones?"

"I think some of my fingers," said Remus, trying to move them. "Oh, fiddlesticks, I have broken some of my fingers." A few on his right hand, and one on his left. He felt frustrated tears rise to his eyes. How was he supposed to do anything? He couldn't do anything with his hands until his father came home to put him right. He couldn't even read. "My ankle's broken, too," he admitted dully, swiping away some tears.

"It's all right, dear. We'll figure it out. Are you hungry?"

"I don't think I can stomach anything right now." He was lying. He was definitely hungry. But his fingers were broken, and he was not going to allow his mum to feed him. She'd had to do that plenty times before, of course, but he was twelve now. And he'd already had enough humiliation for one day, thank you very much. And again: he was twelve years old! That was practically a grown-up. He was more than two-thirds of the way there.

"If you're sure," she sighed, knowing by now that it was futile to try to make Remus eat when he didn't want to. "I wrote to Madam Pomfrey."

"Please tell me you didn't say I'm depressed," said Remus.

"Of course not. You know better than I am how you're feeling," she said, and Remus smiled gratefully. "But you do have to promise to tell us if you ever are, all right? We can help, you know. And you keep things to yourself far too much. So does your father."

Remus rolled his eyes and tried to nod, but his head was swimming too much. "Fine," he said. "But it's never going to happen."

"It might."

"It won't."

"It might," his mother insisted. "I only told Madam Pomfrey that I was on my own today, and she wants to come over to check on you."

"Mum!" said Remus, horrified. "She... you can't... I'm okay!"

"She'd like to come anyway."

"It's only been... she can't... we're..."

"Remus, you're being ridiculous."

"We got along just fine before Hogwarts!" he said. "Dad's left before, remember? When I was seven or eight? Or nine, I don't remember. And he usually leaves, anyway, after he finishes with the worst of it."

"He didn't have time to finish the worst of it this time, Remus. And last time he left, it was a much easier full moon on you."

"But we got along fine before Hogwarts!" he said again.

"Before Hogwarts, we had to take you to St. Mungo's and hire private Healers on rare occasions, remember? And we had to move twice, when the private Healers worked it out. Wouldn't you rather Madam Pomfrey than St. Mungo's?"

"But I don't need either," he said. "I'm okay. At least until Dad comes home."

"Your father wrote, too," his mum said stiffly. "They've found one of the supposed werewolves and took him to trial. Dad's expecting his shift will last throughout the night. I've heard all the details of your post-full-moon injuries—Madam Pomfrey and I are very good friends—and I know how dangerous they can be even with proper help. Apparently you had a highly-trained Auror heal you one day after the full moon and you still ended up getting a badly-infected arm?"

Remus was silent. He remembered that.

"I'd rather Madam Pomfrey visit then be attending to you for the rest of the month," said Remus' mother with a sort of finality, and Remus couldn't argue with that.

"If you think it's best," he said.

His mum kissed the top of his head. "You're such an agreeable child," she said. "You know, when I was your age, I was arguing about being able to leave the house in jeans, not allowing a witch to come over and do magic on me." She chuckled. "Times have changed."

Yes, times had changed. Everything had.

Remus had thought that, after his first year at Hogwarts, he'd just return home and everything would be back to normal. But it turned out that things were a lot more complicated than that indeed. Life, as it turned out, often was.

Chapter Text

Miraculously, Remus managed to fall back asleep. He stayed that way until a knock sounded at the door—Remus' parents had removed the doorbell a long time ago because it hurt Remus' ears. That was before the Great Hall and Quidditch games, of course. Now that Remus was desensitized, he wasn't particularly bothered.

"Poppy!" he heard his mother exclaim. "Oh, thank goodness, I haven't known what to do and I'm so worried..."

"Where...?"

"Sitting room. This way."

"Lovely home," Madam Pomfrey commented, and Remus almost laughed out loud at the casual comment in the face of such weirdness. The school matron should not be in Remus' house. It was so incredibly strange and wrong.

He had just enough time to sit up and wipe off his face before Madam Pomfrey entered the sitting room. He grimaced. "Hello, Madam Pomfrey," he said. "Fancy seeing you here."

She snorted in amusement and knelt beside him. "You did very well, Hope. Considering."

"She did, and I'm fine," Remus grumped. "Absolutely fine."

"Don't start that. I'm not reluctant to start adding time to my visit," said Madam Pomfrey, and Remus' mum giggled. Madam Pomfrey, after Remus had displayed an unfortunate lack of descriptive word usage, had banned the word "fine" (and all its variations) from the Hospital Wing. She'd dropped a bottle cap in a jar and added five minutes to Remus' hospital stay every time he said it. Remus hated that stupid jar.

"Are you going to fix my hands?" he asked tentatively.

"No, Lupin, I'm just going to leave them like that. Of course I'm going to fix your hands," said Madam Pomfrey, rolling her eyes. "I brought a potion for the pain. It's right here."

"I don't need it," said Remus. "Worst is over."

"Well, it'll spoil otherwise, so I suggest you take it."

"Pain-Relieving Potions don't spoil," Remus pointed out. "You can't trick me, Madam Pomfrey."

"Sorry, did I say spoil? I meant that I would personally hurt you for real if you don't take it."

"Threatening a student?" said Remus in mock shock, dramatically placing his hand over his heart—and then wincing, because his fingers really did hurt. "I'm surprised at you, Madam Pomfrey!"

"Seeing as term is over," said Madam Pomfrey, "I believe that I am allowed to threaten you as much as I want. Take the potion."

"Or?" said Remus.

"I'll keep you in the Hospital Wing for an extra day during the September full moon."

There was a long silence, while Remus' mum looked on in confusion. Suddenly, both Madam Pomfrey and Remus started to laugh. "Fine, fine," said Remus. "But I'd like you to heal my right hand first, at least, so that I can take the potion myself."

Madam Pomfrey obliged, and then Remus took the potion obediently. The pain faded to a dull aching in an instant. "Don't be alarmed, Hope," said Madam Pomfrey. "I know exactly how to handle him."

"I don't need to be handled," argued Remus, but Madam Pomfrey immediately shushed him.

"Normal banter, Hope. I think it cheers him up, honestly."

"A little," Remus admitted.

Madam Pomfrey turned to Remus' mother, who was smiling brightly. Remus couldn't think why. "I need a wet cloth," Madam Pomfrey commanded. "And a glass of water, water optional."

Remus' mother didn't waste any time in getting the necessary items. As soon as she was out of earshot, Madam Pomfrey leaned closer to Remus and whispered, "How bad was the transformation? Scale of one to ten?"

"Ten being..."

"The worst. One being the best."

"One," said Remus with cheeky grin.

"Liar."

"Okay." Remus sighed. "That's complicated. It's not the worst. It's not much worse than any other of my... home transformations. But it's worse than the ones at school—because, obviously, I don't have professional medical care—and since I'm not used to it anymore, it felt worse than it is. But I can't tell. What do you think? You don't seem to be worried."

"Well, I'm trying to be sensitive towards your mother," said Madam Pomfrey. "I know she's feeling guilty. And, in all honesty, it's not awful. You've had certainly had worse."

"Exactly. I'm f—I mean, I'm okay—I mean, I'm still alive."

Madam Pomfrey smiled. "No, you're not. It's not awful, but it's definitely not good, either."

"Oh."

Hope re-entered the room with a washcloth and water. "Anything else I can do?" she asked breathlessly.

"Not at the moment," said Madam Pomfrey. "Remus? Anything else?"

"Nope. All good."

Remus watched Madam Pomfrey do a plethora of spells that he didn't recognize for the next twenty minutes. She chattered excitedly to both Remus and his mum the entire time, which made Remus feel a lot less awkward.

"How has your summer been so far, Remus?"

"I finished all my homework," he said.

"That doesn't surprise me one bit."

"Correction," said Remus' mum, smiling. "He finished his homework twice. He did it all, and then he completely started over."

"That..." Madam Pomfrey blinked. "Also doesn't surprise me one bit, actually. How about you, Hope?"

"It's been pleasant," said Remus' mum. "You know, the house used to be so quiet all day while Remus was at school and Lyall was at work. I'd expected it to be a little louder now that Remus is home, but..." She laughed. "I think I'd forgotten how well-behaved Remus was."

"Now that surprises me," said Madam Pomfrey. "He hasn't caused any trouble? None at all?"

"Except for when he sternly lectured me for telling you that he seemed sad," said Remus' mum.

Remus groaned. "Mummm."

"Well, he certainly causes plenty of trouble at school. Don't you, Remus?"

"That's not me," said Remus. "That's my friends."

"And you're not involved at all?"

"I didn't say that." Remus grinned. "But it wasn't me, I can tell you that."

"Oh, you don't need to be like that. I've told your mother everything, you know."

"So has he," interjected Remus' mum. "Multiple times."

Madam Pomfrey snorted. "Typical Hogwarts student. They all tend to chatter when coming home from school for the first time. This might hurt a bit, Remus."

Remus felt a shooting pain run up his leg. "Barely felt it," he boasted. Madam Pomfrey flicked him on the wrist, and he laughed.

They talked a bit more, and Remus discovered that chatting with Madam Pomfrey in his own home wasn't all that awkward after all. She just wasn't an awkward person, and Remus was thankful for the fact.

A little while later, an owl flew through the window. Remus didn't recognize it, and nobody else noticed it as it sat on the counter and pecked at the soup. "Mum, there's an owl eating your soup," Remus said.

"Oh! Maybe it's Lyall's owl." She rushed over, looked at the letter, and frowned. "It's addressed to you, Poppy," she said, a note of disappointment in her voice.

Madam Pomfrey frowned. "I swear, if it's Minerva asking me to come over for supper again..." She winked at Remus. "Don't tell her I told you this, but that woman cannot cook." Remus giggled. He couldn't imagine Professor McGonagall cooking.

Madam Pomfrey stood up, and Remus saw the splotches of blood on her frock. His stomach twisted with guilt, but for no real, rational reason. He was being stupid. Professor Questus would tell him that there was no helping it, wouldn't he? He'd say that Remus was being silly. She was just doing her job, and Remus wasn't doing anything wrong. Professor Questus would tell Remus to control his emotions, so Remus pushed the guilt down.

Madam Pomfrey opened the letter, and her face suddenly went grey.

"What's wrong?" said Remus.

"I need to go," said Madam Pomfrey, glancing towards Remus. There were many emotions running across her countenance, and Remus couldn't possibly identify a single one. "I can't stay. I'm so sorry."

"What is it, Poppy? Is something wrong?"

"No... yes. Maybe?" She shook her head. "But I can't tell you. It's confidential." She looked back at Remus and gave him a sort of shaky smile. "You'll be fine, Mr. Lupin. Stay off that leg for a while. And eat. Eat as much as possible."

"Yes, ma'am," said Remus.

"And don't worry about him, Hope. Goodness knows he's sturdier than he looks."

"Hang on a minute," said Remus, affronted. "Are you trying to say that I look weak?"

Madam Pomfrey shrugged and smirked. Then the smile fell off her face as she looked back at the letter. "I have to go right now. I'll see you in September, Remus. Or earlier, depending."

"Thank you very much for healing me," said Remus as politely as possible. "But... with all due respect... if I see you before September then I'll scream."

Everything was just fine (Remus could say that word now that Madam Pomfrey was gone) until the Pain-Relieving Potion wore off and everything started coming back. Remus' mother held his hand and patted his face and whispered poetry and hummed songs, but Remus still felt horrible. Fortunately, he didn't wake up until five am since he'd taken the Pain-Relieving Potion later in the day, so both of them got almost a full night's sleep.

Well, almost a full night's sleep. It did start raining quite hard in the middle of the night, but it only took Remus a couple of moments to fall back asleep after the heavy rain woke him up at one am.

Remus' father returned, dripping wet, at nine am. "How is he doing?" he asked breathlessly, practically flinging his hat and coat onto the rack. "How did it go? Is everything okay? I was so worried..."

"Madam Pomfrey visited," said Remus' mother with a smile. "Remus should be back on his feet in no time."

"Thank goodness," said Remus' father, collapsing into a chair. Remus' mum didn't even scold him for getting the chair wet. "Bless her," he added fervently. "That wonderful woman."

"Careful. There's room for only one wonderful woman in your life, Lyall," Remus' mother quipped. "So... the trial...?"

"The werewolf that we caught was proven guilty," said Remus' father.

"And...?"

He was silent.

"Lyall, I want more information than that."

Remus' dad sighed. "Martin L. Doves was his name. He was part of Greyback's... crowd. Executed."

"Oh," Remus' mum breathed. "Anyone hurt?"

"One person dead. Bethany Webb. But I don't think anyone was injured or bitten." He covered his face. "Greyback wasn't involved, according to Doves. We tried to get more information from him, but..." He shrugged. His voice was hoarse, Remus noted; hopefully, he hadn't been shouting at anyone. "No use."

"Did they catch any others?" Remus enquired.

Remus' father looked up, almost as if he'd forgotten that Remus was there. "No. Only Doves."

"How many were involved?"

"The werewolf hunter said that it looked like four were involved... Doves didn't hurt anyone; Bethany Webb was killed by a different werewolf."

Remus nodded, sensing that his father didn't want to talk anymore. It was always hard, discussing werewolf executions. Doves hadn't hurt anyone. He might have, yes, but he hadn't. The requirements for a werewolf execution were getting so lax that almost anything warranted the death penalty. "I'm going to sleep," Remus announced.

"Let me draw you a bath, Lyall," said Remus' mum. "You don't smell very good, I'm afraid."

"I concur," joked Remus.

She went upstairs, and Remus closed his eyes. But before he even started to drift off, his father's hoarse voice rang in his ears. "Remus, I need you to promise me something."

"Yeah?"

"I don't care if you get into mischief at school. I don't care if you're sarcastic with the people at the Ministry. I don't care if you get an attitude with us sometimes. But..." He hesitated. "Stay on this side of the law, Remus. Please."

"What do you take me for?" Remus mumbled, eyelids heavy. "I, Remus Lupin, hereby solemnly swear to be a goody two-shoes."

Remus' father laughed, probably for the first time in over twenty-four hours.

The attack was in the newspapers the next day, and Remus' parents wouldn't let Remus read a copy until they'd finished. Remus waited impatiently, tapping his non-broken fingers on his Gryffindor blanket. "Merlin's beard, you two are slow readers," he called.

No one even responded.

Time passed, and then Remus' father suddenly slammed his copy onto the coffee table, accidentally knocking two books to the ground. "This is STUPID!"

"I don't get it," said Remus' mum, frowning. "This isn't what you told me at all."

"Because it's not what happened!" Remus' father said. He crumpled the newspaper and threw it in the fireplace (they hadn't lit a fire because the smoke bothered Remus' nose, but it still had the same effect). The he stood up and started pacing furiously.

"Anyone going to fill me in?" Remus asked in a small voice.

"The Ministry," his father growled, "are trying to make themselves seem like they're doing more than they actually are. So they conveniently left out the part about three werewolves escaping, painted Doves as the perpetrator, and didn't even mention that they were Greyback's crowd."

"Lyall, calm down..."

"Don't tell me to calm down, Hope! This isn't the first time it's happened, and it won't be the last! Do you have any idea how wrong this is? The Ministry is sacrificing an informed public for a group of people who trust them and will follow their every command even though they're wrong!"

Remus looked up at his mum with pleading eyes, who smiled sadly and tossed him her copy of the paper (which was actually Remus', seeing as it had come from James' owl). Remus mouthed his mother a thank-you and scanned it as quickly as possible.

Werewolf Attack in Peebleton... Citizen Bethany Webb dead... the werewolf, Doves, has been captured and executed... citizens of Peebleton in safety once again...

"I suppose I understand," said Remus' mum in an effort to calm her husband down. "I don't agree, but I understand. They're trying to make the people feel safe; trying to avoid mass panic... If I knew that three werewolves were on the loose, I'd be..." She trailed off and looked at Remus. "I mean, er... I'd be fine with it, as long as they were upstanding citizens..."

Remus winked at her. "I'd be terrified, myself."

Remus' father rubbed the bridge of his nose so violently that he left a mark. "That doesn't matter! They're not doing it to prevent a mass panic! They're trying to make themselves seem more capable of dealing with the attacks so that people unquestioningly obey and trust their authority! This is..." He groaned, and the tempo of his pacing increased. "This is just like what they did with the werewolf law that they tried to pass last year. They pretend to be doing something so that they don't actually have to! In my opinion, Minister Jenkins should just step down already. Clearly, she isn't equipped to deal with this madness."

"There's nothing they can do," Remus said shortly. "They shouldn't be painting themselves as the hero and pretending that there is, but there's nothing they can do. What would you have Jenkins do about werewolf attacks? The only thing they can do is take away more of their rights, and it's not like that's going to solve anything." Remus wasn't sure, exactly, why he'd used the third-person plural when referring to werewolves and not the first-person plural, but he did think that maybe detaching himself from the whole situation would upset his parents less. They didn't often discuss werewolves, so this was an uncomfortable rarity.

"I suppose not," Remus' father said, sitting back down. "You're right, of course. Heaven forbid they take away any more werewolf rights. But they shouldn't be lying to the public."

For a couple of moments, the Lupin residence was entirely silent. Even Garrison did not rattle in the cupboard, and Bufo, who was sitting on Remus' lap, did not make even the tiniest croak.

"Would you like to draw a picture with me, Remus?" asked Remus' dad abruptly, and Remus nodded.

The fake smiles were back once again.

They did this, sometimes, on the days after the full moon. Remus' mother would lend them a sheet of white paper, and then Remus' father would pull over a chair, give Remus some colored pencils, and then the two of them would draw something. It was always different. Half of it was always upside-down, since Remus and his father could only comfortably draw together when facing each other. Besides, they were both terrible at drawing.

"What's that supposed to be?" said Remus, looking at an odd blob that his father was coloring in.

"Bufo, obviously."

"That is not Bufo. Bufo, tell him."

Bufo croaked.

"See, Bufo agrees."

"I think that he agrees with me, actually. You don't speak Frog, so you don't know whether that was an affirmative answer or not."

If it had been Madam Pomfrey or Professor Questus, Remus would have said something along the lines of "Maybe speaking Frog is just another werewolf superpower that you don't know about." But it wasn't Madam Pomfrey or Professor Questus, so he didn't. It wasn't that funny, anyway.

"So what are you drawing, Mr. I'm-So-Good-At-Art?" Remus' dad asked, and Remus giggled.

"What do you think?"

"It looks like..." Remus' dad tilted his head. "Hm. Is it..." He suddenly gasped in mock horror. "Remus! You can't portray your mother like that!"

"I'm noooot!" said Remus, now laughing. "How would you even...?"

Remus' dad started to point to various parts of Remus' picture. "That's her weird boxy frown. Those are her yellow eyes. Those are her freckles..."

"Mum doesn't have freckles!"

"Oh, so you just gave her twenty yellow eyes? I'm disappointed in you."

"No!"

"And that, right there, is an odd sort of red ear..."

"Not even close."

"And I'm not sure why you put a long stripe of blue at the top for the sky. That's preschool coloring, and you know it."

"You've got it all wrong," said Remus. "That is not a boxy frown; it is a table. And they're not yellow eyes; they're floating candles. And that's a red hourglass... I'm drawing three more later. And that's the ceiling, not the sky!"

"So it's some sort of odd... abstract drawing?" said his father.

"No! It's the Great Hall! Sheesh, Dad, I'm not that bad at drawing!" He considered. "I guess the only abstract part about it is the hourglass. It wasn't all red. Gryffindor ended the year with only 48.78 points."

"Yeah, you told us," said Remus' dad. "Four times."

"But did I tell you where the point-seven-eight came from—?"

"Yes!"

"And did I tell you how James and Sirius—?"

"Yes!"

Remus drew a red line over his father's depiction of Bufo, and his father hit him with a colored pencil.

The next few days were tiring, but Remus managed to heal up quite a bit. A week later, he was even feeling well enough to help his mother make dinner. It ended with peas spilled all over the floor, water dripping from Remus' hair, and a huge mischievous smile on his mum's face... but that was the best part.

They all sat down at the table together, and Remus' leg didn't even hurt at all. "Do you want to play Gobstones after dinner?" asked his father, and Remus nodded eagerly.

After supper, Remus took a very hot bath, which only stung his wounds and scrapes a little bit. Then his mum cut his hair, despite his protests.

"Mum, there is hair in my face," he said.

"Good for you."

"Hair does not belong on my face."

"Apparently it belongs on your father's," she said scornfully. Remus laughed. His father could never achieve more than a patchy stubble, so he constantly looked unshaven and unkempt. Remus' mum kept trying to get him to shave it all off, but he never would. He said it made him feel grown-up.

"There's hair on my hands, too," said Remus. "Hair does not belong on my hands."

"Well, deal!" she said. "Don't you dare move."

"Mum, there's hair on my nose, and hair does not belong on..."

"I know, Remus!"

Remus laughed again. If it had been Professor Questus or Madam Pomfrey, he would have made a joke about how hair did actually belong on his face and hands and nose... one night a month. But it wasn't Professor Questus or Madam Pomfrey, so he didn't say a word.

Now that he thought about it, the hair on his hands and nose and face was bothering him more than a little—now he was remembering being in the cellar, pacing on padded feet, fur everywhere... Now the mere tickling was turning into something wildly different, and panic rose in Remus' chest.

If it had been Professor Questus or Madam Pomfrey, Remus would have voiced his concerns. Professor Questus would have just told him that he was being silly, but Remus would have felt better anyway, because things always felt better when they were out in the air. Madam Pomfrey would have silently Vanished all of it in less than two seconds and then moved on.

But it wasn't Professor Questus or Madam Pomfrey, and telling his mother such things would only make her sad. She'd probably panic and stop cutting his hair, and try to brush everything off, and it would make Remus panic even more to see her panicking, and then she'd feel guilty about it for the rest of the day.

So he didn't tell her. He just gritted his teeth and clenched his hands and waited it out.

Then he went downstairs to play Gobstones with his father. His haircut looked kind of dumb, and it didn't cover up his face as much as he would have liked... but there was no one around but his parents to see, and there wouldn't be until September.

The thought was comforting, but at the same time, it wasn't.

Chapter Text

A few more days passed, and all seemed well. On August seventh, Remus woke up from an afternoon nap, sat up, stretched... and then fell off the bed.

Someone was forcefully knocking on the door. Remus, with his enhanced senses, recognized the scent of the person immediately. He knew who this was.

"Goodness," Remus heard his mum mutter. "Are they trying to knock down our door with a battering ram?" He heard her get up off the couch, but he didn't move. He was frozen. He kind of wanted to hide. Could he squeeze inside his laundry basket? Probably not. Or maybe under the bed? No, too predictable. Oh, fiddlesticks, his room was far too small for a proper hiding place.

"Afternoon," came the voice that Remus knew all too well. "Terribly sorry to bother you, but I was told that it was proper etiquette or whatever to come visit the other house in the area. I'm moving to the other one at the end of the hill, and I figured I might as well come say hello... you know, seeing as we're the only two houses up here."

Remus' mouth dropped open. His house was on a hill next to a town (the town was at the bottom of the hill, about a mile away), and there was only one other house on the hill. No one had lived in it since the Lupins had moved about two years ago. No, Remus thought. Nope. No. Absolutely not.

As Remus continued his silent internal mantra, the voice at the door paused. "You look familiar," the voice said. "Why do you look familiar?"

"I've no idea why I look familiar," said Remus' mum impatiently. "Why are you here?"

"I just told you. Were you listening? I was told that it was proper etiquette or whatever to..." Now the voice was was cut off by Remus' father, who had presumably joined his wife in front of the door. "Oh, no," he heard the voice say. "You look terribly familiar. That's never a good thing. Merlin's beard. Is it..." The voice paused again. "Relative of... you're Bryson Lupin, right?"

"I'm Lyall Lupin," Remus' father corrected. "Do you... do you know my brother?"

There was a long silence. "Lyall Lupin?"

"Yes. You look familiar as well, come to think of it."

Another long silence.

"I knew I recognized you, but I didn't really want to believe it. I am going to kill Dumbledore," Remus heard the voice say flatly. "Murder him. In cold blood."

"So... who are you, exactly?" Remus' father asked, clearly concerned that he was dealing with a psychopathic murderer.

Yet another long pause.

"...John Questus. I'd say it's a pleasure to meet you, but I'd be lying."

"Oh!" said Remus' mum. "You're Remus' Defense Against the Dark Arts professor! He's said so much about you!"

"Has he, now?" said Questus in the same flat tone. "Well, I'm not his professor anymore."

"Why are you here?" Remus' father reiterated impatiently.

"I've already told you twice. I was looking for a house, and Albus Dumbledore—that horrible man—recommended that one." Remus assumed that Professor Questus was gesturing in the direction of the house down the road. "I thought that I should let the other household know that I was moving in, so as not to alarm anyone... but now I sort of wish I hadn't."

"You're just as pleasant as I expected you to be," said Remus' father rudely, "based off of the letter you sent us in December."

Remus cringed. He remembered that letter. Madam Pomfrey had had to take care of an emergency during the first December full moon, and Questus had come to take Remus back to the Hospital Wing after the full moon. He'd sent Remus' parents a rather short letter detailing his condition, apparently, and it hadn't left a very good first impression of Professor John Questus.

"Goodness. I see that your son has not inherited your cheery disposition," said Professor Questus, and Remus stuffed his fist in his mouth to keep from laughing. Or crying. He was kind of horrified by the whole situation. "I had left on such good terms, too," continued Professor Questus. "I mean, for me, at least. I hate goodbyes. Where is he, exactly? I assume he's home. It's not like he can go anywhere else without being chased after with a pitchfork by the innocent townsfolk... or the three little pigs... or Little Red Riding Hood. Or something."

No, please stop it, begged Remus silently. Cut the werewolf references. My parents don't do werewolf jokes, Professor. SHUT UP.

"He's upstairs," said Remus' father shortly. "And he's sleeping."

"I'm going to wake him," said Remus' mother.

"Oh, no, you are not," said Remus' father. "I should think he rather needs his sleep."

"I should think he rather does," agreed Questus. "I can leave if you want me to. He never has to find out."

"Well, that's cruel," said Remus' mum, evidently shocked. "You were his favorite professor!"

"For unknown reasons," added Remus' dad in an undertone.

"I seriously doubt I was his favorite, Lupin. Lupins. Plural. Oh, no, this is too much." A silence and a sigh. Remus could just imagine Professor Questus rubbing the bridge of his nose. Remus climbed back onto his bed as quietly as possible. He knew his parents didn't have his werewolf hearing, but he also knew that, the second he made any sort of noise, it was all over. He managed to get back onto the bed with minimal noises, and he breathed a very quiet sigh of relief. He was safe.

"Actually, I don't think he is asleep," said Questus, and Remus froze. He wasn't safe.

"And how would you know that?" asked Remus' father.

"He always does wake up at the most inopportune times; usually when I show up. It's this unfortunate habit he has, almost like he's essential to the plot of a story." Questus sighed yet again. "Do go check on him, at least. I'd like to get this over with."

"Hope, don't," said Remus' dad. "We don't know if this man is who he says he is..."

Remus could feel his mother rolling her eyes all the way from upstairs. "Well, there's a pretty simple way to check that, isn't there? You're always like this, Lyall; you decide you don't like somebody and then that's that. REMUS LUPIN, I'M GOING TO ASSUME THAT YOU HEARD THE WHOLE THING. THERE'S NO WAY YOU'RE STILL SLEEPING AFTER ALL THE SHOUTING THAT YOUR FATHER JUST DID."

Remus sighed. The jig was up. "I'm sleeping, Mum," he called.

"YEAH, RIGHT. DOWN HERE. NOW."

"Yep, fast asleep," said Remus. "And you don't have to shout. You're hurting my ears."

"What did he say?" his mum asked.

"I believe he told you that you don't have to shout," said Questus, sounding amused. "For the mother of a werewolf, you have pretty awful hearing."

"It's not genetic and you know it," said Remus' mother, and the flippant comment about Remus' condition surprised him greatly. Maybe Professor Questus' attitude was contagious or something—Remus' mother usually spoke about werewolves and lycanthropy in reverent, teary whispers. "REMUS!" she shouted again.

"Seriously, Mum, you don't have to shout."

"AT LEAST TELL US THAT HE IS WHO HE SAYS HE IS!" Remus' mum was clearly ignoring Remus' wishes that she would be quieter. She always did; Remus thought that it had something to do with his tendency to ignore her when she spoke in normal tones.

There was a long silence, and then Remus finally worked up the courage to say, "Yes, he is."

Remus' mum made a small noise of disbelief. "WAS THAT REALLY SO HARD?" she shouted. And then, quieter: "I'm going to get him, Lyall."

"I'll do it," said Remus' father. "I don't know what you think you're going to do—physically drag him down here? I'll handle this one."

There was a loud cracking noise that Remus heard both downstairs and in his bedroom, and then his father was standing in front of him. "I don't know what you're playing at, Remus," he said, grabbing Remus' arm—right on a wound from the previous full moon. Remus yelped in pain.

"Wait, Dad, let me at least..."

He didn't even finish before the familiar feeling of Apparating washed over him and he was standing downstairs. "Dad, let go of my arm," he said, teeth gritted. He stole a glance at the familiar Professor Questus, who only looked amused. "My arm, Dad, let go of my..."

"Not until I can be sure you won't run back to your room."

"That would be pretty tough to do, seeing as I can't walk upstairs," Remus reminded him. Indeed, his leg had been so damaged after the full that his father had been Apparating him up and down the stairs for days. But, despite the solid logic, Remus' father did not let go. "At least..." Remus felt his eyes water. "Move your hand! Here, hold my wrist instead. Dad! You're hurting me!"

Remus' father blinked twice, apparently coming to his senses. "Ah, I'm sorry, Remus!" He let go of Remus' arm completely and stepped away. "Oh, I'm so sorry..."

Remus smiled and rubbed his arm. "No harm done. Er..." Long silence. "Hi, Professor."

Questus rolled his eyes dramatically. "Oh, do not call me that."

Something was off.

"Something's off," said Remus. "Wait... something's..." He inhaled. "Something's off," he repeated. He wasn't sure what it was, exactly, but something was definitely off.

Questus raised an eyebrow. "What is off, exactly? Is it the fact that I'm standing at your doorstep in the middle of summer? Because, believe me, that bothers me just as much as it bothers you."

"I..." Remus couldn't put his finger on it. Professor Questus smelled different, somehow, like there was something else there. He wasn't sure what it was, but it made him feel a little weird. "Like..."

Questus looked the same as always. Brown hair, somewhat grey... his beard was a bit scruffier, Remus thought, but that didn't account for whatever was wrong... his eyes were the same shade as always... he was wearing his spectacles—the thin wire ones that he only ever wore when he was tired—but even his robes were the same. And his constantly-exasperated expression was most certainly similar. "Well, you're bleeding, for starters," Remus said finally.

"I know."

"You should probably... fix that," said Remus. "And something else is off, too..."

Questus nodded. "Must say I'm impressed. Didn't expect you to notice it. I'd tell you, but it's a long, long story..."

"Come in," Remus' mum suggested. Remus looked at his father, who was sort of staring off into space.

"I like it out here, thanks," said Questus stiffly. "Nice weather we're having."

Remus' mother openly scoffed at that. "Well, you're letting in bugs. So... in or out?"

"Out, thank you very much."

"Wait, no!" said Remus. "No. You can't just... now I'm curious!"

"Good for you," said Questus.

"I think I've given you enough answers that you owe me a couple," said Remus, referencing Questus' constant, uncomfortable curiosity about lycanthropy when he'd been Remus' teacher.

There was a brief, stunned silence, but Remus wasn't really worried about being disrespectful anymore; it wasn't like Questus could take points from Gryffindor or put him in detention. But he didn't want to offend him, either. And he certainly didn't want to explain to his parents exactly what kind of "answers" he'd given Questus. They wouldn't understand at all.

Then Questus, to Remus' great relief, broke the silence and laughed. "Yes, I suppose you're right." He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. "Nice house," he said.

"That's what Madam Pomfrey said," Remus mumbled.

"Pomfrey? Did she come here?"

"Never mind."

"The sitting room is this way," said Remus' mum, gesturing for them to follow. "There are two chairs and one couch..."

"And I'll make tea," said Remus' father abruptly.

Questus waved his hand. "No, that won't be necessary," he said, but Remus' father ran into the kitchen without even waiting for Questus to finish the whole sentence.

"He probably won't even serve it," said Remus. "He likes to make tea more than he likes to drink it, I think. Here, Mum; I'll take the couch with Dad and make sure he doesn't..."

"...go mad," finished his mother. "Yes, please do." She sat in a chair, and Questus took the other with a nonchalant shrug. "I believe introductions are in order," she said.

"I'll start," said Remus, grinning. "Hi, I'm Remus Lupin, and..."

"Nice to meet you," interrupted his smiling mother. She turned to Questus. "I'm Hope. I don't believe we've met. What would you like me to call you?"

"Oh, I don't really care," said Questus. "I've got no titles or anything. You can call me John, or Questus, or literally whatever you'd like. As long as it's not 'Voldemort', of course, because that would be politically insensitive. And, for the record, I don't do first names. So I'm going to keep your name at Mrs. Lupin."

Remus looked up. "Well, you do have a title now, don't you? Since you're an Auror?"

"Nope," said Questus. "I used to be an Auror."

"Er... you lasted... a month?"

"Not even."

Remus blinked. "It didn't have anything to do with Sirius' family?"

"Nope." The kettle suddenly started whistling, and Questus flinched. "That's loud, for a kettle."

"Yours is louder," said Remus dismissively, annoyed that he kept changing the subject. It was such a Questus-y thing to do, to drop a couple hints and then start talking about something else. "How did you get sacked?"

"Didn't get sacked. Sort of quit. Retired. Kind of." Questus ran his hand through his hair and sighed. "I was up in the North on Auror business—trying to catch a few Dark wizards claiming to be supporters of Voldemort—and I got careless. Out-of-practice, you know. Got too close to something I shouldn't have, and..." He made an odd hand motion; Remus wasn't sure what it was supposed to be. "Dark magic. Dark curse. No one knows for sure what it is. Now my leg is bleeding and we can't stem it. I have to take Blood-Replenishing Potions on the hour, and it's bandaged up pretty tightly." He shrugged. "So... I'm not sure what was 'off' (as you so eloquently put it), but it's either the Dark magic in my system that you're sensing or the fact that all the blood in my body has been replaced in a little more than a week. Or perhaps the potions. Any of the above is impressive."

"So..."

"So I'm no longer an Auror. It's impossible in my current state. Maybe I'll join again if I can figure out what's wrong with me."

"And if you can't figure it out?" said Remus' mother in a hushed voice.

"Then I'll either die or spend the rest of my life drinking these disgusting Blood-Replenishing Potions. The first option is preferable." Remus laughed a little, and Questus winked at him almost imperceptibly. "So I needed a place without a lot of visitors, where I wouldn't be tempted to..."

"Overexert yourself," said Remus, quoting Madam Pomfrey.

"Ugh. Yes. I'm supposed to stay off my leg, but... that's not happening. You know, I didn't think that it was possible for Pomfrey to hate me more than she already does, but I've ignored the vast majority of her orders recently. Now I think her fondness for me has descended from naught into negative numbers."

"I ignore her too, sometimes, and she likes me just fine," said Remus helpfully. "But no, in your case, she probably hates you for it."

Remus' father came in with the tea. "Would anyone like some?" he asked. He was trying to be polite, Remus noticed, and he was thankful for the fact.

"No," said Remus. "You used salt instead of sugar."

Remus' father rubbed his face, exasperated, and he set the tray down on the kitchen counter before collapsing on the couch next to Remus. "John. Good to see you... again."

"Oh, stop it with the formalities," said Questus. "It's okay if you don't like me. Most don't. Pomfrey doesn't, Orion Black certainly doesn't, Jenkins doesn't care for me, and neither do most of the Aurors—come to think of it, all the Aurors dislike me for one reason or another. When I taught at Hogwarts, I'd say everybody except Dumbledore, Remus Lupin, and... Nope, only two people in the entire school didn't hate me. Sorry for putting words in your mouth, Lupin. You liked me, didn't you?"

"Absolutely not," said Remus.

"That's a yes, then. Point being. I don't care, you can dislike me all you want. In fact, I was just planning on staying in my house all day and every day. All I wanted to do was tell you that I live here now, and..." He groaned. "You know, I'm pretty sure Dumbledore did hate me, actually." He looked at Remus. "Does he know where you..."

"He knows where I live," Remus affirmed.

"Of course he does. So he recommended this house to me on purpose. Suppose he still expects me to give you duelling lessons. I'm not going to, by the way."

"Okay," said Remus.

"And I'm not helping after the full moons."

"Please don't," said Remus.

"And I'm definitely not making you Defense Against the Dark Arts notes when you miss class."

"Sounds good," said Remus.

"And I am under no circumstances teaching at Hogwarts ever again."

"Wonderful," said Remus.

Questus stood up, wincing a little, and raised his eyebrows again. "Well, that's enough unbearable awkwardness for one day. I'm going back to the house and unpacking a bit more."

"Do you need help?" asked Remus' mum. "I'm not sure how injured you are, exactly."

"I'm a wizard," said Questus. "And a highly accomplished one at that... albeit stupid enough to get myself kicked out of the Department again after less than a month. Anyway. I'll be fine."

Remus heard the door shut, and then he turned to his mother.

"Well, he seemed... pleasant," she said.

Remus laughed out loud. "No, he's not."

And that was part of what Remus liked about Professor Questus.

But he definitely did not want to be neighbors.

"Remus, this is wonderful!" said Remus' mother, taking Remus' hands in hers. Remus made a face and pulled his hands away, but his mother was undeterred and kept talking nonsense. "You like him, don't you? And he likes you. And he already knows about you, so we won't have to move! It'll be nice to have company in the area again. So what's the problem? You've been sulking all day."

"First off," said Remus, "it's pretty awful that he was sacked again. He really, really liked being an Auror, Mum. Talked about it all the time."

"Well, he can go back, after that... what was it, a curse?... after they figure out what it is, right?"

"Some curses can't be healed," Remus mumbled, and Remus' mum looked stricken. Remus regretted the fact that he'd said anything at all. "Maybe they will," he corrected in a too-cheerful voice. "But he's going to hate living here. Not enough excitement. And... well, it's awkward."

"What makes it awkward? You've known each other for a year! And I can't say I like him much, but he seems understanding enough."

"He's my teacher, Mum! It's awkward seeing teachers outside of school."

"Well, he's not your teacher anymore. And it didn't seem that awkward with Madam Pomfrey."

"It was!" said Remus. "And he's going to be even more awkward with Professor Questus, because Madam Pomfrey can switch from teacher-mode to person-mode. She wasn't speaking in her Matron Voice, and she was calling me by my first name, and we were chatting and things. Professor Questus won't do that. He doesn't have multiple modes. He'll just... be the same, and then it'll be awkward."

"I don't like him at all," said Remus' father. "Not one bit. Did you hear how he spoke to Remus? Did you hear how awfully disappointed he was about living next to a student that he supposedly liked? Did you hear how sarcastic and rude he was? Did you hear how many times he referenced Remus' condition?"

"Dad," said Remus. "You're sarcastic and rude all the time. It's called a joke."

"But...!"

"Look, Professor Questus was the only one of my teachers to visit me in the Hospital Wing after every single full moon. He made me notes and taught me the whole lesson afterwards. The other ones just assumed that I was getting notes from my friends... but James and Sirius don't take notes, and no one can read Peter's, so I just operated off of the topic and subject matter and research it in the library. But Professor Questus went above and beyond. He gave me duelling lessons two hours a week, just for fun. I went and talked to him whenever I was worried about something, because he doesn't lie..."

"As opposed to the other teachers, who do lie?" asked Remus' mother, looking disturbed.

"Not... not exactly. He just... says what he's thinking, so I don't have to guess. He's not good in social situations, but he's nice when you get to know him. We'd talk over tea, sometimes, about things..."

"See, that sounds nice!" said Remus' mum. "You can still do that now..."

"That's awkward!" Remus groaned. "It was a school thing, not a home thing! My point is, he's not a horrible person, even if he seems like one. It's just... he's a teacher! Not one of my friends!"

"Well," said Remus' mother firmly. "We're making him a pie, and you're going to take it over tomorrow."

"Mum! He won't like that, trust me."

"I am determined to be a good neighbor to him. He's injured and hurting."

"He doesn't care. I don't think he can even feel pain. He might be a robot."

"It's the nice thing to do."

"Then do it yourself."

"Nope. It's your job."

"Why?!"

"Because he knows you and he doesn't seem to like us."

"He doesn't seem to like anyone, especially when he's uncomfortable. That's just how he is."

"Remus! He's ill, he has no job, he had to move away, and you're the only familiar thing to him! So be a good neighbor, for goodness' sake!"

"He's not going to like that," Remus grumped. "He hates good neighbors. Too warm-and-welcoming. He'd rather I be cold-and-distant, I think."

"I don't care."

"Hope, reconsider..." tried Remus' father. "Wizarding customs are..."

"Don't pull that on me! I know for a fact that greeting a neighbor is not impolite in the wizarding world, since he just did it to us."

Remus groaned and fell back onto the couch. "Mum, my leg isn't feeling great..."

"Oh, don't pull that one on me, either. Now help me make a pie. What flavor do you think he'll like?"

"I don't know," said Remus dully. "He was my teacher, not my friend."

"Apple, then," Remus' mum decided. "Help me make it. Lyall, you're helping too. If you can add sugar instead of salt, that is."

Remus glanced at his father, and both of them sighed in perfect unison.

Remus had liked Professor Questus, but he wasn't sure Not-Professor-Questus was going to be nearly as much fun.

Chapter Text

Remus knew that he should be overjoyed at the prospect of living next to his favorite teacher. He'd liked Professor Questus a lot, and he'd been miserable when he'd learned that Questus was leaving Hogwarts. Now Remus had a chance to see him again—a chance to talk to him again—but the thought didn't make him as happy as it should have.

Remus remembered how incredibly happy Professor Questus had been after getting his old job back. Questus had loved being an Auror—Remus could see it in his eyes whenever he talked about it. And now Questus was no longer an Auror, had no chance of becoming one again anytime soon, had to live out here in the middle of nowhere, and was cursed on top of all that. He hadn't seemed to enjoy being confined inside a small school, and the house across the hill was far smaller and less eventful than Hogwarts. Remus couldn't find it in himself to be happy to see Professor Questus again—not when the man was probably going to be miserable for the rest of his life. And not when the whole exchange was incredibly awkward, of course.

But Remus was a fairly obedient person, so he helped his mother make a pie and promised to take it over to Questus' the next afternoon. He knew that Questus was going to hate it. He didn't seem like the type of person to like pie, and he'd seemed like he wanted to be alone. But even still, Remus' mother insisted that it was the least they could do, so Remus made his way over to Questus' house with the pie in hand and knocked on the door grouchily.

It wasn't even two seconds before it flew open, just as it had sometimes before his duelling lesson when Professor Questus was particularly excited. Questus was standing there with an indiscernible expression on his face.

"My mother made me bring over a pie, sir," said Remus dully. "I'm very sorry for bothering you..."

"Lupin. Thank goodness." Remus looked up at Professor Questus, who looked more emotional than Remus had ever seen him. He wasn't sure what emotion it was, though. Maybe it was annoyance. It looked more like relief. Or perhaps he was in pain? He was looking only slightly better than when Remus had seen him last; his face was still pale as anything, and he didn't look quite fit to be standing up. "Would you mind coming in?"

"I... sure," said Remus, at a loss for words.

"Good." Professor Questus pulled him in and shut the door. Remus almost dropped the pie.

"Where would you like me to..."

"Pie is disgusting," said Questus. "You can take it back home, if you'd like."

"Er... my mum isn't going to like that," said Remus.

"Of course not. Well, I'll keep it in here for the time being. Pomfrey's visiting sometime tomorrow, so maybe she'll want some."

"She is?" said Remus.

Questus rolled his eyes. "Yes. Neither of us are happy about it, but Dumbledore wants her to see to it that I don't die. Yet."

"Why can't... Healers...?"

"Matter of utmost secrecy. No one's supposed to know; it's Auror business. And Dumbledore trusts Pomfrey with the information, apparently."

"Oh."

Awkward silence.

"You got a haircut," said Questus.

"Yeah," said Remus. "It's too short, but Mum insisted. Hopefully it'll grow back before school starts."

"Yeah, it's way too short," agreed Questus.

Another awkward silence.

"Would you like me... to go home, then? If that's all?"

"Oh, no. Do you have time?"

"My schedule's very busy, actually," quipped Remus. "You know. Giving a speech at the Ministry tomorrow about my campaign to become Minister for Magic."

Questus snorted. "You'd make a terrible Minister."

"Can't be one, anyway. It's a human position."

"Indeed it is," said Questus, wincing as he sat down.

"So... what do you need...?"

"How do you do it?" asked Questus suddenly. "How on earth do you stay sane? Here, have a seat. Honestly, I just want to talk. It's only been a couple of hours that I've been here, and I'm already going mad."

"What do you mean, sir?" said Remus, sitting down in the other armchair. It was unbearably weird, to be sitting inside his teacher's house. The whole situation was unbearably weird.

"Don't call me sir. I'm not your teacher," said Questus. "Look, I'm... bored. I'm supposed to stay off my leg, you know. I'm not even supposed to be walking. So all I can do, really, is sit here and read." He made a face. "I don't mind reading for pleasure. I do it all the time. But for every hour of the day? With no purpose behind it? I can't even imagine what the Hospital Wing must be like for you. So how do you do it?"

Remus grinned. He wasn't sure why he found this funny, Professor Questus being bored out of his mind. The tables, it seemed, had turned. "Practice," he said simply. "Honestly. That's it."

"There must be something else!" groaned Questus. "What else is there to do?"

"You could always memorize poetry," said Remus slyly.

"Absolutely not."

"Write letters to your friends."

"Do I look like the kind of person who has friends?"

"Write a novel."

"Have you done that?"

Remus realized that Questus didn't know about A Documentation of the Life of Remus Lupin. "Ah... I think I showed you my bullet points. Of the lies I told my friends. I started writing a novel to get them in order. A fake autobiography of sorts."

Questus, for some reason, found that very funny. Remus glared at him until he stopped laughing. "It's not that funny," he said.

"It is. But never mind. My point is: I'm very bored, and my only company is this houseplant that Dumbledore gave me." He gestured towards a small houseplant, and Remus giggled. That seemed like a very Dumbledore thing to do. "I didn't think it would be this hard. I had a pretty action-packed job... both Aurors and professors are constantly around other people, you know. Being alone, not able to go anywhere, not even able to stand..." He shuddered. "I could feel every shred of happiness leaving me as I counted the ceiling tiles half a hundred times."

"Madam Pomfrey has forty-eight potions in the small cabinet in her office," Remus said helpfully.

"That's not encouraging. How many times have you counted them?"

"Maybe thirty times."

"In all?"

"Per month."

"Oh."

There was another very long, very awkward silence.

"I cannot believe I'm asking this," said Questus uncomfortably. "But... if you're not busy this summer..."

Remus grinned. He couldn't believe Questus was asking this, either. "How long did you last? Twenty-four hours?"

"See, that's one of the many good things about my leaving Hogwarts," said Questus. "I don't have to tell you off for being disrespectful. Merlin's beard, I hated doing that. You're good at this."

"Good at what? Being disrespectful?"

"Well, yeah." Questus snorted. "Banter. In general. Friendly insults. I typically find it funny, but..." He shrugged. "Have to maintain authority. Unless it's James Potter, who I think rather likes being punished. Anyway. How much time do you have?"

"My schedule is no more full than yours, Professor."

Questus squinted at him. "You're never going to stop calling me that, are you?"

"No."

"Now I wish I could take points from Gryffindor. Three days a week? At least? Maybe around three pm for tea? But feel free to pop over whenever you'd like. Chances are I won't be busy."

"Do I get paid?" asked Remus.

"Paid for what?"

"Assisting the elderly."

"My goodness, Lupin," said Questus, and Remus laughed. "I'm ill and in pain. You don't have to insult me half to death, you know. And I'll have you know I'm only fifty-three."

"The question remains," said Remus. "Do I get paid?"

"Seeing as I no longer have a job... oh, please tell me I'm not the only one. You're bored out of your mind too, aren't you? Your parents don't seem fun enough to hold anyone's attention for eleven straight years without a break."

"They're brilliant," said Remus.

"I'm sure. But still. You're bored, aren't you? Being home all the time?"

Remus paused. "Well... yeah. But I don't mind being bored. I take a lot of naps."

"Because of your lycanthropy? Does it help, sleeping more?"

Clearly, Questus' curiosity and blunt questions hadn't died down one bit. "A... little," said Remus. "You know, because of physical stress and losing sleep around the full moon and all that. I don't know how often I'm going to be able to visit, actually, now that I think about it. My parents wouldn't even let me sleep in my own bed for a week after the last full moon, and there's no way they'll let me go anywhere the week before the moon this month... which is right before school starts."

Questus waved his hand impatiently. "I don't care. As long as you come when you can. I'm so bored."

"Is it getting better?" Remus asked timidly. "Your injury?"

"Nope. Worse. Well, the injury itself is getting better. But I'm not feeling very fit at the moment."

"They have no idea what curse it is?"

"None at all." Questus leaned back in his chair, grimaced, and propped his leg up on the footrest. "Hurts like you wouldn't believe, though. You can sense it somehow, right, Lupin? Can you explain that? Sense of smell, right?"

Remus ducked his head in embarrassment. "Er... yeah, but... it's weird."

"How so?"

"I dunno. I just... everyone has a scent, right?"

"Right."

"And yours is... different now. Not too much, and only at close range. But enough to be different."

"What do you mean, different?"

"I..." Remus made a small frustrated noise. "That's like trying to explain what things look like to a blind person!"

Questus laughed. "I suppose. Try it anyway."

"Er... you know. A deeper shade. Purpler."

"You're saying it smells like the color purple."

"I don't know!" Remus was laughing now, too. "I can't!"

"Well, that's not going to be any help identifying the curse," said Questus dryly. He mimed flipping through a book. "Curses that smell like purple."

Remus rolled his eyes. "Okay. You know how coffee smells?"

"Yes."

"And apple juice?"

"Mm-hm."

"And... er... oh! The corner of Diagon Alley that leads into Knockturn Alley."

"I didn't think that had much of a scent."

"Oh. I was going to say that it was like all three of those things mixed together, plus something else, but I don't know how to help you now."

"Do you know any other ways to describe it?"

"Well, you could always go and get yourself bitten by a werewolf, and then go to Knockturn Alley and see what I mean. But that's a lot of trouble."

"Sure is," said Questus with a grin.

There was yet another silence, but it was amicable: it was quite possibly the first silence that Remus had shared with Questus that wasn't unbearably awkward.

No, never mind. It was still awkward.

"Erm..." said Remus. "I'd like to stay, but my parents aren't fond of you and probably think that you've kidnapped me. I should probably..."

"Oh, of course," said Questus. "Come back Wednesday?"

"Sure," said Remus. "And you don't want me to bring more pie, I wager?"

"Absolutely not. But thank your mother for me. She's trying to be neighborly, at least."

"I think she's trying to apologize for my dad."

"He honestly wasn't that bad," said Questus. "This may come as a terrible surprise, but the vast majority of people happen to dislike me."

"I'm perfectly aware," said Remus. He stood up. "I'll see you Wednesday, then. Tell Madam Pomfrey I said hello. And try not to get too bored."

"Fat chance of that."

Remus walked back to his house, mulling things over. The past two days had been entirely too weird for his liking.

Remus' father was at work, but Remus had been correct: his mother had indeed been worried about him. "Oh, thank goodness," she murmured, hugging him tightly. "What took you so long?"

"We were catching up," said Remus.

"And... what's the word?"

"He's bored," said Remus, smiling. "Very bored. May I drop by on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday? Around three?"

"Of course," said his mum, looking surprised. "Whatever happened to 'Mum, it's awkward'?"

"It is awkward," Remus insisted. "But we'll figure it out. He's very bored."

"And so are you," Remus' mum reminded him. "It'll be good, I think, to chat with someone besides your dad and me."

"Yeah," said Remus. "No offense, but you're boring sometimes."

Madam Pomfrey showed up the next day, just as Professor Questus had said she would. What Remus didn't expect was the knock on his own door that sounded around one pm. "Who is it?" said Remus' mum. Remus and his mother were sitting on the couch, reading Hogwarts, a History; Remus wanted his mum to know everything about Hogwarts, since she hadn't actually experienced it for herself. Remus pointed out which chapters were the most important, and she read to herself while Remus peered over her shoulder and explained things further, sometimes with animated gesticulations. They'd been at it for at least two hours.

"It's Madam Pomfrey," said Remus. "I didn't think... I was pretty sure she was only visiting Professor Questus."

"Well, since we live right across the street, it's only natural that she should stop by," said Remus' mum, standing up. Remus rather wanted to run upstairs. He wasn't sure why he was suddenly so reluctant to talk to his teachers. It was just so awkward. Teachers belonged at school, not at Remus' house. Not in the house across the street. And definitely not healing Remus after a full moon.

Remus heard the door open. "Hope! How are you?" came Madam Pomfrey's voice.

"Poppy! It's so good to see you! I'm all right, though Lyall has been stressed lately."

"Oh, no. What is it about this time?" Remus was always taken aback by how close his mother and Madam Pomfrey were. His mother should not be best friends with his matron.

"It's actually about Remus' old professor who just moved here. John Questus, his name was. I'm not exactly sure what to call him."

"No one is," said Madam Pomfrey. "I usually call him John. He doesn't mind any sort of name." Except Professor, Remus thought. "I think he prefers to be called Questus, though. Doesn't seem to like his first name very much. So I call him John, precisely because he doesn't like it and I don't like him."

Remus mother laughed. "I like him if Remus does," she said.

"You're a far better person than I. So... Remus knows, correct? That John quit his position at Hogwarts? He only told me today; I think he was trying to keep it under wraps."

"Yes. I don't know how long Remus has known, actually. He never told us, though he seemed to imply that he already knew when Questus visited our house the other day. Why don't you come in, Poppy? I'll make tea."

"Ooh, yes, please. Is Remus awake?"

"Yes. He's just in the other room."

They entered the sitting room, and Remus smiled hesitantly. "Er, hello, Madam Pomfrey," he said.

"Remus! How are you feeling?"

"Normal," said Remus. This was so awkward. "I can make the tea, Mum, if you'd like to talk..."

"I have something to talk to you about first," said Madam Pomfrey. "When did... Questus... tell you that he was leaving?"

"He didn't want to," said Remus. "But I showed up to say goodbye, and he was packed up, and then he told me where he was going since I was already there. He made me swear not to tell anyone."

"That man," muttered Madam Pomfrey. "Always keeping secrets." She gave Remus a pointed look, but he wasn't sure what it meant. "Too many secrets."

"You know very well my secrets are necessary to keep," said Remus, affronted.

"I'm not talking about you. I'm talking about Questus. Too many secrets," insisted Madam Pomfrey, but Remus wasn't convinced. She had hinted to him before that she thought that his friends would accept him, and she'd implied in some of their conversations that perhaps someday Remus should tell them. He couldn't believe that anyone could ever believe that. He ignored her.

"So..."

"Oh. Yes. Anyway, I don't know how much he said when he came over yesterday, but he's very poorly."

"He did say," said Remus.

"What did he tell you?"

"He said it was a curse, that no one knows what it is, that he's supposed to stay off his leg, and that he's not feeling well. He said that the bleeding won't quite stop and he has to take Blood-Replenishing Potions."

Madam Pomfrey stared at him for an uncomfortably long time. "That's it? Unbelievable. Did he mention that it might be fatal?"

"Er, yeah... I think he implied it."

Oh, so that's what this was all about. Everyone was concerned about Remus' mental state. Again. For goodness' sake, he could take care of himself. What were they going to do, keep him away from Professor Questus so that, if he died, Remus would never know? Remus could handle that. He could handle more than that. It was horrible, of course... but Remus wasn't entirely even convinced that Professor Questus, who was tougher than all of Hogwarts combined, could be taken out by any sort of cursed anything. And he had looked fine. And Remus could handle it!

"As long as you know," said Madam Pomfrey. "Wasn't sure he was going to mention it himself." She still looked reproachful. "I don't like him."

"Lyall didn't get the best first impression of him, either," said Remus' mum. "He's very... blunt...?"

"Annoying," said Madam Pomfrey. "Rude. I've told you about all the research that he did on Remus, didn't I?"

"What?" Remus' mum looked stricken. Remus caught Madam Pomfrey's eye and drew two fingers over his neck, but she ignored him.

"Research. On his condition. Most of the teachers did, of course—first werewolf ever to attend Hogwarts, you know. We didn't know what to expect." Remus wanted to die. His mother was going to cry, he was just sure of it. She was already looking teary—or was that just his imagination? "Questus has an innate fascination with the Dark Arts. He hates it, of course, but he's always very interested. So he did far too much research—all summer, really—and wouldn't stop pestering Remus with questions..."

"He wasn't pestering," said Remus shortly.

"He was pestering. He could be downright probing at times."

"He wasn't!" said Remus. "And furthermore...!" He felt himself losing control. In through his nose. Out through his mouth. Cool, calm observations, he reminded himself. "It's been like this all summer," he said. "Everyone's trying to tell me how I'm supposed to feel about things. Why can't you just trust me to tell you how I feel and leave it at that? How come you never believe me?"

"Because, Mr. Lupin," said Madam Pomfrey, switching back to her Matron Voice (which was a weird voice to hear in the comfort of Remus' own home). "You don't tell us. You never do, so we have to guess. If you start telling us when you're uncomfortable, then we'll stop guessing."

Remus sighed. He couldn't really argue with that. "Well, I'm telling you right now. He honestly, really helped. Talking about it is so much easier now."

"If you say so," said Madam Pomfrey. "That doesn't change the fact that he overstepped his boundaries a bit. And I very much do not like him. I might write you a letter later, Hope, and complain. It was a living nightmare working with him." Remus wondered how on earth she could say all that if she honestly thought that Professor Questus was dying. People were usually nice to dying people, weren't they?

"I'm going to make tea now," said Remus, retreating to the kitchen.

He listened to his mother and Madam Pomfrey chatter away excitedly, and his name didn't even come up. He smiled. It was nice, not being the center of attention, and he was glad that his mum had at least one friend. He'd always felt guilty about making his entire family loners. And although it was exceedingly awkward to have Madam Pomfrey visit, he did like her a lot.

Even though she was sometimes horribly, disgustingly right.

Chapter Text

Wednesday arrived, and Remus wasn't sure whether he looked forward to three pm or dreaded it. "You're visiting Questus today?" asked his mum, who hadn't been able to call Professor Questus by his first name. She'd said it was weird. Remus wholeheartedly agreed.

"Yeah," said Remus.

"Be back by five-thirty for supper, please."

Remus couldn't see himself staying for a whole two and a half hours. "I will," he said.

"This is so odd," said Remus' mother with a small smile. "Most mums say that, don't they? Be back before supper? But this is the first time I've ever said it." She chuckled. "And most mums say it before their children go off to play with their friends. Not when they go off to have tea with a former teacher. What do you even talk about?"

Werewolves, thought Remus, but he couldn't say that; it would only upset his mother. "Once we talked about Boggarts. He tells me stories of Auror assignments. And he gives me duelling tips. We talk about a lot."

"But you still don't consider him a friend?"

One benefit of being friends with James Potter was that Remus had perfected his eyeroll. It was quite an impressive eyeroll, if he did say so himself, and he did it now with vigor. "Mum! He's, like, four times my age. He's never going to be anything but my teacher."

"All right, all right," said his mum, smiling. "I just wish you had more friends, honey."

"I have four."

"But..." Remus' mum trailed off, but the unspoken words hung in the air.

It won't last long.

Only one of Remus' friends knew the truth about him (Hagrid, though he and Remus didn't spend an awful lot of time together), and the other three weren't likely to accept Remus when they inevitably found out. Remus would have to leave Hogwarts, and then he would lose Hagrid, too—and all the teachers who had been so kind to him for months and months—and a prospective education—and the Hogwarts library—and the moving staircases. Remus had never particularly liked those staircases, but he'd miss them all the same.

"I'm going upstairs," said Remus after some contemplation. His mother nodded, shamefaced, and Remus retreated to his room to stare at the wall and feel sorry for himself (a pastime that was quickly becoming one of Remus' favorites).

Remus knocked on the door. "Hello? Professor?"

"It's open," said Professor Questus, not bothering speaking any louder than a normal speaking voice. He'd been speaking a lot more quietly lately, actually—which wasn't surprising, seeing as he'd been dead exhausted last time Remus had seen him. But shouting hurt Remus' ears, so Remus was thankful.

"And don't call me Professor," added Professor Questus, and then Remus was significantly less thankful.

He opened the door and shut it behind him carefully. Professor Questus was sitting in an armchair, covered by a dark brown blanket and reading a book. He was wearing his spectacles, Remus noted. He also looked very, very ill. Absolutely exhausted. Remus had never seen him looking so poorly before, and it scared him a little.

"I'm not contagious, if that's what you're thinking," Questus said with a perfected eyeroll of his own. "Here, sit."

Remus sat in the armchair across from him. It wasn't a particularly comfortable armchair, but it would do. "You're not bleeding nearly as much as before," he said.

"Indeed," said Questus. "It's dying down. But the incessant bleeding, I'm afraid, has been replaced with utter exhaustion and chills. I can't catch a break. Pomfrey's pretty sure the curse is at least chronic, if not fatal."

"That's stupid," said Remus. "I mean, not what Madam Pomfrey said. She's usually right. But it's stupid how curses can be... chronic. Magic should be temporary, shouldn't it?"

"Well, I suppose it's only fair," said Questus. "We have magical solutions to all sorts of Muggle problems, so it's only fair that we should have some wizarding problems that Muggles don't have to worry about. Muggles wouldn't have stumbled across whatever I did..."

"What was it?"

"Can't tell you. Auror business. Well, I guess you have no one to tell. It was a building, that's all I'll say. I went inside a building that contained a few powerful curses. Possible that they mixed together in an unpleasant sort of way. With luck, we'll find out soon—on way or another. Anyway. Muggles aren't often werewolves, either, are they?"

"No, not often. But sometimes."

"I imagine they don't last long as werewolves."

"No. They don't usually survive the first transformation, and if they do, then they don't have potions and charms and things to heal them up afterwards." Remus suppressed a shudder. He couldn't imagine his mother healing him, without magic, after every full moon. There was no way he'd've made it past his sixth birthday.

"Hm," said Questus. "What other kind of people survive that first transformation, then? You mentioned that you survived because of... what was the phrase?... dumb luck."

Remus didn't want to talk about this. Wasn't there anything else they could talk about? Anything? Anything at all? "Yeah, it's just luck, I think. Adults can make it through most of the time. It's a toss-up with children, but they just have to be... you know. Not too fragile." Remus suddenly remembered James calling him a fragile china doll and giggled a bit, which felt inappropriate under the circumstances. Then again, Questus didn't particularly care about what was appropriate.

"Makes sense," said Questus thoughtfully. "So what have you been doing lately?"

"Er..." said Remus, startled by the sudden topic change (but thankful nonetheless). "Mum and I have been reading Hogwarts, a History. And I wrote to my friends." Remus didn't really want to tell Questus about the notebook. For some reason, it felt like a secret, even though it had never been officially established as such. "I haven't been writing much, though," he said, which was the truth. "Not as much as they have, anyhow. I can't easily visit them, and I want to... keep my distance. For now."

"Why?" said Questus, looking impatient. "You really should enjoy them while you have them. I've told you that multiple times, Lupin. Take advantage of the fact that you have them for now..."

"I know! But it's making me sad, to write to them, when I can't actually see them. It's not... it's not the same." Remus changed the topic again. "Oh, and Madam Pomfrey visited yesterday. She talked with my mum for a few hours. I mostly stayed in my room."

"I bet you listened to every word, though," Questus teased.

"Only the ones about me," said Remus, smiling. "So what have you been doing, then?"

"I took exactly fourteen-and-a-half naps. Keeping a tally." Questus gestured towards a notepad on the end-table, which contained exactly fourteen-and-a-half tally marks. "You know, I've been trying to convince myself that I'm not old yet (despite your rude remark the other day), but I feel extremely so."

"You're wearing your spectacles."

"And I only wear them when I'm tired," responded Questus. "Usually I just deal with the bad eyesight. Spectacles are a bit of a burden, really. And you know what else is a burden? I'm on strict orders to not leave this armchair. It's horribly unpleasant."

"Are you just going to sleep there?" asked Remus. He'd always slept on the couch after full moons, but there had been two full moons that had occurred directly after the Lupins had moved to a new house. Remus had ended up sleeping on a blanket on the floor on one of them, and the armchair on the other. The armchair, he remembered, had been very uncomfortable. So had the blanket, but that was besides the point.

"Yes. For now. Pomfrey said that I should be a bit better at the end of the week—better enough to walk to another room, at least. Apparating is out of the question. Fortunately, this house is only one story, so I don't have to worry about stairs."

Remus had lived in a couple of one-story houses, himself. He very much preferred them. "Do you want me to make tea?" he asked. "Since you can't get up."

"Ah, sure," said Professor Questus. "Kitchen's over there."

Remus wandered into the kitchen. "Where are the...?"

"Kettle's in the top left cabinet. Cups are right next to it. I'm sure you and your ridiculous werewolf senses can find the ingredients on your own." Indeed, Remus and his ridiculous werewolf senses could do so without a problem.

He handed Professor Questus a cup and sat down. "Does the kettle whistling bother you?" said Questus. "You mentioned the other day that mine was louder than yours."

"It is... but I'm pretty used to it at this point."

"Hm." Questus took a sip of tea. "This is much better than the tea that Pomfrey made yesterday."

Remus smiled. "I used the same ratio that you use. Madam Pomfrey typically uses..."

"Far too much milk, yes." He took another sip. "I suppose that's another thing that amplified senses are good for. You must be an excellent cook."

Remus was, actually. Not excellent, but certainly efficient. Downright decent.

"You said you're used to the kettle whistling by now?" asked Questus. "What about when you weren't used to it? What was all that like?"

Remus squirmed. He had really hoped that they could talk about something else, and he was a bit worried about how much Professor Questus would restrain himself when it came to questions. After all, he wasn't Remus' professor anymore. He could technically ask whatever he wanted with no repercussions. It was no longer unprofessional to do so (not that Questus had ever cared about being professional). "Er," said Remus. "I was five. I don't remember it exactly."

"What do you remember?"

Remus let out a breath with a small whooshing noise. "I was kind of... out of it. For the whole month. I was young, you know, and it was... a lot."

"I wonder about this all the time," said Questus. "All the blood in your body was being replaced, the curse was traveling at a very quick rate, I'm sure, and you were too young to deal with it all...?"

"I wasn't really supposed to survive," said Remus with a shrug. "I was in and out of consciousness for the whole month, so I think I was able to... ease into it? But I remember a few things. Eating was really hard for a while, and I made my father remove the doorbell—he kept doing that, you know, in every house we've ever lived in." Remus chuckled weakly before continuing. "And I made my parents speak more quietly, too. Then I guess I just... got used to it."

"I've noticed that you speak half as loudly as your peers. Then again: your friends, in particular, are very loud."

"Yeah. Peter's voice gets a little screechy when he's excited, and James and Sirius are screechy all the time."

"And, regarding the amplified sense of taste," said Questus with a grin, "I'm sure Hagrid's rock cakes are horrible for you in particular."

Remus laughed. "Well, there's the same difference between rock cakes and normal food for me as there is for you. And after choking down so many of Madam Pomfrey's potions, I'm desensitized."

"But you can't eat on the day of the full moon?"

"No... but some of that is... just because I'm nauseous. And the fact that everything is amplified makes it impossible to eat. Sometimes I can manage a bit of tea in the early morning, but mostly..." Remus shrugged. "I make my parents eat outside, too."

"You have good parents."

"I didn't think you liked them much."

"Oh, please. The fact that they kept you around is reason enough to like them. You realize how many parents would have turned you out?"

"Yes," said Remus shortly. "The vast majority. I know."

"My parents did."

Remus blinked. "What?"

"My parents. Turned me out. As soon as I was of age. And I'm not even a werewolf."

"Why? What did you do wrong?"

"A great many things. Not sure if you noticed, but I'm not likeable."

"Really?" said Remus, feigning wonder. "That explains a lot." He sensed that the topic was exhausted for now, so he switched topics again masterfully. "So... was the Ministry still unhappy with you when you came back to be an Auror a few months ago?"

"Oh, yes," said Professor Questus. "Absolutely. All my former co-workers looked at me with pure contempt. Even got lectured sternly on the subject of self-control by one of the older Aurors." He smiled. "I don't need a lecture on self-control. It wasn't that I couldn't control myself when I insulted Orion and got sacked... I just didn't want to."

Remus laughed politely, but something was bothering him. "Is there a difference?" he asked.

"Of course there's a difference. It's a calculated risk versus a spur-of-the-moment decision."

"Oh," said Remus. He'd been thinking of the full moon—when his mind and motives were changed. It wasn't that he couldn't control himself then, not really. It was just that he didn't want to... he wanted to hurt people... he wanted to slash himself to bits and claw at the furniture. It wasn't that he didn't have free will, necessarily; it was just that he had different motives, a different personality, and different priorities. But if controlling oneself was always calculated, then...

"I can almost follow your train of thought exactly," said Questus. "Your face betrays you."

Remus raised his eyebrows and then rearranged his face into what he thought was a decent poker face. "Really? Then what was I thinking?"

"Self-control. Full moon. It's not that you can't control yourself, it's just that you don't want to—with the new mind and motives."

"Wrong," said Remus. "Not even close."

"Liar. Hey, tell me about it."

Remus froze. "What?"

"The full moon."

"What about it?"

"Tell me about the full moon. Start to finish. All the details."

"I..." Remus blinked. "Don't you know the details?"

"Yeah. But I've never heard them from you."

"There's... there's a reason you've never heard them from me, Professor! I don't like to talk about it! I already have to live it every month!"

"Don't call me Professor. I understand. That's why I never made you talk about it... much... before. But I'm no longer your teacher, and I am extremely curious."

"But... you already know!"

"Yeah. But I want to hear it from you."

"But, Professor..." Remus felt his face turn red, and then he felt it grow even redder because he was embarrassed that it was turning red. "But I don't want to," he said lamely.

"For heaven's sake, Lupin. It's as you said: I already know what happens. There's no need to be embarrassed. And don't call me Professor."

"Maybe I should get home," Remus mumbled. His hands were shaking a bit, he noticed. That was weird. Was he cold? He didn't think so.

"Lupin!" said Questus, exasperated, and Remus realized that Questus had been calling his name for quite some time. Remus had spaced out a bit. Oops. "Look, if you don't want to tell me, I'm not about to force you. Calm down."

Remus took a breath.

In through his nose. Out through his mouth.

"I just... it's a living nightmare," he said. "I like talking about werewolf-related things sometimes... but this is too much. I hate talking about the transformations. I hate them."

"Of course," said Questus. "And I definitely won't make you. I don't want you fainting in my armchair—that would certainly be a bit of a nuisance. But you've never gotten like this before at the mere mention of the full moon, Lupin. Anything specifically wrong?"

"Just..." He clenched his hands into fists in an effort to stop their annoying quivering. "I dunno. Unexpected. And being asked to... tell the whole thing... is different from specific questions, you know?"

"May I ask specific questions, then?"

"No," said Remus. "Now I'm..." Flashes of pain and dark cellars and full moons filled his head. What was wrong with him? "I'm sorry; it hasn't been like this in a while..."

"Your lycanthropy is taboo in your family, isn't it?" said Questus, frowning. "You don't talk about it much?"

"No. My dad gets guilty, and my mum gets all weepy."

"You've been home for over a month now. You've probably regressed."

Regressed?

Remus didn't like that word.

Really? Could all of the work he'd done not-thinking-about-sheep and talking-about-werewolves and talking-to-people... could that go away? Could he really lose everything he'd worked so hard for? Would he have to start over completely, just as uncomfortable and uncertain as he'd been at the beginning of his first year? Would he lose all the peace of mind he'd had before?

Or was Professor Questus just telling him that as a classic manipulative Slytherin? Was it all just a story to get Remus to talk?

Perhaps it was, but Remus didn't care. Questus had made a good point: Remus was going to go back to school in a few weeks, and he really needed to desensitize himself again. He could tell this story. Just this once. Couldn't he?

"Where should I start?" he asked.

"Lupin, you don't have to..."

"Where should I start?" he repeated.

Questus studied his face. "Days leading up?"

In through his nose. Out through his mouth. Calm down. "The days leading up just make me feel ill," said Remus. "Starts about three or four days before, but I can always feel it getting closer. Even up to a week and a half before, though it's not usually awful until the day of the full moon. It feels like a more severe version of the Muggle flu—minus the runny nose—plus some pain in my bones and muscles. And then, on the day of the full... well, it's different every time, you understand. Always pain, always fatigue... I've lost my voice once or twice... spots in my vision... that one time I was fainting left and right..."

"I remember that," said Questus, an amused look on his face.

"Shush, I'm trying to forget about that. And my senses are heightened, obviously, so I can't eat."

"And then?"

"And then Madam Pomfrey wakes me up at... somewhere between five-thirty and five-forty-five. Then we walk to the Shrieking Shack. If I'm home, my dad brings me down at around six-thirty. Seven. Seven-thirty. It depends."

"That's late," commented Questus. "Don't you transform at around eight?"

"Around, yeah. But the hours preceding a full moon are... well, they're hard. And private. My parents have seen it, but I don't want... anyone... Madam Pomfrey shouldn't have to..."

"All right," said Questus simply, blessedly interrupting Remus' incoherent speech. "What happens then?"

Remus was thankful for the questions, for the first time ever. They provided as a sort of guide so that he wasn't rambling for hours. "Well, first there's the fact that I'm dead terrified."

"You are? Even after so many full moons?"

"Yes. Every time. I'm always scared out of my mind. Then I start shaking like mad—but not just because I'm afraid. I think it's because..."

"Like a triple shot of adrenaline," Questus mused. "Because of the physical pressure."

'I... guess," said Remus. "And sometimes I'll... you know. Only if I'm stressed, not all the time... sort of... episodes, for lack of a better word. It's all normal one minute, and then I can't breathe and everything hurts. They don't last long."

"Hm," said Questus. "Never read about that in books before."

"Well, I'm not making it up."

"I believe you."

"Good, because I'd have no reason to lie about that. And then, at about eight pm, everything just sorta goes... still. I stop shaking. My heart rate drops. And everything's deathly quiet and still for about six seconds (sometimes I count). And then I transform."

"Must be nice to have some warning," said Professor Questus.

"It's mostly just scary," muttered Remus. "Hearing everything stop and go totally silent is like something out of a horror movie."

"I suppose. What does the transformation feel like, then?"

"Well..." Remus could feel his cheeks going red again, and he swiped at them as if to return them to their normal color. "Like... like you said before. Like everything you said before." Questus had read quite a lot about werewolves in the Hogwarts library, and he often made offhand comments about some of the more painful bits of the transformation. He already knew everything, and he'd made it quite clear.

"Well, yes. I know the technical things. But how does it feel? All the books I read were written by humans, you know. Not werewolves."

"Well... it's just the technical things," said Remus. "It's like... I dunno. It hurts. All over. Like the Cruciatus... kind of, but it more of an... inside pain... you know, more stretching, breaking, bending... than an outside pain. Not quite as intense, but I can feel it happening."

Questus leaned forward slightly. "Uh-huh," he said slowly. "And how do you know what the Cruciatus curse feels like?"

"Ah..." Remus thought he'd told Professor Questus, but he supposed he hadn't. He knew he'd told Dumbledore, at least, on that horrific day in his office after Dumbledore had seen... oh, fiddlesticks, he'd forgotten that he'd shown Dumbledore a full-moon memory that one time. He was sure that his face was probably bright, bright red now. Red was Remus' second-favorite color, but he wasn't a fan of it at the moment.

"I was eight," started Remus. "Durmstrang boys in the neighborhood found out about me. They thought they were doing something noble. It was only for a few seconds, and they were only teenagers. I doubt they'd done it before, so it wasn't nearly as bad as it could have been. My dad was just on the bench nearby, reading the paper, and he got them to stop... but it didn't feel pleasant."

"Didn't feel pleasant." Questus snorted. "Understatement of the century. All right. Back to the transformation. It lasts thirty to forty seconds, doesn't it?"

"I don't really know," said Remus. "But I think so."

"And then afterwards...?"

"I transform back."

"And how do you feel?"

"Completely numb for about ten to fifteen minutes. Dad thinks it's an aftereffect of all my nerves reshaping themselves. He says it takes a while for them to come back."

"And then?"

"I'm... me, I guess. Discombobulated, sometimes. Other times I'm perfectly fine. Madam Pomfrey gives me a Pain-Relieving Potion, and I usually fall asleep while she's healing me. And... that's it, really. That's all."

Remus had managed to tell the whole story, and he hadn't spontaneously combusted. Not even once. He was immensely proud of himself, and he half-expected some praise from Professor Questus... but none came.

There was a long moment of silence.

It was awkward.

Why was it so awkward?

"How?" asked Questus abruptly.

"How what?"

"How do you do it, exactly? How do you go through all that every month without going insane?"

"I never said I wasn't insane," joked Remus. "I'm friends with James and Sirius. Of course I'm insane."

Questus snorted in amusement, but he still looked as if he was waiting for a genuine answer.

"I don't know, honestly," admitted Remus. "More luck, I guess. When I feel myself slipping, I tell myself that, if I could do it as a tiny five-year-old with no pain tolerance and no understanding of what was happening, then it shouldn't be hard to do it now."

Questus snorted again. "Suppose. And—back to the transformation itself—does the mind change happen gradually? Or all at once?"

Remus made a face. He'd thought they were done talking about that. "Sort of gradually, I think. But I'm not really paying attention. It just feels like I'm going mad from the pain."

"So the transformation starts, and when it stops, you're not you at all?"

"I am me," said Remus. "That's the worst part. I'm still me—I'm completely and totally me. But it's like you said before: I'm a version of me who wants... different things. I don't have a sense of right and wrong. But I can remember the whole full moon when I transform back: my actions, my instincts, and my reasoning."

"So..." said Questus, and Remus knew from his tone of voice that he was about to ask something very unpleasant. "Explain your reasoning, then."

Remus' hands were shaking again (he'd thought they were done!), but he barreled on. "Like... itching. Instinct. Everywhere. It's like... a need, of sorts. Paired with intense hatred of literally everything. I remember things from the daytime, but only flashes, and... there's just a lot of itching. And I can't tell myself that it's wrong. My conscience is just gone. I'm still me, but I don't remember... who I am... kind of."

"Would you remember human speech?"

"I... I don't know if I don't understand human speech, or if I just don't care. I don't think in human speech. Just images and feelings. I don't remember names, at least. But I remember faces."

"So you're telling me that you have some semblance of human logic, and you scratch yourself to bits anyway."

"You don't understand," said Remus, shaking his head. "There's logic, yeah, but the instinct always comes first. And there's nothing around but me and the furniture. But there's logic in the sense that I know some things about my surroundings, past, and future, and then I apply it. I know that I'm going to transform back, and I know that someone's going to heal me. But... I don't care how I feel when it's not the full moon, as long as I survive to see the next one. So my injuries won't ever be fatal, at least—I know when to stop, and that's sort of logic."

"Sort of logic?"

"Any logic that I have on the full moon isn't Remus-logic—well, it is Remus-logic—but it's wolf-logic. But it's still logic. It's not... it's me, but it's not... me-me."

"That doesn't make much sense," said Questus. He sighed, and then he forced out his next words with great difficulty. "I apologize for pushing you, Lupin. I know you don't like to talk about it."

Remus nearly choked on his tea. Professor Questus had only ever genuinely apologized once. Ever. For anything. And it had been on the seventh of September—almost a year ago now. Had it been that long? It was unthinkable.

Remus realized that he was returning to Hogwarts in a few short weeks. He wasn't sure whether to be excited or terrified.

"But," Questus continued (apparently he wasn't done), "I'm very curious about such things. And once I get started, I find it difficult to stop." He peered at Remus through his thin, wire spectacles that were so different from both James' rectangular ones and Dumbledore's half-moons. "There's just... something I need to know about you. But I don't know what, and I don't know why. I suspect I'll figure it out someday. Call it an itching feeling—like the way you described full-moon instinct—but it's not quite the same thing because I definitely don't want to murder anyone."

"I understand," said Remus.

"You do?"

"No."

Questus laughed. "Well, I think it's good for you to talk about it sometimes, anyway. It helps, don't you think?"

Remus considered. His insides felt lighter, somehow, now that it was all out in the air. There was nearly nothing now that Questus didn't know. In fact, he knew more about things than Remus' own parents did—they'd never asked about the full moons. And now there were exactly two people besides himself that knew all the details: Dumbledore and now Questus. Sharing the burden felt so much better than bearing it alone. Remus had enough secrets to keep, and it was relieving that this didn't have to be one of them. "I think it does help," he said quietly.

"Good."

"Did it help you figure out the... itching?" said Remus. "My dad's in Ravenclaw. He has his own obsessions that Mum and I always tease him about."

"Yeah, you've mentioned that," said Questus, the corners of his mouth tipping upwards. "No. I haven't. I know you explained best as you could, but it didn't do it justice."

"Sorry."

"Quite all right."

"What are you doing for supper?" Remus asked. "If you can't get up? Do you need help?"

"I'm a wizard, Lupin. I can levitate things pretty well."

"Oh," said Remus, feeling silly.

"But come to think of it... would you and your family be interested in coming over for supper on Sunday evening? I should be on my feet by then." He sighed. "I'm still bored. Terribly bored. Horribly bored. I don't understand how people get through life without shooting curses at Dark wizards every couple of seconds."

Remus grinned. "I've had enough curses to last me a lifetime, so..."

"Oh, yeah. Me too, apparently. But—back to the topic of Sunday dinner—do you think your father will be okay with that? I'm hoping I can make a better impression on your family so that they'll come for tea when you're at school."

"Top-tier manipulation, I see," teased Remus. "Yeah, it should be fine as long as I'm not having dinner with the Minister for Magic or the Queen of England on that day. Sundays are often busy."

Questus rolled his eyes. "Yeah, right. You know, I'm terribly embarrassed to be enlisting the company of a twelve-year-old werewolf and his family—especially a twelve-year-old werewolf who has a date with the Queen—but it's the only thing that will keep me relatively sane at this point."

"I'm bored, too," said Remus with a smile. "Home is so uneventful compared to Hogwarts."

"I bet. Your parents don't seem quite up to par with Potter and Black."

"Yeah. Talking of my parents, please don't tell them that I'm comfortable speaking about werewolves, okay? Just don't mention it to them. I really don't want them to know... then they'll feel even more guilty and sad."

"Fine. Sure. Hey, tell me about your relationship with Evans," said Questus suddenly. "I've been curious. You seem to be close one minute, and then the next minute she's shouting at you, and then she's aloof and distant the next." His eyes lit up suddenly. "You're not...?"

"Not what?" said Remus.

"Is there any preteen romance involved?"

Remus inhaled sharply and immediately started coughing. "What the... why...? Romance?" He looked up at Questus, who was laughing. "Oh, shut up. There's no..." He started laughing, too, and wiped some tears from his eyes that had formed during his coughing fit. "Oh, ew. You know very well I can't ever be involved with someone."

Questus stopped laughing. "Why not?"

"Werewolf. I am not putting anyone through that."

"Oh." He stopped, considering. "You've mentioned that before. Yes, I suppose that's reasonable. What a pity; the world needs more Lupins."

Remus suppressed another coughing fit. "Merlin's beard, Professor. Shut up."

"So..." Questus prompted, still smiling. "Evans."

"I... we were friends. At first. But she's been best friends with Snape since before Hogwarts, and my friends don't like him much. So her loyalty is to her first friend, and my loyalty is to my own. So we mutually decided to stop being friends, and now we're just... acquaintances. She's got a bit of a temper, and she takes it out on me sometimes when my friends are rude to Snape. I don't mind, though."

"She has a nasty streak, all right," said Questus. "Why don't you just ask your friends to stop harassing Snape?"

"They won't listen. They'll just get angry with me for spoiling their fun. They have before. And I... don't want to lose them prematurely. I haven't got much time left, anyhow, and I want to..."

"Yes, of course. If you ask me, both Evans and Snape need to stop being so dramatic."

Remus remembered what Evans had let slip about Snape's father—Snape didn't have the best home life, apparently—and he felt a stab of hot remorse. "I think my friends are at fault, too," he said quietly. "But I'm not about to tell them that. I only ever tell them off for treating Peter badly, and that's only because they don't seem to mind it when I do."

"You need them, you know, for as long as possible," said Questus. "As someone who has too much firsthand experience with boredom, you should stay at Hogwarts for as long as possible before coming back to this torture chamber of a place to live."

"You say that as if you have more experience with boredom than I do. You've been here for mere days."

"Feels like longer," said Questus sagely. "Anyway. My point is, you don't need to feel bad about doing what you need to do to keep your friends."

"Then Evans doesn't need to feel bad about doing what she needs to do to protect hers," said Remus firmly. "Everybody needs friends, not just me."

"True," said Questus, "but your peers have their whole lives to make friends. You have a few months, I'd wager."

"Do you really think that..."

"I think that they're going to find out very soon."

"And..."

"I don't think they'll try to do something as stupid as murder you. They've got more sense than that. I'm assuming they'll be disgusted and they'll want to tell everyone, but Dumbledore can prevent that. They might make you leave. Perhaps you can stay, if you sleep somewhere else. I don't know. But I don't think you'll very well want to stay when three of your classmates think you're a monster."

Remus shivered at the word. "No, I don't think I will." He glanced at his watch. "It's five-twenty! I need to get home!"

"Very well," said Questus. "See you Friday?"

"Of course," said Remus. "And Sunday if the Queen lets me off the hook." He got up and turned to leave, but Professor Questus stopped him.

"Lupin..." Professor Questus closed his eyes, and he suddenly looked more tired and ill than Remus had ever seen him. "Thank you," he said finally. "I know this is terribly awkward, but I appreciate it very much."

Remus wasn't sure how to respond. He didn't get thanked very often; usually, he was the one doing the thanking. How did he want people to respond when he thanked them for things...? Oh, he remembered now.

"Don't start getting sentimental on me now, Professor," he said, rolling his eyes and shutting the door behind him.

"Don't call me Professor," said Questus' voice from behind the door, but there was no mistaking the laughter in his tone.

Remus smiled and walked home, feeling much lighter and less worried than when he had arrived.

Chapter Text

Friday with Professor Questus was just as pleasant as Monday had been. Questus was looking even more ill, but he was hardly bleeding at all—that was probably a good sign. Fatal, Remus scoffed internally. Madam Pomfrey didn't know what she was talking about.

"Did you hear about my exam results?" Remus asked, eyes glinting as he handed Questus another cup of tea.

Questus snorted. "Lupin. Everybody has heard about your exam results. Trust me."

"Top of the form!" Remus exclaimed. "I'd never expected to do better than James and Sirius."

"You spent hours upon hours revising in the Hospital Wing. I'd be surprised if you weren't top of the form," said Questus. "No one revises for first-year exams. They don't matter."

"I don't care," said Remus sunnily. "I'm the most educated child-turned werewolf in Britain, probably."

"Probably," Questus agreed. "In the world, I'd wager. Perhaps in all of human—werewolf—history."

There was a silence, and they both took a sip of tea.

"Hang on," said Remus. "What do you mean, 'everyone's heard about my exam results'?"

"Well, there's a stereotype that werewolves are irresponsible, dumb animals who are incapable of following human authority," said Questus, and Remus winced. "Oh, calm down. We both know it's not true. But the fact that you're top of the form—like you said, above two extremely bright Pureblood wizards—is a rather notable accomplishment. The teachers have known for a while that you're a good student. But after results came out, they were forced to admit it." Questus grinned. "The look on Sidus' face. And Craff's! Especially Craff's. Oh, it was glorious."

Remus laughed. "Did they say anything?"

"Yeah, actually," said Questus. "First off, Sidus is pretty confused about how you managed to be top of the form after missing about nine assignments..."

Remus blushed. Sidus had set them an assignment in which they'd had to draw the full moon, and Remus (for obvious reasons) hadn't been able to do that. Sidus had offered him an alternate assignment, but Remus had been too stubborn for that—instead, he'd just taken the bad marks every time. It had been completely his own fault.

"...And some of the teachers think you cheated," continued Questus thoughtfully.

"What?" Remus hadn't expected that at all.

"Indeed. They're too stupid to understand how werewolf senses work, but they know you have them. They think you could somehow hear behind the door as you waited your turn for the practicals... or that you have amazing eyesight and could see others' papers during the written."

"There were Soundproofing Charms on the doors! And I don't have amazing eyesight! The only way that I could have possibly cheated is..." He trailed off.

"Yes?" Questus raised his eyebrows. "Please tell me you didn't cheat."

"I didn't. What do you take me for? But sometimes people whisper or mouth things to themselves during the written exam. I make a point to avoid writing down anything I overhear, though, I promise. Which is not beneficial at all when it's multiple-choice." Remus smiled. "Question seventeen and question thirty-eight on your exam. The answer to seventeen was C: Grindylows, and the answer to thirty-eight was A: Verdimillious. I heard a Ravenclaw boy whispering to himself about it, so I got them wrong on purpose."

Questus put down his mug, evidently stunned. "Hang on. Do you see that drawer? Behind you?"

Remus looked behind him and pointed. "That one?"

"Yeah. Would you bring me the top three papers?"

Remus opened the drawer and removed the top three papers. He recognized it as his own exam. "Professor! You're not supposed to keep these!"

"I made copies of a few of them." Professor Questus rolled his eyes. "And don't call me Professor." He waved his wand, and the papers flew out of Remus' hands and into his own. He flipped through the papers deftly. "You're right," he said, "and those were the only two questions that you missed."

Remus smiled. "Yes, they were."

"You should have gotten a perfect score."

"Yes, I should have."

"You got two questions wrong on purpose and were still top of the form..."

"Yes, I was."

"Wow." He flipped through the pages again. "You didn't have to do that, you know. You knew the answers already. It wouldn't have been cheating."

"Maybe not... but I wasn't sure what kind of anti-cheating charms were on the exam, and I didn't want to risk it."

"Anti-cheating charms do not account for werewolf hearing," said Questus. "Just unregulated quills and other magical devices. If they were whispering, then they were the ones who technically cheated, not you." Questus adjusted the blanket wrapped across his legs, still flipping through Remus' exam. "I really wish you hadn't done that. A perfect score on the D.A.D.A. exam would have been so much fun. Can you imagine...?"

"I know," said Remus, grinning. "Professor Craff's face."

"The staff thought that you'd be particularly terrible at my exam," said Questus, "even though I tried to tell them you were gifted. Dark creature, you know, taking Defense Against the Dark Arts. They didn't think it would work out."

"And I did the worst at Transfiguration," said Remus. "That's ironic, too, seeing as I transform into something else every single month."

"McGonagall was impressed in spite of herself at your exam, even though she couldn't give you any more points than she did. Apparently, it was the first time you'd ever attempted transfiguring a living thing?"

"Yeah. It... makes me nervous. So I didn't really practice that particular transfiguration."

"You really do need to work on that," said Questus, "but McGonagall was impressed anyway. She mentioned that you'd never done it in class before—just sort of stared at your desk and helped Peter and laughed at James and Sirius. She'd chalked it up to reluctance to do magic in front of others. She's heard about the endless schoolwork and practice you do in the Hospital Wing and figured you were practicing on your own."

That made Remus feel awful. "I should have done," he said. "I just... couldn't..."

"Do stop snivelling, Lupin. She did the same thing. Felt horribly guilty about it all, you know. She thinks it's her fault—after all, apparently you asked a question in one of the first Transfiguration lessons that implied you had trouble watching living things get transfigured."

"I only asked her if it hurt the pig, to change into a desk," said Remus uncomfortably. "I told her that the issue had been resolved when she answered my question, so she had no way of guessing. I should have said something..."

"But you were afraid of being pitied," said Questus. "Don't worry. I'm not disagreeing with you. I think it was your fault entirely."

"Thank you," said Remus shortly. "It was."

Questus smiled and took another sip of tea. "My point is, Lupin, she was impressed. Not many first-years can transfigure a living thing on their second go, even if it's only halfway. I don't want to inflate your ego, but seeing as you don't have much of an ego to begin with... you're shaping up to be a marvelous wizard."

Remus grinned. He liked to be categorized as a "wizard" far more than he liked to be categorized as a "werewolf".

"You didn't ace all your exams, though. Your Flying exam was only decent... but that class is only required for first-years, so I don't care. Speaking of which, how many electives are you planning on taking in your third year? If you keep attending Hogwarts, that is."

"I haven't really thought about it. To be frank, I don't think I'll be able to keep attending Hogwarts all the way to third year."

"I could help teach you from home, if I don't get back my Auror job," said Questus. "Do you remember when the stupid werewolf law was passed a few months ago? I said I'd help tutor you over the summer if you couldn't return to Hogwarts. Things were different when I was a teacher and had summers off, but I meant it."

"Really?"

"Of course. I like teaching you. You're not infuriating all the time."

"Thank you... I guess."

"Now, I don't know how much time I'll have—I might be too ill to visit some days—but if you ever have questions, I'll be more than happy to answer them. You usually ask good questions."

Remus blinked hard. "Thank you."

"I want you to keep learning from home, though. I know it won't be the same. I know you probably don't need my prompting; you're going to do it anyway. But if anything will get you somewhere in life, it's an education. Granted, it probably won't do much... but it might, and you clearly enjoy it. You have to have a purpose, and education will provide you with small goals, at least... what? Why are you smiling like that?"

"You're acting like you're the expert here on boredom," said Remus, and Questus shot him a look of good-natured exasperation. "What? All I'm saying is... you're the one who's inviting a twelve-year-old to have a cup of tea with you three times a week..."

"Do shut up," said Questus. Remus giggled. "Point being. We'll see what happens, shall we?"

"Yeah."

"Start thinking about those electives. Care of Magical Creatures, Arithmancy, and Ancient Runes are the obvious choices. Honestly, I'll kill you myself if you take Divination or Muggle Studies."

"I'm not taking Care of Magical Creatures," said Remus incredulously. "Seriously?"

"It's an easy class, but arguably important," said Questus. "It's crucial to know how to defend yourself against certain magical creatures. Defense Against the Dark Arts only teaches you about Dark creatures and otherwise dangerous creatures, but Care of Magical Creatures is an important practical introduction to magical creatures in general—many of which can be dangerous even though they're not inherently Dark. Kettleburn can be a bit stupid, and the class is seen as an easy O.W.L.—but I'd take it if I were you."

"I know about magical creatures already. My father works at the D.R.C.M.C."

"Still, Creatures is infinitely better than Divination or Muggle Studies. Muggle Studies is important for people who come from wizarding-only families, but not for anyone with a Muggle parent. Divination is bogus. Creatures, though, has some practical use, at least. You should take it."

"Professor! Do you even hear yourself?"

"First: don't call me Professor. And second: I'm not quite sure what you mean."

"I am a magical creature! I am literally the subject of the class!"

"Well then, you should be very good at it indeed."

"I'm a Dark creature. I am a werewolf."

"Really? That explains a lot."

"Professor! Some magical creatures can tell, and they're terrified of me!"

"Oh." Questus was silent for a minute. "Don't call me Professor. And... are you certain? I never noticed that in my class. The creatures we worked with all seemed to tolerate your presence."

"We only work with Dark creatures," muttered Remus. "They don't mind me; I'm one of them."

"Hm. I suppose that makes sense. I'd read about werewolves and magical creatures in books, of course, but I thought it was just another rumor."

"It's not," said Remus, "so I can't take the class."

"Pity," said Questus. "You know, I'm sure Kettleburn will find a way. He's looking forward to meeting you. Very interested in you."

"Not like Professor Slughorn's level of interest, right?" Remus asked. "Or yours?"

Questus laughed. "I don't think so; although it's hard to tell since he's never met you. But I like him, actually. He's annoying sometimes, but he doesn't coddle his students like some."

"So... do the teachers talk about me often, then?" Remus asked, feeling a little uncomfortable about the prospect.

"Merlin's beard, yes. You're the first werewolf at Hogwarts, and the school's been established for nearly a thousand years. It's either an in-depth discussion about your talents and disposition or a very careful avoidance of the subject. You know, if it's any consolation, they don't say anything bad. Not about you, per se. There are some pretty awful things about werewolves in general, but all of your teachers are forced to admit that you're a good student. There's nothing you've done that ties you to the rest of your kind."

Remus winced. His kind. He didn't like that phrase.

"And none of the teachers... well, except for the ones that know you well... suspect you had anything to do with the various disturbances that your friends have caused. No, you're far too quiet and mild-mannered to decorate Dumbledore's office for Halloween and help write the lyrics to your friends' tabletop rendition of Jingle Bells, hm?"

"Oh, yes," said Remus, grinning. "Far too quiet."

"Most of the teachers don't mind you as a person and as a student. I wouldn't worry about that. Some are horribly, awfully prejudiced, though." Questus' eyes suddenly hardened in a manner that surprised Remus half to death. "I don't care about 'ingrained prejudices' or whatever nonsense phrase Dumbledore called them. It's not that difficult to treat you as a twelve-year-old. I didn't like you at first, and I did it. It's not that hard."

"I can't blame them," said Remus in a low voice. "It's not like I wasn't afraid of werewolves before."

Professor Questus raised an eyebrow. "Before you were bitten? So when you were three?"

"And when I was four! I think. I can't really remember thinking much about werewolves at all, so I'm not sure I knew they existed. But I would have been scared if I'd known."

"Every three- and four-year-old is afraid of werewolves! But being afraid of a twelve-year-old as a highly accomplished, middle-aged wizard or witch is just embarrassing. It's not comparable." He sighed. "Mental prejudices are okay, and ideas that have been passed down to a person that have manifested themselves over the years are okay... but not doing anything about them is not okay."

"I can't blame them," said Remus again. "I am dangerous. They should be afraid of me."

"Once a month," said Questus in a dangerous tone that Remus had never heard before. "Once a month. Merlin's beard. You're more scared of yourself than I'm scared of you."

"Well, you're not the one whom I bite and scratch every month," Remus said stiffly. "I've plenty of right to be afraid of myself, thank you very much."

"See, that's exactly my point. What right do they have to be afraid of you? You go through plenty just to avoid hurting them. You make sacrifices to ensure their safety. Refusing to treat you as the person you are is a pretty poor way to repay you."

"The sacrifices that the school has made for me are payment enough, Professor. They go out of their way to give me an education."

"Two things," said Questus. "One: don't call me Professor. Two: most of the professors don't make any sacrifices at all. Has Hooch ever gone out of her way to help you make up the Flying classes that you've missed?"

"No, but..."

"Has Sprout ever so much as told you what you missed while you were out?"

"No. But, Professor..."

"Don't call me that. There are precious few staff members who actually make sacrifices for you. I can think of five: Dumbledore, Pomfrey, McGonagall (to a point), Hagrid, and myself. And if we actually want to do it, if we're getting paid for it, and if it's not unpleasant whatsoever... then it's not really a sacrifice, now is it?"

"I guess not, but..."

"In fact, I'd even go as far as to say that Pomfrey is the only one making sacrifices here, since Hagrid likes visitors, Dumbledore likes helping students, McGonagall's only really trying to overcome her prejudices for her own sake, and I enjoyed teaching you. Pomfrey doesn't like healing you, but that's only because she hates seeing you injured. I think she'd hate not-healing you even more (hence her visit last full moon), so even she's not making many sacrifices, at least not in the strict interpretation of the word."

"But..."

"Suffering through the noise of the Great Hall, waiting in a shack on the outskirts of Hogsmeade, going through unimaginable pain, suffering nightmares, learning how to socialize with people your age, enduring the teachers' prejudices, spending days on end in the Hospital Wing, catching up on missed schoolwork all on your own—and not to mention locking yourself up to keep others safe, suffering injuries that most wizards cannot even imagine as a result—I think that that's the real sacrifice here."

"But I'm getting an education in return," Remus argued, "and friendship. I like those things, so they're not sacrifices."

"Then those aren't the sacrifices. But you still can't deny that you are making more sacrifices than your teachers are—so no, they do not have the right to be prejudiced. I don't even know why we're talking about sacrifices, because they wouldn't have that right even if they were making sacrifices. That's a ridiculous sentiment to begin with."

"I don't care about who's making what sacrifices. The staff don't have to thank me for doing what's expected of me by completely rewiring their minds."

"Which," said Questus, "according to your own words, is necessary—because it's what's expected of them. Just as it's basic decency to avoid murdering a school of students, it is also basic decency to treat one student as a person. And they're not 'completely rewiring their minds'. Are you really so self-centered so as to think that a person's every thought revolves around werewolves?"

"No!" said Remus. "That's not what I meant at all. And... it's not basic decency to treat one student as a person, because basic decency is determined by society, and society doesn't like werewolves."

Questus grinned and leaned back slightly. "Good point," he said. "This is incredibly entertaining, Lupin, thank you. I like to argue."

"Erm. You're welcome."

"And, in order to keep the argument up, I would argue that basic decency is not determined by society."

"That's absolutely ridiculous. Of course it is."

"I don't believe that. No one knows—or at least no one can prove—what determines the conscience. Self-preservation, some say. Collective preservation, other argue. But it's not society. If it were, then every single society would have a wildly different moral code. It might be okay to steal in Russia, or murdering would be acceptable in Finland, or betraying one's friends would be admirable in Australia. But no. All humans have a similar moral code. Almost identical, really." He paused. "I say humans and not people because you don't have the same moral code on the full moon, and some other Beings—besides humans—do not. But I think you understand my point."

"I suppose."

"Moral values may differ some, but they're only our own ideas about how to fulfill the universal moral code that we all share to a degree. Stealing, murder, and betrayal are abominable in nearly every society. Even children can separate right from wrong in many cases, even though they have trouble carrying it out—and you know children don't care about what society wants at all. And people who do bad things know that they're doing bad things; they just don't listen to their consciences—and that's what makes them bad people. Even though this is a pattern, not a rule, morals are remarkably similar between people who have never had any contact with others. So it's not society."

"Then why isn't it in everybody's conscience to avoid prejudice?"

"Preservation, of course. They think that, in being prejudiced, they are protecting others and themselves. Protection is in the universal conscience (whether it is the cause for it or a product of it). We generally try to do as little harm as possible."

"Then they are being moral."

"No, they're not. They're making a logical error, so they're objectively incorrect. Because you're not dangerous. So they're wrong. They think they're fulfilling the universal moral code, but they're not, because you aren't dangerous whatsoever."

"But..."

"So you're wrong as well. It is basic decency to treat a person well, and that's most certainly in the universal moral code, even if the person happens to be a little different. As long as the person is not actively attempting to murder anyone, as long as the person doesn't pose a danger to society, then treating the person as an animal never complies with basic decency. Prejudice, in most cases, is just folly. A bit of critical thinking would get people over it quite easily."

Remus wasn't sure he understood, actually, so he just nodded. Questus sounded like he knew what he was talking about, at least. "Okay."

"Did you get all that?"

Remus considered. "To tell you the truth... no. Not exactly. Maybe if you wrote it down? And gave me a couple hours?"

Questus laughed. "You just sounded so clever there for a minute that I forgot you were twelve years old. Let me put it into simpler terms." He steepled his fingers under his chin. "What if I were a werewolf?"

"Then I would feel very sorry for you. Also, you never would have been allowed to teach at Hogwarts."

Questus laughed again. "Fair point. But what if I were a werewolf, and you were a human? Would you think it okay to treat me as some of the teachers have been treating you?"

"Maybe," said Remus stubbornly. "Most of them have only kept their distance, and that's perfectly okay if they're scared."

"But you'd feel guilty about it, hm? If you knew I wasn't dangerous... if you knew I didn't like to be treated like that... if you knew that I only wanted to be normal...? And if I only ever tried my hardest to make other people happy, even if it meant going against my own needs? You'd feel guilty for avoiding me, wouldn't you?"

"Look, I don't know. It's not like I know what it's like to be human. Maybe your morals are different from mine."

"They're not," said Questus firmly.

"But what if they are? I was four. I can't even remember; I wouldn't know..."

"They have not changed, Lupin."

"How do you know?"

"I was a teacher. I spent a lot of time around children your age. You're no different from them."

"My morals seem pretty different from my friends'..."

"Your friends?" Questus scoffed. "Black was brought up by a family who often directly opposes doing the moral thing. Potter's family never enforced the rules; he's rather spoilt. And Pettigrew can be easily convinced to go against his own judgment to follow the crowd. It's their morals that are skewed, not yours."

"But..."

"You grew up around two adults. You were constantly taught right from wrong. You were never let out of their sight. Of course you have a stronger conscience."

"But..."

"And you seem to be implying that werewolves have stronger morals than humans." He snorted. "That's pretty ridiculous, according to your own views on yourself."

Remus couldn't really argue with that.

"Have I finally convinced you that the teachers should at least try to treat you like the harmless twelve-year-old that you are?"

"I..." Remus couldn't argue, but he still didn't really believe it. "I guess. Up here." He pointed to his head. "But I still... I still don't think it's fair to ask that of them. And being angry with them and wanting them to change isn't going to help anything."

"True," said Questus. "Goodness knows I've tried to convince them, and they don't listen to me. But... Lupin, you need to recognize that it's wrong, at least. Hating yourself isn't doing you any favors—even though a loss of self-worth isn't nearly as crucial a problem as a surplus of self-worth, in my opinion. In this case, though, you should definitely expect more from other people; otherwise, you're going to waste away."

"I... I suppose," said Remus.

Questus' grin was triumphant. "That was better conversation than I've had in a long time. I never expected to be arguing with a student about whether or not he should be treated as a person." He laughed. "And I certainly never expected to be on this side of the argument. I haven't had a philosophical discussion like that since before 1932. Hope you weren't too bored listening to me ramble. I've been incredibly bored, and I might be going the slightest bit mad stuck in my house alone."

Questus was fifty-two, Remus remembered from an earlier conversation, though he might have had a birthday since then. "1932? You'd have been... what? Twelve?"

"Around that, yeah. It's been a while. Anyway, Flitwick loves you. He ranted about your pineapple for a good eleven minutes straight... yes, I was timing him. He talks a lot. And Sidus said that..."

"What did you talk about at Questus' today?" said Remus' mum as Remus walked through the door at exactly five-thirty.

"Er... he mostly complimented me on my exams," said Remus. "And he pattered on for a bit about the... universal moral code, or something... and I just listened and pretended to understand."

Remus' mum laughed. "Sounds scintillating."

Remus definitely couldn't tell her that they had been debating Remus' personhood.

And he definitely, definitely couldn't tell her that he had been arguing against it.

So he just laughed, smiled, nodded, and then set to helping his mum cook vegetable lasagna. Overall, it had been a pretty good day.

Chapter Text

Remus' parents had (begrudgingly) agreed to Sunday dinner with Professor Questus, and Remus wasn't sure how to feel about that.

Remus' mother and father, however, knew exactly how to feel about it: they didn't like it one bit.

"Are you sure he wants us there?" asked Remus' father stiffly. "He didn't seem to want to live next to us much."

"He was surprised," said Remus. "So was I. That's why I didn't want to come downstairs. It's a bit jarring, learning you live next to a former Hogwarts professor, and I'm sure he felt the same way about living next to a student."

"Do we need to bring food?" said Remus' mother anxiously. She was a little embarrassed about bringing food, Remus knew. Even though the Lupins had significantly more money than they'd possessed before Remus had left for Hogwarts (the potions that Remus often needed after the full moon were expensive, so things cost a lot less when he was away), it wasn't as if they could cook a gourmet meal.

"I don't know," said Remus. "Seeing as he's the one inviting us over, I don't think it's expected. He doesn't care much for social conventions anyway."

"I'll just bring over the sandwiches you made for lunch," she said. "There are extras."

"Great," said Remus. "Stop stressing, Mum. It's gonna be fine."

"I can't help it!" she said.

And, as Remus watched conflicting emotions fly across his mother's face more quickly than James could fly on his broomstick—first fear, then anxiety, then excitement, then confusion—Remus suddenly realized that he'd had more social interaction than his mother over the past year.

He'd never been around people his age. He'd never had friends. But his mother had stayed with him for years—ever since she'd quit her job when Remus' father had realized that he wasn't suited to be a stay-at-home father. She'd hardly left the house, and she'd stayed with Remus nearly twenty-four-seven. Remus suddenly felt horribly selfish for disliking Madam Pomfrey's visits—she was the only friend that his mother had from whom she didn't have to keep secrets.

Remus' father had visited Remus' uncle Bryson; he'd worked at the Ministry; he'd run errands... but Remus' mother, who so loved talking to other people and going out—she'd stayed at home with him. She'd given that up for him. Remus' mother had once been the social butterfly of the family, but now she was entirely and utterly unused to meeting new people.

"It'll be okay," said Remus. He wasn't really sure what else to say.

"I hope so."

"It'd better be," said Remus father, still grumpy. "Questus was sacked from the Auror department the first time because he insulted Orion Black, you know."

"I know," said Remus, smiling. "Sirius was very happy about it. He doesn't like his father much."

"But who's to say he won't insult us? I didn't get the impression that he was particularly polite."

"He insults me all the time. It's called a joke."

"Hmph," said Remus' father.

Remus patted his father's hand in a comforting sort of way and then went to his room, where he pulled some socks on and found his best jacket (the one without the hole in the right sleeve). "I hope you know what you're doing, Professor Questus," he muttered.

They walked over to Questus' house together, and Remus raised his fist to the door to knock. But, just as his hand was about to make contact with the door, the door opened more quickly than Remus could say the words "easily startled". He took two steps backwards to steady himself, nearly tripped over a sizeable rock, and had to grab onto the banister to steady himself.

Professor Questus was standing in the doorway, and he looked very much as if he wanted to poke fun at Remus. He didn't, although his twitching lips signified that he was holding back. "Good evening... Lupins, plural," he said.

"Er, hi," said Remus. "Where did that rock come from? I've never seen it before."

"Dumbledore gave it to me, if you can believe it," said Questus, rolling his eyes. "I'm not putting it in my house, no matter what he says. First the houseplant, and now this. A rock. Honestly. Does he expect me to talk to it or something? He must think that I'm desperate for company indeed." He turned to Remus' parents. "Well, I suppose I am," he admitted. "Evening, Lupin's parents."

"Evening," said Remus' father, his tone flat.

"I wasn't sure if I needed to bring anything," said Remus' mum tentatively. "It seemed to be the polite thing to do, but we just didn't have anything available, so I brought some of the sandwiches that Remus made for lunch..."

"That's fine," said Questus with a wave of his hand. "Lupin's a right decent cook, isn't he? He's got some good sense about him, at least." Remus looked at the ceiling in protest of the thinly-veiled werewolf-senses reference, but he didn't say anything. Questus winked at him imperceptibly. "Why don't you come in? It's unpleasantly hot out today."

They sat down at the dining room table, which Remus had never seen before; he and Questus had only ever stayed in the kitchen and sitting room. "You'll have to excuse the mess," said Questus, gesturing to a small pile of boxes. "Haven't purchased any furniture as of yet, so I'm using the boxes as cabinets. And I'm afraid supper isn't very glamorous; Pomfrey brought over pasta yesterday..." He grimaced. "It's harder to cook in this state than I would have liked to admit."

Remus grinned. "So much for being a wizard."

"Ten points from Gryffindor," Questus jested. "Lupin. Could you..."

"Sure," said Remus, scooting his chair back with a small screech. Questus winced. "Sorry, Professor."

"Call me that one more time and I'll throw my houseplant at you," said Questus. "Or perhaps the rock, and that'll do quite a bit more damage. You know where the plates are, correct?"

"Yes, sir," said Remus. He went to the kitchen and pulled out four plates, a couple of forks, and the pasta that Questus was keeping on the counter.

"Your son is far too respectful for his own good," he heard Questus say, and Remus' mother laughed.

"Since when is respect a bad thing?" Remus called.

"When one is so respectful that it borders on disrespectful."

"I'll keep that in mind," said Remus, but he certainly didn't intend to do so. With that, he brought everything into the dining room and set it on the table. "Here," he said, and resisted the urge to say "Professor" admirably.

"It is vegetarian," said Questus, glancing at Remus. "Pomfrey made sure of that."

"Thanks," said Remus. "I can get some for you if you'd like." He gestured towards the pasta (he was trying to be awfully polite in order to make up for anything impolite Questus might or might not say), but Questus shook his head.

"I've already eaten. I've been feeling nauseous lately—it's on and off. So I figured I'd eat in the afternoon when I was feeling all right. I suppose you know how that is?"

Remus froze. He glanced at his father, who was frozen, too. He glanced at his mother, who was looking at her lap. Remus caught Questus' eye and shook his head as inconspicuously as possible. Questus grinned, and Remus thought for one horrifying second that he was going to keep going. Remus didn't really want to see his parents all worked up; not here, not now...

But Questus did not keep going, thankfully; he merely changed the subject. Remus breathed an inaudible sigh of relief, and Questus looked at him with a Dumbledore-esque twinkle in his eye as if he had heard it.

"How have you three been?" Questus asked. "Pomfrey told me you seemed to be functioning when she last visited."

"We've been all right," said Remus' mother. "Work has been stressful for Lyall lately, but he's..."

"Hope," hissed Remus' father.

"Dad," hissed Remus.

"Remus," hissed Remus' father.

"Lyall," hissed Remus' mum.

"About the attack in Peebleton?" asked Questus, evidently unamused by their antics. "I heard about that."

Remus' father's tone was clipped as he spoke. "It's been causing quite some trouble. But I suppose you wouldn't have heard the details, since the Prophet was so..."

"Wrong," finished Questus, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, I know it was wrong. I automatically assume that any Prophet information pertaining to werewolves isn't entirely accurate."

Remus glanced at his father's face, which had gone ashy at the mention of werewolves, and imagined hexing Questus within an inch of his life.

"However, I have some acquaintances in the Department who were more than happy to fill me in," Questus continued, oblivious to the fact that Remus was internally turning his ears to radishes. "Everyone underestimates the power of a corrupt media, don't they? There's not enough distinction between what we need to know to be safe and what the Prophet wants us to know so that we think we're safe."

"Exactly," said Remus' father, sounding surprised. "You know, typically, Aurors are on the Ministry's side."

"Well, that's why I was sacked the first time," said Questus. "The only side I belong to is the side that'll protect the most people. I belong to the moral side," he said, stealing a glance at Remus, "and morals don't stem from society. Thank goodness, since this society is completely corrupt when it comes to werewolves. I can think for myself, thank you very much."

"Completely corrupt," echoed Remus' father. "So what do you think of the war, then? If you're not on the Ministry's side? They don't seem to think it's going to amount to anything much."

"Getting into politics pretty quickly, aren't we?" said Questus, grinning. "It's all right; only makes sense seeing as we both worked at the Ministry. Well, the war is already upon us, and I believe it has potential to be worse than the one with Grindelwald. I remember that war pretty clearly—I fought in it—and I know the signs quite well. According to my vast personal experience, the war will reach its height right around the time Lupin leaves school." He gestured at Remus, who shrugged. Remus didn't know a thing about war, so he couldn't contribute much to the conversation. "And let me just say: if the current children at Hogwarts are the future of the wizarding world, then we're in trouble. Idiots, the lot of them."

Remus' father looked even more surprised, and Questus smiled. "Not yours, of course," he said, as if the small kind phrase made up for the fact that he'd just called ninety-nine percent of his former students—mere children—complete idiots. "Lupin's got outstanding marks and was top of the form. And many of the first-years are rather promising. But the seventh-years... the sixth-years... and definitely the fourth-years... leave something to be desired. We'll see what happens, though. No sense in predicting when it's too early to predict. We'll just have to take it as it comes, hm?"

"Take it as it comes," repeated Remus' mother fervently. "You do think Remus is going to be okay? Lyall says that the Ministry tends to crack down on werewolf laws when there's trouble..."

Remus was uncomfortable.

"He'll be fine, I'm sure," said Questus. "Trust me. I've taught him for a year, and he'll be fine. More sense than half of the staff combined, that one."

Remus was still uncomfortable.

"Enough about that, though," said Questus, who was being rather merciful now. "What do I need to know about the area? Chances are that I'll be living here for quite a while."

Remus' father, oddly more comfortable after discussing a war, responded. "Well, we moved here because it's secluded—village is about a mile away. There used to be another house on this hill, but it was taken down a while ago after a lightning storm. Roof fell in completely. There's a small pond to the left, past the clearing, and there are some fish—what kind, Remus?"

"Only minnows," said Remus, "but there's also a Grindylow."

"Really?"

"Yep. I've named him Nolan."

Remus' father closed his eyes. "See, if you had told me that, I wouldn't have let you go down there so often."

"That's why I didn't tell you," said Remus. "It's fine, Dad. It's about three feet deep. I couldn't drown in it if I wanted to."

"Pretty unusual for them to be found in ponds, Grindylows," Questus commented.

"I think that maybe a past resident kept it in the pond as a pet," said Remus. "Grindylows can't be tamed, so it was a stupid decision, really. But there are enough minnows and plenty of algae in there to keep it alive."

"Oh, how wonderful," said Questus sarcastically, and Remus' father laughed.

"Remus Lupin, if you ever find a Grindylow again..."

"I'll put it in the pond with the other one and call it Jasper," said Remus, and his father laughed again. Remus was inordinately relieved to see the man relaxing. Maybe dinner with Questus wasn't such a bad idea after all.

"Speaking of odd pets, Mr. Lupin," said Questus, "your son told me you keep a Boggart at home."

Remus' father's eyes lit up. "Oh, yes, I've had it for a while now. Found it in Newborough when Remus was one. I brought it home in the lunchbox that Hope gave me to take to work, and she nearly threw a fit."

"Did not," argued Remus' mum.

"Oh, yes, you did. I locked it up in the cupboard, and it would rattle whenever one of us walked past. Then I named it Garrison. Hope didn't stop throwing fits for months."

"Did not," she said again.

"Yep. You did. And then there was that time that it rattled violently when you walked past and you nearly barreled me over trying to escape..."

"Did not!"

"You did. Remus loved it, as expected. He'd toddle back and forth in front of it and laugh hysterically when it rattled. We wouldn't let him anywhere near it, of course, when it was out of the cupboard... my Boggart was a Lethifold back then, remember? And Hope's was a snake. Anyway, Remus used to do a lot of accidental magic as a child... honestly, I'm not convinced it was accidental. So he opened up the cupboard while Hope was gardening and I was folding clothes—I don't know what he saw, and Remus doesn't remember, but the Boggart managed to get upstairs. So the next hour was spent searching for it while Remus 'helped' his mother garden..."

"He pulled up all the tulips," Remus' mum sniffed, and Remus laughed.

"I don't remember that at all," Remus said.

"Well, I couldn't forget if my life depended on it," said Remus' father with a smile. "Anyway. I've been doing a few experiments on the Boggart in my free time—Remus is quite good with it, too."

"His first nonverbal spell was the Boggart-Banishing Charm," said Questus.

"Remus told us. Doesn't surprise me one bit. We used to practice with my wand, turning Garrison back and forth into different things... Boggart Catch, we called it. He was pretty good with the spell before going to Hogwarts... and a few other spells, hm? He could achieve some pretty interesting hexes with a bit of practice. That trunk you were working on all summer?"

"I couldn't cast them reliably, though," laughed Remus. Indeed, he had hexed his trunk in the summer before his first year in case in anyone tried to snoop, and it had proved useful in the case of James and Sirius.

"Tell me more about the experiments with the Boggart," Questus prompted, and Remus' now-quite-talkative father was all too happy to oblige.

Remus' father and Professor Questus ended up getting along very well, to Remus' amusement.

They were both interested in Boggarts, they had both worked at the Ministry, they were both frustrated by the Ministry's inability to give out reliable information, and they were both often impatient with other people. They ended up talking nearly the whole time—Remus' father would detail his experiments, Questus would ask intelligent questions, they'd occasionally debate certain topics, Remus' father would grill Questus on what it had been like to be an Auror... and Remus and his mum sat and listened, occasionally making amused and/or bored faces at one another. Usually the latter.

After about two hours, they moved to the sitting room, where Remus sat on the couch with his mum and listened some more. It was nice when Remus wasn't the one talking. Professor Questus even managed to bring up werewolf laws with his father, and there were no mental breakdowns from either of his parents. Sometimes, Remus' mother would join the conversation: even though she was a Muggle, she knew quite a bit about wizarding things, especially Boggarts. And Questus had questions about how they affected Muggles, which Remus' mum answered eagerly.

Remus had no desire to be a part of the conversation at this point. Truth be told, he was sort of exhausted. Professor Questus didn't look too well, either, but he looked too happy with the rare conversation to say so. Remus felt his vision swim in and out, and he leaned his head against his mum's shoulder to rest his eyes for a moment...

"Hope," said Lyall, stopping mid-sentence. "Is Remus asleep?"

Hope looked down. "I think so. Thank goodness. I don't think he napped today at all."

"Are you sure? He was pretty quiet."

"Well, he was up early writing to his friends, I think. And then he made lunch, and then he... I don't even know what he was doing in the afternoon. But he wasn't napping. He came down three times to get water, and he was pacing a lot. I think he was doing his Astronomy assignment for the fifth or sixth time. And we played some chess around noon, but you know how bad Remus is at chess... I think I beat him nine times before he gave up."

"I was thinking about taking him to Diagon Alley next Saturday," said Lyall. "Poor thing seems so bored."

Questus nodded. "Book lists should come out this week. Dumbledore's already found a new Defense teacher."

"Who is it?"

"I don't know. I'm not on the staff anymore, remember? But he did mention that she didn't mind about Lupin."

Hope blinked. "She... didn't mind about him? What's that supposed to mean?"

"He's a werewolf," Questus deadpanned. "Not sure if you knew. But some people tend to mind."

Lyall blinked, surprised at Questus' bluntness, and Hope's eyes met his. "Oh," she continued. "Do the other teachers... mind about him, then? Remus said that they didn't treat him badly at all..."

"Of course they do," said Lyall. He looked at Questus. "They do, don't they? Remus would never tell us, even if they did. But they do."

Questus snorted. "Most of them try not to, but they're not trying very hard. Mostly avoiding him like the plague. Lupin seems to think it's warranted..."

"What? Warranted?"

"I have never seen anyone so complacent about being treated like a leper. Goodness. He's more mature about the whole thing than I ever will be. You should know it's happening, though. No mistreatment; only prejudice among some of the staff members... the staff meetings were always rather interesting. But everyone likes him—as a student, at least. He gets good marks. Quiet. Respectful. There's nothing to dislike."

"What do you mean, warranted?" Lyall repeated.

Questus paused before answering. "He knows it's hard to overcome ingrained prejudice, and he respects the fact that they're trying. He's infuriatingly understanding, but I know it still bothers him. He's getting through, even though he has to ignore his own frustration on occasion."

"That shouldn't be necessary," sighed Hope.

"No, it shouldn't," agreed Questus. "But that's the way it is, and there's nothing we can do about it. You know, maybe you three should be getting home. It's about nine pm, and your kid is sleeping."

"Nine pm? Already?" said Lyall, glancing at his watch. "Yeah, you're right. Look, Questus, I..." He fiddled with his robes. "We... can't thank you enough. You've been good company, and Remus... Merlin's beard. Remus needs to get out of the house and talk to people. You'll have to excuse us; we're a little overprotective sometimes, but... for what it's worth, I'm glad it's you who moved here and not some psychopath who hates werewolves. We really don't want to have to move. Did enough of that when Remus was little."

"A compliment of the highest caliber," said Questus dryly. "And you needn't worry. I'm sure he'd be very good in an emergency. Shaping up to be a right decent duellist, for a first-year."

"I'm going to wake him up," said Hope, staring at Remus. "Er... Lyall...?"

Lyall coughed. "Oh, this is always unpleasant."

"What's unpleasant?"

"Waking him up. He's always very... jumpy. Remus? Remus, love..."

Remus didn't stir.

"Fiddlesticks," said Lyall. "Hope, why don't you just stand up and see if...?"

"No, he'll panic," said Hope. "So sorry, Questus, this is always hard to do. When we touch him to wake him up he... he goes into... fight-or-flight, sort of. And we hate to bring back... er, certain memories."

"I know," said Questus. "Allow me."

"Wait, no..." said Lyall.

Questus raised his wand and cleared his throat.

"Oh, don't use a Rousing Charm, that's never the ideal way to wake someone up..."

"I wasn't planning on it. Expelliarmus."

Remus' eyes suddenly shot open and he reached to pull out his wand, but he wasn't nearly quick enough in his half-asleep state—and he didn't even have it on him to begin with. He looked around, thoroughly discombobulated. Months of duelling lessons had apparently rewired his brain completely. "Professor!" he said. "That's hardly fair."

"Life isn't fair," said Questus. "Don't call me Professor. And would you rather have been woken up in a different way?"

Remus rubbed his eyes. "S'pose not. Sorry for falling asleep."

"It's all right, dear," said Remus' mother. "Here, let's get you home. Thank you so much for dinner, Questus."

"Not at all," he said. "Do let me know if you find another Grindylow, Lupin."

"Will do," said Remus. "See you..."

"Tomorrow afternoon, if that's all right," said Questus.

Remus' father nodded. "Yes, it would be wonderful to get Remus out of the house for a bit."

"Am I that annoying?" said Remus in mock indignance.

"If I have to hear the floorboards squeaking as you pace in your room for one more hour—"

"If I had my wand, Mum, you'd be in trouble—"

"Threatening your mother? You're in for it, young man—"

"Help me out, Dad—"

"If you help him, Lyall, you're in for it, too—"

"Sorry, Remus, I'm scared of your mother—"

"You traitor—"

"It's very clear you're related, you know," said Questus. "Do enjoy your evening."

"Absolutely, Professor," said Remus.

"Don't call me Professor."

As Remus and his family made the trek back to the Lupin residence, laughing all the way, Remus decided that having Questus as a next-door neighbor was maybe-kind-of-not-so-awkward after all.

Never mind, it was still awkward.

But now it was a teensy bit more comfortable-awkward instead of painful-like-knives awkward. Remus' friends had no idea what Remus was, so Remus couldn't talk to them about anything that mattered. And Remus' family didn't feel comfortable talking about werewolves, so Remus couldn't discuss things with them, either. So Remus was happy, at least, that both Questus and Madam Pomfrey were willing to provide some semblance of the type of honest relationship that Remus was missing out on with his family and peers.

Even though it was awkward sometimes.

Chapter Text

"REMUS! It's time to leave!"

"I can hear you, Mum!" said Remus impatiently. "You don't have to yell!" He walked downstairs and grabbed a biscuit on his way out. "Bye, Mum!"

"Bye, love! And don't forget..."

"Five-thirty. Yep. Got it."

"Have fun!"

"Thanks. I'll try."

Remus raised his fist to the door, but it opened, once again, before he could knock. "How do you know exactly when I'm coming?" he asked Questus.

"Window," muttered Questus. "I may not be able to walk very well, but I can still see. Come on in. Afraid I'm not much up for tea today."

"Are you feeling all right?" said Remus, waiting for him to hobble away from the door. He was using a cane now. Remus supposed that was reasonable, though it was a bit weird.

"Not really. I'm a little shaky."

Indeed, Questus' hands were shaking a considerable amount. Remus grimaced. "Try sitting on them," Remus, who had considerable experience with shakiness, advised. "It's less distracting that way, at least."

"I'm not going to sit on my hands. I've still got some pride left, you know." Questus sat down on his armchair with a slight groan. "How have you been?" he asked, and Remus noted that his voice was about as croaky as Bufo's.

"I've been fine," said Remus. "I mean, since yesterday. Er... do you have a fever?"

"How do you know that? How can you tell? Is that another werewolf ability?"

"No," said Remus. "It's just... really, really obvious."

Questus sighed and wiped some sweat off of his forehead. His face was bright red. "I was afraid of that."

"Do you want me to go home? I think you need some sleep..."

"No. It's not contagious; don't worry. And I've been sleeping all day, so I couldn't possibly sleep any more. It's just the curse taking effect. Pomfrey says it's getting better, at least, but it still feels like death itself."

"The bleeding is better," said Remus.

"Indeed it is."

Remus knew exactly how it felt to have a fever, chills, nausea, and general pain. He knew those things so well that he nearly felt them all over again just watching Questus. But Remus was glad, kind of, that he had someone who understood what it was like to be constantly ill... then he felt very selfish for feeling so. "Are you sure you don't want me to make tea?" asked Remus. "Sometimes it helps."

"No, thank you. I'm very nauseous."

"Ah."

"How do you deal with that? Werewolves are nauseous all the time, hm?"

"My nausea's not really that bad, unless it's the day of the full moon. And even then, it's only when I'm near something with a strong odor. If the potions cabinets weren't so heavily charmed and didn't have such thick glass, I wouldn't even be able to spend time in the Hospital Wing."

"Right," said Questus. "Well, I'm glad I don't have that, at least. Still... I haven't eaten since this morning. Feels like someone's hacking me apart from the inside-out."

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't vomit," said Remus. "Strong sense of smell, you know."

Questus snorted. "I have no plans of doing so. Hey, tell me about your uncle. Bryson Lupin. I didn't reckon you were close, but your father mentioned him a few times yesterday while you were sleeping."

"I'm not close to him," said Remus immediately. "But Dad... kind of is. They go out for lunch sometimes, and I think he came over for Christmas when I was at Hogwarts. Er... Uncle Bryson doesn't like me much."

"Because you're a werewolf?"

"Er," said Remus again. "Yeah. But he's not afraid of me, and that's something. There are three kinds of prejudice, mainly. Either people are afraid of me—like Sprout and Sidus and Hooch—or they hate me—like Uncle Bryson and Mr. Ragfarn from the Ministry. And then some people are far too interested in me for comfort."

Questus raised his eyebrows. "Like me?"

"No. Not like you, because you... I dunno. See me as something else than just a werewolf. There's a difference between being curious and treating me completely differently because being a werewolf is the only thing about me. I'm not talking about questions; I'm talking about normal, day-to-day treatment. Like Professor Slughorn. He doesn't hate me, but he still treats me oddly because I'm a werewolf to him and nothing else."

"Ah. I see what you mean." Questus paused and drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair, considering. "You could look into that quite a bit. It seems to me that people fear you because of ingrained prejudices; people are interested in you because of human curiosity; but people can only possibly hate you for a good reason. I'd imagine most who hate you probably have some experience with werewolves."

"Most of the time, yeah," said Remus slowly. "I think Ragfarn, for instance, had a relative somewhere down the line that was murdered by a werewolf. He's in his thirties, I think, and he works with the Werewolf Registry. He joined the W.C.U. directly after leaving school out of pure spite."

"And your uncle?"

"Well..." Remus thought about that for a minute. "You have to understand that everyone in my dad's family dislikes werewolves—dislikes Dark creatures in general, really. It's sort of a prejudice that's been with the family for generations. My dad's job was hunting and getting rid of Boggarts and other spirituous apparitions, you know—even before I was born. And then he joined the D.R.C.M.C. when I was... four."

"Before or after you were bitten?"

"Just before," Remus muttered. "Er... anyway. Believe it or not, wolves have been a big part of the Lupin family culture for a while..."

"Hadn't guessed that, with a name like 'Lupin'."

"Yeah," said Remus, sheepish. "Most everybody in my family has a wolf-related first name. Even Uncle Bryson does, but he goes by his middle name—his first name's Adolphus. It's been a sort of joke for as long as Dad can remember, so they felt it on a personal level when I was bitten. I think they were embarrassed."

"Sure."

"And that's not all, of course. Dad was always close with Uncle Bryson, and I suppose Uncle Bryson blames me for... straining his relationship with his family, I guess? Dad's family have all cut ties with us, save Bryson. Most all of them have even changed their surnames. They honestly think that Dad is... you know, keeping around a monster for purely sentimental reasons. And Uncle Bryson shares that view... he loves my dad, you know, and he thinks that I'm putting him in danger. He thinks he's being noble. They all do."

"Complicated situation."

"Yeah."

"I'm guessing most of your family were Gryffindors?"

"It's mixed. Bryson was, and his father was, too. Dad was Ravenclaw. His mum was in Hufflepuff. I don't think we've got any Slytherins."

"Ah, pity. The world needs more Slytherins," Professor Questus, who had been a Slytherin, said with a grin. "Multiple Gryffindors in the family makes sense. You know, delusions of nobility is often a Gryffindor's strongest value, so there are often clashes in mostly-Gryffindor families when ideas differ. You're all determined to do the right thing, but you all have different opinions as to what the right thing is. And then you're all too stubborn to change those opinions. Your father's a Ravenclaw, so he managed to change his mindset without too much trouble when you were bitten, but I imagine the Gryffindors in his family were a bit more reluctant to do so."

"Gryffindors are capable of changing their minds," Remus, a Gryffindor, said stubbornly.

"Sure they are. But they don't often want to. Since Gryffindors so highly value doing the right thing against all costs, they often have more of a black-and-white mindset and stick to their guns, so to speak. Determination to do the noble thing can be a very good thing. But when your father's family has a mistaken idea about what the noble thing even is... well, that creates problems. Hufflepuffs' minds can be changed pretty easily. Ravenclaws and Slytherins look at the more logical solution, so all you've got to do is argue with them. But Gryffindors already think they're being the hero, and heroic delusions are hard to squash."

"I suppose," said Remus. "Yeah, they only think they're doing the right thing. But the clash between Dad and Bryson is terribly annoying."

"I bet. Your father's seen sense and he's frustrated your uncle can't do the same. Your uncle thinks your father is being selfish. I can't imagine their relationship is very good."

"I don't think it is. I think Dad's just happy that at least one person from his family will still talk to him. Apparently, I've been the cause of many a shouting match between the two of them. But... Dad still loves him. They grew up together. I haven't seen Uncle Bryson since Christmas two years ago, though—I was ten."

"And how did that go?"

"He was not polite," said Remus with a small laugh. "There were loads of thinly-veiled insults. Dad got angry with him, and Mum nearly threw him out. There was a bit of a row. I think I ended up hiding in my room for the rest of the evening."

"That's unfortunate," said Questus.

"I suppose. But I don't really care if he likes me or not. I don't like him much, after all." Remus smiled. "Oh, and you called him 'Bryson Lupin' earlier, but that's not his name..."

"I figured since he was your father's brother..."

"Yeah. It should be Bryson Lupin. It was, at least. But he changed it; now it's Bryson Adams."

Questus made a face. "Is that the name the rest of the family adopted?"

"Yes."

"That's in bad taste."

"Mm-hm." Remus remembered why they'd chosen the name. His father had been furious. Adam—the Hebrew word for man; representing human civilization. A sharp contrast from Lupin; one letter off from lupine. "I don't mind. They're not my family; they've completely disowned me. I've never really met any of them since I was three, so they can do whatever they want."

"Pretty grim, that your... well, former... family went so far out of their way to cut ties with yours. All of them changed their names?"

"Well, a lot of them did. If my condition ever became public knowledge, then... you know. They wouldn't be well-off, to be connected with me. So I think all the ones in Britain did. But I have a few distant ones, I think, that figured that they were far enough away that it wouldn't be a problem... but they don't like me, either."

"So why didn't your father avoid telling them about the lycanthropy entirely?"

"I think he wanted comfort. They were his parents, and he wanted to talk to them about it. He was a relatively new parent and he didn't know what to do. And they did try to help, for a bit, when they didn't think that he was going to... keep me, but then, when they found out..." Remus raised his hands helplessly. "They didn't want anything to do with us."

"That's stupid," said Questus.

"Yeah. We should have been the ones to change our surname," said Remus pensively. "That would have made things easier on me, at least; the name's a dead giveaway..."

"I meant the fact that they completely cut ties with you out of fear."

"I know," said Remus, rolling his eyes. "I know that's what you meant. I was joking. Dad couldn't've changed our names if he wanted to. It's too much trouble to go through the Ministry, especially since they'd have to see my records and might refuse... and then it might become public knowledge if that department didn't swear secrecy."

"I was wondering about that. Well. That's very... messy."

"Yep," said Remus. "At this point, though, my father's family wouldn't recognize me if their lives depended on it—you know, with the exception of Uncle Bryson. So that's good, at least."

"So you last saw them when you were four, hm? Do you remember them at all?"

"No," said Remus shortly. "I hardly remember anything before."

"...Before you were bitten," Questus elaborated after a long pause. "For goodness' sake, Lupin, you can say it. And your memory lapse isn't because you're a werewolf now, if that's what you were thinking. That's idiotic."

"It's not idiotic," said Remus. "Everything else changed. Maybe I just changed so much that I don't remember being human at all."

"Yeah? You said you have a werewolf friend? Susi, her name was? You said you saw her at the Werewolf Registry every year."

"...Yes."

"You told me a story about how she got angry, was embarrassed, and then Apparated away."

"Yes. I don't see what that has to do with..."

"She can Apparate, so she's significantly older than you."

"Early thirties."

"Do you think she had complete and utter amnesia after being bitten by a werewolf?"

Remus was silent. "I'd never thought about it like that."

"I should say you didn't. You like to isolate yourself, you know, but you're not the only werewolf in Britain. You're not as special as you think you are; there are others going through almost the exact same thing. There's no possible way that being bitten by a werewolf causes total memory loss. We'd have confused werewolves wandering around the streets all the time."

"But I can't remember anything. Not really. Only small flashes."

"No one can remember much from when they were three, Lupin! Childhoods are hard to remember. And you had an extremely traumatic event that probably messed you up a little. Life changed entirely, new information overload, lots of pain, young age... I'd say that's what caused it, not being a werewolf. Merlin's beard. Calm down."

"Thanks," said Remus, even though he was already perfectly calm and did not need to be told to calm down. "But I am different now, aren't I? I wouldn't remember... human emotions and morals and feelings..."

"You've mentioned this before," said Questus.

"Well, I worry about it a lot."

"I can't give you any answer besides the ones I've already given."

"You honestly don't think that I'd have been any different if I weren't a werewolf?"

"I never said that," said Questus. "I think you would have been remarkably different. I think a lot of your personality has been affected. I think you're very different from your peers because of it, and I don't think you're ever going to have anything that even somewhat resembles a normal life."

"Oh."

"Yep."

"You really think so?"

"Absolutely. You'd have to be daft to think otherwise. But the changes, Lupin, don't come from being a werewolf. They come from growing up as a werewolf. Do you understand?"

"Not... not particularly, no."

"Lycanthropy itself has not changed your personality at all. It's changed your emotions, maybe. Instinct. Senses. Temper. But it's nothing you can't control, as you've demonstrated over and over again. Growing up as a werewolf, however, has changed some things. You're used to isolation. You're slow to socialize. You like to read. You don't like to be around many people. If someone were to find a cure for lycanthropy, right now, you'd still be the same as you are now. If you'd been bitten a little later, you'd be different—though still just as lycanthropic as you are currently. Got it?"

"I suppose."

"It's environment that shapes a person. You, as a werewolf, have grown up in a different environment from your peers. It seems to me that lycanthropy makes it harder to control one's impulses... but not impossible. You still have your free will. Won't change you unless you let it. See what I mean?"

"Not on full moons," Remus muttered.

"Not on full moons," Questus agreed. "But that's one night a month, and you're locked up."

"Right. Thank you, Professor."

"Don't call me Professor."

"Your school lists came today," said Remus' mum, brandishing a letter with a Hogwarts seal. "Well, I assume that's what this is. I don't know why else Hogwarts would be sending you a letter."

"Oh, thank goodness," said Remus. He tore open the letter. "Yep, it's my book list, all right. I was mostly right about the books for next year. Except... wow. Except Defense Against the Dark Arts. I totally got those wrong."

"What books did they assign?" asked Remus' father.

"Erm... only three new books. Julius Caesar... Romeo and Juliet... and... Mindfulness Made Easy."

"Shakespeare?" parroted Remus' mum.

"Yeah. I can't say I was expecting that."

"Mindfulness Made Easy?" parroted Remus' father. "Who wrote that?"

"Someone named Joy Pensley. I've never read anything of hers."

"That sounds like..." Remus' mum blinked. "It sounds like the new Defense professor is the exact opposite of Questus."

"Yeah," said Remus, laughing. "Oh, he'll hate this."

"I got my book lists, Professor Questus."

"Hm. Anything good?"

"Oh, yeah. The Defense teacher assigned three completely new, non-textbook-regulated books."

"Really?"

"Yep. Mindfulness Made Easy, by Joy Pensley, and—er... two Shakespeare books, one of which is Romeo and Juliet."

Professor Questus spit out his tea.

Remus' father promised to take him to Diagon Alley to get school things on Saturday, which was absolutely perfect. James had been writing to them all week reminding them that he was going to be at Diagon Alley at 2pm on Saturday, and Remus very much wanted to see him again. But it was only Thursday, and Wednesday was so far off. Remus sat on the couch and read a bit of Romeo and Juliet—his mum had been assigned Shakespeare when she was in school, so Remus now owned a heavily-annotated copy of both Shakespeare books. He thought the annotations were hilarious. His mum did not.

"Mum! You were so funny as a teenager!"

"I'm still funny," said Remus' mum, looking affronted. "And Remus, I'll thank you not to judge. We were assigned annotations, but our language teachers never said what they had to be about—I don't even remember what I wrote in there."

"Well, here. Romeo says, 'What shall I swear by?' and Juliet responds, 'Do not swear at all,' and then you wrote an exclamation point, a percent sign, an 'at' sign, and the 'and' symbol..."

Remus' mum brought a hand to her face and groaned. "Remus."

"These pictures, Mum! They're brilliant! Romeo says, 'I would I were thy bird,' and then you drew... I think that's a bird."

"It is a bird!"

"Are you sure? It looks more like Bufo..."

"I'll have you know I was seventeen. You weren't born for another fourteen years. I would have been quite the Seer to know what Bufo looks like back then."

"Gosh, Mum. This is incredible."

"Well, you're welcome. It wasn't nearly as incredible when I actually had to read it. I must say, I'm glad that wizarding schools teach at least a little of what Muggle schools do..."

"They don't usually," said Remus' father, who was reading the newspaper before leaving for work. "That's why it's so unusual."

"Well, I'm glad they are. Now Remus has to suffer through what I did. I don't know why I find that so appealing."

Remus stuck his tongue out at her. "I've already read some Shakespeare."

"Correction. You read the abridged versions that Dad and I bought for you when you were young. As you can see, it's very different."

"I can read Latin, Mum. This is fine."

"Sure. Say that again when your teacher is talking about it in class and you realize that you haven't comprehended any of it at all."

"I'm not sure what it has to do with Defense Against the Dark Arts," said Remus' father frowning. "Muggle Studies, sure. But Defense? I seriously doubt that."

"We'll see," said Remus. "I'll write to you when I find out." Then he started laughing again. "Dad, you have to come here and see what Mum drew by 'nay, good goose, bite not'..."

Chapter Text

Remus arrived at Questus' on Friday and knocked on the door. Questus didn't answer. Remus inhaled—he was definitely in there, so why wasn't he answering?

An irrational shiver of fear coursed through Remus as he, against his better judgement, entertained the notion that Questus was in serious trouble. Questus was cursed, he had looked awful the other day, and he lived alone. Remus could faintly hear him breathing through the door, and it didn't sound particularly even or healthy. "Hello?" called Remus. "If you're sleeping, I'll just go home..."

"Not sleeping," said Questus, and his voice was a bit hoarse. "Making tea. Come in."

Remus opened the door and walked to the kitchen, where Questus was standing by the kettle and frowning. "You look really awful," said Remus. Indeed, Questus was looking worse than he ever had. He was leaning heavily on the cane, his face was an odd shade of grey, and his breathing was labored. Remus could almost feel the heat radiating off of him from the fever. "Maybe I should go home," he said.

"It's not catching."

"I know, but... maybe you need to sleep or something."

"Nope. You know, I'm feeling an odd sense of déjà vu. You said all this the other day, didn't you? Look, Lupin, I woke up ten minutes ago. Been sleeping all day. It's worse today, for some reason; I think it's the weather. It's been raining a lot."

"Hm," said Remus. He sensed Questus didn't really want to talk about it anymore, so he changed the subject. "Talking of feeling ill... this is the last day Mum and Dad are going to let me come over. Full moon's on the twenty-fourth."

"Ah. When do you think you'll be healed?"

"I don't think I will be. Not before school starts."

"Doesn't it usually take you two to three days to heal up? And you're usually more or less fine by the second day."

"Yeah, at school... but not when I'm home. Madam Pomfrey's a professional Healer; my parents aren't. We haven't got..." Remus flushed a bit. "We haven't got a lot of money, you know, and potions to speed up the healing process are... few and far between. It can take up to a week and half—sometimes two—to do what Madam Pomfrey can do in a day. If I'm being honest, I'm still feeling the last full moon."

"That's unfortunate," said Questus. He frowned at the barely-touched kettle on the stove, took a slightly shuddery breath, and then closed his eyes. "I seem to have overestimated my abilities again," he said quietly. "This tea is not working. I'm too dizzy to fetch and pour things."

Remus grinned. "Go sit down," he said, irrationally glad that he was the one doing things for Questus and not the other way 'round. He fetched a few cups from the cabinet as Professor Questus made his way to the armchair. "Don't worry about it," called Remus. "I like making tea. Other people tend to mess it up. At this point, I can only trust myself."

Remus made tea in silence for a bit. Questus didn't seem like he much wanted to talk. But then...

"I don't know how you do it," said Questus.

"Make tea? Well, first you..."

"No. Let other people do things for you. Right humiliating."

"Well," said Remus again. "First, you think about what you want to do. Then... you don't do it."

"It's really not as simple as that," said Questus, but he was smiling now.

Remus handed him a finished cup of tea and made a face. "Believe me, I know. Remember when I started crying because I couldn't button my pajama shirt?"

Remus was referring to the day that Madam Pomfrey had been too busy to care for him following one of his full moons in first year. Professor Questus, a former Auror who knew a bit about healing magic, had taken over. That full moon in particular had been one of Remus' worst, and he'd been sort of a mess the whole time. Questus had been relatively patient—Remus thought, at least. He couldn't really remember the whole thing. He typically tried not to think about it.

"I do remember that," said Questus. "If I recall correctly, though, you did end up getting the top two buttons. At... what?... ten-thirty pm?"

"About," said Remus, a little embarrassed now. He regretted bringing it up.

"Yes, it's all flooding back now," said Questus, grinning. Remus didn't think it fair that Questus was making fun of him after Remus had so magnanimously avoided making fun of Questus—well, mostly. But Professor Questus was ill, so Remus would let him have his fun.

"You also had a pretty nasty concussion that day," added Questus after a moment's thought.

"I did?" said Remus. "I don't remember that."

"Oh, yes. Slurred speech. Completely delirious. Started quoting Emily Dickinson. Laughing at everything."

"Laughing... at...?"

"I'm not surprised you don't remember. Very bad concussion. I wasn't exactly sure what to do." Questus smirked. "What do you remember, then?"

Remus rubbed his head. What had happened on that first December full moon? Ugh, he really didn't want to think about it. "I remember falling asleep... I remember waking up and buttoning those top two buttons on my shirt... I remember waking up again at one..." He colored slightly. "...when the Pain-Relieving Potion wore off."

"Ah, right," said Questus. "Impressive, that. Wouldn't have expected you to fall back asleep. Definitely wouldn't have expected you to make so many snarky comments."

"I did?" said Remus. He couldn't remember it that well, only the horrible, horrible pain and Questus shining a light into his eyes and Remus trying to pretend like nothing was happening but failing miserably.

"Nothing particularly clever. Told me you felt 'brilliant' and 'wonderful'. Took you fifteen minutes tops to fall back asleep."

"I was very tired."

"I'm sure. Anyway. What else do you remember?"

"Erm... I remember waking up, and... oh, everything was blurry. And then... I dunno, we talked for a bit, didn't we? And then Madam Pomfrey came back and gave me a potion with... frog's eyes. And then everything cleared." He frowned. What had they talked about, exactly?

"There is no frigate like a book to take us worlds away," quoted Questus, and everything came flooding back.

"Fiddlesticks!" Remus said, bringing his hands up to his face and groaning.

Questus was laughing, which Remus thought was very rude of him. "I'm enjoying this very much," he informed Remus, which was unfair and not very nice at all.

"Oh my gosh," said Remus, pressing his fingers into his eyes. "I have never wanted to die so much in my entire life."

"You've never gotten that red in your entire life," jested Questus. "It wasn't appropriate to bring it up when I was your teacher, but... oh, that was priceless. I couldn't resist."

"You are a horrible human being," said Remus, his voice muffled through his hands. His face felt hot. "A horrible human being."

"Debatable," said Questus, still laughing.

"Aghhhhhhhh," said Remus.

"I have never heard a person prolong the letter S to such a length as you did that morning," said Questus. "I don't know why the effects of the concussion were so delayed. Probably brought on by the potions wearing off; magic does strange things to people. But my goodness—your slurred speech was hilarious."

"It was not," said Remus.

"And that panicked look on your face when you lost your toad..."

"Professor!"

"Don't call me that. And you were passing out, I remember. And quoting Robert Frost. Lewis Carroll. The works."

"Yeah, well..." Remus fumbled for something to say. Perhaps he could turn the conversation back to Questus—push the blame on him. That might work. "You dropped me! When we were walking back to the Hospital Wing. You let go of me and I had to catch myself!"

"So much for 'I can walk'," Questus mocked.

"Shut up," said Remus. "I hate you so much."

"Most do."

"Can we just..." Remus groaned and removed his hands from his face. It was still bright red, and Questus laughed harder at the sight of it. "Can we just never mention any of that ever again?"

"I am definitely not agreeing to that," said Questus.

"Okay. Fine. We'll make a deal. You never mention that particular full moon ever again, and I won't tell Madam Pomfrey that you told me I'd be homeless."

Questus blinked. "What?"

"When I was wandering the corridors and found a Boggart, and then I turned it into a plate, and then you told me to come to your office for tea for the first time, and it was really awkward. And then we talked about my friends, and you told me I wouldn't have many opportunities, and then you told me not to tell anyone you said this or Dumbledore would throw you out of a window... but you said I might be homeless and jobless and alone on the streets..."

Questus raised his hand. "Yes, yes, I remember. But if I remember correctly—and I always do—I've already gotten your word that you wouldn't tell a soul. So I don't need to get it from you again."

Remus groaned. "Well, I'm sure my parents would like to know that you blasted me into a wall several times during our duelling lessons."

"I'm going to call your bluff. There's no way you'll tell them that."

"Would I?" said Remus, attempting to be mysterious and daring.

"You would not."

"You're right," said Remus, sighing. "Fine. This isn't fair. You don't do nearly any embarrassing things at all."

"Nope," said Questus. "I've been told I have no shame. I'll just hold onto that deal, actually. I'll let you know when you can do something big enough to make up for it."

"Fine," said Remus again.

"In fact, I have plenty of other embarrassing stories about you, now that I think about it..."

"You know what? I'm never making you tea again."

Remus had known for a long time that Professor Questus didn't much like to talk about himself. He knew all about Remus, but it felt sometimes like Remus didn't know a thing about Professor Questus. He'd been an Auror. He had no filter. He always told the truth. But Remus didn't know much else—every time the conversation turned towards Questus, he was very careful to turn it back to Remus.

And that was all right by Remus. It made sense; most of the personal conversations they'd had had been intended to help Remus through something. Questus had been Remus' teacher, so it was quite unprofessional to share. And Remus liked talking about himself (as selfish as that seemed), because he wasn't able to do it much with his parents.

It made sense that Questus did not want to talk about his own maladies. He was stubborn and proud like that. Remus would have expected him to turn the conversation back towards Remus' maladies any day—indeed, he would have seen that coming from a mile away. Remus was always the one who needed help, so Remus was always the one whom they talked about.

Still, it was very rude of him to make fun of a person with a severe head injury.

But Remus didn't mind, really. Honestly, he was just happy to help.

Saturday finally, finally arrived, and Remus woke up at six-thirty. His mum came downstairs. "Are you feeling okay, honey?" she asked, yawning. "You're up early."

"I'm fine!" said Remus. "I'm just excited. What time are we leaving again?"

"Not till eleven. We'll shop for an hour, have lunch, and then finish up and go home."

"I'm meeting my friends at the Leaky Cauldron, remember?"

"Yes, I remember."

"And James is coming alone, so his mum and dad won't be there."

"You told me."

"But Peter's mum will. And Sirius is staying with James until school starts, so he's showing up with James."

"Mm-hm. Remus, dear, you told me all this."

"Just making sure. And both you and Dad are coming?"

"Yes, but..." She sighed. "If you want to wander off somewhere with your friends... we decided that's okay."

"Really?" said Remus, wide-eyed. "You mean it?"

"Of course. You do it at Hogwarts all the time."

Remus leaped up and hugged her tightly. "That's brilliant, Mum. I promise I'll be safe. I swear it."

"I know you will." She sighed again. "You're growing up too fast. Whatever happened to tiny five-year-old Remus just learning how to read? You left for ten months, and then you came back five years older."

"Bufo feels left out," said Remus. "He left for ten months, too. He's grown up quite a bit."

Bufo croaked into Remus' ear, and Remus' mum laughed.

They arrived at the Leaky Cauldron right on time, and Remus knew that James and Sirius were already there before he even opened the door. A little shiver of excitement ran through him, and he gripped his bag tighter.

Sure enough, the first thing he saw was James' messy hair; moving up and down as he nodded his head to something Sirius was saying. Sirius was leaning back in his chair perilously far.

"Remus!" shrieked James suddenly, and a witch in red robes shot him a nasty look.

"James!" said Remus, significantly quieter.

"Remus!" said Sirius, much, much louder.

"That's the fourth time I've had to ask you to be quiet," said the bartender. "Out, you two."

James ran up to Remus and grabbed his wrist. "Come on. We'll wait by the entrance. Pete'll find us. How was your summer? You've hardly written to us at all. I was hoping you could come over and visit, but you haven't done that either. You look a little paler than usual. How was your health? Your mum's looking pretty good. Mrs. Lupin! Hellooooo!"

Remus laughed. "Slow down, James."

"I actually think the bartender wants us to hurry up," said Sirius, poking his thumb in the direction of the angry bartender. James started pulling Remus to the entrance, and Remus glanced back at his parents.

"Remus, dear," his mother called, with a soft, sad sort of smile. "We're going to walk around London for a bit. Meet us here no later than twelve? And earlier if you need to? We won't go far."

"Of course," said Remus. "Bye, Mu—"

He was cut off by James pulling him through the entrance and the bricks rearranged themselves behind him.

And just like that, it was exactly like old times.

"He's late," grumbled James. "Leave it to Peter to be late. He came over to my house a few times last summer, Remus, and he was always late."

"Not his fault that you're not interesting enough to be early," Remus jested, and James hit him good-naturedly.

"Well, the same applies for you. Otherwise he'd be here already."

Remus sensed Peter behind the bricks. "He'll probably be here soon," said Remus, and sure enough, the bricks rearranged themselves to reveal a smiling, very out-of-breath Peter.

"Remus!" said Peter.

"Oi, what about us?" said Sirius. "Are you really too thick to notice James and—"

"It's so good to see you, Peter!" said Remus, hoping to change the subject before Sirius potentially said something nasty. "How have you been?"

Peter beamed. "Great! It's good to see you, too. My mum was on for ages about how polite you were when she met you in Easter. She's in love with you, I think. Every time I went over to James', she asked if you'd be there. Thinks you're a good influence."

"Oh, I am most definitely not a good influence," said Remus. "See, look." He fiercely poked James in arm, and James yelped. "Not a good influence at all."

James sighed. "I'd poke you back, but you're a..."

"Don't say it."

"Fragile china doll."

"Git."

It was a glorious thing, to be back with his friends. They walked to Flourish and Blotts together, and everything was perfect. The weather was beautiful—not too humid or hot—and everyone was in a good mood. Being a Marauder again was wonderful. James and Sirius and Peter kept chattering about their visits together, and Remus couldn't help but feel left-out—but it was his own fault, anyway. He hadn't even asked to visit James that summer, not after his parents' reaction to the last time James had invited him over.

Well, there hadn't been too much of a reaction. They'd just said "no" and felt guilty about it afterwards. But Remus didn't like hearing "no", and he certainly didn't like seeing his parents guilty like that, so he'd elected not to ask again.

"Did you know that John retired?" asked James; apparently, he was still calling all adults by their first names. He'd come up with the idea in first year, and now every Marauder did it but Remus (who felt guilty about disrespecting the Hogwarts staff members who had given up so much to allow Remus to attend Hogwarts). "My dad's an Auror," continued James, "and he told me that John quit teaching to rejoin the Auror department. But apparently he got hurt somehow and he had to quit. He only lasted a month. But the important part is: he's not teaching again."

"Good riddance," murmured Sirius.

Well, now that the cat was out of the bag, Remus could most definitely tell them. "I know," he said cheerfully. "He's my next-door neighbor now."

Silence.

"What?" said James, completely stunned.

"My next-door neighbor."

"Yeah, I heard you, but... I want more elaboration than that, mate. You can't just drop something like that on us."

"Well, 'next-door neighbor' is a term that typically denotes a person who lives in the house next to another person..."

"Remus, shut up and give us the details," interrupted Sirius, and Remus laughed.

"My parents and I live somewhere with clear air, away from people—for my mum's health, you know," Remus explained. "Dumbledore recommended the area to Professor Questus, and now he lives in the house across from ours. It's extremely awkward."

"That is awkward," said James. "Does he... do you... I dunno. I know you were close, kinda."

"We had every intent to avoid each other at the beginning, but he's very bored. So I come over for tea sometimes, and we had dinner together this past Sunday."

"That's..." James shook his head. "I am so sorry, mate."

"It's rather weird."

"That's no excuse for not writing us," said Sirius grumpily. "Why didn't you tell us? That's the kind of info that should be shared immediately, but you didn't write to us all summer. We'd thought you'd died or something."

"I did write you!"

"Not much," said Peter. "Not as much as we were doing."

"I was busy."

"We spent hours writing in that notebook, Remus," said James. "You hardly ever wrote us back. You barely ever joined in."

"I was busy. I could never catch you while you were still there."

"You did! A couple times!"

"Look, I'm sorry." Remus hesitated. Dare he use this excuse again? "Mum was really, really ill."

James' expression suddenly softened. "Is she still..."

"Alive? Yes. You saw her just a few minutes ago, remember? She's doing a lot better now. But in July, she was... it was scary. I didn't want to talk."

"Remus, that's what we're here for," said James. "We're your friends. You can talk with us. It'll make you feel better."

"It doesn't help, to talk about it," Remus muttered.

"Yes, it does," said Sirius. "And you should more often. Feels a little like you're ignoring us, and we can't tell whether you even want to be our friend. We've been talking about it a lot. Sometimes you can't stay away from us, and sometimes you can't even be bothered to write to us."

"I... of course I want to be friends! I just... get busy!" Panic was flooding Remus' chest. Was this it? Perhaps he wasn't going to lose his friends because he was a werewolf; perhaps he was going to lose them because he was a bad friend... that was almost worse, because Remus had been trying so hard to be a good friend.

"Fair enough, mate," said James. "Don't get all worked up. You're just... distant, sometimes, and we're trying to find out why. Anyway. What do you think about the new books for Defense? I've never heard of them."

"They're Muggle," said Remus, thankful for both James' understanding nature and the change in subject. "Shakespeare. Like the book in my scavenger hunt."

"D'you think they're even in Flourish and Blotts?"

"Doubt it," said Sirius. "I don't think they sell Muggle books."

"If they don't have them, then maybe we can stop by a Muggle bookshop later," said Remus hopefully. "My mum can take us, probably."

"Yeah!" said James. "But that last one—Mindfulness Made Easy—that one might be in Flourish and Blotts. Let's go ask if they have Shakespeare, just in case, while we're here."

"You should have seen Professor Questus' face when I told him the book list," Remus mused. "I think he's regretting retiring."

"Mindfulness Made Easy," scoffed James. "Sounds like it's gonna be a stupid class."

"Anything's better than John," said Sirius. "Hated him."

"If possible, he hates you more," said Remus.

"Shut up."

They entered Flourish and Blotts, and Remus inhaled. It smelt of books—of books and people and parchment and ink and school. He had missed this place. "We're looking for Shakespeare," announced James.

"He's dead," said the manager. Remus snickered, and the manager smiled at him. "I'm joking. I've had a ridiculous number of people looking for Romeo and Juliet and Julius Caesar. Are they on the school lists this year?"

"Yes, sir," said Remus.

"Odd. That school gets weirder every year, I tell you. Well, we don't carry Shakespeare here. But we do have Mindfulness Made Easy. That's the other one, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

"So polite," said the manager. "That shelf. Back there. Don't tell anyone I told you this, but it's an awful book."

"Thank you, sir," James mimed, imitating Remus, and Remus hit him.

James started flipping through his new copy of Mindfulness Made Easy and gasped. "This book is... Merlin's beard."

"What's wrong?"

"Poetry," James hissed. "It's poetry." He read silently for a minute, and then gagged. "It's not even good poetry."

"Poetry?" said Remus, flipping it open excitedly.

Autumn Leaves
by Joy Pensley

The apple-cider air of autumn
is such a sweet and lovely type of air.
It swoops over orchards, bringing sweet smells
and child's cries on swings and in the leaves.
and then
the leaves,
like the autumn apple air,
s-w-o-o-p
through my heart
like an apple-cider airy ask-for-more
and the autumn apple air is filling
me up like
apple pie.

"Oh no," Remus murmured. "This... I... oh, ew. Ack."

"I take it you won't be memorizing that one," said Sirius, who knew all about Remus' penchant for memorizing poetry.

"Oh, no," said Remus. "Please tell me we won't be reading trashy poetry in DAD this year. I will die. This is the worst thing that's ever happened to me."

"I'll die right along with you," said Sirius. "How shall we do it? Drown ourselves in the Black Lake? Walk right up to the Whomping Willow and let it whomp us? Or we could let James chatter about Quidditch until we die."

James was watching Remus' face carefully at the mention of the Whomping Willow. Remus had panicked a little last year when his friends had threatened to touch the thing, but they weren't about to catch him losing his cool again—Remus was much better at controlling his emotions after spending so much time with Professor Questus. So, instead of blowing his top, Remus merely laughed and shook his head. "Anything's preferable to that last one."

"Oi!" said James.

"Ode to Sweet," read Peter. "Do they mean Ode to Sweets?"

"Nope, singular," said Remus. "Probably the concept... of the sensation of... sweet?"

"This is stupid," said James.

"Professor Questus," said Remus, grinning, "is going to have a fit."

Peter started giggling. "Can you even imagine John assigning something like this?"

Sirius adopted a very Questus-esque expression and lowered his voice. "Energy of Life. By John Questus. Can you feel it? The energy: the pure, unadulterated energy running through your body like a fizzy drink? That's life—that's the ever-present energy of effervescent life..."

Remus clutched his stomach and grabbed on to a pole to keep from falling over. "So this is how I die," he wheezed. "This poetry is so bad. Merlin's beard."

"Your every nerve is nervous, and your every thought is clear... the buzz is like a bumblebee, like wings, like stinging fear... but it's nothing to be afraid of... so let yourself relax... it's just... the energy... of all... living... things..."

James snatched the book out of Sirius' hands and continued in a bad impression of Professor McGonagall.

And Remus could feel it. He could definitely feel the energy of life.

Or maybe that was just the buzz of lightheadedness from laughing too hard.

Chapter Text

When Remus and his friends arrived in front of Slug and Jigger's Apothecary, laughing and talking all the while, Remus realized something that was potentially very important.

The last time he had visited Diagon Alley for school supplies, his father had gone in and gotten the ingredients for him—and maybe, now that Remus thought about it, there had been a reason for that. Remus hadn't even entered the shop yet, and he could already tell that it was filled to the brim with wolfsbane.

Remus, being a werewolf, did not have pleasant reactions to wolfsbane (even airborne). There was no way he could go in there without getting lightheaded and possibly fainting. Normally, he might not mind fainting so much (he needed a good nap, anyway), but around his friends it was a bit of a giveaway.

"Er..." he said. "Dad already got my supplies for Potions when he was here last week."

James narrowed his eyes, clearly suspicious. Fiddlesticks. "You father got you Potions supplies... but nothing else?"

Remus' friends had been quite suspicious of Remus over the last year, especially James. They'd even come to the conclusion that Remus' mother was a werewolf (Remus disappeared on the full moon, he came back with scratches, he'd claimed his mother was ill—Remus' friends had decided that Remus was an Animagus and went home every month to keep his werewolf mother under control, which was ridiculous). Yes, Remus' friends were suspicious, and now was the chance to deflect all that. He had to last another year at Hogwarts. "My dad didn't get me much because... he knew I wanted to go shopping with you," said Remus helplessly.

"Then why did he get you supplies to begin with?"

"He was already there."

"That makes no sense, mate."

Remus fumbled for something to say (but what could he say? James was absolutely correct—it didn't make sense), but Sirius swooped in before Remus could even formulate a half-baked response.

"Makes perfect sense to me," said Sirius, and then he gave Remus a small, furtive glance.

Remus wasn't sure what the glance was supposed to mean, but he was thankful for the confirmation nonetheless. "See?" he said with a shrug. "Perfect sense. Anyway, I've got to go to the loo. May we meet up by the Magical Menagerie? I need to get more food for Bufo."

"Come into the Apothecary with us," encouraged James. "You can help us. You can always identify potions ingredients when we're trying to find good ones in class—you always know which ones are the most ripe or whatever. It's like a superpower."

A superpower that was likely to make Remus faint, perhaps. "No... I really need to go to the loo."

"There's one in the Apothecary."

Remus rolled his eyes. "Fine. I didn't want to have to tell you, but..."

James leaned closer eagerly.

"My parents are super overprotective, and I'm supposed to meet up with them. Right now. So that they can make sure I'm doing all right." Perfect. Embarrassing details always made lies more authentic, and Remus' helicopter parents were certainly an embarrassing detail—and, to top it all off, it was an embarrassing detail that was actually perfectly true.

"Great!" said James, but he looked sort of disappointed. "We'll go with you, and then come back here and shop together."

"They want me to come check in alone." Okay, now things were getting a little dicey. But what was Remus supposed to say?

"That's stupid," said James. "Why...?"

"Ah, don't push him," said Sirius. "Come on, James. Let the man go check in with his mum."

"Thanks," said Remus; with that, he hurried off to find his parents and wait for his friends to finish shopping. It wasn't until Remus arrived back in the Leaky Cauldron that he realized why Sirius was defending his poor excuses.

Sirius probably didn't want him there.

And why would he? Remus was high-maintenance and annoying and couldn't always keep up with the rest of them. It was only natural that Sirius would want to have fun with James, who was his best mate, and Peter, who mostly stayed out of the way.

Remus felt ill.

Remus found his parents waiting anxiously at an outdoor café, talking quietly and drinking coffee. When they saw Remus, their eyes immediately widened in perfect synchronization. Had Remus not been so jittery from the close call with his friends, it might have been comical.

"Dad," said Remus.

"Remus! Where are your friends? Why are you back so early? Oh, heavens, please tell me they didn't..."

"Calm down!" said Remus as he watched his father's face turn paler than a piece of paper. "It's fine, Dad. They wanted to go inside the potions shop to get some supplies, and I... didn't want to. So I said that... you know, overprotective parents... and I had to check in with you."

Remus' mum's mouth fell open in mock horror. "Overprotective?"

"A smidge."

"How dare you?" said Remus' mum, but she was smiling all the same.

"So they didn't find out?" said his father.

"No! Goodness, no. No."

"Good. I'll pick up some potions ingredients for you later."

"Thanks so much," said Remus. "Well, good talk, but I'd better go sit and wait for them at the Magical Menagerie. I told them we'd meet up there. See you later."

"Later," said Remus' mum.

Remus left, but he didn't actually walk away—he simply ducked behind a wall so that he could spy on his parents a little. Remus heard his mother lean over and whisper to Remus' father, "He's doing well, isn't he? This is going well."

"Sure," said Remus' father. Then Remus detected a bit of a smile in his voice as he added, "It absolutely is."

Silence.

Remus couldn't resist.

He poked his head out from behind the wall with a smirk. "Yeah, your twelve-year-old son is walking around a friendly alley without tripping over his shoelaces, all right," he said.

"Scram!" shouted his father, and Remus ran away with a grin.

Remus walked through Diagon Alley alone, listening to the bustle of shopping students around him. He heard a scandal about Amanda's boyfriend, though he didn't know who Amanda was. He heard something about a dead toad, and he panicked for a bit before remembering that Bufo was back home. He heard Dumbledore's name. He heard Professor Questus' name.

Honestly, it made sense that people were talking about Professor Questus. Some of them probably didn't know that he'd quit teaching yet, and here they were with Shakespeare and a book of bad poetry on their book lists. That, Remus figured, was bound to inspire some interesting discussion.

It was odd, walking across the cobblestone on his own. He felt strangely vulnerable. If someone were to recognize and attack him, he wouldn't be able to defend himself at all. He had his wand in his pocket, yes, but he was hopeless at duelling. He may be able to cast a few nonverbal charms, but he most certainly would not be able to hold his own against a perfectly qualified wizard. Not yet. Maybe someday.

He walked into the Magical Menagerie and smiled at the manager. The emporium smelt strongly of owls. "Anything I can do for you?" said the manager brightly.

"No, thank you, sir. I think I know where to find everything."

"Good, good," said the manager, returning to his magazine.

Remus wandered around the store for a bit, fingering the change from the Galleon that his father had given him for shopping. A whole Galleon—they were being very generous indeed, and Remus wanted to return as much as possible. He looked for the best possible price of toad food and—perfect!—found that the brand that Bufo liked was on sale. He brought it up to the manager to pay.

At this rate, he'd be able to return enough money for his parents to put towards another Pain-Relieving Potion for a future full moon. He knew that was selfish, but it couldn't be helped. Remus had grown used to Madam Pomfrey's seemingly endless potions to help with the pain following a full moon, and home full moons felt infinitely worse nowadays.

"This it?" asked the manager as he eyed the toad food.

"Yes, sir."

"You have a toad, then?"

"Yes, sir. Just a common toad."

"Ah. I don't see many Hogwarts students with toads nowadays. They were popular when I was in school, but they're going out of style. Does it have a friendly disposition?"

"Yes, sir. Quiet. Well-behaved." That was an understatement. Bufo had sat with Remus after many a full moon with hardly a croak, and he'd only ever run away once. For a toad, Bufo was practically an angel.

"Good, good, good. Keep it around. Toads are loyal."

"Of course, sir," said Remus. He sensed his friends walking near the door; as the door tinkled with their entrance, the entire room seemed to light up. James and Sirius certainly had loud presences, and Peter's bright smile didn't help, either. "James! Peter! Sirius!" Remus cried. "Those are my friends," he told the manager (oddly proud of the fact). The manager nodded and smiled.

"Did you get everything you needed, Remus?" asked James.

"Of course. Did you?"

"Yep. I think we've practically finished our shopping lists, in fact. Mum's taking me to a better location for broom shopping since I'm definitely making the team this year. I'm getting the Nimbus 1500!"

"Lucky," said Sirius, though Remus doubted he was envious. He didn't seem to care much about Quidditch. "Oi, Remus. We still need the Shakespeare books. Can your mum take us to that Muggle bookshop right now?"

"I don't know," said Remus. "We can ask. Thank you, sir," he said again to the manager, and the manager gave him a friendly wave.

"Take care of that toad."

"Of course, sir."

Then Remus and his friends bounded down the cobblestone streets.

It was a lot more fun to walk around Diagon Alley with friends, Remus decided. It had been scary and uncomfortable alone, but it was quite the opposite with the Marauders. He could do this all day.

When they finally arrived at the Leaky Cauldron, they found that Remus' mum was overjoyed to take them to a Muggle bookshop. "There's one right here in London," she said. "Just across the street. We can walk."

"Hooray!" said James. "But do we have to walk?"

"What do you want to do?" said Remus. "Crawl?"

"No, silly. Let's hop."

Remus blinked. "Hop...?"

"Yeah!" James started hopping down the street. "Come on, slowpoke."

Remus glanced at his parents and rolled his eyes. He did not hop, but he carried his friends' bags as they hopped and teased them about how ridiculous they looked.

That, in Remus' opinion, was way more fun.

"What's that, Mrs. Lupin?"

"That's a water fountain."

"And... that?"

"That's a jacket. I probably should have let you change into Muggle clothes first, hm?"

Remus was wearing a jumper and trousers, but James, Sirius, and Peter were wearing standard black robes. "It's okay, Mum," said Remus, looking around. "It's a bookshop. Everyone's weird here."

"Nice self-insult," said Sirius with a chuckle.

James wrinkled his nose. "But robes aren't weird at all. Much more normal than whatever all that is. Merlin's beard, Mrs. Lupin. What a getup."

"James, dear, that's a baby in a onesie. And don't point," said Remus' mother. That was funny. Remus' mother often used pet names, and hearing her call someone other than Remus or his father "dear" made Remus smile.

"Should we go to the poetry section or the play section?" asked Remus.

"Let's ask the manager," decided Remus' mum. "Hello? Hello, ma'am, do you know where..."

"Don't tell me," said the manager grouchily. She had grey hair, a gravelly voice, and smelt faintly of mothballs and oranges. "People have been coming in here all week looking for Julius Caesar and Romeo and Juliet. That's what you want, innit?"

"Yes," said Remus' mum, faintly taken aback.

"Well, we're all out. Ordering more as we speak. You can order at another shop, I suppose. Or you could wait a few weeks. The waiting list is already long."

"Well, boys, what should we do?" said Remus' mother after the manager left. "Lyall? Any ideas?"

"Well, Remus already has his," said Remus' father.

Remus nodded. "Yeah, and I finished reading them. I could lend them to one of you, perhaps. And we could switch them back and forth until the shop has more books in stock."

"Give them to Pete," said James with a dismissive wave of his hand. "I wasn't planning on reading them before school starts, anyhow. Honestly, this is just a brilliant excuse to come to class without books."

Sirius nodded eagerly. "Yes. Don't worry at all, Mrs. Lupin." Remus noted that he seemed a lot more comfortable around Remus' mum now than he had at the train station... perhaps because James had told him that she wasn't a werewolf after all? "My mum and dad'll get me a book from somewhere. They hate how it's Muggle, though, so they'll probably complain to the school. That'll be a lark."

"If you're sure, Sirius," said Remus' mum. "And Peter, I must warn you that Remus' copy was mine when I was in school..."

"She wrote all over it," said Remus, grinning. "It's brilliant. You'll love it."

"I have half a mind to leave you here, Remus," said Remus' mother in mock anger.

"He'd actually like that," said James in a stage whisper, and Remus' mum audibly laughed.

"Suppose he would. Well, it's nearly time for dinner. We should probably get home. Can you three get home by yourselves?"

"Me and Sirius can," said James. "Peter? Do you need us to take you? We were just going to Floo from Diagon Alley."

"That would be wonderful," said Peter. "Last time I used Floo by myself, I ended up in Russia. The Kremlin, to be exact. Mother would be here to pick me up, but she expected us to finish shopping at seven."

"We could stay until seven," said James. "Is that okay, Mrs. Lupin? We can walk around London for a bit. Hop around. It'll be fun."

Remus' mum glanced at Remus, and then at Remus' father.

"No," she decided, and Remus' heart deflated. "I'm sorry. I'm... well, Remus isn't..."

"Are you feeling ill again?" said Remus, though he knew full well that it was his health that his mother was worried about.

"Er, yes. Yes, that's it. I need some sleep," said Remus' mum, smiling weakly.

"Oh, of course!" said James. "We can take Remus home after. What's the address?"

"No, I should go home, too," said Remus. "You understand, right?"

There was a brief moment of silence, and then...

"Of course," said Sirius. "Whatever you want, mate."

"I'll write to you later."

"Of course!"

"Bye," said Remus, and his mum started leading him out the door and to the car. His father followed. As soon as they were all in the car, Remus' mum sighed and rested her forehead on the wheel.

"I'm sorry, honey," she said. "But the... I mean, it's five days away now, and you really need to rest..."

"S'alright," said Remus. "I was feeling a bit tired anyway."

"It's not all right," said Remus' father. "None of this is all right. It's more like all wrong, actually. I'm so sorry."

"Dad! Stop it with the apologizing. It's just my life. I'm fine. Can we go home?"

"Sure," said Remus' mum, and then she placed the key into the ignition. The car roared to life, and Remus flinched. He always flinched when the car was turned on. His parents had teased him about it before in years past, but they didn't seem to have the energy at the moment. "You have good friends, Remus," said Remus' mother as she drove. "If not a bit clueless sometimes."

"More like a lot clueless, all the time," Remus corrected. "But yeah. I do, don't I?"

Remus was waiting in the cellar. It was especially dark tonight, and Remus couldn't see his own hands—even when he put them right in front of his face. His heartbeat seemed to echo around the room. He lied down on the cold, hard floor, curling into a ball and pressing his fingers into his eyes. He wished there was something he could do—anything—like read a book, or play a dusty old piano, or—if it had been Madam Pomfrey, Remus would have been tempted to let her wait with him, even. She asked if she could every single month, but Remus never let her—even when she promised to leave a full hour before the transformation began. The full moon was private, in Remus' opinion.

But private or not, Remus didn't want to be alone.

He wasn't sure what was wrong. He was going back to school in seven days, so he should have been excited. Why was he so apprehensive—even more so than normal?

He just... felt like something bad was going to happen tonight. He wasn't sure what, but he felt like something was going to happen. Were the charms on correctly? Remus' heart sped up even more. What if they weren't? What if...

"DAD!" he yelled. No answer. He yelled again, but his voice echoed around the cellar—unheard by all but Remus—before disappearing completely. Thank goodness. He'd known that the Soundproofing Charms were working, since he couldn't hear his mum and dad chatting in the other room, but he'd wanted to make sure. And if the Soundproofing Charms were working, then everything else probably was. Remus' father was no idiot when it came to magic, Remus knew. And he trusted him.

But he was still so anxious.

He shakily stood up and started to pace. Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. Why did this feel so wrong?

Poetry. He needed to recite poetry. That usually calmed him down.

"Two households, both alike in dignity," he muttered, "in fair Verona, where we lay our scene... from ancient grudge break to new mutiny, where civil blood makes civil hands unclean. From forth the fatal loins of these two foes, a pair of star-crossed lovers take their life; whose misadventured piteous overthrows do with their death bury their parents' strife..."

He ran his hand across the wall, trying to remember the rest. He couldn't, so he skipped to the last part.

"The which if you with patient ears attend, what here shall miss; our toil shall strive to mend."

He waited. And waited. And waited.

And then he wasn't waiting anymore, but he almost wished he still was as pain flooded his senses and the world became one big blur.

He came back to human form still filled with dread. He was still in the cellar. He hadn't escaped. So why...?

Oh.

Oh, no.

"Dad!" he yelled. "Mum!"

The Soundproofing Charm was still on. He sat up, leaned against the wall, and inspected his injuries. Nothing too bad. But that was the least of his worries.

He moaned and spat out some blood, and then he heard the rush of outside noises return as the Soundproofing Charm was finally taken down. Footsteps. Breathing. Heartbeats that weren't Remus'. Voices. "Remus," said his father, still behind the heavy door. He needed to check if Remus was human before entering the cellar.

"Here," called Remus; no sooner than he'd said it, his father burst into the cellar and ran to his side.

"Are you all right?"

"Yeah," said Remus sarcastically. "I sure am. Dad, why...?" But his father was already muttering healing spells. "Dad, wait...!"

"You're rambling, love," said his mother gently.

Yeah, Remus sometimes did that after a full moon. Usually his mother's assurance that he was not making any sense helped bring Remus back to his senses, but not this time—because he wasn't rambling. "No, I'm not!" he said. "Dad, wait! Stop! Stop... healing me...! I have questions!"

"Shhh," said his father. "Calm down. Everything's fine."

"Everything is not fine! Why were James and Sirius and Peter here last night?"

Everything froze.

"How... how did you know that?" said his mum.

Remus tapped his nose. "Duh. couldn't hear them, but their scents were distinctive. I don't think James ever showers."

"Oh..." Remus' mother didn't seem to have the heart to laugh at Remus' halfhearted jab at James. "Oh, Remus. It's all right. Nothing's wrong. We'll explain when you're well, okay?"

"I am perfectly well," said Remus stubbornly. "Perfectly. Now tell me what they wanted."

Remus' father raised an eyebrow. "Perfectly well, hm?"

"Absolutely. I could run all the way to Scotland... ow!" His nerves were gradually regaining feeling, and Remus gritted his teeth. "Perfectly," he said again.

"If you say so." Remus' father scooped him up and carried him to the couch, and Remus screwed his face up and started muttering under his breath.

"What did you say, dear?" said his mother, trailing behind them and looking utterly useless.

"I said," said Remus, as clearly as possible, wiping some more blood off of his mouth, "I hate this I hate this I hate this."

"That's what I thought," said his mum, and she swept his sweat-soaked hair away from his eyes.

"Now tell me why my friends were over here last night!"

"Well," said his mum, hesitating. "I think they might be..."

"They might be on to you," said Remus' father bluntly. "I think they have suspicions."

"What?!" Remus jerked, nearly fell off the couch, and accidentally moved his injured wrist. He gasped in pain. "Wh-what... sssstart from the t-t-t-t-t-toppp... the b-beginning...p-p-p-please."

Yeah, no. This wasn't working. Remus' speech was absolutely terrible today.

"Isn't there any potion left?" said Remus' father to Remus' mother, and she shook her head no. Ah, pity. It seemed as if the money that Remus had saved hadn't been enough yet after all. Maybe next month.

"I'm fine!" shouted Remus.

"You're not," insisted Remus' father firmly. "Give me five minutes to heal the worst of it, Remus. Then I'll tell you."

Remus bit his lip and waited. His heart was beating like it was trying to escape his chest. What if his friends knew? What was his father so reluctant to tell him what had happened? He didn't remember anything except smelling the boys whom he recognized to be the messy black-haired boy, the shorter blond boy, and the boy who stood up straight all the time. He felt a little ill as he remembered how much he'd wanted to eat them. Gross.

Remus looked up at his father, who was muttering healing spells, eyebrows knitted... he felt his bones snapping into place, his skin tingling under the silver and Dittany, and his fingers curling from the pain. It did feel a lot better now, though Remus' father's worried expression was doing nothing for Remus' beating heart. Remus leaned back and observed the blood spreading on the couch and dripping to the floor, a sight to which he was far too accustomed. And werewolves very rarely shed, but there was a bit of fur under his nails. Remus cringed. He didn't much like fur.

His father stopped trying to heal him and looked at Remus, helplessness in his eyes. That was always the look that he gave him before he took a break and allowed Remus some sleep. That look meant that he was finished—finished, at least, until Remus was coherent enough to tell him what else he needed.

"Talk," Remus ordered.

A sigh. "Very well. But then you're going to sleep, you hear me?"

"Yes, ssssir," said Remus, trying to salute but hissing in pain instead.

"Okay." Remus' father hesitated, as if he was trying to figure out how to break it to him.

They know, they know, they know, they know, they know...

"Your friends stopped by last night. Apparently, they'd owled us... and then followed the owl on their broomsticks."

Remus wanted to chuckle, because that was such a clever, dangerous, and James-y thing to do. But the chuckle died in his throat.

They know, they know, they know, they know, THEY KNOW...

"They were polite. A little giddy from flying all the way here. I was asleep." Remus' father trailed off. Remus knew why: it was because he always felt so incredibly guilty for sleeping on full moon nights. Remus had heard him complaining to Remus' mum when Remus was supposed to be napping. If Remus escaped, his father couldn't protect Hope... Hope was distraught and he needed to be there for her... it was terrible of him, to sleep while Remus was suffering... they were all stupid reasons, really. Remus knew his father needed his sleep. Healing magic was extremely strenuous, and Remus was thankful that his dad slept enough to perform it the following day. Not to mention Remus didn't want his parents to stay up all night worrying about him—worrying never changed anything. But Remus couldn't tell his father that, because that would be admitting that he'd heard another one of their conversations. That would make Remus' father feel even more guilty.

Remus clenched his jaw. "Keep going, D-Dad."

"Right... well, your mother answered the door. And your friends expressed... surprise... that she wasn't a werewolf."

Remus groaned. "I thought... I thought they'd b-believed me and Professor Questus!"

"What?"

"I..." Remus cringed. "Look, just t-tell me what they know and I'll explain l-later when I'm not..."

"Yes, of course," said his father hurriedly. "They don't know anything right now..."

"They don't know a thing, Remus," interrupted his mother. "Not a thing, dear. That's all we wanted to tell you. They no longer believe that I am a... that I'm that. Not one bit. And I was tired enough to look ill, which convinced them of your story even further. So just go to sleep... and we'll discuss it in the morning, dear."

"I don't w-want to..." Remus gave a frustrated cry as his mum started stroking his hair. "Ssstop."

"The sun was shining on the sea, shining with all its might; doing its very best to make the billows smooth and bright..."

Remus was supposed to narrate—that was their whole thing with The Walrus and the Carpenter! And Remus didn't want to fall asleep! But his mother, either oblivious or ignorant, kept reciting and stroking his hair until he couldn't keep his eyes open any longer...

That's a dirty trick, Mum, thought a half-asleep Remus. A dirty trick worthy of a Marauder.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Remus did not want to talk to his parents.

He just sort of wanted to sit here, alone with Professor Questus, read a book, forget all this had ever happened, and then go to Hogwarts in September. He wanted to cast some sort of Oblivion Charm on himself and his parents so that they could forget that everything had ever happened and never, ever speak of it again. He wanted everything to be normal again, yet he knew that was impossible. Because Remus' parents only had two settings: uncomfortably avoid itor make an unnecessarily big deal about it, and Remus definitely didn't want the latter.

Yet here Remus' parents were, standing at Questus' door, and Remus knew that, unless he wanted to pretend to have serious amnesia (a possibility which he did indeed briefly consider)... then he would have to talk to them. And Remus' father would look guilty, and Remus' mother would cry, and the entire thing would be thoroughly unpleasant... but Remus didn't have a choice.

"Door's open," called Remus, making an agonized face at Questus, who grinned.

Remus heard the door open, but he didn't look—it was much easier to continue making faces at Professor Questus instead. Alas, his averted gaze did not prevent the inevitable. Only moments later, there were the sounds of footsteps as his parents made their way to the sitting room. "Remus, love," Remus heard his mother say. "We're so..."

"Don't be," said Remus.

"No," said his father. "No, what I said was completely uncalled for, and I shouldn't have..."

"Nope."

"Your concerns were perfectly legitimate, and it was childish to..."

"Stop talking."

"We definitely shouldn't have sprung that on you on the last day of August..."

"I don't mind."

"And we're so sorry that you felt you had to..."

Utterly exasperated, Remus looked at his father for the first time. "Dad, it's fine."

"Oh, come on," Remus' father sighed, "why must you keep interrupting my speech? I worked hard on that."

Remus laughed and shook his head, but Professor Questus only looked intrigued.

"What did you say to him?" asked Questus. "From what your son told me, it was a completely normal disagreement that doesn't warrant such desperate apologies as long as you make it right."

"It was," said Remus.

Remus' father didn't seem to agree, judging by his horribly guilty expression. "No, I said some... things that I definitely shouldn't have."

"Over and done with," said Remus.

Remus' father looked at Remus' mother and sighed again. "Where did he come from, Hope, dear? I don't think he's mine."

"No clue," said Remus' mum, shrugging. "If I didn't very clearly remember giving birth to him, I'd be worried that he wasn't mine, either. He read Romeo and Juliet in less than a day. I, on the other hand, never even finished that book, and I got a D on my essay..."

"Really?" asked Remus' father. "What did you write the essay about?"

"I wrote it about Romeo and Juliet. Weren't you listening?"

"Must have missed that part."

"Much like I missed the entirety of Romeo and Juliet."

Questus gave Remus an exasperated look. "Mr. and Mrs. Lupin. I know for a fact that all three Lupins tend to deflect tension with humor—your son vehemently included. But now isn't really the time. You are going to tell your son that you've changed your mind and that he's going back to Hogwarts, correct?"

Silence.

Remus did a mental facepalm.

Questus steepled his fingers and narrowed his eyebrows. "So... let's talk about this."

"I'm going home to take a nap," said Remus hurriedly. "Have fun, Mum. Dad. And don't... I dunno. Don't kill them, Professor."

"I'll certainly kill you if you call me Professor one more time."

"Noted."

Remus' parents looked mildly terrified.

An hour later, Remus' parents came home. Remus was most definitely awake (he'd been staring at the wall and worrying for the past hour or so, which happened to be a favorite pastime of his), but he pretended to be asleep when his father opened his door. "Are you sleeping?" Remus' father whispered.

Remus opened his eyes. "No," he admitted. He didn't have the energy to lie. He did enough of that at school, and he really didn't want to worry about that at home, too.

Remus' father sat next to him on his bed, and Remus scrambled into a sitting position and leaned into his father's arm. It was nice, after all the tension that had been going on between them for the entire morning. Remus hadn't ever argued with his parents like that before—not ever—and he didn't like it one bit. Remus' parents were the only people he'd had contact with for six and a half years, and they were the most important people in his life.

They sat like that for a moment, and Remus entertained the notion that everything was going to be all right after all. "That professor of yours sure is blunt, isn't he?" asked Remus' father after a moment, and Remus smiled.

"He wasn't rude to you, was he? Well... er. Of course he was rude. He's Professor Questus."

Remus' father chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck. "Nothing we didn't deserve. He made me feel like a schoolboy all over again. But he's good discussion... sharp as a tack... speaks the truth. I can see what you were talking about before. He's a very good person to talk to, isn't he?"

"Yeah. No one's ever called me an idiot as many times as he has."

Remus' father laughed. "I might have beaten your record in one hour alone. But it's a friendly sort of 'idiot', isn't it?"

"Mm-hm. And he makes good tea, when he can actually walk."

"I'm sure."

Remus rubbed his eyes, afraid that he was going to start crying. Even though things seemed like they were okay, he still felt terrible. "I'm really sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."

"My feelings? Don't worry about my feelings. You're a preteen boy who's never given us any trouble at all. You were only standing your ground on a matter that your mother and I were completely wrong about. Besides, arguing with one's parents is completely normal at your age. We're just lucky that we got a kid who doesn't snap at us over every little thing. You should have seen me when I was your age." Remus' dad started talking in a high-pitched voice that hurt Remus' ears a little—but it was funny enough that he didn't mind. "Mummm. You're talking too loudly. You're embarrassing me. You're smiling too much. The food is too hot. Dadddd."

Remus giggled. He couldn't imagine his father like that.

"My point is, you're a good kid. A very good kid. And it's good to argue sometimes. Hogwarts sure has made you more argumentative."

"Has it?" said Remus, alarmed.

"No, that's not the right word. More... confident, I suppose. Nowadays, you tell us when you don't like something—most of the time. And you won't let us do something that you know is wrong. You're old enough to make your own decisions... just as you constantly remind us. Which is a good thing. You're not being selfish at all, you know. I was just frustrated."

"Me too," said Remus.

"So... I suppose it's your decision, not ours. And it's not as big of a deal as I thought it would be—not when Professor Dumbledore is looking out for you. And your friends, Questus says, are good people."

"Yeah. It's going to be fine, I think."

"Of course it is. I was frightened, that's all." Remus father fell silent for a moment; when he started speaking again, his voice was much quieter. "I know you don't like to talk about this, but you must understand that I had reason to be afraid. I work at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, which is a bit of an awkward place to work when a man has a son who's..." Remus' father laughed slightly and then trailed off. "My point is, Remus, there's a certain kind of... a certain kind of hatred towards you that I see on a daily basis. People talk, you know. I didn't want you to experience that, but..."

"I already have."

"You already have." Remus' father blinked hard before continuing. "Keeping you safe is my top priority, and I thought I understood the ins and outs of both your world and the outside adult world as it pertains to you. But you were right. I don't know a thing about your world—I've never been under the same circumstances as you are—and I hadn't considered how unfair it is to ask a child to give up his future. I suppose I just forget sometimes that physical safety isn't always the most important thing. It's an easy thing to forget, especially when your physical safety is jeopardized day after day, year after year... I've seen you broken and bleeding after so many full moons that physical pain is my default worry, I suppose."

"But nothing's going to happen anyway since Dumbledore's there. Right?"

"Chances are good that you'll be absolutely fine. And you're capable of protecting yourself, too—which means you're also capable of making your own decisions. So..." Remus' father sighed and then smiled a bit sadly. "What would you like to do, Remus? Your choice, not ours."

"I want to go back," said Remus. "Please. I want to go back tomorrow."

"All right, then."

There was a comfortable silence. Remus burrowed into his father's robes and internally thanked Professor Questus and Professor Dumbledore and his father and his mother and the four founders of Hogwarts themselves.

"I want you to go, too," Remus' father finally said. "Also, stop crying into my robes. You'll ruin them."

When Remus ventured downstairs to talk to his mother, he learned that she'd invited Questus over for breakfast the next day.

"Are you sure he's well enough?" Remus asked.

"He said he'd be fine," said Remus' mum, and Remus almost laughed. Madam Pomfrey didn't like it when he said that word. "Anyway, I think we need to thank him. He's done a lot for us—you, your father, me—and a good-old-fashioned goodbye is in order before you leave for Hogwarts."

"All right," said Remus. "Hey, guess what? I have everything packed for tomorrow already!"

"I hope you don't already have your toothbrush packed, because you still need that."

"I meant my books and things," said Remus, rolling his eyes. "Hey, Mum?"

"Yes?"

"You're okay with me going to Hogwarts?"

"Yes! Of course. I don't know what your father and I were thinking. You're so much better because of it—and some of the things that Questus said were absolutely correct. I don't know how he does it. He gets right to the heart of the issue, doesn't he?"

"Yeah," said Remus. "What exactly did he say to you?"

"Oh, the entire hour was basically him monologuing," said Remus' mum with a smile. "Talked about how home and school affected you—both positively and negatively—and then started talking about the wizarding world in general. He brought up a lot of good points about perceived danger versus actual danger..."

"He's pretty intelligent."

"Yes, he's wonderful conversation. Have you finished your summer assignments?"

"Mum. Obviously. I wonder how Peter's doing on the books that I owled him. And Defense Against the Dark Arts is going to be terrible this year; I can tell—I've already promised Professor Questus that I would write to him about it. Oh, and I've been studying Transfiguration, so I should get better marks on the next exam. And James told us that he's getting a new broom—and Sirius is coming with James to King's Cross. He got away from his parents for almost the whole summer. And Peter's birthday is today, so I'm wondering what we're going to do for it when we get back to school, and..."

There was a knock on the door, and Remus opened his eyes blearily. After what had seemed like decades of waiting, it was finally September first. He shot out of bed and got dressed as quickly as possible, listening to Questus chatting with his parents downstairs (when had he arrived? Remus wondered how early Professor Questus tended to wake up, if he was already here. Then again, Remus didn't have faith that Questus' sleep schedule was particularly good—not when he looked like death warmed up half the time).

"Is he still asleep?" asked Questus from afar.

Remus' mum laughed. "Goodness. I swear, the world could end and Remus would sleep right through it. Lyall, would you—"

"I'm awake!" yelled Remus.

"Of course you are!" shouted Remus' mum.

"You don't have to shout!" yelled Remus, pulling on his Gryffindor jumper from Sirius. He combed his hair as quickly as possible—it had indeed grown out enough since his haircut, thankfully—and pulled on some socks before scurrying downstairs. "Hi, Professor."

"Don't call me Professor." Professor Questus was looking a little healthier than the day prior, which was good. He was sitting at the Lupins' dining table with Remus' dad, who was pouring pumpkin juice. "I see you're dressed as a proper Gryffindor."

Remus grinned. "Sirius gave this to me for my birthday," he said.

"Gryffindors," Remus' father scoffed. He glanced at Questus and rolled his eyes. "I was a Ravenclaw, myself."

"Slytherin," said Questus, taking a sip of pumpkin juice. "But honestly, I preferred the first-year Gryffindors last year to students of my own House. Brilliant, some of them."

"Mum would've been a Gryffindor," said Remus.

Remus' father scoffed. "She most certainly would not have been a... oh. Er, no, actually, you're right. You're Gryffindor through and through, Hope."

"Am I?" said Remus' mum mildly. "What do Gryffindors do, then?"

"Well," said Questus, "they stand on top of tables and play guitars, they push people off of staircases, they play a lot of Quidditch, they decorate Dumbledore's office for Christmas, they sneak around the castle at night, and some of them name Grindylows and have pet Boggarts."

"That does indeed sound like me," said Remus' mum. "Uncanny, really. I'll have you know I played the guitar as a kid."

"Did not," said Remus. "You weren't that cool."

"Guilty as charged," sighed Remus' mum. "But I'll have you know I was very cool."

"Were not," said Remus. "I saw your school pictures. You definitely weren't cool."

She laughed. "Would I have been cooler if I'd played guitar?"

"Dunno. Maybe."

"I never played an instrument," said Remus' dad. "Remus can play... what?... one piece on piano?"

Remus nodded. "Moonlight Sonata," he informed Questus. Questus stifled laughter admirably.

"I played the piano for one year," said Questus. "Mostly just "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" and all that. My sister and I drove our parents mad. After she levitated it to the ceiling and stuck it there with a Temporary Sticking Charm—which is far worse than a Permanent one in this particular case—we had to get rid of it."

"I didn't know you had a sister," said Remus, surprised.

"I don't," said Questus.

Remus was confused.

"Dumbledore wrote to me the other day," continued Questus as if he hadn't said anything particularly strange at all. "He wants me to come back and teach. He'd pestered me about this before, but now he's being a bit more persistent—he must not have much confidence in this new Defense professor. Anyway, he told me that I'm free to return as soon as my health improves..."

"Will you?" said Remus' father.

"Nope. Honestly, I don't think I will improve. Certainly not improving much now. And I hated teaching. Hated it. Words can't describe."

Remus listened to his parents and Professor Questus chat for a bit. He usually liked talking to Questus, but he was a bit impatient today.

Time passed. Loads of times passed. Eons of time passed. And, after about twenty-seven years, it was finally, finally, finally time to go. Remus was positively wriggling with excitement. "All right, Remus," said his father. "Time to..."

"Go!" said Remus. "Finally." Questus gave Remus an amused look as Remus bounded out of his chair to grab his trunk. His father was seeing him off today, and his mum was going to stay home—she was probably going to discuss Muggle culture with Questus for a little bit longer; the topic fascinated them both. "Bye, Mum!" called Remus. "Bye, Professor. I'll write to you—all of you—except maybe Garrison, who can't read."

"Don't call me Professor," said Professor Questus.

"Okay, Professor!" Then Remus' stomach twisted, there was a cracking noise, and he was standing in a secluded area of London. He squeezed his father's hand, and they made their way to King's Cross station together.

He was very, very glad to be going back.

"Remus!"

Remus rushed onto the train and smiled warmly at Peter. "Peter!"

"REMUS!" That was Sirius.

"Sirius!"

"REMUS!" And... that would be James.

"James!"

They all clumped together and moved into a compartment, and Remus was immeasurably happy to see them again—so much so, in fact, that he hardly had time to wave goodbye to his father (who, all things considered, didn't seem to mind all that much). "How's John?" James asked Remus.

Remus shrugged. "He's fine. He came over for breakfast this morning. It was weird."

James gagged, and Sirius mirrored him. "Ugh, I bet."

Remus leaned back into his seat, perfectly contented, and grinned. "Have you read the books for Defense, Peter?"

"I tried... but I don't think I understood any of it," confessed Peter.

"Typical for you," said Sirius. Remus got the urge to chide him for being so rude to Peter, but he was still recovering from his recent argument with his parents. He didn't really want to risk another one so soon afterwards.

James laughed. "You know, Dad says Shakespeare's full of inappropriate jokes."

"How does your dad know Shakespeare, mate?" asked Sirius. "He's probably yanking your wand."

"Dad knows Shakespeare because of his Muggle rights campaign a few years back. And he's telling the truth. Right, Remus? He is, isn't he? I think you're the only one of us who actually read Shakespeare over the summer."

"He's telling the truth. Mum doesn't think Shakespeare is appropriate for twelve-year-olds at all."

"Cool," said James, who was certainly the type of person to appreciate the occasional dirty joke. "I love things that aren't appropriate for twelve-year-olds."

"We're not just twelve, though. Most of us are nearly twelve and a half, except Peter," pointed out Sirius. "On that note, Remus, we already had a birthday party for him. Yesterday. James' house. So you needn't worry about it."

"...Oh," said Remus, a tad disappointed. He felt very left-out.

Sirius didn't seem to notice. "Ooh, my parents are going to be even angrier when they find out about Shakespeare's inappropriateness. I'm really curious about our next DAD professor."

"I know she's female," said Remus. "Professor Questus mentioned it."

James pulled out Mindfulness Made Easy. "As if a man would assign this. Have you read the whole thing, Remus? It's awful."

"I have," said Remus. "Have you?"

"Yeah, and it's—" James blinked. "I don't know how you just got me to admit that I did some summer reading, but I'm considering tossing you out the window, you self-assured git."

Sirius laughed. "Yeah, we read it. Me and he actually read it out loud. Danced around his bedroom and adopted a bunch of weird voices. It was pretty fun."

"Sorry..." said Remus. "But did you just say... 'me and he'?"

"Yeah."

Remus shook his head sadly. "There's no hope for you."

Remus knew that Sirius was doing it on purpose. He had grown up in a Pureblood household. There was no way that he actually didn't know the rules of proper grammar. But Sirius had begun adopting more and more of James' lighthearted grammatical errors back in first year, and it was actually kind of sweet to watch. Remus didn't want to stop correcting him, though. It was too much fun, and Sirius seemed to like being corrected... for whatever reason.

"So... back-to-school prank," said James. "Remus, mate, you're out of the loop. Peter spent hours and hours at my house over the summer, and Sirius spent the whole last few weeks. We already came up with a really good practical joke. We were gonna write to you, but you take forever to respond."

"It's not like I'm staring at that notebook all day and waiting for writing to pop up," said Remus indignantly.

"You should be, considering how interesting we are," said James. "Anyway. We're dressing up all the suits of armor in the corridors... as teachers!"

Remus wasn't sure how to feel about that. "And how, exactly, do you expect to do it?"

"Well, there's a pretty cool Transfiguration spell that lets you copy clothing," said James, eyes sparkling. "I've been practicing it all summer. And the Color-Changing Charm... not to mention the Hair-Growing Hex. It's gonna be really cool."

Remus grinned. "That's a stupid idea," he said, and it was. But he was excited nonetheless, and every single Marauder on the train knew it. Things were different when Remus was with his friends, and he was immeasurably thankful for the fact.

But then... "I'm bored," said James.

"Read a book," suggested Remus.

"I'm not that bored. Hey, Sirius, let's go hex Snape. He's in the compartment behind us, I think. With Evans."

"Yeah!" said Sirius.

"I wanna come," said Peter.

Then the three Marauders turned and looked at Remus. "Coming?" asked Sirius.

Time froze. "N-no... no, I don't think so," said Remus slowly.

"Okay. Have fun riding the train by yourself. Let's go!"

Remus watched them go for a few moments, feeling very sorry for himself. No, he didn't want to hex Snape. But he didn't want to be alone, either. He felt a bit hurt—was tormenting another student really more interesting than talking to Remus? Wasn't Remus interesting enough? Remus hadn't seen his friends all summer, and he wanted to spend a bit more time with them, especially since they were coming so close to finding out the truth...

But there was no point in complaining, even to himself. Remus' friends were rude, inconsiderate, and prone to hexing others, but that was just how they were, and Remus liked them no matter what. What was the point in trying to change them? He loved them just the way they were.

With that in mind, Remus pulled out a book. If this was the price that he had to pay for having friends, he could do it. He could pay this price. This was fine. This was worth it.

Wasn't it?

He heard Snape yell, he heard a few hexes, he heard an angered shriek from Evans, and for a moment, he wasn't so sure.

But then he remembered being alone at home... those nights in the cellar... his argument with his parents... thinking that he wasn't going to go back at all... and then he decided that it absolutely was.

Chapter Text

Remus' friends didn't stay away for long (how long did it take to hex Snape, really?). They played a fierce game of Exploding Snap on the train (even though it hurt Remus' ears), talked about their summers, and ate enough sweets to feed a small country. Life, Remus decided, was good.

Finally, the train stopped. "Firs' years this way!" Hagrid called, and Remus almost followed him before he realized that he wasn't a first-year.

He wasn't a first-year. He was a second-year. He was no longer the youngest, he was no longer eleven... he'd be thirteen in March!

Remus stared at the flock of uncertain eleven-year-olds. They looked so young and nervous. He remembered arriving at Hogwarts—riding the boats after Peter had anxiously talked his ear off all the way to the castle—forcing himself to think about sheep because he could not bear to think about werewolves—Hagrid nearly giving away Remus' secret on his first day there—Hagrid looking at Remus when he pointed out the Whomping Willow, and poor little Remus having no idea that it was to become his torture chamber...

"Second-years and up ride the carriages," said James, interrupting Remus' thoughts (which had become dark rather quickly). James grabbed Remus by the forearm and dragged him to a carriage.

"What kind of animal is pulling it?" asked Remus, glancing at the empty patch of air in front of the carriage. Something was there, he knew. He could smell it. He could hear it breathing. He figured that it was about the size of a horse, by the volume of the breathing and the scent. And he could see the reins... attached to nothing. Remus didn't know of any sort of horse-sized creature that was invisible.

"They're pulled by magic," said Sirius. "They're self-driving."

Peter crinkled his eyebrows. "They're not," he said... and then he deflated. "Oh. I see. That was sarcasm."

"Wasn't sarcasm, Pete... are you making a joke? There's nothing there."

"There is!" protested Peter. "See it? No, you've got to be pranking me... he's pranking me, isn't he, Remus?"

Remus wasn't sure what to say to that, because he definitely couldn't see it. Perhaps it was a horse under a Disillusionment Charm? Why would the professors put a horse under a Disillusionment Charm? And why could Peter see it, and he couldn't?

His blood suddenly turned to ice. What if only humans could see it? There were animals that Muggles couldn't see... maybe only wizards could see it, and Remus wasn't even technically a wizard...? That would be horrible. His whole life, he'd been telling himself that he wasn't human, but he was a wizard, and he was a person... what if... he wasn't? Not really?

No, that couldn't be it. Because Remus could see Hogwarts, and Hogwarts was only visible to wizards... unless Dumbledore had lifted the charm, just for Remus? No, that was far too complicated! Remus was being irrational.

Remus decided that only humans could see the horses, and Sirius was playing a prank on poor Peter. It was the only explanation. And if only humans could see it, then Remus had to pretend that he could, too. He was a wizard. A wizard. Not human, no... but a wizard.

"Of course there's something there, Pete," he said, giving Sirius a death glare. "Sirius is just trying to make you confused."

"I'm not!" protested Sirius. "I'm actually not. James, you don't see them either, do you?"

"Nope," said James.

"Knock it off," said Remus. "You're scaring Peter."

"Marauder's honor!" said James. "I solemnly swear it, Remus. I only see a carriage with two reins being pulled by magic. Nothing is there."

Remus considered. James would never, ever, ever say "Marauder's honor" if it weren't true. James took the Marauders far too seriously.

"All right, I believe you," said Remus. "That's odd. Peter can see them."

"And you can too," said Peter, and Remus nodded, completely guilty. He hoped he hadn't dug himself into a hole with this one.

"What's it look like?" said James.

Remus looked at Peter.

"It's... like, all skeleton-y," explained Peter. "And greenish. And it has huge wings, like a bat or something... and its skin looks a little like a lizard's."

"Mm-hm," said Remus. "And it's about the size of a horse." That was the only thing he knew.

"Weird," said James. "We should ask the new DAD professor about it. Maybe she knows."

Remus rolled his eyes. "If she recommended Mindfulness Made Easy, James... she probably doesn't."

The Sorting Ceremony was starting, and Remus wanted very much to listen to the Sorting Hat's song. He'd zoned out a little last time due to the panic of being in a completely new place (and all the thinking about sheep that he'd been doing), so this was going to be a brand-new experience. The Sorting Hat opened its mouth, and Remus shushed James, who was now detailing the aspects of his new Nimbus to Sirius.

Oh, I see you're all quite nervous
to make friends and learn some magic.
But put me on, don't be afraid—
I'm nothing more than fabric!

I'll look inside your little minds,
I'll tell you what I see.
I'll find the House that fits for you—
the place where you should be.

I'll put the ones in Ravenclaw
who seek to strengthen mind,
I'll put the ones in Slytherin
who seek to only find.

I'll put the ones in Gryffindor
who seek despite their fear,
I'll put the ones in Hufflepuff
who seek with allies near.

Wherever I may put you,
and whatever you may seek,
I've never made mistakes before,
so listen when I speak.

And have some fun this year, but
don't forget the golden rule:
For heaven's sake, kids, turn in your homework. I've had far too many complaints from Professor McGonagall that students are flat-out refusing to do homework, and I'm sick of it. I'm only a Hat. I can't fix that for her or for you. You need to learn responsibility so that you won't grow up homeless and end up alone and sad. Follow directions. Do your work. It's not that hard. Gosh, even I could do that if I wanted to, and I'm only a Hat. I come up with this stupid song every year without fail. Take some responsibility. Sheesh. If I can write a rhyming song like this and memorize it, then you can do some homework. I don't even have a brain, for Pete's sake. Gosh. Anyway.
Make friends, work hard, have fun, enjoy
your seven years at school!

Remus looked at Dumbledore, who was smiling and nodding along to the music as he casually conducted with two fingers. "Wise words," he announced. "Let the Sorting commence!"

Remus leaned over to James and Sirius and whispered, "I think you two are the reason the Hat added that verse. When was the last time you did homework?"

"What's homework?" asked James.

Remus didn't know how to respond to that extremely stupid comment, so he simply rolled his eyes and watched the Sorting. "It's different, isn't it," he mused aloud, "to be on this end? I was so nervous last year that I hardly paid any attention at all."

"Me, either," Peter admitted. "And it was even harder to pay attention when you started spouting facts about sheep."

Remus laughed. "Sorry about that, Peter. I didn't know I was saying any of that out loud."

"I'm honored to be the first person your age that you'd ever met," said Peter, grinning, "but it was a little odd at first."

Suddenly, McGonagall called a name that Remus had never expected to hear. "Black, Regulus!"

Remus' head swiveled towards the small boy who looked exactly as Sirius had in first year—now, of course, Sirius was slouching a little more and was always smiling, with messier hair and robes due to the influence of James. But this boy was a miniature Sirius, except prim and proper. "Who... Sirius, is that a relative of yours?" Remus asked, watching the boy sit on the stool.

Sirius looked rather constipated. "Yes. My brother. He'll be a Slytherin, just you watch."

"SLYTHERIN!" called the Hat only a split second after it touched Regulus' head.

"See? He's an idiot. We're nothing alike."

Remus watched Regulus, who stood up gracefully and walked to the Slytherin table—he didn't make a sound, and his expression didn't change at all. There was a smattering of clapping from the Slytherins, but it was nothing like Sirius' boisterous shouts and leaps after he'd been Sorted. Regulus sat down next to a girl with blonde hair whom Remus recognized to be Narcissa Black. Narcissa smiled gently and put a hand on Regulus' shoulder. Regulus' expression still did not change.

"You've never really mentioned him," said Remus.

"No, I haven't. Because we're not alike. At all." Sirius' expression hardened. "Look, Lupin, I don't want to be associated with him. And he's made it clear that he doesn't want to be associated with me."

"Sure," said Remus.

To be completely honest, Remus was a bit afraid of Sirius when he got like this. Sirius could be rather intense. But then James poked Sirius on the arm with his fork, Sirius laughed, and the spell was broken: Sirius' black mood dissipated as soon as it had formed. "Hey, look, it's a Ragfarn," said Sirius, chipper once again. "Dad works with one at the Ministry. I've seen him around; he's not too bad."

Remus remembered Mr. Ragfarn from the Werewolf Registry and cringed. The boy in question looked too much like Mr. Ragfarn for Remus' comfort, and Mr. Ragfarn was definitely not a nice person. But Remus knew he shouldn't judge people on the basis of blood; that would be extremely hypocritical.

The Sorting Ceremony dragged on. By the time it was finished, there were quite a few new Gryffindors. James and Sirius couldn't stop staring, so Remus leaned over and whispered, "Don't you dare corrupt them."

"Corrupt them?" said James. "Never! You wound me, Loopy. I only want to... you know... maybe pull a few jokes on them. Harmless jokes, you understand."

"Perhaps hex them," added Sirius. "They're so young. Nervous. Impressionable."

"We won't kill them, but we might come close."

"Scare them half to death, maybe."

"Put bats in their beds."

"Put Peeves in their pajamas."

"Put trout in their trousers."

"Put frogs in their food."

A first-year with red frizzy hair stared at Sirius, wide-eyed. He opened his mouth and... squeaked. Sirius and James erupted into laughter. "He sounds like... a mouse!" said James. "A mouse!"

The first-year looked embarrassed and teary. Remus' heart broke.

"That wasn't nice," Remus said quietly, but no one heard him. And he didn't particularly want to work up the courage to say it again. So he settled for giving the first-year an encouraging smile... but the first-year turned away, probably thinking that Remus was teasing him, too. A disapproving Puttle, the Gryffindor Prefect who was sitting by the first-years, gave the Marauders a death glare. Remus cowered.

Then he sat back and waited for Dumbledore's speech. There was no use in feeling bad about everything. He couldn't let anything ruin his evening—after all, it was probably his last first day. There was no way he'd last this year without his friends finding out, was there?

As he contemplated that, he noticed that Dumbledore was standing in front of the crowds of students, smiling serenely. The talking died down until there was complete silence. "Good evening, Hogwarts!" said Dumbledore grandly. "I welcome all new students here, and I welcome all old students back. Before we begin the feast, a few reminders. First, the Forbidden Forest is... say it with me..."

"Forbidden," muttered most of the student population.

"ENCOURAGED!" shouted James and Sirius.

"Most everybody is correct," said Dumbledore. "It is forbidden."

"You should have told us!" shouted James. "We would have stopped having tea parties in there much earlier than this."

"Now you know," said Dumbledore. McGonagall looked like she was having a seizure, but Dumbledore was not fazed at all. "On that note, does anyone know what the Whomping Willow does? Say it with me... the Whomping Willow..."

"Whomps," muttered most of the students.

"GIVES GREAT HUGS!" shouted James.

"MAKES TEA FOR THE TEA PARTIES!" yelled Sirius.

"It does not," said Dumbledore. "I do not recommend drinking anything the Whomping Willow may offer you. And I don't know much about hugs, but I know the Whomping Willow does not give them."

James and Sirius were laughing so hard that they almost fell out of their chairs. Remus wasn't exactly sure why Dumbledore humored their antics, but he looked to be having nearly as much fun as they were.

"Third-years and up are permitted to visit Hogsmeade on weekends. No magic in the corridors. Avoid antagonizing the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Speaking of which, I'd like to introduce your new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher: Professor Pensley."

Remus looked at the staff table, where a very slim woman was sitting. She was quite tall, was wearing an extraordinary amount of make-up, and had very wispy blonde hair. Her robes were far too tight for her body, and they were pink with orange polka-dots. Her heels were impossibly high. She had no eyebrows—at least, none that Remus could see.

"Professor Pensley?" said Remus. "D'you think she wrote Mindfulness Made Easy? That was Joy Pensley, wasn't it?"

"Leave it to Remus to remember the authors of all of his textbooks," said James, even though he probably remembered, too. James never forgot anything. "But honestly—she looks like the sort to write something like that."

"Look how her wispy hair's flying all about her face like that," said Sirius. "She really needs to tie it back or something."

"It's just feeling the energy of life," said James wisely, and Remus nearly spit out his drink.

Dumbledore smiled, oblivious to their antics. "Without further ado," he said, "enjoy your meal!"

And Remus did, but it wasn't just because of the food. It was mostly because of James' jokes, Sirius' contagious laughter, and Peter's peppiness. It was indeed very good to be back... and the food was good, too.

The weekend passed quickly. Remus mostly watched James fly his broomstick—the boy was practicing endlessly for Quidditch tryouts. It was fun and all, but Remus was incredibly happy to be starting classes once again once Monday finally arrived.

Potions was first, and Remus didn't even mind how much Slughorn was looking at him. He didn't even mind the fact that every single ingredient that they were using was burning his nose (he'd lost some of the tolerance over the summer, he thought). It was good to be back, though it admittedly got significantly less good when Remus realized that he could taste the frog legs in the air.

"Words cannot describe how happy I am that second-years don't have to take Flying Class," Remus said to Peter, who nodded eagerly. James looked personally affronted, but he couldn't argue—he was currently in the midst of a very fierce ladle-fight with Sirius, and the tiniest distraction was sure to cause his demise.

Charms was next, and Flitwick complimented Remus on his Levitation Charm when they were reviewing first-year material. Remus grinned. He'd been practicing magic whenever he had a free moment with his father (which was frequently, seeing as Remus' home life was characterized by idleness). Remus almost considered doing the charm nonverbally, just to show off, but he decided that might be a bit arrogant of him.

They had Astronomy third period, and Sidus was disgruntled about the daytime class. But he told them that, this year, they weren't going to have to do drawings of the full moon—in second year, they were going to start focusing more on constellations. Remus was so happy that he probably could have flown if he'd jumped off of the Astronomy tower.

And then, it was time for the class that Remus and his friends had been looking forward to all day: DAD.

Remus kind of dreaded DAD, actually. He was excited to see what the new professor was all about, but... she'd never met Remus, and she was probably going to stare... or ask him questions... keep him after class... Remus remembered meeting Professor Questus for the first time and suddenly dreaded DAD even more. He resolved to avoid throwing pieces of parchment at her if she was Disillusioned. Right then and there, he made a vow to stay silent, keep to himself, and be an obedient, invisible werewolf. He could do that, couldn't he?

Remus and his friends arrived at the DAD classroom; as soon as Remus stepped into the classroom, he couldn't help but imagine Professor Questus' horrified reaction.

It was destroyed. Completely. The walls had murals of ocean scenes on them. The desks were arranged into a circle instead of in neat little rows. The professor was sitting at a desk... just like everyone else's!... instead of at her own. There were posters on the wall, but Remus couldn't quite make them out. And there were tiny hearts hanging from the ceiling. What's more, the ceiling had messages appearing on it every so often in hideous purple letters. Remus tried to read them. You're special... you can do it... believe in yourself... persevere...

"Er," said Peter.

"I think I'm going to vomit," observed James.

"I... almost want to go home," said Sirius.

Remus covered his face with both hands and groaned.

"More new arrivals!" said Pensley. Her voice was high and breathy, a little like an asthmatic soprano singer. She smelled of peaches, and the rest of the room smelled of... something very, very strong and very, very artificial. Remus looked around. There were scented candles all over the place. Of course there were. Remus hated scented candles. He was already starting to get a headache from the intense, conflicting scents... and there was classical music playing in the background, which certainly didn't help the sensory barrage. Remus sort of wanted to cry.

"Don't tell me your names," said Pensley eagerly. "I want to guess later, when we're all here. Have a seat!"

There were only four open seats, one of which was next to Professor Pensley. James and Peter flew into the open seats closest to them, and Remus and Sirius had a silent scuffle for the last remaining open seat that wasn't anywhere near Professor Pensley. "I had the unpleasant seat last year," Remus reminded him in hushed tones. "You three sat together, and I sat near the front with Lily Evans. It's your turn, mate."

"You wish," said Sirius.

"Git," said Remus after Sirius had pushed him away and stolen the seat. Remus may have been a hulking beast on the full moon, but his vaguely-birdlike daytime strength left much to be desired. He made a face at his friends and retreated to the seat next to Pensley. Evans was on his other side... again.

Life was terrible.

"Alright-y, I think everyone's here," tinkled Professor Pensley. It was weird, having a teacher teach as she was sitting right next to him. Remus wondered if it was too late to drop out of Hogwarts and be homeschooled. "My name is Professor Faith. Not Professor Pensley. I think it's almost metaphorical to combine the professional title with the intimate first name, don't you?"

Remus wanted to gag.

"Now, my name's not really Faith. But I change it every so often to suit my personality. Yesterday, it was Confidence. Today, it's Faith, because I can't help but have faith in the future of the wizarding world as I look at all of your smiling faces."

There's a curse on this position, Remus desperately reminded himself. There's a curse on this position. Maybe she won't even last the year.

"After all, as Juliet once said to Romeo... what's in a name? A rose by any other name would smell as sweet! You do have homework from me tonight: a ten-inch essay about whether you agree or disagree with this view." Sirius and James groaned in perfect unison, but Pensley cheerfully ignored them. "Before I tell you any more about myself, I'd like to find out some things about you. First, I want to try to guess your names."

Remus perked up at that. She had heard about Remus, and she knew that there was a second-year werewolf in Gryffindor named Remus Lupin. Dumbledore had made it a point to alert all the staff personally, so there was no way she didn't know. To guess someone as Remus was essentially to guess them a werewolf, and Remus was curious to see how that would play out.

Pensley started with Peter. "You look like a Leonardo," she said, smiling.

"Er," said Peter. "I'm Peter Pettigrew, actually."

"Well, your name on the inside is Leonardo, my boy. From hence forth, you shall be called Leonardo."

Remus cringed. Was she really going to give everyone a new name? I should have listened to my parents and stayed home, he thought. This is very, very bad.

"And you, dear, look like a Meg," Pensley continued, pointing to Lily. "A gorgeous Meg."

"Lily Evans," snipped Evans. Clearly, she was as unhappy about all this as Remus was.

"Meg it is. Are you Maximus?"

"No," said Sirius. "Sirius Black."

"Hello, Maximus. And you..." She pointed to James and pressed one slender finger to her chin. Her nails were magicked to have floating images of hearts on the surfaces, and Remus gagged. "Your name is Griffin. A strong, courageous Griffin!"

"That is my name, actually!" said James. "Griffin. Griffin Door."

The class tittered, but the joke was lost on Professor Pensley. "Oh! I knew I'd get one right. The name of your spirit, young Griffin, perfectly matches the name that your parents have given you. Your parents must be very wise people."

"They are," said James, nodding.

Pensley pointed to a small boy from Ravenclaw. "Kenneth," she decided. The boy opened his mouth in protest, but she moved on.

Remus was last. "You must be Henry, then!" said Pensley.

"Remus," Remus told her reluctantly. He watched her face, but it did not seem to change now that she knew that he was a werewolf.

"Remus. A good name," she said thoughtfully. She pronounced Remus' name like some sort of sweet that she was trying to savor. "Good R sound, Remus. Starts at the back of the throat... moves to the lips... ends in the dead center. A satisfying name." Remus was uncomfortable. "Remus," she said again. "Yes, it suits you. Remus. Remus. Remus. I've never met a Remus before, you know. But I'm still calling you Henry sometimes... only when I feel it suits you better. Names can change, you know! I change mine whenever my soul tells me to do so!"

Remus resisted the urge to roll his eyes. The fact that she was in the desk right next to him was simply too much. He hated her. He HATED her.

But he shouldn't hate people. Hatred was reserved for full moons and full moons only. He tried to breathe in order to calm down: in through his nose, out through his mouth...

...And then he immediately started choking on the intensity of the scented candles.

"Oh, dear. A spirit must have flown into your mouth," said Pensley. She patted his back a bit, and Remus scrunched up his shoulders in discomfort.

"Well. Let me tell you all a bit about myself." Pensley talked with her hands a lot, and her desk was so close to Remus that she occasionally hit him on the shoulder as she frantically gesticulated. The girl on Pensley's other side, Susanna (whom Pensley had christened "Georgette"), looked just as uncomfortable. "The book I'm sure you all enjoyed, Mindfulness Made Easy, was actually mine! I wrote it last year."

She smiled, clearly expecting people to be impressed. No one was.

Well, Remus was sort of impressed, but only because he hadn't thought it possible for one person to be so incredibly annoying. It was astounding, really.

Pensley kept talking, apparently oblivious to her own annoying-ness. "I grew up in London, but I moved to the country when I was still young. I am forty years old, but still as young as ever!" She laughed, even though it hadn't been funny. "This year, I aspire to make things as comfortable and friendly as possible. From what I've heard about your last professor, you all deserve a bit of a change!"

Goodness, did everyone have a bone to pick with Professor Questus? Besides, if Pensley was trying to make Remus comfortable, then she was failing miserably. Remus reckoned he would walk on rusty nails than spend another minute in this horrific class.

"We're going to focus on our minds this year—after all, a ready mind is the best weapon. Eh?"

Remus figured that she had probably been a Ravenclaw. That made sense. Ravenclaws had a bit of a reputation.

"Specifically, we'll be practicing feeling the energy of the universe around us, which will help us fight our inner demons—and once our inner demons are defeated, we can start defeating the demons on the outside that threaten our physical health."

She was definitely a Ravenclaw.

Pensley clapped her hands and smiled a horrible, crocodile-esque smile. "The first thing you're going to do is build a sculpture of something that scares you. That will help you face your inner demons, which will later assist you in fighting them!" She waved her wand, and a large clump of clay appeared on everyone's desk. "I'll turn up the music. Does anyone know this composer?"

It was Tchaikovsky. Remus typically didn't mind classical music, but it was simply too much sound at the moment. He wished she would turn it off so that he could actually focus.

"It's Tchaikovsky!" she said. "The Sleeping Beauty prologue. Have fun, you all! I'll be doing my own."

Remus watched her roll up her sleeves delicately and then plunge both hands into the clay. His classmates did the same. Remus glanced at Sirius, who was laughing at him. He made a face.

What was he supposed to build? His Boggart was the full moon, but he couldn't very well make that in public. He couldn't make a wolf, either, even though wolves scared him. And how was he supposed to depict society's hatred towards his kind with... clay? What else scared him? Try as he might, he couldn't think of anything else that truly scared him—nothing could compare to the horror he felt as the shafts of moonlight fell through the boarded-up window, the pure revulsion and shivery lurches of fear that cascaded through him as his frantic heartbeat became the only sound in the room, the frozen terror in the moments just before the indescribable pain struck his every nerve... alas, none of that was easily sculpted.

He could make a crystal ball, he supposed. He'd come up with a rather brilliant lie last year about being afraid of crystal balls because he was afraid of the inevitable... but he didn't want to stand out. Afraid of the inevitable? What kind of sculpture was that?

"Remus," whispered Professor Pensley, and Remus nearly jumped out of his skin. His first name sounded so foreign in her mouth. He'd almost rather she called him Henry. "Why aren't you making anything? Surely there's something you're afraid of?"

"There's plenty I'm afraid of," confessed Remus, just as quietly. There was enough talking in the room—and enough loud classical music—that he was confident no one could hear him but Pensley. "But none of it is... sculptable."

"Abstract!" squealed Pensley, and Remus wanted to hit her.

In through his nose. Out through his mouth.

"Sure," he said, and then he immediately began lumping the clay in an unrecognizable shape.

Remus could only imagine Professor Questus' expression if he knew about all this nonsense.

After about ninety-six years, the class period was finally drawing to a close. Remus had been dutifully rolling his clay over and over and over again the whole time, making it more of a shapeless lump and less of... anything else, really.

"Time to share!" said Pensley. "Quickly! You first, Maximus."

Sirius grinned. "I'm afraid of clay," he said. He hadn't done anything with his clay. "It's gooey and gross."

"Good!" said Pensley. "So candid! So honest! So clever!"

Griffin (James) said that he was afraid of Sirius. He had made a very unflattering sculpture of him. Leonardo (Peter) professed that he was afraid of dragons, and had made a very good dragon sculpture. Pensley, predictably, adored it. Meg (Lily) had made a broomstick. Remus hadn't known that she was afraid of flying, but he supposed it was a reasonable fear.

It was soon Remus' turn, and he took a deep breath before speaking. "This is my sculpture. It represents the inevitability of tragedy, the unpredictability of life, and suffering in general."

He hadn't wanted to stand out. But it was the only thing he could think of that merited "abstract".

Pensley squealed. "Now this is creativity!" she tinkled, flapping her hands wildly and smiling.

Remus knew that she was probably going to try to keep him after class (she'd probably have some annoying questions about his lycanthropy—or worse, she'd want to discuss his sculpture), so he ducked out the door before anyone else could and then sprinted down the corridor to wait for his friends before she could even say anything to him.

His first day with Professor Questus had gone better than that, and Professor Questus had kept him after and sharply lectured him for what felt like hours.

Typically, Remus was very good at not-hating-people, not-being-angry-at-people, and not-murdering-people, but it looked like all of that was going to be ruined by the end of this year.

Chapter Text

It was no secret that Albus Dumbledore was a talented man—his research and magical capabilities were revered across the magical world—but Remus thought Dumbledore had one talent in particular that was often overlooked.

He had a very odd talent for showing up at the worst times.

The Marauders were having supper. Sirius had just told a joke, Peter had dribbled pumpkin juice down his front, and Remus was helping him pat it dry with a napkin. Peter was still laughing, and James was dropping lettuce leaves into his cup and mixing in some beef stew. Sirius was now daring him to drink it. And that was when Dumbledore chose to show up directly behind Remus—when there was too much noise and food for Remus' enhanced senses to figure out that he was there before it was too late.

"Erm… hi, Professor," said Remus, completely aware of how stupid they all looked. The pumpkin juice stain on Peter's lap made it look like he had wet himself. Peter was even more hysterically giggly at the sight of the headmaster. James and Sirius kept laughing, undeterred.

"Hello," said Dumbledore with a warm smile. "I see you are all happy to be back."

"Albus Percival Wulfric Brian! Hullo! Hey, do you dare James to drink that?" said Sirius, pointing to the juice.

"I don't think that's very appropriate," said Dumbledore pleasantly. "But I won't stop you from daring him, Sirius. Who knows—lettuce, beef stew, and pumpkin juice may be the next grand delicacy. But I digress. I only came here to let Remus know that I'd like to see him in my office after supper so that we can discuss his travel arrangements for this year."

Ah, the "ill mother" lie. Remus had been keeping it up since the beginning of his first year. His mother was ill, Remus had to visit her to help his father with the general duties, and Dumbledore was allowing him to travel back and forth on days that just so happened to coincide with the full moon (which Remus' friends had noticed, but Remus had tried his best to explain it all away). Remus wasn't really looking forward to another year of lying about his mother, but he had no other option. At least he didn't have to lie about her being a werewolf—his friends most certainly knew by now that she was not.

"How are the arrangements any different from last year?" asked James.

Remus, who was very practiced in the fine art of lying by now, came up with an excuse easily. "Last year I used Professor Questus' fireplace sometimes," he said, "but I'm not using Pensley's."

"I believe she's going by Professor Jessica today," said Dumbledore.

Remus suppressed a groan. "I'll be sure to be there, Professor. I promise."

"Good. I shall see you very soon, then. Enjoy your supper."

Remus looked at James, who was now downing the juice/stew/lettuce. "I think I will," he said seriously. "Especially if James vomits on Sirius."

Upon arriving at Dumbledore's office, Remus realized that he didn't know the password. Instead, he settled for knocking on the wall next to the stone gargoyles and shouting, "Professor? You wanted to see me?"

Professor Dumbledore appeared immediately. "Ah, Remus. Right on schedule. Come in."

"Why did you want to see me?" said Remus, taking a seat. "Because I know for a fact it's not about my ill mother."

"First, I simply wanted to see how you were doing. It seemed prudent, given this summer's events."

Remus laughed a bit. "I'm doing all right. Although Professor Questus isn't happy that you tricked him into taking a house right next to mine, so I think he might turn you into a toad next time he sees you."

"Oh, I should think that it would be far more humiliating than a toad," Dumbledore said airily. "A fruit fly, perhaps?"

"Why did you tell him to move there? You'd been to my house before, so you knew that I lived in the house right across..."

"It worked out, didn't it?"

"I s'pose. He was very bored. I think he secretly appreciated the houseplant."

"He secretly appreciates your company, too, I'm sure. You'll have to forgive my meddling, Remus. I thought perhaps he'd want to hear from someone with a bit more experience."

Professor Questus had said that Dumbledore tended to play God, Remus remembered. That certainly explained this little development. "Experience in what?" asked Remus. "Boredom?"

Dumbledore smiled. "Precisely, among other things."

Like being under the influence of an uncontrollable Dark curse, Remus thought. Like constant pain. Like impending mortality. Like a lack of a future and hope. Remus had experience in all those things, but he wasn't sure how much he could help Professor Questus, who already seemed to know how to deal with such things much better than Remus did. It was Remus who came to Questus to talk things through and get advice, not the other way round.

"Talking of Defense Against the Dark Arts professors," continued Dumbledore with a smile, "how did Professor Jessica treat you?"

"Er," said Remus. He hated her. "No differently from anybody else."

"Good. She's a very open-minded person, you know. I actually asked her to meet us here so that she could ask a few questions if she wanted to."

"Questions?" repeated Remus, alarmed.

"Yes. Of course. Most people have never met a werewolf, Remus, and they're curious—it's only natural. I wanted to resolve any misunderstandings and prejudices before they became issues. I'm truly sorry if it's uncomfortable, but I am afraid that you are going to have to get used to it."

Remus was perfectly comfortable when Professor Questus asked him questions about werewolves, but he wasn't entirely certain he'd be comfortable if anyone else did the same. "Of course," he said, even though he hated the idea of talking to Pensley one-on-one with all his being. "That seems reasonable."

"Madam Pomfrey wanted to see you this weekend for a check-up, but I managed to convince her to let you have a few days of peace. I don't know how much longer that's going to last, but…."

Remus smiled. "Thank you. I'll go see her sometime this month."

"Good. I do hate to see her worry. Why don't you tell me about your summer?"

Remus detailed the most interesting events of his summer (supper with Questus, his parents finding out about Nolan the Grindylow, Madam Pomfrey's visit, Diagon Alley, the Muggle bookshop), and Dumbledore seemed appropriately interested. Suddenly, Remus trailed off and glanced towards the door, which smelt strongly of scented candles and peaches. "Professor…?"

"Ah, is that Professor Jessica?" said Dumbledore. "She doesn't like to knock—she thinks it's jarring. Come in, Jessica!"

"She's not here yet," said Remus after a moment of awkward silence. "She's still at the end of the corridor. I get mixed up because of all the scented candles she keeps."

"I see," said Dumbledore. He stood up and opened the door for Pensley himself, and she flounced in graciously a few moments later.

"Henry!" she said. "So good to see you again!"

At "Henry", Dumbledore gave Remus an inquisitive look, and Remus mumbled a response and tried for a smile.

"Well, Professor Jessica," said Dumbledore. "First thing's first. If you have any questions regarding Remus' condition, then now is the time to ask. I want to make sure he is entirely comfortable, and a discussion with any new teachers who don't know what a good student he is seems like the logical place to begin."

"A good student?" fluttered Pensley. "Ooh, I'm sure. I don't have any questions." She chuckled and blew a floaty wisp of hair out of her face. "It's only a unique medical condition, and it's not my business, now is it?"

Remus looked up and slowly nodded, oddly thankful.

But then, Pensley suddenly pressed a finger to her mouth and looked at the ceiling. "But… you know, Henry, I could probably cure you….."

Oh no, thought Remus.

"You know, one hundred percent of the people who come to me regarding medical issues are eventually healed."

"So you're a Healer?" said Remus flatly.

"Me?" Pensley laughed. "No, no, I'm not the Healer. Nature heals all things."

Remus suppressed a groan. He knew these types of people. His mum and dad had tried to cure him in countless different ways, and none of them had worked—they'd just made him feel ill, exposed, and panicked. Many of them had hurt terribly, and Remus cringed just thinking about them. "Please don't try," he said quietly. "I'll deal with it. I don't need a miracle cure—I'm learning to deal with it on my own."

"I'm not trying anything! It's all you, Henry. All you. I was going to suggest meditation."

Remus shook his head violently. "Nope. Nope. Nope. Absolutely not. Thank you, but meditation is definitely not going to cure lycanthropy."

"Have you ever tried?"

"Obviously not," Remus spluttered. "Trust me, I…." He looked at Professor Dumbledore pleadingly. "I don't want more cures, Professor. Nothing's going to help, I promise. I'd rather…."

"Then don't think of it as a cure!" said Pensley. "Just nice, relaxing meditation… that might or might not cure you completely!"

"It might be fun," said Dumbledore, and Remus was beginning to understand Questus' anger toward the man.

"I'm busy," said Remus desperately. "I have things to do."

"Nonsense," she said.

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "How about just once a month, Remus? Two days before the full moon, directly following supper? The transformation is, after all, easier when you're relaxed."

"Yes, relaxing!" said Pensley. "We can do that! Only one hour. Up to three, maybe. We'll take it as it comes!"

Remus wanted to cry. For someone so understanding about how Remus' affliction was not her business, she really didn't understand anything at all. Also, Remus wanted to throttle Dumbledore.

"Thank you, Professor Jessica," said Dumbledore.

"No problem at all!" gushed Pensley. Remus waited for her to leave, but she just sat there—smiling and tapping her long pink fingernails on her garish robes.

"That was a dismissal," said Dumbledore gently.

"Oh!" she giggled. "I'll see you soon, Henry! After dinner on the… when's the next full moon?"

"Twenty-third. Saturday," Remus mumbled.

"Of September? Or October?"

"September…?" said Remus. Was she really that stupid? "There's one every month, so the next full moon is obviously in September. The October one is on the twenty-second."

"Oh! Alright-y, I'll see you then!"

She left, and Remus stared at the door. He waited until she was all the way down the corridor, and then he swung his head around to glare at Dumbledore. "What was that, Professor?!" he said angrily. "I definitely don't want someone to try to cure me!"

"It might help," said Dumbledore, smiling. "It might help a great number of things, in fact."

"It won't! And I won't… I can't…."

"You didn't like Professor Questus at first, either, if I remember correctly. And that changed, did it not?"

"That was different!"

"How so?"

"Professor Questus didn't like me; I was merely returning his sentiments."

Dumbledore laughed. "Try it out, Remus. And if you really can't stand it, then tell her so—but only after you've given it an honest, unbiased effort."

Fat chance of that.

"Am I the only one who has to do this?" Remus asked, mildly furious. "Aren't there other students who have to… meditate?" He spoke the word as if it were one of Hagrid's rock cakes—full of good intentions on the outside, but also disgusting, terrifying, and probably lethal.

"Actually, yes," said Dumbledore. "She's proposed the same thing to any child in any sort of stressful medical situation. There are a few children in other years who have chronic issues."

"There are?" said Remus. He'd always felt isolated—the fact that other children at Hogwarts had chronic medical conditions was news to him. He'd have to ask Madam Pomfrey about that someday.

"Oh, yes. Several others, I think. And I've asked every single one of them to comply with Pensley's wishes."

"But that's still not fair, sir. Shouldn't I get a say?"

Dumbledore smiled and popped a sweet into his mouth. "That is the unfortunate part of being a child, Remus. Sometimes we know what's best for you even more than you do. You might be pleasantly surprised."

"I doubt it," Remus mumbled, just quietly enough that he knew Dumbledore couldn't hear. Then he raised his voice a bit. "How do you think it'll help?"

"First, I think it'll make some interesting stories for John Questus," said Dumbledore, and Remus honestly couldn't tell if he was joking or not. "Second, it'll give you an excuse to get away from your friends every once in a while. I hear they're close to finding out the truth. Third, it might calm you down before a full moon, which is beneficial. Fourth, I know all about the lycanthropic temper—enduring Professor Jessica might help you learn to control it…."

"I control it just fine," said Remus, now feeling a little panicked. "Don't I?"

"You do. But you're also terrified of it, I think."

"I…."

"Remus. The fact of the matter is: you need a bigger circle of people you can trust, you need more pastimes, and—although this is a school—you need a break from schoolwork every once in a while. Besides… I think Professor Jessica just wants to be helpful. The staff isn't treating her kindly, you know. And I'm sure you understand what it's like to be judged for uncontrollable differences."

Keeping scented candles is completely different from being a werewolf, Remus thought. "I don't have time," Remus insisted. "I'm missing loads of classes already because of the full moon, and I need the extra time to catch up on schoolwork."

"You didn't seem to have that problem when you had twice-weekly duelling lessons with John Questus," said Dumbledore with a smile.

"But—that was entirely different—"

"Remus." Dumbledore peered at Remus over his half-moon spectacles, and Remus felt a bit like he was being X-rayed. "May I say something harsh? In the spirit of John Questus?"

"Yes, sir. Of course you may."

"The fact that you dislike Pensley so much is your problem, not hers. She is not a bad person. She has done nothing to merit your dislike. She is a very good person, who is trying her best to do good things, and you're judging her unfairly solely based off of her quirks and personality."

"You don't understand how awful she is."

"Don't I? And what, pray tell, is so awful about her?"

"She... well. Where do I start? Her voice is annoying, she makes us play with clay, she made us sculpt something we were afraid of... that wasn't very nice of her, was it? Someone could have panicked or something! It wasn't very nice to make us think about things like that."

"I believe John Questus was a proponent of facing fears as well. You didn't seem to mind when he encouraged his students to do the same."

"Are you seriously comparing Professor Pensley to Professor Questus? Because that doesn't make any sense."

"Professor Jessica, Remus. And no. I am merely trying to point out your double standards."

"She... she has all these posters in her room! And they say these utterly cliché things, like believe in yourself and you're special and all that..."

"Ah, Remus. Since when were those bad messages? Clichés are often clichés for a reason."

"That's not the point! She treats us like children!"

"That is often the unfortunate part of being a child, yes."

"But..." Remus let his hands fall to his lap, frustrated. "The scented candles! Do you have any idea how difficult it is to focus? It's like a werewolf torture chamber in there, Professor!"

"Have you talked to her about them?"

"No, but..."

"I'm not sure how you'd expect her to know, then."

"She doesn't know anything! She didn't even know that every month had a full moon!"

"You seem to be a lot more patient with Peter Pettigrew's academic shortcomings than you are with hers."

"Well, he's not totally infuriating, Professor!"

"Remus." Dumbledore's voice was a little bit firmer now, and Remus shut up. "You are being unfair, and this is uncharacteristic for you. You are one of the most caring, nonjudgmental, accommodating people that I know. I ask that you find it somewhere in your heart to treat Professor Jessica with the respect she deserves—as both a person and a teacher. Do you understand?"

There was a long moment of silence, and Remus felt horribly ashamed of himself. Not ashamed enough to like Professor Pensley, no, but ashamed all the same.

"Very well, sir," he conceded. "But I reserve the right to utter a very stern 'I told you so' when it ends up being awful."

Dumbledore chuckled. "That's more than fair. Thank you, Remus."

"My pleasure," said Remus, but it definitely, definitely wasn't.

Dear Professor Questus,

You asked me to write to you about the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, and I figured I might as well, because a) I have some extra time, and b) you're probably bored out of your mind. This is going to be a very long letter, so feel free to ignore it if you want. When I'm in the Hospital Wing, though, I usually read every letter I receive nine times through—five forwards, one backwards, two sideways, and one from memory (if I can, which I usually can't). It keeps me sane... well, either that, or it drives me insane enough to stop caring, which is also nice.

Everyone in my dormitory is currently asleep, which is just as well because Sirius and James keep trying to read my letters. Before you ask, I haven't talked to them about their visit on the August full moon, and I have no plans to do so. But they're definitely curious, and my parents are bad enough liars that I'm sure they suspect something. Fortunately, they haven't reached the right conclusion quite yet. Here's hoping they never, ever will.

I've written to my parents already, and I suspect my mother is writing me another BOOK. You should have seen them last year—most of them were normal-sized letters, but some of them were large, stapled packets of paper that nearly killed the owl. I'm sure she would have written more if the owl hadn't started firmly nipping her fingers whenever she tried to give it a letter that was the size of my Transfiguration textbook.

Everything's more or less fine right now. There was a little bit of a problem when we got off the train that I thought you could help with, though. I noticed something pulling the carriage—I could hear its breathing, you know, and it had an odd scent—and I thought that perhaps it was an invisible horse of sorts. I asked my friends if they knew what it was (James and Sirius know a lot more than I do about certain things, since my mum and dad didn't expect me to go to Hogwarts until summer before last), and they said that there was nothing there. I figured it was an invisible animal of sorts, but Peter COULD see it.

A couple wild guesses ran through my head before I finally decided that James and Sirius were trying to tease Peter and me and just pretend that they couldn't see it. I figured that it was something only humans could see, perhaps? So I pretended I could see it, too—but then James SWORE that he couldn't see it (and James is always telling the truth when he gets intense like that). Anyway, I'm not sure if you know what it is or not. Peter said it had lizard skin and bat wings, but I'm not sure if that's helpful or not.

And now I am finally touching upon the initial reason for writing this letter: the new D.A.D.A. professor is AWFUL. I don't even know where to begin. I thought I hated YOU on the first day of Defense, but I REALLY hate her. I suppose it's not very kind to hate people, though, so I'll just say that I strongly dislike her more than I dislike you when you bring up the first December full moon, and that's really saying something.

Let's start with the fact that she changes her name every few seconds. First it was Faith or something, and now it's Jessica. She has us call her by Professor, and then whichever first name she's adopted at the time. The phrase "Professor Jessica" sets my teeth on edge. James and Sirius and Peter are angry because they can't call her by her first name and get detention for it (did I say "detention"? I meant "attention").

She tried to guess all of our names at the beginning of class, but she got all of them incorrect. But for some reason, she keeps calling us those names, even though they're flat-out wrong. It's so annoying. James is Griffin. Sirius is Maximus. Peter is Leonardo. She actually likes my name a little (good for her—I don't), so I'm either Remus or… Henry. Really? Henry? Everyone ELSE gets a cool name!

And then, on the first day of class, she gave us all clay and told us to sculpt something that we're afraid of. I can't very well sculpt anything I'm ACTUALLY afraid of (lest I risk revealing something I don't want to), so mine ended up being an "abstract" lump. I told her that it represented the inevitability of tragedy, the unpredictability of life, and suffering in general. She thought it was fabulous. We can add that to my list of talents: overthinking things, eavesdropping, lying, and sculpting the inevitability of tragedy, the unpredictability of life, and suffering in general.

I have to write an essay later about whether I agree or disagree with Shakespeare's "what's in a name" thing. I'm not sure what to say. I want to pick the side that will spite her more, but I'm not sure which side she agrees with. On one hand, she calls us by any old name she wants. On the other, she seems to really like words. I just want to annoy her, and I'm not sure how.

Why do I want to annoy her, you ask? Besides the fact that she wears awfully bright robes that hurt my eyes, talks like an asthmatic songbird, and sits at a desk like her students instead of actually teaching? (Sirius and I battled it out for the last chair that wasn't RIGHT NEXT TO HER. He won, because he's bigger than I am—some werewolf I am. Now I have to sit next to her, and she accidentally hits me when she gets excited. She smells like peaches. It's awful.) All of those things are terrible, yes, but that's not the worst part. The worst part of all of this is that… she puts SCENTED CANDLES in her classroom.

Think about that for a second, if you don't already see the problem. My extremely sensitive sense of smell, a teacher who smells so strongly of peaches and scented candles that I already want to vomit, and twenty or so strongly scented candles strewn about. They're all different scents, too. Besides the smoke that's all over the place, there's all kinds of odd scents—they don't even really smell like the real thing to me. I hate it—sorry, I STRONGLY DISLIKE it. Not to mention she plays classical music in the background with some sort of magical surround sound. There's too much noise; I can hardly pay attention. Did she TRY to make her classroom into a werewolf's worst nightmare or what?

I'm sorry to say that I share your sentiments about Professor Dumbledore. He's forcing me to meditate with her every month, two days before the full moon. He thinks it'll help. But MEDITATION? REALLY? I don't know what that entails, but it sounds humiliating and horrible. She doesn't even know that there's a full moon every month, Professor! She asked me when the next one was, I told her it was the twenty-third, and then she asked me, "Twenty-third of September or October?" Seriously? I WISH it was only bi-monthly.

I don't mean to complain so much. I'm happy to be back—really I am. I just sort of expected everything to be just like it was, and it's not. I'll continue to get used to it, I suppose. Give my regards to my parents and Nolan. Also, I haven't told my parents any of the bad things—only the good things—so don't mention too much of it. They don't really like to hear it.

It's so nice to see my friends again. I'm terrified of them, though, and everything they say nearly makes me cry because I know that I'm not going to have them for much longer. I'm not sure what I'll do when I leave Hogwarts. As much as I STRONGLY DISLIKE Professor Pensley (I refuse to call her Professor Jessica)... I admit I'd rather endure peaches and scented candles than an endless summer holiday.

I hope you're doing well. Don't get too bored. And good luck making tea on your own now that I know I'm not around to help (I know I'm brilliant at making tea). I should probably tell you—there's a stray cat in the neighborhood that Dad likes to feed sometimes. If it sits outside your door and yowls, it's probably hungry.

—Remus J. Lupin

Chapter Text

Lupin—

I read your letter ten times. Once forwards, barely skimmed it eight more times, and then read it through once more—just to beat your record. So there.

You enquired about my well-being, to which I will simply say this: When I'm not incredibly bored, I'm doing fairly well. Unfortunately, I'm incredibly bored all the time—thus I am never doing well and life is very bad.

Your family has been inviting me over for supper nearly every evening. Your mother thinks I'm funny (I'm not funny), and your father likes having someone to talk politics with (not to brag, but I'm wonderful at that). I think they're lonely. Perhaps they're bored, too—I suspect boredom can be rather contagious.

You should know that your parents are currently hanging your letters on the walls. It's a little creepy. Their faces when they got your last one—they were over the moon. Careful what you write, because it'll likely be on the wall for the rest of your life.

I have a lot of things to address, and I'm going to start with the most pressing concern. Unfortunately, I know exactly what animal pulls the carriages, and it was very unwise to pretend that you could see it. I'm not sure why you jumped to that conclusion. Didn't it seem to be too much of a coincidence that you couldn't see it—and James and Sirius were pretending the same? You should have stayed as neutral as possible until doing the research. You need to stop letting your strange self-loathing tendencies eclipse your sense of rational logic.

The animals in question are Thestrals, and I assume that you've done enough reading to know exactly what that information entails. Only a person who has seen death can see a Thestral (that is, a person actively dying, not merely a dead body). I'm not sure what kind of things your friend Pettigrew has seen, but you should be glad you can't see the Thestrals. They're just as Pettigrew described them, except ten times uglier.

Now, of course, you have to work it into your backstory. Put it in that dumb novel of lies you're writing. I don't care. But you can only see Thestrals if you've seen death—and now you need to explain why, where, and how you've seen death. That's a pretty major event, so don't treat it too lightly.

You mentioned your anxiety about your friends. If you're so afraid of losing your friends that you cry when you think about them, then you're not doing it right. You're playing a part, remember? There's no room for emotion like that. Enjoy them while you have them, and don't worry about how long it lasts. It's terribly boring back here, yes, but I'm sure I can convince your parents to make amends regarding your lifestyle if you do return. Everything's going to be fine, so don't bother worrying. It's pointless and annoying.

Regarding Pensley—I laughed so hard that I nearly fell off of my armchair. I'd say that I'm sorry that you have to go through that, but I'm not. That's the funniest thing I've ever heard. Scented candles? I should get some in my house. (Can you really pick out individual scents with twenty scented candles in the room?) Good luck dealing with that woman. I'm infinitely glad I'm no longer working at Hogwarts, that's for sure.

If I were you, I'd write your essay about why you DISAGREE with the Shakespeare quote. Pensley seems like the type of person to adore Shakespeare to the moon and back, so she'll be appropriately annoyed if you stress the fact that Shakespeare was wrong (and not some perfect paragon of literature). I can suggest these things because I am no longer a teacher, but don't tell Dumbledore.

And I'm very sorry that Pensley calls you Henry. That's probably the worst thing that's ever happened to you, isn't it? You must be suffering so much. I can't think of anything you've experienced that's worse than that.

Additionally: by all means, continue writing to me if you have the time. It's not like I have anything else to do.

The stray cat has stopped by, and now he lives with me. Any name suggestions would be greatly appreciated, unless it's something stupid like Garrison or Nolan. I must say, I'm quite tired of calling him "Cat."

Feel free to tell your friends that we are now in correspondence—as long as you describe their reactions in great detail. I can only imagine.

—J. Questus

P.S. Call me Professor one more time and I name the cat Werewolf.

Dear Professor Questus—

Bold of you to assume that reading a letter nine times is my RECORD. Nine times is my NORM.

And name the cat after a terrifying (and canine) Dark creature, I dare you. That's all kinds of ironic. Personally, I would name him Edward (a perfectly respectable name that references Edward Lear's "The Owl and the Pussycat"), but I'm sure you'll think that Edward is just as stupid as Garrison or Nolan. I didn't name Garrison, by the way—that was my dad. But it's a good name, in my humble opinion.

I'm glad you've adopted the cat; I quite like cats (more than dogs, at least), and I don't want him to starve. We were going to take him in, but feeding him would get too expensive. The cat in question is very grumpy—you two are perfect for each other.

Why on earth does Hogwarts have Thestrals pulling the carriages? I don't remember if they're dangerous or not, but even if they aren't, why isn't Dumbledore worried about scaring the students? Thestrals sound terrifying. I'll probably say that it was a random person whom I saw die—if they ask, which they might not. I'll tell them that I was seven, and some homeless person got hit by a car. I'm not sure what else to say.

I counted three "moon" puns in your letter. That's cruel.

I did indeed write my essay as you suggested, but it didn't annoy her. In fact, she called me "extremely clever" and "very creative". I mostly wrote it about spells—you know, how spells work with certain words but not others. Sirius' essay is only one sentence, and it's not even in English. He said something along the lines of "Si les mots n'ont pas (insert French for "value;" I can't read his handwriting), alors tu peux parfaitement comprendre cet essai." I don't know if that's right, actually—I don't speak French (that's why he had to write it down for me, and I could hardly read it through the ink blots that resulted from a violent ink fight he had with James). But he got full marks, even though he just meant to annoy Pensley. She loved it. I think she's just the type to give everyone good marks, honestly.

We're talking about Romeo and Juliet in class—she's all for "class discussion" and "thoughtful conversation" and "teaching each other" and such. It's awkward. As a teacher, shouldn't she be the one teaching us? When James said that, she told him that it's "valuable life skills," but I don't think we'll ever have to have a class discussion about Romeo and Juliet in real life. In-class discussion is in its own category, isn't it? I mean, YOU always wanted us to have discussions with each other in class, but it's not the same and I thoroughly dislike her.

You asked if I could pick out individual candle scents—I CAN'T. That's the problem. I'm used to being able to do that, but now I'm just bothered by whatever scent is blowing in my direction. I can get used to certain scents after a while, but now it's changing every time there's a slight breeze—so, in addition to the scents being far too overpowering to focus, they're also changing every time someone moves.

I'm starting to get the feeling that nobody really likes Shakespeare—they just convince themselves that they do because it's the socially accepted thing. Is it socially accepted? I don't know, I just don't like Pensley very much. Honestly, I used to like some of Shakespeare's sonnets (for the iambic pentameter), but now I can't stand him. If I have to hear Pensley say "in fair Verona where we lay our scene" ONE more time... but  I digress.  I'm just glad that we haven't started Mindfulness Made Easy yet.

The main problem is: this isn't Defense Against the Dark Arts! I haven't learned ANYTHING about D.A.D.A., because this is just a dumb literature class. On that note, which textbook did you assign for your second-years last year? I'm going to fail if I don't learn the information on my own, and Defense is especially important this year because of the impending war.

Unrelated, but I'm glad Dad finally has someone to talk politics with; Mum and I are no help. Mum tries, but it's hard for her to understand a world that she never had any part in. And frankly, I get scared of Dad when he gets into politics. He's very intense. (I don't know why I'm telling YOU this, of all people; you're far more intense than he is.) But the real problem is that he always gets too nervous to talk about werewolves, and his anxiety makes me rather uncomfortable.

I told James that we were in correspondence, and he didn't seem surprised. He wanted to write you a letter. Sirius followed suit, and I think that maybe he hexed it. Exercise caution.

—"Henry"

John!

Heyyy it's james. i told Remis this letter was PRIVATE, and we respect his privacy enough that he probly wont open it. Alas now we are no longer respecting his privacy. Now that you're not around and you cant yell at me for being nosy, I want to tell you that i KNOW something is off about remus, and i'm guessing that you probly know what it is. if you tell us then I promise I wont judge him or something. He's our friend and nothing can change that, so i'm not sure what he's keeping from us. Pleaseee don't tell remus that we're prying. He hates that (which only further confirms that he's HIDING SOMETHING.)

See, sirius and I have this master plan to play good-cop-bad-cop (which is a muggle phrase that my dad sometimes uses). basically, i'm being the bad-cop and grilling remus about our suspicions, and sirius is being the good-cop and trying to make him feel safe and welcome and such. we figure it's a good balance, and Dad says good-cop-bad-cop is a good way to get people to confess to things. But it's NOT WORKING because Remus hasn't told us anything.

We know his mums not a werewolf, which would have made perfect sense but ok. How ill is he? He looks ill. He came back from summer holidays evin worse than he was before he left. he's super thin and he looks like he doesn't sleep much (and sometimes he has nightmares but not too often at the moment).

I hate mysteries. I can't even focus on quidditch. Please please pleeaaaaseeee tell me whats wrong with remus so that i can focus and make the gryffindor team this yr. I just feel bad that he doesnt trust us

Thx!
jemes

ps. if you wont tell me, maybe sirius' letter can convince you

Potter—

Your grammar is atrocious. I know that you have decent grammar (remember: I'm the one who graded all of your D.A.D.A. essays last year), so I assume you're just doing it to annoy me. Congratulations; it's not working. It'll take more than that—although you came worryingly close when you misspelled your own name.

Your insistent pestering of your best friend, however, most certainly annoys me. Remus has told you again and again exactly what is wrong with him, and the fact that you won't listen is a problem of YOUR trust, not his. Since I am now his next-door neighbor and have seen more of his family than I had ever hoped to, I can confirm that his mother is indeed ill (not a werewolf), and that he shares her affliction (but to a lesser degree). That's all there is to it, and I hope that you can find it in your heart to trust your friend instead of assuming that he's a pathological liar. Occam's Razor is not always accurate. You cannot look for a simple solution, because Lupin's life is not simple. It's as easy as that.

I know for a fact that Lupin has done nothing but support you since he came to Hogwarts, and pushing into his personal business is a pretty poor way to repay the way he puts up with your shenanigans. I suggest you stop trying to uncover a nonexistent scandal and simply accept your friend for who he is.

I have not opened Black's letter, and I have no plans to do so. You do remember that I was an Auror, don't you? I can recognize a Bat-Bogey Hex when I see one.

Good luck making the Quidditch team. With your attitude, you definitely need it.

—J. Questus

James put down the letter and let out a low whistle. "Woah. He can yell at me for being nosy without actually yelling at me. I didn't think he could do it, but he can. Now I feel all ashamed of myself."

"What?" said Remus, setting down his fork. "I'm not surprised he yelled at you. But what for, exactly?"

"For 'prying into your personal business'. All I asked was what kind of illness you have, since you won't tell us... and then he completely blew up. I mean, I get it. But still. It's just odd that you haven't told us is all I'm saying. I thought something was up."

Remus felt his chest constrict, and his breathing suddenly grew short. "Nothing is up! I haven't told you because I don't know!"

"You know it's not fatal," said Peter. "So either you're lying about that or you're lying about this."

"You don't need to know what an illness is to know if it's fatal or not," said Remus hotly. In through his nose. Out through his mouth.

"Fine, fine," said James. "We believe you. By the way, Sirius—John didn't even open your letter."

"Aw," said Sirius.

"Of course he didn't," said Remus. He was trying to be normal, but he still felt all panicked. "I need... to go to the loo. I'll meet up with you before Transfiguration, okay?"

James nodded. "Sounds good. Hey, Sirius, think I can hit Snivellus in the back of the head with a piece of mashed potato?"

Remus practically ran out of the Great Hall.

He figured he'd go to the girls' loo—Moaning Myrtle was in there, but no one else was. Maybe she'd leave him alone. Myrtle had seemed to fancy Remus back when he was in first year, which had been uncomfortable and disturbing... but maybe, since he'd made it clear that he wasn't interested, she'd leave him alone... perhaps he could get some time to himself after all.

No such luck.

"Oh, it's you again!" giggled Myrtle, wiping her eyes. "Remus Lupin. I was wondering if you'd come back... or if you'd just forgotten about me."

"You're not very forgettable," said Remus. He didn't really mean it as a compliment, but Myrtle ate it right up.

"Neither are you," she purred. "You should come back here every once in a while... oh, are you sad? Tell me about it."

"Not sad," said Remus. "I have to go, Myrtle."

"Come back soon!" she called.

Yeah, no. Remus wasn't going to do that.

Remus wandered past the DAD classroom (that was where he'd gone when he was in emotional turmoil last year, after all), but the scent of candles that floated clear down the corridor was a vicious reminder that Professor Questus was no longer there.

Then he remembered that Questus had sent him a letter—he hadn't wanted to open it around his friends, but it was all clear here in the empty corridors. He sat on a bench and opened it carefully.

Lupin—

Your friends suspect, but I think you already knew that. Don't worry; I wrote Potter a very firmly-worded letter about invading your privacy. It was very good, if I do say so myself—I do believe I've bought you some time. Even so: it's borrowed time. They're clever, and I'm surprised it's taking them so long.

Now stop worrying, you idiot. Breathe. It's not that hard. (Which is what I told you on the first December full moon, if you remember anything before the concussion took effect. I know I said I'd never mention that day again, but it's far too much fun.)  Enjoy the time you have with them, and we'll figure things out as we go. Emotions are pointless, and you're one of the most emotional (and therefore pointless) people I know. Calm down. The Dark Arts wait for no one, you know—even people with incessant worrying tendencies.

Additionally: I now own a cat named Werewolf. Thanks for that; this is all your fault.

To respond to the other parts of your letter: I'm surprised you're a cat person, the Thestral plan is sound, Shakespeare was stupid, your father is very intense, and Practical Defense Year Two (though I think you've read it already).

Don't call me Professor.

—J. Questus

Remus sighed, smiled, and put the letter in his pocket. It was almost as good as the real thing, even with the horrible smell of scented candles floating into his nostrils the whole time.

He started towards the Great Hall to find his friends, determined to enjoy himself while he still could.

"Today we will be learning Reparifarge," said Professor McGonagall. "This spell can correct nearly any type of Transfiguration and revert it back to its original form—even if said Transfiguration has been done incorrectly."

James waved his hand around in the air. "Nearly every Transfiguration? What do you mean?" He'd recently taken to asking an impossible amount of questions per class period in the hopes that teachers would take too long answering them and the class wouldn't have to learn as much. His favorite trick was asking them right at the end of class (in the hopes that the teacher would run out of time to assign homework) or at the very beginning (like he was doing right now). McGonagall had never been fooled before.

"Dark Transfigurations cannot be undone so easily," she said, taking care not to look at Remus, who was currently sliding lower and lower into his seat, "nor can Transfigurations achieved by extremely powerful wizards. The power to undo must match the power to do. Certain Transfigurations, like Animagus transformations, must be undone with specific spells. Reparifarge will not undo anything as complicated as that—it is a spell intended for simple transfigurations, and other spells will have to be administered for anything more complex. Good question, Mr. Potter."

James scowled, and Remus nearly laughed aloud.

"I have placed feathers on each of your desks. As an added incentive, reverting the Transfiguration done on each feather will produce a small piece of chocolate. Feel free to eat it once you have properly achieved the Transfiguration—but if you do it improperly, I'm afraid it will still taste of owls."

There was a chorus of "Reparifarge!" and James got it on the third try—Sirius got it on the fifth—Remus took about an hour (his chocolate still tasted owl-y, but he wasn't sure if the Transfiguration had been very bad or if his senses were just too keen), and then he set to helping Peter. James started trying to Transfigure his quill into... well, Remus didn't know what. Sirius was trying to break James' concentration, and the both of them were laughing.

"What on earth are you doing, Potter?" asked McGonagall, walking up behind James with a stern frown on her face.

James smiled. "I'm trying to Transfigure this quill into a mouse," he said. "I've already finished with Reparifarge, and I'd like to keep myself intellectually stimulated."

Remus scoffed. Yeah, right. James just wanted to learn how to Transfigure things into mice so that he could cause mice to pop up every which way, causing the school to fall into a state of chaos as students found themselves with mice in their hair mid-lecture.

"That's a very difficult Transfiguration," said McGonagall, still frowning.

"I can do it," said James. "If Sirius stops ruffling my hair!"

Sirius poked James' side with his wand. "Trust me, mate, we don't need a mouse running round in here."

James frowned and poked Sirius back. "The world needs more mice. There's never too many mice."

"I disagree," Remus piped. "There can definitely be too many mice."

"I like mice," said Peter thoughtfully.

"It doesn't matter who likes or dislikes mice," said McGonagall—and then, to Remus' surprise, she smiled. "By all means, Mr. Potter, keep practicing."

She left to help another student, and then Sirius reached out to ruffle James' already-ruffled hair with a leering smile. "She likes youuuu," Sirius crooned. "Teacher's pet!"

Perhaps James couldn't Transfigure a quill to a mouse quite yet, but he could most certainly Transfigure Sirius' hair to jelly. Five minutes later, Sirius was in the Hospital Wing, James had been assigned a detention, and Remus and Peter were laughing.

Remus was indeed enjoying himself while he still could—just like Questus had said—and it was helping quite a lot. He'd have to thank Professor Questus later. Even though the man was no longer his professor (as he constantly reminded Remus), he'd still managed to teach Remus more in a couple of letters than Pensley had since the start of term.

Although, to be fair, that wasn't a particularly difficult thing to achieve.

Chapter Text

It was Friday afternoon, and Remus was reading under a tree, passively watching James play Quidditch. James was practicing for the upcoming Quidditch tryouts, and he was so single-mindedly intense that it was sort of scary. As he zoomed about, Sirius rode after him and made a valiant (yet failing) effort to keep up. Remus read while he listened to their shrieks, glancing up every so often to amusedly admire their antics; Peter was sitting next to Remus, gasping and clapping whenever James made a particularly dangerous dive (which only served to feed James' intensity even more).

Overall, it was a nice day, if not a bit chilly. Remus was relaxed and satisfied.

But alas: "nice", "relaxed, and "satisfied" never seemed to be enough for James Potter and Sirius Black. Just as Remus was preparing to heave a gloriously contented sigh, James hopped off of his broomstick, all ruffle-haired and pink-cheeked, and plucked the book from Remus' hands. "Wanna go exploring?" he said.

Remus tried to grab the book back out of James' hand, but James was quicker and Remus met no avail. "Exploring where?" Remus asked once he'd finally given up the tussle.

"Dunno. I was thinking maybe the Forbidden Forest."

"That's forbidden," said Remus.

"Really?" said Sirius sarcastically. "Wow, I had no idea. Come on, Remus, it'll be fun."

"I'm not sure about it myself," said Peter timidly.

"Well, you don't have to come," Sirius pointed out. "It could just be the three of us."

"Three?" repeated Remus.

"Yeah. Merlin's beard, Remus, do learn to count. Me. James. You. That's three."

"But I don't want to go. I'll stay here with Peter."

James ruffled Remus' hair, and Remus made a face and swatted his hand away. Two seconds later, the hand was back, and James now had a very cheeky smile on his face. "But, Remus... you're the one who knows the most about creatures and things—you know, because of your dad. We'll get killed without you!"

"Not my problem," said Remus, making another grab for his book. James stopped ruffling Remus' hair to yank it away again.

"Remus John Lupin," James said in his Quidditch-announcer voice (which Remus often heard when James was watching Quidditch games, especially ones where Gryffindor was involved). "You are coming with us to the Forbidden Forest right this instant."

Remus sighed. Thanks to James, there was now an awful dilemma on Remus' hands that he didn't particularly want to deal with.

On one hand, he didn't want to betray Dumbledore, and breaking the rules as such would certainly constitute as betrayal. On the other hand, though—Remus was horrible at saying no.

What harm could it do? Remus wasn't scared—not really. Nothing in there was going to hurt him, seeing as he was a Dark creature; his mere presence would likely keep unfriendly magical creatures away. So if Remus' friends were going, then he might as well go, too—if only to keep them safe. He couldn't stop them, after all, so he might as well help them.

And no one was going to catch them... and it might be fun...?

Probably not. But Remus couldn't bear to say no to his best (and only) mates in the whole wide world.

"Sure," he said. "But let's wait until tonight."

Sirius let out a low whistle. "Night? Bit of a thirst for danger, hm, Remus?"

"Night is safer," said Remus stubbornly. And it was, when one was with a werewolf. "People are less likely to catch us."

"Brilliant!" said James. "I'm so excited! This is going to be excellent!"

Remus wasn't so sure.

But every time he thought about how awful it was to betray the teachers' trust, how horrible breaking the rules as a werewolf was, and how his friends could get hurt... he remembered the boredom of sitting at home all day. He remembered that he was probably going to have to leave soon anyway. He remembered that Hogwarts was so incredible because it was an adventure... and then he remembered the rush of excitement that he got whenever he and his friends snuck out after dark under James' cloak. This would be even more fun, wouldn't it?

Remus tried to tell himself it was wrong, but he couldn't stop the little bubble of happiness from welling up in his chest.

He was excited. He wanted to go.

And wasn't he going to have to leave anyway? He might as well follow Professor Questus' commands and enjoy it while he could... even if it meant shattering Hogwarts school rules into a million tiny pieces.

Remus woke up to the sound of James jumping on his chest and shouting "UP UP UP UP UP!"

"Ergh," said Remus, once the initial panic of being woken up like that had passed. A werewolf had once woken up a sleepy, young Remus by jumping on his chest, pinning his arms to the mattress, flashing its teeth, and then... nope. Remus wasn't going to think about that. "May I sleep a little longer?"

"Absolutely not," said James. "Sirius and Peter are getting supplies together right now, and my task is to wake Remus Lupin at all costs. Up up up up... wait, what's that?"

James was looking at Remus' torso, where his shirt had ridden up ever so slightly to reveal an ugly scar. He sat up immediately and pulled his shirt over it, heart beating wildly. "Dog," he said quickly.

"No, it's not," said James, brows furrowed. "You did mention you had a dog once, but dogs don't scratch like that... not unless it's a very mean dog."

Remus bobbed his head. "It was. Horribly mean. That's why we had to give him away."

"I thought you had to give him away to pay for cures for your mum..."

"That, too. But also because he scratched me."

Cool, calm, collected... what would Questus do? What would a normal boy who had been scratched by a dog do? Remus pulled up his shirt an inch to show James again, being very careful to show as little skin as possible. "Here, look. Super mean dog."

James leaned closer and examined the scar. "Wow. That's pretty bad."

"Dad wanted to heal it, but I wouldn't let him," said Remus. "I didn't want the dog around, and I wanted my parents to feel guilty." He grinned, his heart still hammering. Could James really hear it? Remus was never sure about human hearing.

"That's despicable," said James, who was smiling now, too. Remus pulled his shirt back down at lightning speed, hoping all the while that James would never ask to see it ever again. He remembered making that scar... it was two years ago in the cellar... Remus shuddered slightly.

"That scar is so cool," continued James fervently. "Like, really. I wish I had one like that. I've only got this." James pulled his sleeve back to reveal a tiny white mark above his elbow. "Mum and Dad usually insist on healing me, but I didn't tell them about this one. I fell off my broomstick, and I wanted to keep it."

Remus couldn't imagine actually wanting to keep a scar around just because it looked cool. He felt a little ill. The scar from the "dog" was not his only scar. He wished with all his heart that he had less.

"And you've got the cool scar from the windscreen, right?" said James, reaching for Remus' shoulder.

Remus jerked away. He'd had to lie about being in a car accident last year, and it seemed that James still remembered that one. "No. I mean, yes, I do. But you can't see it."

"Why not?" said James, pouting.

If James saw the obvious werewolf bite, then it would be over; Remus was certain of it. "I told you. I'm self-conscious. It's different from the dog bite. I can't explain it."

"Aw. Well, anyway, we've got to get going. UP UP UP UP UP..."

"I'm up," Remus groaned, hopping out of bed. "We're not changing out of pajamas first?"

"Nope. UP UP UP UP UP."

Sirius emerged from the lavatory, holding James' cloak and a bag. "Everything we need is in here. Hey, we should sneak out to Hogsmeade again at some point. I've been itching to go."

"Yeah!" said James. "But not today. Today we're risking our necks in the Great Forbidden Forest. Here, toss me the Invisibility Cloak."

Sirius obliged, and all four Marauders squeezed under it. "Off we goooo," whispered James. "This is gonna be so fun!"

Remus could hear all of their hearts beating wildly, and he both loved and loathed the sound. He'd already been lucky once tonight, and he wasn't entirely sure he had enough luck to last him through the rest of the night—for Remus Lupin had many things (a pet toad, good marks, a very ugly scarf, and most notably lycanthropy), but luck was almost never one of them.

The Marauders managed to make it out of the castle without much teacher or Prefect interference, and now they were on the grounds. Every crunch of the leaves seemed impossibly loud to Remus, and every heartbeat pounded into his brain like a sledgehammer. He was sure they were going to get caught. Absolutely certain. Totally positive. His relatively good reputation amongst the teachers and Dumbledore would be no more after tonight.

"Entering the Forest now," said James, as if it wasn't obvious that they were approaching the mouth of the forest. Remus could smell his friends' sweat—especially Peter, who tended to sweat a lot. Remus glanced at Peter, who was behind him. The poor boy was pale, and Remus could hear him grinding his teeth anxiously.

"We're not going to go too far in, right?" said Remus. "I think we should stop after fifty paces..."

"Bah," said Sirius. "Fifty paces? That's nothing—barely into the Forest—and besides, I don't want to count the whole time. No, we'll be fine. There's a path, see?"

Remus glanced down. There was indeed a bit of a path, but it wasn't really a path—it was more like a trodden bit of dirt and leaves. Hagrid came out here sometimes, Remus knew, so the path was probably from him and Fang.

"Okay," Remus managed. "Path it is."

At Hogwarts, Remus tended to have a terrible sense of direction (which James and Sirius teased him about to no end). It wasn't because Remus was bad at remembering where the classrooms were, though—it was because he was so used to navigating with his nose that a plethora of students masking the smells quite complicated things. Essentially, Remus had had to learn to navigate in a brand-new way.

But here in the Forest, Remus wasn't really worried about getting lost. Now that it was just the four of them, he was confident that he could find the castle again. He inhaled: the air was clear, and the scents seemed to cut through it like a knife. The castle was to the right; it was clear as day itself. Remus tried to relax. This was supposed to be fun.

They trod through the forest, and Remus found himself gripping Peter's hand. Suddenly, James whisked the cloak off of them and threw it haphazardly around his shoulders. It was an odd sight, but James didn't seem to care. "We don't need this cloak anymore," he said. "No one's out here."

If Remus had felt uncomfortable and nervous before, it was even worse without the Cloak. The trees and the bugs and the leaves, unobscured by magical fabric, practically burned holes in Remus' eyes.

It all felt so animalistic.

The musty scent of trees—the crackling of leaves—the far-off crunching and plodding as animals walked through the forest... it was either maddening or magnificent, and Remus wasn't sure which was worse.

He could pick out every scent here. He knew that there were Hippogriffs and Bowtruckles... and that creature that Professor Questus had called a Thestral... and they were far away, yes, but every scent felt heightened by the musty tree smell. The damp, quiet air enhanced Remus' senses in a way he hadn't thought possible.

This, Remus realized, was where he belonged. This was in his nature. He was supposed to thrive in the forest, amongst trees and animals. He was supposed to hunt and howl at the moon. This felt so right because it was. Remus was, after all, only an animal—no better than Greyback and his pack, who lived in caves and forests just like this one. Remus' head was clear as a crystal. It felt wonderful, and Remus hated himself for it. He was only supposed to enjoy things that were wolfish once a month, so this was completely out of bounds.

"I think I'm going to be sick," Remus muttered.

"Nervous?" teased Sirius.

"No, I actually... I actually think that I'm going to..." He felt bile rise in his throat, but he pushed it back down through sheer power of will. "Okay. Let's go back."

"No way!" said Sirius, giving him an incredulous look. "We're gonna explore."

James, fortunately, was a bit more sympathetic. "Are you really ill? Like, are you really gonna puke?"

"I don't think," Remus mumbled. "But we should go back just in case..."

Suddenly, a howl rang through the forest. Remus' blood ran cold. He was going to die. There was a werewolf in the forest... it was going to find him... he was going to die, or the Marauders were going to find out... he choked on his own throat and grasped James' arm, quivering. Worst of all, his throat itched, and his very voice threatened to escape his throat. There it was: the urge to howl back. Not nearly as strong as it was whenever Remus heard the wind howling on a full moon, but it was still there... Remus was humiliated, even though no one else knew what he was feeling.

"Sheesh!" said James. "It's just a normal ol' wolf."

"But... wolves? In Scotland?"

"It's Hogwarts. They've got everything."

"Is it a werewolf?" said Peter. He was also trembling, but at least he was composing himself—unlike Remus, who was still hanging off of James arm, entirely the opposite of "composed".

"S'not a full moon tonight," said Sirius, pointing to the minuscule waxing crescent just visible through the canopy of trees. "So it's not a werewolf."

The howl sounded again, and Remus leaned on James' arm even harder. "Getmeoutofhere getmeoutofhere getmeoutofhere I hate this," he babbled.

"You're mental, mate," said James, chuckling at Remus' fear. "It's far away. Relax."

In through his nose. Out through his mouth. In through his nose. Out through his mouth. In through his nose. In through his nose. In through his nose...

Remus realized that he'd just breathed "in through his nose" three times in a row, and he released the contents of his lungs with a huff—and then immediately started to cough. "I'm fine," he said, letting go of James' arm. "Sorry. I just got scared."

"Awww, little Wolf-Boy with a wolfy name scared of the Big Bad Wolf?" said James.

"Don't call me that."

"What a fragile china doll..."

"Don't call me that, either." Remus straightened himself up and shot James an apologetic look. "Really sorry, James. Hope I didn't crush your arm."

"Nah, you're an absolute weakling," James scoffed. "Come on, let's keep going. Unless Remus is sca-a-a-ared."

"I'm not," said Remus stubbornly. He was. But some odd reason, he didn't want to admit it. James already thought he was fragile, so there was no benefit in proving him correct. "Let's keep going."

They walked on for a bit. Sirius and James purposefully bumped against each other and pushed each other, laughing all the way. Peter stayed close to them and tried to laugh along.

But Remus didn't even pretend to be having fun—he lagged behind them, listening to their laughter. The air felt so right here; despite Dumbledore and Professor Questus' assurances, Remus entertained the notion (against his better judgement) that he really wasn't anything more than an animal. He held his breath for as long as possible, trying not to breathe the air that was so energizing... so full of smells... so clear and good and filling. He hated it.

About a minute passed, and then Remus exhaled. He couldn't hold his breath any longer than that. An ocean was sounding in his ears, and his vision was spotting. He drew a breath, preparing to hold it again, when...

He didn't know that smell. It was a bit like horses (Remus knew what horses smelled like), but also a bit like humans... oh, fiddlesticks. Centaurs.

"James, Sirius, Peter, let's go another way..." he said desperately, but they didn't listen. Moments later, a herd of centaurs came crashing through the trees, and Remus winced.

"Intruders," said the dark-colored one. "But they're only foals."

"You would think that Dumbledore would keep his foals closer to the castle," said one, spitting on the ground. "We are not babysitters."

The largest one shook his head slowly. "Three of them are human foals," he said slowly, glancing towards the moon in a pointed sort of way.

Remus panicked.

"We're going back," he said. "Right now. We won't bother you. We're very sorry to have done so."

"Not at all," said the largest centaur, bending his knees in a sort of bow. Remus panicked even more. "The stars do not foretell death tonight. Be on your way, and no harm shall befall you. The moon, however, is a fickle thing..."

"We're going back," Remus repeated.

"The woods belong to you as much as they do us."

"We're going back," said Remus, more firmly this time. He backed away, despising all the while the look of fear in some of the centaurs' eyes. He hadn't known that centaurs were afraid of werewolves. How did they even know what he was? "Come on, James. Sirius. Peter. Please."

James held his hands up. "Okay. We're going."

Suddenly, the wolf howled again, and Remus pressed his lips together and crossed his arms across his chest. He felt the centaurs watching him closely, so he whirled around and walked off as steadily as possible.

Which wasn't terribly steadily, but Remus would take what he could get.

"What was that all about?" asked James. Remus was currently under a tree, hugging his knees. Everything about this night was just reminding him over and over that he wasn't human. It was not as fun as he thought it might be. It was so not-fun, in fact, that he rather wanted to cry. But Remus was a preteen boy—practically a teenager—so he wasn't going to do that.

"Centaurs are weird," Remus murmured. "It's nothing. Hagrid tells me about the nonsense that they spout all the time."

"Then why are you so bothered?" asked Peter.

Remus sighed again and lifted his head blearily. "I thought this would be fun," he said, "but I just want to go back. I'm sleepy. It's kind of cold. There's dirt and bugs and things."

"What kind of Gryffindor are you?" said Sirius, which hurt a bit. "The fun hasn't even started yet."

"What kind of fun do you plan to have in here, exactly? It's boring. There's nothing to do..."

Remus was about to list a long list of reasons that they should go back (including, but not limited to: we have homework to do tomorrow, people will wonder if we're tired, I'm too tired to have any fun, someone might catch us, it's not worth it, etc.) when James suddenly smashed a finger to Remus' lips, effectively cutting him off. "Shush. Quiet. Do you hear that?"

"No...?"

"That's the sound of a... a Death Eater."

Remus couldn't hear anything. "There's nothing there, James..."

James spun around and pulled out his wand. "Bombardo!" he cried, aiming for the ground. There was an explosion and a small crater. "Missed him! Sirius, to your left!"

"Expelliarmus!" shouted Sirius, pointing his wand to his left. "Missed again! He's a fast one, isn't he?"

Remus smiled and stood up. "James, behind you! Watch out!"

James turned around at lightning speed and shot red sparks into the air. "He's getting away!"

"He's going for Peter!" shouted Sirius.

"Er... Wingardium Leviosa!" said Peter. Sirius and James gave him odd looks, but Remus pointed at the sky (even though all four of them were aware that the charm in question couldn't levitate living people very well).

"Nice one, Peter! He's up there! Someone get him!"

"Verdimillious!"

"Melifors!'

"Avifors!"

"Protego!" said Remus, conjuring a shield in front of James. Thanks to Professor Questus' duelling lessons last year, Remus knew all about shields. "Lucky I'm here, James. I just saved your life."

"You wish!" said James. "I would have blocked it anyway."

"Remus is a spy!" shouted Sirius. "He's working for the Death Eater!"

Remus laughed. "No, I'm not!"

"Expelliarmus!"

"Protego!"

"Flipendo!"

Remus blocked the Knockback Jinx wordlessly and reciprocated in kind; immediately, Sirius went sprawling against a tree. He stood up, laughing. "James! Peter! Help! He's using too much Dark magic!"

Remus grinned. "Petrificus Total—"

Together, James and Sirius shouted "Protego!" and the force of the shield blew Remus into Peter. They collapsed to the ground, giggling. Remus wiped a bit of dirt out of his mouth.

"Joke's on you!" he said. "Peter's fooled you—he's been on my side the whole time! Expelliarmus!"

"Protego! Tergeo!"

Suddenly, Remus found himself wrapped up in rope. "Pete! You're our last chance!"

"Flipendo!" said Peter, and James was blasted to the ground.

"Yes!" cried Remus. "Go, Peter!"

"Protego!" said Peter. "Expelliarmus..."

"Petrificus Totalus!" said Sirius, and now Peter was on the ground next to Remus. "The Light triumphs! The day is won!"

"Happy day!" shouted James, sitting up and giving Sirius a high-five. "Evil is vanquished!"

Remus laughed and undid the ropes encircling his torso with a spell. "I suppose Peter and I can be reformed villains now," he said with a grin. He undid the spell on Peter, and Peter nodded his agreement.

James helped Remus up. "Good idea. Hey, wanna climb a tree?"

Remus couldn't climb a tree—not with his achy joints and constant fatigue. But as he watched his friends attempt to climb the branches, he realized that there was a large smile on his face.

His friends had been right. This was fun.

Sirius had brought food, and the four of them ate a lovely picnic under the trees. Remus was growing to enjoy the forest air—everything really was clearer out here. The wolf had stopped howling, and the centaurs left the Marauders well alone. Magical creatures tended to avoid Remus, so nothing had bothered them since. Being a werewolf did have its perks, though they certainly weren't worth it when one made a tally of the pros and cons.

But, talking of pros and cons, the forest certainly had more pros than it did cons. Sure, Remus felt a little self-loathing as the clear air reminded him that he wasn't really human and didn't really belong in a castle (or perhaps it was just some sort of placebo effect? Remus would have to ask Professor Questus about that later). But at least Remus had the Marauders—A.K.A. bundles of tomfoolery and general shenanigans—and they made things all the better.

Remus looked at his watch. "It's three in the morning," he said. "What time did we get up?"

"About midnight," said James.

"We should get back now. I'm tired."

"Of course you are," said Sirius. "Fragile china..."

"If you'll recall, I cast a mean Knockback Jinx," Remus threatened. "Don't call me a fragile china doll."

"And the centaurs flee at the sight of you," chuckled James. "You'd think that you're some kinda king of the forest, the way that they were trembling."

Remus rolled his eyes at that. King of the forest—that was dumb. Remus wasn't a king. He was just terrifying, and no one—not even the centaurs—wanted to be around him. "Centaurs are weird," he said again. "Apparently they acted the same way around my dad when he snuck into the Forest as a student."

That was an utter lie, but Remus' whole life consisted of utter lies at this point.

"The Lupins are the kings of the forest!" said James. "Good thing we have you around, mate. Here, have a piece of pie before we go. Apple."

Remus took a piece of pie. The sugar and camaraderie was sucking all the fatigue from him like some sort of vacuum. "You know, maybe we can stay for another hour," he mused, because it really was nice out there.

James let out a whoop that rang through the forest and hurt Remus' ears. "I knew you'd pull through!"

Remus smiled and took a bite of pie. It was very good pie, even though he had to sit in the dirt to eat it. But again: the pros outweighed the cons, and that was all that Remus could ask for.

Chapter Text

"Today we're going to be doing interpretive dance," said Pensley.

Remus didn't know what to say to that, but that was nothing new. He felt totally speechless around Pensley quite often (due to what could only be described as murderous tendencies), but he knew how to deal with it by now: the best way to avoid murdering anyone was to sit on his hands, look at the sky, and think about sheep (his all-time favorite animal). It usually worked.

Pensley, unfortunately, kept talking. "I want everybody to stand up and clear away the desks. Ready?" She pointed her wand at the record player, which immediately started playing Milhaud's La Création Du Monde. "I want everybody to pick a spell, and then I want you to dance. But not just dancing, no—I want you to dance like the spell would dance! Get into its mind! Find out its every inner working!"

Remus awkwardly stood and watched everybody else. He was far too self-conscious to do this. He felt his face growing red; thankfully, the colored lighting in the classroom was hiding it. For some reason, Pensley had turned every light fixture pink, which meant that the room was tinted in a violent pink color that made everyone look like sick flowers. Remus didn't like it, but at least it was better than the stupid scented candles (which were particularly bad today).

Remus glanced over at James, who was certainly not too self-conscious to do the assignment. He was winding his arms like a windmill and running into Sirius over and over again. "Ooh, James, I like it!" said Pensley. "What are you meant to be?"

"Oppugno," said James, bumping into Sirius over and over again. "The Attacking Spell!"

Sirius was letting James hit him. "I'm the Shield Spell, Protego," he said with a horribly bored expression.

"Lovely!" said Pensley. "Try to do it more rhythmically."

"Sure thing, Carmina."

"Professor Carmina to you, my dear! And what are you, Meg?"

Evans was standing in the corner, tossing her wand in the air lazily and catching it. "Expelliarmus," she said. She wasn't even looking at Pensley.

Pensley complimented her and moved on. "Henry! You're not dancing. What are you?"

Remus was hit with sudden inspiration. "Petrificus Totalus," he said, barely moving his mouth.

"Oh, wonderful! And Leonardo?"

Peter was moving in a circle and waving his arms like a demented fairy caught in a cyclone. "I'm Wingardium Leviosa," he said.

"That's brilliant!" squealed Pensley. "Everyone, look at Leonardo! Can't you just see the wind running through his hair? Can't you just sense the freedom? He really looks like he's flying!"

"Oppugno!" shouted James, running at Peter and knocking him over.

"And that is the perfect demonstration of how spells can be destructive as well as constructive! Spells don't stop and consider how beautiful something is before destroying it! Some spells are heartless, but every spell has a heart! Very good demonstration, Griffin and Leonardo! Round of applause, everyone!"

Pensley didn't like clapping, so everyone snapped. She asked them to do that at least once nearly every class period, and Remus was proud to say that he had finally mastered the art of rolling his eyes behind his hand whilst pretending to fix his hair.

"We have so much homework from DAD," James groaned. "It's such an easy class. Why do we get homework?"

"Because she doesn't teach," said Remus acidly. "She doesn't lecture or anything. She just sets homework, and then we dance in class. She's not even a teacher."

"Woah," said Sirius, punching Remus lightly in the left shoulder. His hand brushed against the original bite, and Remus winced. "Never seen you so angry at anyone before."

"Not angry," said James. "He's not angry. He's never angry. He's..."

"Kind of frustrated," said Peter.

"Mildly annoyed," said Sirius.

"Slightly irritated," said James.

"Confused and discouraged," said Sirius. "Why d'you hate her so much?"

"I don't hate her," said Remus. "I strongly dislike her. There are a few reasons. First of all, there's a war brewing, and we need to learn how to defend ourselves. She's not helping with that."

"I can tell you've been talking to John," James muttered, but Remus ignored him.

"And, if you must know," continued Remus, speaking over James, "it's because she thinks she can heal whatever illness I have."

"That's good, though," said Sirius. "Why are you angry—sorry, irritated—about that?"

"Because she can't. My parents have tried just about everything, and nothing helps. I hate it when people try to cure me—it's just this endless roller coaster of false hope and unpleasant experimentation. And it's not just normal cures—she thinks that meditating will solve all of my problems. Dumbledore told me that I have to meet with her every single month. That's awful."

"Hm," said James. "Well, that sounds more fun than... whatever homework we have, anyway."

"We have to read the first three chapters of the textbook," moaned Peter. "That'll take ages."

"Let me teach you the fine art of skimming, Peter," said James wisely.

"You will not," said Remus.

"What does skimming mean?" asked Peter.

"It means he's going to fail," said Remus, and James and Sirius took off down the corridor, laughing and chasing each other like maniacs.

Peter and Remus ambled behind them at a much more comfortable speed, and Remus quizzed Peter on Pixies. Thanks to Pensley, they had learned nothing about Pixies. Remus was starting to feel the murderous tendencies again, so he breathed: in through his nose, out through his mouth, in through his nose...

That night, Remus stayed up late doing homework with Peter. He didn't really understand the curriculum, and they had pages upon pages of the textbook to read. Poor Peter wasn't doing very well—he was good at a lot of things, but straight memorization wasn't one of them.

Remus sighed and looked out the window at the darkening sky.

A full moon.

No, no, no, no... how could he have forgotten? Remus never forgot full moons! How could he? He looked around for James and Sirius, but they weren't there.

"Peter! Get out!" he said, scrambling to the back of the room near his bed.

"Am I really that stupid that you need to get away from me that badly?" asked Peter.

Normally, Remus would have assured Peter that he wasn't stupid, but there was no time. "Out! I'm a werewolf, and..."

But he wasn't a werewolf. He wasn't changing. The moon was coming up, and he wasn't changing... what was going on?

And then Remus heard a growl from behind the window—a growl that was clear as day, horrifyingly familiar, and far more unwelcome than even Pensley's scented candles.

It burst open in a smattering of broken glass and Peter's screams, and then there was a werewolf standing in front of Remus, and Remus wasn't sure what to do... because this had already happened... he'd already been bitten, and he was already a werewolf...

And then there was blood everywhere and Peter was gone and Remus was coughing and lying on the ground...

"Remus!" That was Peter. Where was he?

Remus opened his eyes.

"Nightmare," he murmured, more to himself than to Peter. He was still sitting on the floor of the dormitory, leaning on his propped-up elbow. "I should get to bed."

"All right," said Peter, sighing. "It's about eleven. We're not going to finish anyway. I don't know how James and Sirius got it all done."

"They didn't," said Remus. "They're leaving it all off until tomorrow."

"But they won't finish!"

"They don't care." Remus leaned over to Peter and dropped his voice to a stage whisper. "They're the stupid ones here."

"Oi!" said James sleepily, and Remus laughed. "Go to sleep if you know what's good for you, Rem."

Remus crawled behind his curtains and pulled the covers over his eyes to avoid the window's menacing stare. Remus was afraid of sleeping next to windows, thanks to the exact same memory that he had just relived... but he couldn't tell his friends that, so he just had to suffer through. "G'night," he murmured.

"Night," said Peter, crawling into his own bed.

Remus hadn't had a nightmare like that in a while—one that caused him to wake up with a wildly beating heart and tendrils of fear running through his very veins. He'd used to have quite the problem with nightmares in first year, and Dumbledore had gifted him with a small Pensieve after Remus' slight mental breakdown in front of Madam Pomfrey. It was intended to stop memories from weighing on him; to remove them from the front of his mind and push them to the back; to allow Remus to sleep like a normal person for a bit. Remus hadn't used the Pensieve in a while—after all, he'd been at home, and there was a large bookshelf covering his window—but he took it out today.

He didn't remove any bad memories, though. Instead, he removed a very good, comforting memory: a memory of his mother reciting Lewis Carroll's The Walrus and the Carpenter to a sleepy three-year-old Remus. Remus dunked his head in the Pensieve and mouthed the words along with his mother, relishing the familiar cadence and rhymes, until he was finally calm enough to get some sleep. He certainly needed it.

Remus and Peter worked diligently until the next DAD class. When Pensley came around to collect the homework, Remus realized that they were the only ones who had finished it.

Pensley sat down next to Remus and sighed. "Class, I know it was a little more work than you're used to, but you have to work harder in my class. It's very important that you do the necessary work outside of class in order to succeed."

It's too much! Remus wanted to scream. His lack of free time over the past couple of days had been palpable: he and Peter had even worked on the DAD homework during meals.

"This is what life is going to be like," continued Pensley. "You're going to have to do work. The world isn't just Quidditch and Exploding Snap, you know! You'll get a job, and then you'll be working all the time."

Yeah, right. Remus wished that getting a job was a guarantee in his future.

"Teenagers are so lazy sometimes. Only two of you actually did the assignment. It's all right though, I'm here to help—we're not trying to torture you!" She laughed a little tinkly laugh, and Remus felt something akin to alligators in his chest. "We're only trying to teach you that, if you want something, you have to work for it. Alright-y?"

In through his nose. Out through his mouth.

Nope, not helping. Remus didn't even realize that his hand was in the air until Pensley called on him. "Yes, Henry?"

"Professor, that's a bit of a stereotype," he said. Next to him, Evans sucked in a breath that Remus couldn't quite decipher—was it an excited breath or a terrified one? Remus was leaning toward the latter.

Pensley kept smiling. Her teeth were very bright. "Excuse me?"

"It's a stereotype. Younger people aren't always lazy."

"Oh, but I'm not trying to offend! Nononono. It's just that the evidence about this particular group of students, Henry-dear, suggests otherwise. You and Leonardo are the only ones who..."

"Professor, your assignment took Peter and me every waking second to get it done in time. We worked during meals, after school, even during History of Magic yesterday. We spent hours and hours on it. If no one gets it done... perhaps that's a problem with the assignment, not the students. And we tried to contact you yesterday to tell you so, we really did—but there was a 'Meditating: Do Not Disturb' sign on your door every time we walked past the classroom."

Pensley blinked.

"I don't mean to be disrespectful," said Remus in a small voice. "But maybe you should lecture us in class so that we don't have to learn it all on our own...?"

"You're not being disrespectful!" said Pensley. "I'm glad you voiced your opinion, Henry! I've never taught before, and it's very difficult for me to gauge how long an assignment will take. Thank you ever so much for bringing this to my attention, and I'll definitely try to tone it down. I do believe that this assignment in particular could have been done much more quickly if you had paid more attention in class, but of course I shall respect your opinion—"

"Paid attention in class?" Remus muttered. "What class? This isn't a class."

He hadn't thought he'd said it loudly enough for anyone to hear, but judging by the dead silence of the classroom... he figured Pensley had definitely heard him. Fiddlesticks. One of the many downsides to having such highly-enhanced senses was that Remus couldn't tell what other people could hear and what they couldn't. He didn't know what human ears were like, so his volume was often either too loud or too quiet—mostly the latter, but apparently not today. Oh, Remus hated being a werewolf.

He slunk back into his chair and tried to breathe. His voice was shaky, and it was terribly embarrassing. "I just think that..."

"Yes?" Pensley said. Her eyes were stern, but her voice was just as floaty as ever, and Remus hated it. He felt the eyes of all his classmates on him, and his throat felt tight.

He had never played the "werewolf" card before. Not seriously, and not on purpose. In a fit of emotion, yes... but he had never had a moment like this, when he honestly thought to himself: I'm going to play the "werewolf" card. Never. But he was seriously considering it now.

What did he have to lose?

"I'm sorry, Professor. But I'm very sensitive to stereotypes. I don't like them much."

Pensley's face was unreadable. Remus wasn't sure if she understood or not, but he barreled on anyway.

"I already lose enough sleep..." He paused to let the words sink in before he added the lie. "You know, being... away from home and all that. I get tired easily. I can't spend another several hours on an assignment for you. And no one else could, either. It's not that we didn't pay attention in class; if it had been that way, then Peter would have found the assignment easy, since he always pays attention. And I try my best, too. It's just too much homework, that's all I'm saying."

"Well, what do your other teachers do?" said Pensley, still in the calm, breathy voice. "I really am trying my best, but I'm afraid I don't quite know how to teach."

"They teach us the material in class, and then they assign us essays so that we can work out the details," said a Hufflepuff boy. Remus was thankful that he wasn't the only one talking to her. He let the Hufflepuff boy take over. What was his name? Andrew? Thank heavens for Andrew.

"You assigned us three essays each, one per topic—and we had to read the chapters outside of class," said Evans. "You haven't even assigned us a real textbook. You just told us to 'research'. Usually, we get guidelines of what's most important... or at least sources. And textbook pages are far easier to read and take a lot less time when we know the material already and don't have to start learning from scratch."

"We're not even doing anything useful in class!" said Andrew the Hufflepuff. "We're just dancing and sculpting. What does it have to do with D.A.D.A.?"

Everyone started talking at once, and Pensley tried to look like she was listening. Thirty seconds later, she cut off the classical music, and the room went dead silent.

"I'll consider making a change," she said. "Thank you very much for your input. All of you. Sharing your innermost thoughts was very brave. I don't think that it should have taken so long had you done the assignment correctly, but I'll look at it. And, of course, none of you will receive any penalty—but Henry and Leonardo will most certainly receive some hefty extra credit! Henry, would you speak to me after class?"

Remus wanted to say no, but he nodded his head glumly.

The rest of class passed worryingly slowly. Pensley was reading Romeo and Juliet out loud (far too dramatically for Remus' tastes), and Remus' breath felt shallow (thanks to both the stress and the scented candles). Evans was shooting Remus glances the whole time, but Remus refused to look at her. And Pensley kept accidentally hitting Remus whenever she did a particularly massive hand gesture.

In through his nose. Out through his mouth. In through his nose. Out through his mouth...

"Professor? You wanted to see me?"

"Henry! Yes! You can sit back down; I'm not going to attack you or anything," she said with an infuriating little giggle.

Remus thought that it had been a stupid joke (not even really much of a joke), so he didn't laugh. Instead, he sat and turned to face Pensley, who was still in the seat directly next to him. Remus' nostrils burned with the scented smoke, and Pensley still smelled of peaches. She was too close for comfort. Remus tried to back up a bit, but then Pensley scooted her chair forward, and Remus looked determinedly at a spot behind her head, trying to block it all out. It was all too much.

In through his nose, out through his mouth...

"Are there any special accommodations that I should make for you?" she asked. "Because of your disability?"

Remus immediately choked on his own breathing techniques. Disability? "It's not a disability," said Remus.

"But werewolf is such a harsh word," laughed Pensley. Remus tended to agree, but he'd never admit that. And the laughter was not appropriate here.

"Er... the accepted euphemisms are condition and affliction, mostly. I guess lycanthropy, too, although that's more of a frank term than a euphemism..."

"Also harsh words."

Remus though that disability was far harsher and far more inaccurate (since, technically, being a werewolf gave him more abilities), but he wasn't about to say so. "No, I don't need any special accommodations for my... for my affliction," he said. "But giving so much homework was unfair to all of us, not just me..."

"Give me time," said Pensley. "It's not kind to be so harsh with me. It's my first year teaching and I'm doing my best. If you don't need any special accommodations, then you can leave. I just wanted to make sure—after all, I know things are hard for you and I want to help as much as possible!"

"O...kay," said Remus. "Actually, there is one thing."

"Yes?" said Pensley.

"The scented candles are... too strong...?"

"Oh! I'll get rid of a few. Thanks for letting me know!"

Remus nodded and left. He needed to write to Professor Questus later.

Dear Professor Questus,

I VERY strongly dislike Pensley. Words can't describe. She gave us dozens of hours of homework because she doesn't lecture in class. We have to learn it all on our own! I argued back in class today (you wouldn't have allowed it, but you also wouldn't have made us listen to you recite Shakespeare instead of actually teaching). I told her that it was too much, and she said it was because "teenagers are lazy"!

I have never EVER EVER used my lycanthropy as an advantage in an argument before in a premeditated, planned-out instance. But I definitely played the "werewolf" card in class today... but I don't think it helped. I told her that I '"didn't like stereotypes" and that I "lost some sleep... because of adjusting to a new place" (note the pause) and that I "didn't have time to do that much homework".

She actually started to listen, so I guess it was a little bit effective. That's when the rest of the class jumped in and started arguing their cases as well. She eventually told us that she'd "look into it". What does that even mean? Whatever it means, I doubt she'll do it.

And then she kept me after class and asked me if I "needed any special accommodations" for my "disability". I don't think I even need to tell you what's wrong with that picture.

On a brighter note (and I assume I can tell you this since you're not my teacher anymore), my friends and I snuck into the Forbidden Forest the other night. It was actually pretty fun—we had a fake duel and a picnic. But the centaurs are terrified of me, and they also seem to know that I'm a werewolf. How on earth could they possibly know that?

Hope everything is going well at home. Mum and Dad wrote me the other day and told me that you're practically living with them at this point. I'm not sure what that means; they tend to exaggerate. I'd love it if you could clear that up, because I know I can trust YOU—I think you'd rather drop dead than exaggerate.

Tell Garrison I said hello!
R.J. Lupin

Lupin—

You have definitely referenced your lycanthropy in an argument to get the upper hand before, whether you meant to do it or not. I must say, however: that was a clever way of doing it. Not too over-the-top, subtle, and not likely to give anything away. While I don't condone guilting people (and I know you don't, either), I'm duly impressed by your quick thinking.

But don't be reckless. I know you don't like her (I know how it is to dislike people, and I know equally how it is to be disliked), but you shouldn't insult her to her face. I know I sound terribly hypocritical—after all, I insult people all the time—but the fact is, I've some leeway when it comes to insulting people. You do not. Like it or not, people tend to lump werewolves together. For people who know you're a werewolf, you represent your entire species.

And furthermore, people aren't likely to cut you slack for being disrespectful. If you do anything even slightly negative, people will jump to conclusions and assume that you're trying to kill them. Such is the fate of a Dark and dangerous creature, I'm afraid, and you need to face the facts instead of letting your emotions get the better of you.

I must admit, though: she sounds awful. And the word "disability" does rather make me cringe, although I'm surprised you're making such a big deal out of it. You're usually the type to let people walk all over you. Either you're improving... or you really do dislike her enough to sacrifice your don't-ask-don't-tell behavior when it comes to werewolves. I'm impressed either way.

The Forbidden Forest is dangerous, but I'm not going to tell you off. You can handle it—nothing you haven't seen before, and nothing you can't fend off. Dark creatures seem to like you, anyhow. As long as you stay out of the dangerous areas, you should be fine. I used to go in there all the time as a teenager—quiet place to study and clear my head. It's not as dangerous as the staff say it is (if you know the spots to avoid), and I was also a good enough duellist to protect myself. You'll be fine. Just don't antagonize anything (and that includes Pensley).

As for the centaurs: I've no idea. They know a lot that we don't. It might be a type of heightened sense—not unlike your own—or something in their instincts. Perhaps their stargazing actually told them something for once, though I seriously doubt it. Or maybe Dumbledore told them. My best guess is instinct, though—sort of like how we don't need to be told that a tiger is dangerous; we just know. And, judging by how you dealt with your Defense professor, you can indeed be very dangerous.

Your parents weren't exaggerating much. All three of us are lonely and bored. We've been spending a lot of time together recently—after all, we're the only ones around besides the people in that village down the hill. Your father and I have had some very lively discussions, and your mother is very tolerable when one gets to know her. It's really no mystery where you get your sense of humor from: both of your parents are very funny. Good people, despite their misguidedness last summer. There isn't much else for us to do, so I spend most days at their house.

Werewolf the Cat is doing well. Her favorite pastimes are sleeping, napping, and sitting still with her eyes closed. Very quiet and calm, unlike most people I know (ahem: Potter and Black).

I'm healing up nicely (for the most part), and Pomfrey deems me well enough to walk around. Still have to use the stupid cane, and I have a very large stock of Pain-Relieving Potions at the ready—but I'm doing fine. Fine enough to walk over to your parents' and to make my own food, anyhow. That's really all I need to do at the moment.

You have chronic pain too, don't you? Can't imagine you wouldn't, what with the stress your bones and muscles go through every month. Any tips would be greatly appreciated.

I hate asking advice from a twelve-year-old.

—Q. (not Professor)

P.S. I don't even care if you call me by my first name (like your ridiculous friends). But DO NOT call me Professor.

Chapter Text

It was September twenty-fourth, and Remus was in the Hospital Wing, writing another letter to Professor Questus. The full moon was that night, so his joints were aching significantly (which made holding a quill very difficult and a little painful), but he managed to form the letters without his handwriting being too terribly shaky (a skill he'd picked up after years of trying to write on full moon days with trembly hands and awful joints).

Dear Professor Questus,

It's been a while since your last letter, but I've been getting a lot of homework recently. It's easy to forget that this is a school when one is surrounded by James and Sirius, who never do homework, but it turns out I still have to do tons of work to get good marks (unlike them! I can't say I'm not jealous). Also, this letter is most likely going to be very, very long. A lot has happened that I probably shouldn't tell my parents about. I'm sorry for dumping it all on you, but I've really got no one else to talk to without receiving mountains of useless pity/reprimanding in return. Also, Madam Pomfrey told me that I had to go to sleep after I finished writing this letter, so I'm trying to drag it out as much as possible because I'm NOT sleepy. Seriously. I could run a marathon (if I weren't totally broken at the moment, that is).

Anyway—I'll be sure to keep what you said in your last letter in mind. I've been trying to be careful around Pensley, I really have, but it was hard when she told me that she'd try to remove a few of her candles—and then she didn't! (Well, she did remove a few, but not ALL of them.) I haven't STRONGLY DISLIKED many people like this before. Honestly, I prefer Mr. Ragfarn from the Werewolf Registry to Pensley, and he's a piece of work for sure.

You asked me about handling chronic pain, to which I respond: nothing really compares to a full moon, so I don't mind it so much. It's only bad when it's cold outdoors, when it's right after or right before a full moon, or when James and Sirius try to horseplay with me and I knock into something. At this point, it's just my life. A person can get used to just about anything. And I must say, I find it hilarious that you're asking advice from a twelve-year-old (although a very mature and clever twelve-year-old at that!).

I cannot believe that you actually named your cat Werewolf. Honestly, I think it's punishing you more than me. That's the dumbest name I've ever heard (does it constitute as animal abuse, I wonder?). Hope you haven't told my parents.

Anyway, the full moon is tonight, which means that I had to see Pensley to "meditate" on Thursday. James and Sirius and Peter were laughing at my misery. I had to go see her at six (it felt like a detention, and was FAR worse than one), and I got back to the dormitory at EIGHT. That's far too late, especially since I'm exhausted this time of month.

It was torture, and I don't use that word lightly. TORTURE. If someone wanted to get information out of me, all they'd have to do is stick me in a room with loud classical music, too many scented candles, and an extremely annoying lady telling me to relax. The entire time was just her telling me to "imagine a forest! Imagine the trees! Feel the cool air... feel the leaves beneath your feet..."

I wanted to make sooooo many werewolf jokes, but I figured that she wouldn't appreciate them nearly as much as you do. Here are the highlights (my inner monologue included):

Pensley: Take a deep breath in. Innnnnn. Outtttttt. Why aren't you breathing? It works better when you participate, you know. Innnn...
I took a breath in and immediately inhaled too many scented candles. I coughed so much that my eyes started watering.
Pensley: I see the emotion has brought tears to your eyes. No, don't be ashamed. Emotion is good. Emotion is what makes us human.
Me: Makes us human?
Pensley: Why, yes. Innnnnn. Outttttttt.

Pensley: Feeeeeel the darkness leaving you. Imagine the light coming in.
Oh, wow. The cure for lycanthropy is... imagining it doesn't exist. What a scientific breakthrough!

Pensley: Let every bad thought leave your system. All that remains is light and happiness.
Not to be a downer, but I imagined every bad thought leaving my system, and then quickly realized that there was nothing left!

Pensley: How are you feeling? Let yourself feel it all: the good, the bad, the in-between...
I'm feeling bored, mostly. And I'm afraid there's nothing "good" to feel in the current climate.

Pensley: What's your happy place? Close your eyes more tightly... conjure a crystal-clear image... imagine every aspect of it.
How about literally anywhere but here? Shrieking Shack included!

Pensley: You have no problems. You are free and happy and special.
That's not meditation. That's denial.

Pensley: Imagine your childhood... you're a happy, carefree child... nothing but happiness...
Are we talking about the same childhood?

Pensley: Now open your eyes. Are you cured?
...Nope.

I sort of wanted to smother myself.

Anyway, TWO HOURS LATER (granted, I did take a nice nap while she was talking for about half the time), I finally escaped back to the dormitory. I plan to tell Dumbledore that I am never, ever returning.

In case you were wondering: I'm definitely not cured. But I guess we'll find out tonight for sure! After all, "cured" is only one letter away from "cursed"! And who knows! Perhaps meditation really does cure lycanthropy! I've been going about this wrong all my life!

No, I'm not cured. I can tell. If I were cured, then I wouldn't be so horribly achy right now. But I digress, and  I should probably stop talking about Pensley. Madam Pomfrey is giving me odd looks—chances are, I'm making some awful faces.

James is practicing Quidditch twenty-four-seven since tryouts are on the first Saturday of November. I think he's practicing right NOW, actually, but I wouldn't know since I'm imprisoned in the Hospital Wing. Madam Pomfrey is trying to get me to go to sleep, but I've actually been feeling better on the day of. I'm not sure why. I do hope she's not secretly drugging me, because taking potions on the day of the full moon could be awfully disastrous.

But maybe it's because of the meditation!

(Sorry, I'll stop now.)

Madam Pomfrey's actually been gone for some of the day—she said that she was going to go off and help someone outside of Hogwarts (probably another student who managed to get themselves hurt in Hogsmeade. Apparently the current third-years are menaces—at least that's what she tells me). She's been looking kind of frazzled all day; I'm not sure what that's about, but it means I have more time without a matron looking over my shoulder trying to persuade me to take Pain-Relieving Potions, so I can't complain.

She's back now, and she says I have to take a nap. I don't know why. The meditation has made me feel soooo relaxed!

(Okay, now I'm stopping for real, I promise.)

Hope you, Mum, Dad, and Werewolf the Cat are doing well.

—R. J. Lupin

"All right. You've finished your letter. Now sleep," said Madam Pomfrey, poking Remus' chest hard enough to push him back into his pillow. Remus scowled. He was very weak in this state—fully incapable of fighting back—and it was absolutely humiliating that Madam Pomfrey could overpower him with a single finger.

"Can't I stay up and finish that homework for Pensley...?"

"Absolutely not," said Madam Pomfrey. "I'm going to be speaking with her about the amount of homework that she gives out. It's completely illogical to give second-years that much homework. Especially when one second-year is out for a few days every month, and weak and tired on the others..."

"I'm not weak and tired all the time," said Remus, "and I wouldn't want anyone to change their lesson plans on my account. She's already toned it down, believe it or not, and I honestly don't think she realizes how much homework it is. That said..." He scowled again. "I very strongly dislike both her and her homework."

"Better than our last Defense professor."

"Madam Pomfrey! At least Professor Questus taught us things. Did you really hate him that much?"

She sighed. "After spending so much time with him last summer after he was cursed... yes. He's even worse when you get to know him. Stubborn, rude, a right git, incredibly pessimistic... Does he insult you as much as he insults everybody else? Seems no one's safe."

"He just has a strange sense of humor," said Remus. "I think he's funny."

"What if I told you that Pensley just has a strange sense of humor?" said Madam Pomfrey.

"Then I would remind you that you weren't the one who listened to her patter on about my 'inner darkness' for two hours straight."

"Yes, you're right," said Madam Pomfrey with a frown, and Remus sensed a very stupid comment coming on. "But... what if it helps?"

Yep, there it was. Remus rolled his eyes. "Are you honestly insinuating that you think meditation is a cure for lycanthropy? Because no. The answer is no."

"If you've never tried it..."

"I've tried everything. Trust me. There's no cure; least of all meditation."

"So you have tried meditation?"

"Yeah. Two days ago. And guess what? I'm still a werewolf!"

"What if you have the symptoms, but you don't transform tonight...?"

Remus sighed so intensely that his ribs started to hurt even more than they already had. "I'm still a werewolf!" he said again. "It's not just a full moon thing. I can feel it..." He waved his arms, trying to point to every body part at once. "Here! I can feel it here! I will transform tonight; I can feel it already. It's not happening all at once; it's an ongoing process that never really ends... you know, like the moon cycle. Besides, meditation isn't going to replace all the cursed blood in my body. At this point, it's salt in water. Dissolved. You can't separate it, medically or spiritually. So if everybody would just stop trying to heal me and let me live my horrible life in blissful misery, that would be wonderful." Oops, that had been a bit much. But who could blame him? The mere thought of Pensley was setting him on edge. In through his nose. Out through his mouth. "I'm sorry, Madam Pomfrey."

"Quite all right," said Madam Pomfrey, although she looked quite shaken by his outburst. "Nothing is wrong with telling me how you feel. We all just want to help you. I wish there was a cure."

"So do I," Remus mumbled as he worried the hem of the bedsheets. "But there's not. I told you, we tried everything. It took ages to get my parents to give up. They only did so right after I turned ten."

"What have you tried, exactly?"

Remus glanced at her. "There's a book in the library. Brown cover. Incurable Diseases of the Wizarding World, eighth edition."

"I've read it."

"Lycanthropy is in there. On page four-hundred-fifty-six, there's a list of all known attempted treatments. We tried them all, alphabetically, along with a few more local ones that weren't listed. None of them work. If you're really curious, then you can look... but not all of them are pleasant." Remus remembered the myriad potions that he had taken, the awful side-effects, the weeks upon weeks of hardly being able to move, the one that had made him vomit uncontrollably for twenty-four hours, the one that had nearly poisoned him... yeah, he definitely didn't like it when people tried to cure him. It never led to anything good whatsoever.

Madam Pomfrey nodded, her eyes sad. "I want to be able to do something, that's all."

"You are doing something," said Remus. "I've gained six pounds."

"You lost weight over the summer," said Madam Pomfrey, frowning. "Was the August full moon that bad?"

"No," said Remus, "but your superior medical care is... well, superior." He grinned. "It's so good that I might be able to attend classes day after tomorrow, in fact. Right?"

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Mr. Lupin. Remember that you forgot to report to me for a check-up at the beginning of term like you were supposed to."

Remus groaned. "I've apologized six times."

"Yes, six. That's the number of days you should be staying in the Hospital Wing so that I can get you back to normal health."

Remus' mouth dropped open.

"You've bags under your eyes, you're stressed all the time, you've lost weight, you won't eat, your fine motor skills are slightly lacking, your joints are inflamed, you're wheezing slightly... and did I mention that you're stressed?"

"I'm stressed because Pensley is making me meditate, Professor Dumbledore's taking her side, the full moon is tonight, and my friends are close to finding out the truth. But I'm not ill, and the Hospital Wing won't help with any of that!"

"What's this about your friends?"

Remus, despite his fatigue and pounding headache, told her nearly everything—all the wrong conclusions, the midnight visit, Professor Questus' advice, his parents' desire to keep him home, and even about the execution of the werewolf in Peebleton and what could happen if anyone found out—especially Orion Black. By the time he was finished speaking, he was sweating a bit and his head felt light.

"I'm not surprised you're stressed at all," said Madam Pomfrey, pressing her hand to the back of Remus' forehead. She frowned, and Remus didn't need to ask to know that he was very feverish. "This has quite possibly been the most eventful year of your life, hm?"

"No," said Remus, thinking of 1965.

"All the same. You have reason to be stressed, but stressing isn't going to help. Understood?"

"Yes," said Remus. "It would help me de-stress if I stopped meditating with Pensley, I think."

"No. What's going to help you de-stress is a nap. Right now."

Remus closed his eyes obediently and was asleep in two minutes flat.

So much for not being sleepy.

"No. No, no, no. Nononononono. NO!" Remus woke up, sweat pouring down his face. He lifted his hand to wipe it away and realized that it was tears.

Madam Pomfrey was there in an instant. "Lupin? What on earth is going on?"

"I'm fine," said Remus, not even caring that Madam Pomfrey was sure to drop a cap in the penalty jar for the offending word. But she didn't; instead, she grabbed a cloth and leaned over to pat the sweat and tears off of Remus' face, but he yelped and pushed her away. "Don't come closer," he said. "Don't touch me."

"Well, that's just silly," she said. "I don't care what kind of nightmare you've had; I'm going to help..."

"No!" he said. "Please. Please, Madam Pomfrey. I need a few minutes. I need to..." He stood up shakily and managed to reach the other side of the room, where he sank to the floor and put his head between his knees. He couldn't really bear to be in the bed anymore, not after what had happened there. It was a bit weird, he knew, but he needed to be away from it all.

Madam Pomfrey produced a small glass from her pocket and filled it with water. "I'm just going to leave it right here," she said softly, setting it on the bedside table. "I'm sorry, Remus; someone needs my help in the main ward. It's four-thirty. I'll come get you in an hour to take you down to the Shack, all right?"

"Forty-five minutes?" Remus mumbled. He recognized the scent of the student in the main ward. A boy, he thought. Older. Probably sixth- or seventh-year. The boy was in there frequently, and picking out scents helped Remus calm down a bit.

"An hour." She left, and Remus waited a few minutes before standing up, stumbling to the bedside table, downing the water in three gulps, and then wiping his face off on the bedsheets. Then he paced drunkenly around the room for a few minutes until the terrible, horrible remnants of the nightmare left his brain—at least enough to sleep—and then crawled back into bed.

Getting worked up about Pensley on the day of the full moon probably wasn't a good idea—it was possible that the constant irritation had caused the nightmare in question—but honestly, he didn't know how to stop.

"Lupin? Time to go."

"Mmm'okay."

"Are you feeling better now?"

"Truthfully?"

"Yes, please."

"Truthfully, my brain feels like gelatin, my bones hurt something awful, and I think my head is screwed on the wrong way. But I'll be better tomorrow."

"Anything I can do?"

"You're already doing it."

Remus waited, sitting criss-crossed on the floor and trembling. It was a new location again, and he never liked to transform in a new location—whether he was a person or a wolf. Both parts of him hated it, and he was probably going to transform back tomorrow with a plethora of unfortunate injuries. He sighed, and his breath came out all shuddery because of the tremors.

He'd been waiting for a while. Couple hours, probably. He glanced out the window. Any minute now.

He almost wished that it would just happen; that he could just get it over with... but then he remembered exactly what was going to happen and no longer wished it. He tried to savor every moment as a person.

His heartbeat seemed to echo around the Shack. He heard people talking and laughing in the village. He'd thought he would prefer the Shrieking Shack to meditation, but he didn't. He hated this. He didn't want to admit it, but meditation was far better than this. He wished he was doing that, instead—wishing to replace these moments with something good seemed like too much, so it felt a little more plausible to replace them with something awful (though he knew that neither option, in reality, was plausible at all. No, he had to do this. There wasn't an option, and no amount of wishing would change that).

He also wished he was wearing a watch or something, so that he would at least know. Had it been hours? Had it only been thirty minutes? Had it been an hour and a half?

Suddenly, pain ripped through his body and he jammed a fist into his mouth and whimpered, falling to the ground... Thisisitthisisitthisisit...

But it wasn't. He sat up and sighed. One of those stupid pre-moon episodes—this was his third tonight. He looked at his fist, which was bleeding, and grimaced. That had been stupid. What if it really had been the real thing? He'd've taken his hand clean off, probably.

He waited some more. And more. And more.

Afterwards, Madam Pomfrey did not make Remus stay in the Hospital Wing for six days (thank goodness!), but his right leg was badly injured again. It always seemed to be the right leg. Remus was going to have some nasty pain in that leg when he got older.

The Hospital Wing was a lot more boring without Professor Questus, Remus reflected. He kept half-expecting the man to walk through the door, spit a few snarky epithets, ask Remus how he was doing without really caring about the answer, and then lecture him in a quiet voice (Remus always appreciated Professor Questus' quiet voice). Remus missed Professor Questus' DAD notes, written in the familiar cramped, thick handwriting (Questus tended to push on the paper a little too hard when he wrote). He missed poring over every letter of the notes for hours and hours as he waited for Madam Pomfrey to let him out of the Hospital Wing.

It wasn't as if Remus had nothing to do, though. Thanks to Pensley, Remus had to read the textbook, write her essays, and essentially learn the whole curriculum by himself.

He wrote another letter to Professor Questus. He came up with a good excuse for his friends about why he was missing class (and then a Plan B if the first excuse didn't work). He complained to Madam Pomfrey (after complaining so much to Professor Questus last year, Remus was discovering that complaining was addicting). He drank every single disgusting potion and forced down four meals a day.

Madam Pomfrey let him out after only two days, but she wasn't happy about it. "You nearly lost a finger," she said.

"I'll wear bandages until it heals."

"Your leg is still bound to hurt."

"Barely."

"Lupin..."

"I'll come back if I need to."

"I sincerely doubt that," said Madam Pomfrey. "But I appreciate the gesture. You have four caps in the jar, so you can leave in twenty minutes. Don't you dare overexert yourself."

Remus and his friends went to the Forbidden Forest again that night, and he most certainly overexerted himself... but it was worth it.

Chapter Text

It was September twenty-fourth, and James Potter woke up once again to the sound of someone getting out of bed.

"S'nightmare, Remus," he mumbled, just as he always did. Poor Remus tended to go through some rough nights, and James—even though he didn't know all the details—wanted to help as much as possible.

Granted, he also wanted to find out all the details, even if Remus would hate him forever. But that wasn't important.

"I'm going downstairs," Remus whispered, and James opened his eyes completely and turned to face him.

Remus was ill, and it wasn't inconspicuous in any way, shape, or form. His eyes were puffy, but he hadn't been crying. His face was stark white. His hands were shaking. His lips were trembling. He was almost limping. He was sweating and gritting his teeth and obviously feverish.

"Why?" said James, even though he knew the reason. Remus was ill, and he was going to the Hospital Wing. Or to... visit his mother. There was something so horribly suspicious about the whole thing, and James was going to find out what it was.

"Quiet place to do that essay from Pensley," said Remus. Pensley had lightened the load on homework, but Remus and Peter still worked hours a day on DAD stuff. James wondered why they didn't just... not do it. They'd be in good company, and it wasn't like anything really mattered but O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s.

Besides, Remus couldn't do the essay right now. He was ill. He was shaking. He was not well.

He was lying.

"Right, mate," said James, rolling back over. "Have fun."

He heard Remus leave, and then he waited ten minutes. Then he jumped out of bed and shook Sirius awake. "Sirius. Sirius. Sirius."

Sirius opened his eyes. "It's still dark out, mate."

"Oh, please. You're such a morning person that it shouldn't bother you."

Sirius groaned and sleepily pulled some socks on. "It's not morning, though. Merlin's beard, James. This had better be good."

"We need to talk about Remus." James went to wake up Peter, who was snoring. "Up, up, up, up, up!"

Peter awoke with a snort. "It's still dark out..."

"Yep, we've already covered that. Look, lads: Remus is lying."

Sirius rolled his eyes so massively that his entire head moved. "James, we saw his mum. She's not a werewolf."

"No, she's not. But something is wrong with Remus. He looked so ill today, and then said that he was going to work on his essay, which is not something that normal people do when they're ill..."

"He looks ill all the time," said Peter.

"And he works on essays all the time, too," added Sirius with a laugh.

"No, really ill! Really, really ill! He's not going to go work on an essay; he's going to see Madam Pomfrey. I'm sneaking down to the common room, and he's not going to be in there. Just watch."

James left his friends in the room and bounded down to the common room. No Remus. He ran back upstairs with the speed of a Seeker. "No Remus! He's not there!"

"So he wanted to work on his essay, but then he changed his mind, felt ill, and went to the Hospital Wing," said Sirius.

"It doesn't add up!" said James, pacing now. "Look, I'll start from the beginning. Someone get me some parchment."

Peter obliged, and James started to write.

1. He says he goes to visit his sick mum.
2. His mum has never, ever looked ill, even when we woke her up in the middle of the night.
3. He has some type of reaction whenever someone mentions werewolves. He knows one. He had a history.
4. Whenever he leaves, he looks ill. Then he's gone for a few days, but he's not in the Hospital Wing. And he comes back with physical wounds.
5. Why would he be ill when he's going to visit his mum? Why would he comes back with physical wounds?
6. It's not worry. We've seen him worried and it never makes him ill.
7. He has a superhuman sense of hearing.
8. But he's not half-werewolf.
9. He's close with all of the teachers. He meets with them a bunch after class.
10. He misses a lot of school.
11. He disappears on the full moon.
12. He's a great bloke, but he worries too much.
13. He pauses and looks like he's lying a lot.
14. i.e. he IS lying.
15. HIS MUM IS NOT A WEREWOLF. His dad isn't, either!

James ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. "It doesn't add up. None of it does. I know there's a common thread—and I bet it's super obvious, right in front of my face—but I just can't find it."

"Looks all right to me," said Sirius, peering over his shoulder. "He's explained all this, James. He's not lying."

"He is lying," said James stubbornly. "And I'm going to prove it. Watch, he's going to be gone for the next few days. And when he comes back, there are going to be bandages on his hands. And maybe his neck. And probably other places, too, but his robes cover them up. And he'll be limping, or else he won't use one of his arms—or maybe both!"

"Well, thanks for waking me up to have this conversation that we've already had twenty times," said Sirius. "I'm going to the common room to play Exploding Snap. Wanna come?"

"Sure," said James.

James Potter was clever. James Potter was brilliant. James Potter was always right, and James Potter was going to find out what was wrong with Remus Lupin if it killed him.

"Do you see Remus? I don't see Remus," said James self-righteously over dinner the next day. "Why? Because he's not here, just like I predicted. He's been gone all day. And it's a full moon. It always is."

"It's not always a full moon, mate," said Sirius. "You need to listen more in Astronomy. Sometimes it's a crescent. Sometimes it's a gibbous..."

"You know what I mean. It's always a full moon when he disappears!"

"Yeah, because his dad works for the D.R.C.M.C. He's booked on that day, so Remus needs to stay home to take care of his ill mum. He's explained all this, James!"

"Doesn't explain why Remus is always ill on the full moon, though. He's got to be half-werewolf."

"His mum's not a werewolf. Neither is his dad," said Peter.

"Maybe an uncle. Maybe his grandma was."

"Your theories are getting more and more stupid," said Sirius. "Give it a rest, James."

"No!" said James. "You'll see. There's a common thread. There's an explanation. There's a..."

He looked up from his ranting, and Sirius and Peter were gone. James sighed and ran after them out of the Great Hall.

"Do you see Remus? I don't see Remus," said James again over breakfast.

"Shut it, Potter," said Sirius.

The owls swooped across the room, and Bluebottle dropped a small package into James' lap. "Look! This'll prove it!" he said, deftly unwrapping the package. It was buzzing violently. "A Secrecy Sensor!"

"What's that?" asked Peter, leaning over the table to see the mysterious object.

"It's broken," said Sirius. "Look, it's already buzzing."

James examined the Sensor with a frown. "It detects lies. And I'll fix it. You'll see."

"You'll fix it, you say?" said Sirius slyly. "But the Secrecy Sensor is buzzing. Does that mean you won't fix it?"

"Shut it. I'll fix it."

"Still buzzing..."

"Shut your dumb mouth, Sirius! I said I would fix it."

"Sure you will," said Sirius. "Come on, let's go to Herbology."

"James!" said Sirius, storming into the library. "We were looking all over for you! Why are you in here? You're never in here! It's the library, and you hate being seen in the library! You said it's for swots and girls, remember?"

James put down the book, adjusted the floppy pink hat on his head, and gave Sirius a triumphant smile. "Ah, it's fine. I'm wearing my Library Disguise, so no one will recognize me. Besides, I'm being productive—I've read up on Secrecy Sensors, and this one isn't broken! It's only buzzing because there's too much interference—people tell white lies all the time, and this is a crowded school. It'll work in a secluded area."

"Yeah? Well, if you're so clever—"

"I am, thank you—"

"Then where are we gonna find a secluded area without Remus suspecting?"

"It won't work in our dormitory; the Sensor's radius is too large. But... it'll work in the Forbidden Forest!"

"So you want to drag Remus out to the Forbidden Forest and interrogate him?"

"Pretty much," said James with a winning smile. "Come on, let's go practice Quidditch."

"Okay, Sirius, I put a Silencing Charm on the Secrecy Sensor so that no one can hear it buzzing. You can put it in your pocket—since I know you won't believe me if I do it—and if it buzzes, then Remus is lying. Got it?"

"Got it," said Sirius, rolling his eyes. "And if he's not, then you let the matter drop already, okay?"

"Sure," said James. "But I'm right. James Potter is always right. Here's the plan: once we get to the Forbidden Forest, I'll say something along the lines of 'I think it's raining', and if the Sensor buzzes—like it's supposed to—just nod at me. That'll prove that it's working properly. Okay?"

"Fine," said Sirius.

"Good. I'm going to ask him questions very inconspicuously. He won't even know that he's being interrogated."

"Okay."

"But first we have to wait for him to come back. I bet he'll be limping."

"James," said Sirius, rolling his eyes. James didn't quite understand why Sirius wasn't as excited about this as he was. Even Peter was interested. "Just... please leave him alone if it's normal, okay? Which it will be. He's only Remus. There's nothing suspicious about him—there can't be, because he's a good person and a good person wouldn't lie about something so terrible."

"Unless there's something even worse that he's trying to conceal."

"I seriously doubt that," said Sirius.

"What could be worse than a dying mum?" said Peter.

"Just leave him alone after this," said Sirius. "I'm getting bored of all this Remus-Is-Hiding-Something-Terrible nonsense."

James shrugged. "Fine. Sure. I will. I just want to be certain."

Except he already was.

Sure enough, Remus showed up in the dormitory a few days later—and sure enough, he was limping. James shot Sirius a look. Sirius merely rolled his eyes again. He'd been doing that a lot lately.

"Welcome back!" said James.

"Thanks, James." Remus still looked exhausted and ill, but it was a different type of exhausted and ill—it was the type of exhausted and ill that happened after a bad thing, not before a bad thing. James had seen Remus take enough stressful tests and exams that he knew what anxious-ill Remus looked like as opposed to relieved-ill Remus. But Remus really did look happy—albeit incredibly exhausted.

James started to have second thoughts. After all, Remus was ill. What if he didn't want to go out into the Forest tonight? What if he just wanted a quiet night in? James wondered if he should just let the matter drop for now...

Nah. Remus loved the Forbidden Forest. Besides, he was a Gryffindor, and Gryffindors didn't like quiet nights in, did they? James knew he didn't.

And James was a Gryffindor who was about to uncover a big mystery, no matter how Remus felt, so he said, "We're going to the Forest tonight, Remus. Wanna come?"

Remus, apparently, was a Gryffindor too, because he set down his bag with sparkling eyes and said, "Absolutely. Picnic again?"

"Nah," said James. "We're just gonna walk around."

"The Marauders—just walking around?" Remus laughed and shook his head. "Has the world gone mad? Yeah, James, that's fine with me. I love walking."

"We'll have a grand time, old chap," said James with an air of dapperness.

"Yeah, I'm sure we will. Us and our walking. Who are you and what have you done with James Potter?"

"I know for a fact that it'll be fun," said James, "and James Potter is always right."

That night, he went over to Remus' bed to wake him up. Then he hesitated. He reached out a finger and flicked up the edge of Remus' sleeve.

His hands were bandaged, and the bandages were wrapped around the palm... extended up to the wrist... James wondered where they ended. He blew on Remus' face a little, and Remus made a face and turned his head—still sleeping. His collarbone was just visible, and it was covered in scars—some of them were white lines, barely visible against Remus' pale skin, and some were fresh and recently scabbed over. What had happened to him? Was this all from the windscreen? Or... a werewolf relative? Remus made a small noise and curled up a little more, and James saw a jagged, ugly scar just visible above the fabric of his nightshirt on his left shoulder. That didn't look like it was from a windscreen. James touched the fabric, intending to move it aside...

Then Remus sat up as fast as lightning. His knees snapped to his chest, and he hugged them for dear life. He stared at James with wild eyes.

"Oh," said James. "Good morning."

Remus didn't say anything. He was shaking.

"Nightmare?" said James.

"What did you see?" asked Remus in a low voice. It would have been intimidating if Remus' voice hadn't been shaking so much.

"Well," said James. "I saw you sleeping. Then I saw you having a nightmare. Then I saw you sit up. Now I'm seeing a very paranoid madman."

Remus' breathing slowed. "Ha-ha, very funny. Why did you—why did you have to go and touch me?"

"'Cos I thought it would wake you up."

"Well, it did, and it also scared the life out of me."

"Yeah, I could tell. You almost kicked me."

"Sorry."

"S'nothing. Time to go."

Remus wiped his eyes and swung his legs over the side of the bed. "Give me... give me... a second."

"Sure thing."

"That was a pretty bad nightmare."

"About your mum again?"

"Yeah," said Remus, still shaking violently.

But James, as much as he loved his parents, didn't think that a dream about anyone peacefully dying of illness would trigger a jerk reaction and tremors. Remus looked way more afraid than sad.

No, James didn't believe anything that Remus Lupin was saying... but he would know the truth soon!

"I think it's raining," said James.

Remus stuck his hand out. "I don't think so, James."

Sirius nodded almost imperceptibly—a signal that the Sensor was indeed working.

"Guess it was just a bit of dew, then."

Remus hopped over a stick and winced. James wondered how he'd injured his leg. Was Remus really keeping a werewolf company? He looked paler than normal, and he was having trouble keeping up with the rest of them (though that wasn't completely out of the ordinary—Remus was nearly always either injured or tired. But still, this was worse than usual. It got like this every time Remus returned from Wherever-He-Was).

"So, were you visiting your mum again?" James asked Remus, slowing down so that he could fall into step with Remus and Peter. Sirius did the same.

"Uh-huh," said Remus. "But you know I don't like to talk about it."

James glanced at Sirius, whose brows were crinkled. If James knew Sirius (which he did; probably even better than he knew himself), then the Sensor had just buzzed. James smiled.

"Sorry... but sometimes I feel a little... separated from you," said James. "You've just got such a complicated life that you don't often talk about. I know everything about Sirius and Pete, but I don't know much about you at all." That was the truth.

"I don't think you need to know my backstory to know me," said Remus quietly. "But if you have questions, I can answer them."

"Okay!" said James. He threaded his arm through Remus'—partially as a comforting gesture, and partially because Remus half looked like he was going to faint. "Tell us one more time you don't have a terminal illness or whatever."

"I'm don't," said Remus.

"Just wanted to make sure," laughed James. "Can you tell us more about the windscreen accident? It sounds cool."

"It wasn't cool. It hurt. The car crashed into a tree, and the windscreen shattered. Mostly on the left side of the car, where I was sitting. I was in the front with my mum, so I got the worst of it. But I healed up after a few weeks, mostly. It hurt for a long time."

"And the dog bite? That must've hurt, too."

"Yep. Merlin's beard, I hated that dog."

"You just called it Dog?"

"Mm-hm."

"That explains it, then. He probably hated you, too—you know, for the dumb name." James squeezed Remus' arm a little more tightly, and Remus winced and clamped his jaw shut.

"All right?" said James.

"Fine," said Remus.

James glanced over at Sirius, whose face was a wooden mask.

"Your mum's really ill, isn't she?" said James.

"Yep."

"I'm sorry," said James, and it was the truth. Whatever Remus was too scared to tell them—it was sure to be awful, and James really was sorry that he had to go through it. But he wasn't sorry for finding out the truth, because he was James Potter and he hated mysteries. "Tell me one more time that you're not related to any werewolves."

"James, give it a rest. I'm not related to any werewolves!" said Remus, and he jerked away from James with a mildly irritated expression (and, for Remus, that meant that he was furious). "I've no affiliation to werewolves whatsoever. I wish you'd stop talking about it!"

James glanced at Sirius again, and Sirius' brows were crinkled again. There was no self-righteous look on his face. James tried to hide his smile—he'd been right, he knew it. Remus had a werewolf relative: James was certain, and James was always right. "Yeah, okay, I believe you," James said, which was a lie. "Tell us about your illness, then. We want to help." That was the truth, and James grabbed Remus' arm again as if to affirm that he truly meant it.

"There's no way to cure what I've got," said Remus. He was tensing. "I'm ill; that's all there is to it. Just the typical things. Headache. Nausea. Pain. I have to go away sometimes and get it under control—it's impossible to attend class when I'm having a flare-up. But I can deal with it. It's not so bad."

"That's good," said James, which was the truth. "We'll stop pestering you about it now," said James, which was a lie. "I fancy another fake duel," said James, which was the truth. "And I hope you don't hate us for all this," said James, which was also the truth.

Remus visibly relaxed and tore his arm from James' grip (was he wincing again?). "Duelling? You told me we were just coming out here to walk," he said triumphantly. "I knew you wouldn't be able to walk the whole time." James rolled his eyes, and Remus grinned. Then he said, "'Course I don't hate you. You're good friends, you know, even if you are too nosy for your own good."

James hoped with all his heart that the Secrecy Sensor had not buzzed at that.

James waited until Remus was fast asleep to don the Invisibility Cloak and drag Peter and Sirius out of the dormitory. He found a nice empty spot, shrouded by a couple of suits of armor, to start interrogating Sirius. "So?" he said impatiently.

Sirius was silent.

"So?" he said again.

"I don't get it," whispered Sirius. "You were right, James."

James puffed up. "Of course I was."

"But not about everything," added Sirius. "Still... I don't get it. The Sensor was working; I know it was. But... it buzzed at nearly everything he said."

"Good," said James. "Give us the rundown." He knew that Sirius' memory combined with his own was probably good enough to recount the entire conversation. Peter was just a spectator at this point, but James didn't mind. The more people to witness his brilliant deductive skills, the better! "All right. I'll start us off. Just tell us what things he said were lies—I'll help you out."

"Okay."

"First, he said he was visiting his mum."

"Lie. But the next part—'I don't like to talk about it'—that was true."

"Oh," said James. If Remus wasn't going home to visit his mum, that certainly put a damper on things. But no—James already knew that his mum wasn't a werewolf. It had to be another relative. So it really did make sense, and James Potter was always right.

"Then he said, 'I don't think you need to know my backstory to know me,'" said Sirius, "and that was true. But the next part, 'If you have questions, I can answer them,' was a lie." Sirius considered for a second. "You know, maybe he really can't talk about it. If we never know, would that be so bad? He was right, you know—we don't need to know his backstory to know him."

"We do," James insisted, "because maybe we can help him. Whatever it is. Anyway. Then he said that he didn't have a terminal illness."

"That was true," said Sirius.

"Good."

"But the whole windscreen story wasn't. It was all a lie, and so was the dog. I guess he never really had one. Why would he lie about that?"

"Knew it," said James again.

"And then you asked him if he was okay, and he said he was fine." Sirius paused again. "That was a lie, too."

"See? This is why we have to help him. Next I asked him... oh, that's right. I asked him if his mum was really ill."

"Lie," said Sirius, even more bewildered. "That was all a lie. James, I hate this. Why did we do this?"

"It's not the Sensor's fault, it's Remus'," said James. "Moving on. Then I asked him about werewolves. Asked him if he was related or affiliated."

"That part was weird. He's not related to any werewolves, so you were wrong. But he is affiliated with werewolves. And he really does wish that we'd stop talking about it, but I think we already knew that."

Another theory hit James right on top of his head—one that had been bouncing around his brain for weeks—but it was too horrible to properly dwell on it. He dismissed it before it even fully materialized in his brain. "That's weird," he agreed. "But maybe it's a werewolf family friend that he's keeping under control. I could still be right."

"You're jumping through hoops, mate. But... yeah, I guess that's the only thing that makes sense at this point. Ugh, I hate this." Sirius buried his face in his hands and groaned. "Merlin's beard. I feel so betrayed."

James wanted to comfort Sirius, but he was too impatient at the moment. "Next I asked him about his illness, remember? What did the Sensor say to that?"

"Okay, that was hands-down the weirdest part. He said there was no way to cure it, which was true. Then he said he was ill, which was a lie. Then he started listing his symptoms—and all of them were true! That doesn't even remotely make sense."

"What about the part about him leaving to get it under control? And the part where he can't attend class when he's having a flare-up?"

"Both true. But the next part—'I can deal with it; it's not so bad'—that was a lie."

Silence. The theory bumped against James' head with even more persistence, but he still refused to acknowledge it.

"What about the last part?" asked Peter quietly. James jumped. He'd almost forgotten that Peter was there. Peter looked quite distraught—in fact, James was pretty sure that he was crying. What a girl.

"Yeah," said James. "The part about us being good friends."

"It was true," said Sirius.

There was more silence, and James finally acknowledged that horrible, horrible theory.

Remus was a werewolf.

Remus Lupin was a werewolf.

It made so much sense.

He was affiliated with werewolves, but not related to one. His name had to do with wolves. He was always gone on the full moon. His senses were inhuman. He always came back with scratches—from someone trying to restrain Remus, James thought, not from Remus trying to restrain someone else. The teachers either kept him after class ten times a year or couldn't stand to look at him. He'd left the room very quickly when James had brought in wolfsbane for his birthday, which he'd intended for Remus to use on his mum. He had nightmares of—James wasn't sure. Probably silver or wizards who wanted to kill him or something. He had symptoms of illness, but he wasn't technically ill himself.

James hadn't done much research on werewolves for fear of being seen in the library (putting on his Library Disguise was a bit of a hassle), but he was about to. He was about to learn everything he could about Remus, because Remus had confessed himself that it was bad, that he couldn't deal with it, that he wasn't fine...

James Potter was brilliant at many things, and friendship was one of them!

"Let's wait," said James, more to himself than anyone else. "Let's wait until we're certain. We'll observe him and think on it, okay?" Sirius had been pretty hostile towards werewolves earlier, and James didn't want to tell him just yet. And Peter was a stupid fraidy-cat on occasion, so James didn't want to tell him, either.

He'd tell his friends eventually, of course—but for now, he wanted to keep it to himself. He wanted to plan. He wanted to research. And then maybe he'd put together a seventeen-point presentation to convince his friends of Remus' humanity, and then they'd all be the best of friends once again and live happily ever after.

Yes, that would happen eventually. But not today.

"The Sensor was working," Sirius mourned. "It buzzed at all the right times when you were talking, James." He looked up, his eyes hopeful. "Perhaps it doesn't work on Remus? Maybe it's part of his illness?"

Sirius was rationalizing. Sirius was clever, James knew, but the theory really was too terrible to think about. Sirius was doing exactly what James had been doing and rationalizing—coming up with little explanations, denying even to himself. It was so easy to rationalize, and certainly more pleasant than the growing lump in his chest and the voice in his brain screaming "REMUS IS A WEREWOLF".

"Maybe," James allowed, "but we'll think on it."

"We'll think on it," Peter repeated. "I like him anyway, you know. He's a good person, even if he does have a strange backstory and a big secret. Maybe he really can't tell us."

"Which is why we have to figure it out on our own," said James, even though he'd already figured it out. "Because whatever it is, it's hurting him, and we're good friends."

"We're better than good friends," said Peter. "We're Marauders."

"You sap," said Sirius. James smiled at him, and Sirius brightened a little.

"All right, Marauders," said James, "let's go back to our secretive friend of ours and act as normal as possible until we know for sure."

"Let's," said Peter. "Please don't scare him off. I need him to get good marks."

James laughed at that. "I think we all need him for one reason or another."

And if the Sensor had been working properly amongst the interference, it most certainly would not have buzzed at that comment.

James pulled back Remus' curtains after his friends had all gone to sleep.

He was snoozing silently, his mouth slightly open and his head resting on top of his hand. The covers were pulled up to his neck.

He didn't look like a werewolf.

James knelt next to Remus and tilted his own head, trying to see inside Remus' mouth. There were no fangs. He looked at Remus' hand, protruding from under the covers. There were no claws; only lots of scars and bandages. Remus was just... Remus. He didn't look like a werewolf at all: only a twelve-year-old boy who was a little small for his age and read a lot of books.

He couldn't possibly like being a werewolf, could he? It was probably terrible, if it left him with so many scars. And the way he reacted whenever someone mentioned werewolves—was he scared of werewolves? Was he scared of himself?

James stared at Remus a little bit longer.

He clipped his nails once a week. He was a vegetarian. His family were poor. It all made so much sense, and at the same time... it made no sense at all. Why was he so ill all the time? What were the scars from? James had thought that he knew Remus, but he didn't know anything about him.

Remus moved his hand a little, and James jumped. But Remus was still sleeping, so he relaxed and continued to stare.

Maybe it was John Questus who kept him under control! That would explain a lot, actually—why Remus had spent so much time with the git, why they were still in touch—an Auror could keep a werewolf under control, right?

A werewolf.

Remus was a werewolf.

James squinted and tilted his head even more. Remus looked nothing like a werewolf. He acted nothing like a werewolf.

So was he?

James only knew one thing for certain: if Remus was a werewolf, then werewolves weren't at all like people said they were. If Remus was a werewolf, then James' maniacal social-justice-loving father had been right about werewolves that one time: they deserved rights, too. If Remus was a werewolf, then Sirius and Peter would just have to accept him, because they were Marauders, and Remus was Remus.

Because if the media was right about werewolves, then werewolves didn't own woolen socks. Werewolves didn't help people do schoolwork. Werewolves weren't patient and kind and funny. Werewolves didn't help prank people. A werewolf might bring a hexed trunk into school, but the hexes would probably be deadly. Werewolves didn't tell their friends off for breaking the rules. Werewolves didn't have friends.

And, the more James thought about it, the more he realized that Remus did not fit the media's description of werewolves. Werewolves didn't mouth the words to themselves silently when they read. Werewolves weren't bookworms. Werewolves didn't raise their hands in class and write essays and read textbooks for fun. Werewolves didn't wear jumpers. Werewolves didn't scrunch up their shoulders when they were nervous. Werewolves weren't scared of anybody. Werewolves wouldn't recite poetry and know Latin, just for fun. Werewolves didn't do any of that.

But if the media was wrong... then maybe they did.

James tilted his head a little bit more at Remus' sleeping form, and then promptly fell over because he was leaning sideways too far. Remus stirred, but did not wake. Sirius, however, did.

"I sort of hate him now," said Sirius quietly, staring at James.

"I don't," said James. "And we shouldn't. Not until we know the full story. Innocent till proven guilty and all that."

"I think we just proved him guilty," said Peter. James hadn't realized that Peter was awake, too. "I thought we were friends."

"We are," said James firmly. "You are. He is. And all that."

Peter sat up and rested his head on his hands. "I guess. But it's sad that he lied so much."

"Sad," repeated James quietly. "Yeah. It's sad. But maybe not for the reasons you think?"

"I dunno," said Sirius. "I'm going back to bed. It's creepy that you're staring at him, mate."

James laughed and crawled back into bed himself. "Stuff it."

James Potter was a Gryffindor. James Potter was a Quidditch player. James Potter did not fear anything (except maybe cockroaches). James Potter was not afraid of werewolves, least of all Remus.

Besides... it was kind of cool.

A werewolf roommate. A werewolf best friend. No one could bother James when he had a powerful creature of the Dark on his side! James thought of the jokes they could make, the places they could go, the things they could do...

He grinned into his pillow. The Marauders had just gotten a whole lot more interesting!

Chapter Text

The sun was shining, the birds were chirping, and Remus Lupin could barely keep his eyes open.

"I'm exhausted," he said to an impatient James Potter, who was currently sitting by his bed and saying "Remus-wake-up" over and over again. "Terribly, horrible, fantastically exhausted. My eyelids hurt."

"Yeah, it was really hard to wake you up," said James.

Remus didn't like the way that James was looking at him.

"Well, I wasn't the one who suggested going to the Forbidden Forest on a school night," Remus complained. "Seriously. We didn't get back until the AM hours. I'm not nocturnal, James."

James laughed rapturously at that (which didn't make sense, because James hadn't even gotten the hidden werewolf joke). "Oh, please," said James, hitting him a bit. Remus laughed and swatted him back. "You loved it."

"Yeah," said Remus. "Yeah, I did. But you know how irresponsible I am. It's not kind of you to tempt me into breaking the rules." He gathered together his clothes and went to the lavatory to change... and then he froze.

There was a horrible, awful, shooting pain crawling up his leg. He dashed to the lavatory, shut the door behind him, and rolled up the leg of his trousers as quickly as possible. The bandages that Madam Pomfrey had set on the recent full moon were soaked in blood—what was left of them, anyhow.

He unwrapped them to inspect the wound. It appeared as if the wound had sealed and then reopened... but why would it do that? The silver and Dittany didn't heal the wound completely, but it did seal it well... unless something else had reopened it. Remus remembered scraping his leg against a stick in the Forest the night before. That had probably done it, as well as decimated the bandages. How hadn't he noticed? He'd been in pain the night before, but he'd figured that it was just from traipsing about in the Forest... his leg had hurt all evening...

Well, what was he going to do now?

He couldn't very well go to the Hospital Wing; there was blood all over the lavatory now. He had a small phial of silver and Dittany in his pocket (he never went anywhere without it), but that wouldn't help a non-magical injury caused by a stick—that particular concoction only sealed werewolf bites or scratches—and besides, it was too late to apply it now and still get good effects. He had bandages in his suitcase, but he couldn't get to them now...

He gritted his teeth and swallowed his pride. He was going to have a heck of a time explaining away this one.

"James!" he called as calmly as possible.

"Yep?" said James, who—from the sounds of it—seemed to be fighting Sirius over the last sock. Remus never understood how they lost their socks so quickly.

"I need your help. Tell Peter and Sirius to go down to breakfast without us."

"What?" said Peter; he sounded quite hurt. "Can't I stay?"

"Not now," said Remus—the less people who witnessed his injury, the better. And Remus had a hunch that James didn't mind blood all that much: he'd been terribly excited about his Quidditch injury. Yes, James was the chosen party for now, even though he was acting a bit suspicious for some reason. "We'll be down in just a second."

He sat and breathed slowly until his friends left the room—in through his nose, out through his mouth—and then James knocked on the door.

"Are you starkers or can I come in?" he said.

"You can come in," said Remus. "S'not pretty, though." He rolled the leg of his trousers down so that James wouldn't catch sight of any of his scars, but there was still blood dripping on the floor. It had begun to bleed freely when Remus had removed the bandage, and the blood was now forming a small puddle on the floor. His trousers were wet, the pain was searing, and his hands were covered in blood. That was almost symbolic, in a way. He'd literally been caught red-handed. He chuckled at the morbid thought, even though it wasn't funny in the slightest.

James opened the door and then opened his mouth. He did not close either for a very long time. "What?" he finally said. "What the... Remus?"

"I told you it wasn't pretty," Remus mumbled. "I cut my leg on a stick, I think. In the Forest. That's why I needed you to get Sirius out—you know, since he doesn't much like blood."

James' mouth was still open. "Merlin's beard, Remus, you're gonna die. Let me get Poppy."

"I'm not going to die!" said Remus. "It's just a bit of blood."

"A bit?" said James. "That's nearly as much as when I broke my arm! Maybe more! Here, let me..." He reached out to roll up Remus' trousers, but Remus swatted him away.

"No!" said Remus, more pain shooting up his leg at the sudden movement. "Get me my wand; it's in my bag. I don't want to track blood all over the dormitory."

James returned with Remus' wand, and Remus hesitated. "James... may I... do this alone?"

"Why?"

"I dunno... it's just... probably bad, and I'm self-conscious." It was the worst excuse ever, and James was going to argue back—alas, Remus couldn't come up with anything good. Not in this state.

But, to Remus' great surprise, James simply said, "Okay." Then he left the room, closing the door behind him.

Remus blinked.

That was pleasant.

He rolled up the leg of his trousers, now that he was alone, and whispered, "Ferula"; immediately, relief washed over his leg, effectively removing about seventy percent of the pain. Then he rolled the fabric back down and hobbled out of the lavatory. "Not sure what to do about the blood," he told James. "There's some on my bed, isn't there?"

"I'll Vanish it after I take you to the Hospital Wing," said James. "It's no problem. I'm good at Vanishing."

"Thank you," said Remus. "Thank you so much, James."

"It's what friends do," said James, shrugging. He picked up Remus' robe and helped Remus put it on over his pajamas—which was mildly humiliating, but also very nice of him.

Remus suddenly remembered that all of this was very suspicious. The fact that he was bleeding so much over something so small... the fact that he hadn't noticed all night... the fact that he probably didn't seem to be in pain... yeah, it was all pretty incriminating. He'd told James once that he had an extremely low pain tolerance, so none of this was adding up at all. He hadn't even noticed a severe leg injury. How weird was that?!

The truth was, he had taken a sip of Pain-Relieving Potion the previous night for his leg, and maybe he had taken a little too much; one sip went a long way. But he couldn't tell James that. "I guess I should probably explain," he said. "Part of my illness is a... lack of blood clotting, which creates a lot of... bleeding from small instances. It's why my pain tolerance is so low. But right now, I'm not actually in pain; I'm just bleeding..."

James held up a hand. "You know, Remus, I was thinking about what you said the other day." He opened the door for Remus and let Remus lean on him as they walked to the Hospital Wing. Remus was very grateful in a way that words didn't quite describe, and also very humiliated. Madam Pomfrey could see him ill. Professor Questus could see him ill. Professor Dumbledore could see him ill. But James was not a person who had ever seen Remus horribly injured like this, and Remus had no desire to let him do so. Unfortunately, it was inevitable.

"I didn't know you could think," said Remus.

James chuckled and hit him. "You said that we don't need to know your backstory to know you—and I kind of agree. You do have a complicated backstory, and I do get the feeling that there's something you're not telling us... but, just like you said, your secrets aren't you. I talked with Sirius a bit last night, and we decided that we're not our family, we're not our past, and we're not our circumstances... all that matters is that I know who you are, and you're my friend. Your personality has got nothing to do with your background. I don't care if you murdered someone. I don't care if you're Voldemort himself. I don't care if you're a Death Eater, secretly a vampire, or Dumbledore pretending to be a student so that you can spy on us. I've spent a year with you, and I know you, and I needn't know anything else. That's all that matters, right?"

Remus was completely stunned at James' sudden eloquence. "So... you'll stop trying to fit me into one of your theories?"

"Yes. I'm done speculating." James turned to look directly at him, and he was very, very close. Remus could see the flecks of brown in his hazel eyes. "I've got you figured out already. You're Remus, you're funny, and you're a great friend. That's all there is to it."

Remus smiled. It was a kind gesture, and he could finally breathe freely now that James wasn't actively watching his every move. He wondered how much time he had left now. Probably way more than he'd had before—perhaps he'd even make it to third year. "Cheers, James."

"No problem, mate."

"You wrote that speech last night, didn't you?"

"Took me half an hour, at least."

"At least you're honest."

"Honest, beautiful, athletic, clever, humble, incredible..."

"Incredible...y idiotic."

"Should've let you bleed to death in the dorm."

"Should've bled all over your Quidditch gear."

"Oi! Uncalled for!"

Remus smiled again. For someone who was currently bleeding out and in incredible pain, he sure had been doing a lot of that lately.

James had a lot of questions, but he held them back admirably. He found that, if he bit his tongue as hard as he could, he could successfully prevent himself from blurting "I KNOW YOU'RE A WEREWOLF AND I DON'T CARE". James seemed to remember an incident in which first-year Remus, upon being told by Peter that he was a good friend, panicked, left the dormitory, wandered the corridors, and ended up in Questus' classroom. No, James couldn't just blurt it out. He had to plan. He had to process. He had to get Peter and James on board.

Right now, he had to hold his tongue... but it was so hard!

"Popppyyyyy," said James, dragging his friend through the Hospital Wing door. "Remus is injured."

"What?" said Poppy. "Where?"

"Leg," James heard Remus mumble. "I must have cut it on something."

"Oh, of course. You students—always cutting yourselves on things. I'll heal it up right away. You can go on to breakfast, Mr. Potter. Lupin will be out momentarily." She gripped Remus' shoulder (the right one), and James slid his arm out from under Remus'.

"He'll be down for breakfast?" James asked eagerly.

"He is looking peaky," said Poppy, frowning. "I'll keep him here for a bit longer."

"Madam Pomfrey!" Remus protested.

James shook his head. "Now, now, Remus," he said sagely. "Listen to your superiors. That's what I would do."

"Yeah, right," Remus scoffed, and Poppy led him to a bed. "Go clean the dormitory before Sirius sees it."

"Getting bossy, aren't we?" said James. "Yes, your Majesty, King of Hogwarts..."

"Out!" said Poppy, and James complied with a perfect Pureblood bow and a not-so-perfect-Pureblood guffaw.

James walked back up to the dormitory, ruminating on the puzzle pieces that fit together so well now. Remus probably had a lot of scars from where someone had tried to restrain him on full moons—that's why he didn't want to show any skin. And maybe werewolves didn't feel pain...? No, that wouldn't explain Remus' low pain tolerance. Maybe werewolves only didn't feel pain around the full moon... yes, that would explain it.

He hoped that Remus had caught the intricacies of his speech. He didn't want Remus to know that James knew quite yet for fear of scaring him off, no, but he'd made sure that he'd covered all bases.

"I don't care if you murdered someone..." He didn't know whether Remus had ever bitten or murdered anyone. He probably had. James didn't see how he'd be so ashamed of being a werewolf otherwise, because it was so cool. "I don't care if you're Voldemort himself. I don't care if you're a Death Eater..." That told Remus that James didn't mind him being Dark, not really. It wasn't by choice or anything. "Or secretly a vampire..." That was close enough to a werewolf, wasn't it? It checked the box in the "not-human" category. "Or Dumbledore just pretending to be a student so that you can spy on us..." That was because Remus really had been pretending all this time.

James thought about the puzzle pieces once again—the tiny inconsistencies in Remus' stories, the tiny quirks of his personality... oh, everything fit so beautifully; even more so than it had in the Remus'-mum-is-a-werewolf theory.

Remus is a werewolf. Remus is a werewolf. Remus Lupin is a werewolf. The words floated through James' head, unbidden, a little like a catchy song. And James supposed that, technically, werewolfry was catchy, too. Just in a different type of way. James wondered what it would be like to be a werewolf. James Potter: Werewolf. It might be fun, if there weren't so many injuries involved.

Finally, James arrived back at the dormitory and Vanished all the blood, as promised—but helping Remus wasn't the only reason that he'd come back up here.

Remus had grabbed his Visiting-His-Mum Satchel on his way to the Hospital Wing, probably out of habit. But when James had retrieved Remus' wand from his open bag, there'd been bundle of papers inside. James knew that it was terribly wicked... but he had to know for sure. So he'd taken the papers and stashed them in his pocket. Now that he was alone, it was the perfect time to read them.

He reclined on his bed and pulled out the papers, heart beating wildly and the catchy tune of RemusisawerewolfRemusisawerewolf echoing through his brain.

Dear Professor Questus,

James closed the letter suddenly. This felt like a horrible, awful invasion of privacy. Should he do it? His mum and dad had always taught him to be better than that, and James was a terribly honest, wonderful, brilliant person who mostly—usually—frequently—sometimes listened to his parents.

But he had to know, didn't he?

Yes, he did.

He opened the letter and began reading once again, mind made up.

Dear Professor Questus,

I am still in the Hospital Wing, unfortunately, and I am bored out of my wits. There is good news, though: Madam Pomfrey now has forty-NINE potions in her cupboard. It was forty-eight last time. Yes, I'm sure; I counted them eighteen times. I don't recognize the new potion, actually—but with my luck, I'll be taking it within the next couple of hours.

I feel as if I've taken THOUSANDS of potions. Coming back from summer vacation has made Madam Pomfrey extra fussy (don't tell her I said that). She says I'm thin and stressed and ill and all that. She wanted me to stay for SIX DAYS originally, but that was unacceptable (even though it would allow me to miss a couple D.A.D.A. classes, which would be lovely)!

Mum wrote me the other day; her letter was so many pages that I thought that the owl would collapse. AGAIN. She must be extremely worried and boring to be around. Dad sent me one, too, and he also sounded worried—but then, he always sounds worried. Typical Dad. Let me know if he wakes up one day and has half a head of grey hair, because I wouldn't be surprised one bit.

Just so you know, this is my third draft of this letter; I don't know which one I'm sending yet. I'm just very, VERY bored and I have to do SOMETHING. Madam Pomfrey won't let me do magic this month (says it's too distracting. I think she expects to either eat or sleep all hours of the day, which is unrealistic. I'm not a robot!).

James and Sirius and Peter

James stopped reading and stared at his name for a bit, written in Remus' small, light handwriting. He hadn't really expected Remus to be writing John about him, for some reason. But here it was.

James and Sirius and Peter have been extra boisterous this month. James is flying nearly every day to practice for Quidditch tryouts. When he comes back inside, he COMPLETELY forgets how to use an "inside voice". All of them do, actually. Even Peter, and he's not usually that loud. Well, sometimes he is. The thing about Peter is that he's always either very quiet, which is lovely, or very loud, which is not. There's not much of an in-between. James and Sirius are just always loud!

Pensley, for all her talk about how she could cure me, hasn't visited me once to see if it worked. It didn't, by the way—you know, in case you were wondering. And I'm very glad that she didn't visit me, but it really only speaks to her character that she didn't. If she had, she'd probably have caught me working on the HOURS of homework that she gave us. She hasn't even assigned a textbook! She take points off our essays if we miss something in the curriculum, but how are we even supposed to know what the curriculum IS?

Thank you ever so much for recommending Practical Defense, Year Two. That's definitely the one that she uses (even though she didn't issue it because she "doesn't like textbooks"). Peter and I are actually getting good marks, even though we have to spend hours learning the material. James and Sirius don't talk about marks, but I'm pretty sure theirs are horrendous.

I'm throwing out this letter and starting over now. I'm very bored.

I'll write to you again in exactly twenty seconds,
R.J. Lupin

James smiled. The letter was so painfully Remus—and even though he didn't directly reference being a werewolf, it fit James' theory perfectly. "This month", "cure me", "come to visit me in the Hospital Wing"... they all implied that it was ongoing and regular. In fact, everything about the letter—the soft normality of being in the Hospital Wing and taking potions and being bored—implied that it was ongoing and regular. James looked at another page of the bundle he'd nicked, and it was the same letter, except rephrased and in more formal language. The next paper was the same. But the next was in different handwriting that James recognized as John's.

Lupin—

Your friends suspect, but I think you already knew that. Don't worry; I wrote Potter a very firmly-worded letter about invading your privacy. It was very good, if I do say so myself—I do believe I've bought you some time. Even so: it's borrowed time. They're clever, and I'm surprised it's taking them so long.

Now stop worrying, you idiot. Breathe. It's not that hard. (Which is what I told you on the first December full moon, if you remember anything before the concussion took effect. I know I said I'd never mention that day again, but it's far too much fun.) Enjoy the time you have with them, and we'll figure things out as we go. Emotions are pointless, and you're one of the most emotional (and therefore pointless) people I know. Calm down. The Dark Arts wait for no one, you know—even people with incessant worrying tendencies.

Additionally: I now own a cat named Werewolf. Thanks for that; this is all your fault.

To respond to the other parts of your letter: I'm surprised you're a cat person, the Thestral plan is sound, Shakespeare was stupid, your father is very intense, and Practical Defense Year Two (though I think you've read it already).

Don't call me Professor.

—J. Questus

The parchment was rounded around the edges and smudged in various places, and James got the feeling that it had been read many, many times. It sounded just like John. And what was more, it confirmed James' theory.

John was helping Remus keep his werewolfiness a secret. "December full moon"? That confirmed it even further. "A cat named Werewolf"? Even further. "I'm surprised you're a cat person"? That was the cherry on top.

Remus was a werewolf.

Now stop worrying, you idiot. Breathe. It's not that hard.

Was Remus really that worried about James and Sirius and Peter finding out? Did he really trust them that little?

And what was this about a concussion? James deduced that John was probably trying to keep Remus under control (he had to be an Animagus, like James had thought Remus to be before this recent development) and had accidentally given him a concussion or something. What could John's Animagus form be? Something with claws, something with teeth, something big and strong enough to keep a werewolf under control? A dog, maybe? A wolf?

Was John a werewolf, too? That would explain why he and Remus were so close. Maybe John was a werewolf, and then they transformed together, and kept each other under control? That would be so cool!

James pulled out the next paper. This was a letter from Remus' father, even more crinkled and well-read than John's.

Dear Remus,

Your mum and I miss you so much. In fact, I caught her in your room the other day, sleeping in your bed. She's an odd one, your mum. You'd better believe I made fun of her for ages.

She doesn't like to cook alone—without you around to help her, she asks ME to do it. You should be glad that you're all the way in Scotland: I managed to burn the peas, step on a slug, spill the flour, and get butter in her hair (that one was on purpose). I thank my lucky stars every day that your mum is not a witch. I'd probably be walking around with ducks for hands and a pumpkin for a head if she was.

I miss you I miss you I miss you, and no amount of saying it will ever convince you exactly how much. I miss you more than I miss Rose, and she was the coolest. I miss you more than I miss your mum while I'm at work. (You know, I made a point of not putting up her picture in my office at work. I have your picture—it's the one from last summer with you and me hiding in the kitchen, waiting to jump out at your mum. I have Garrison's picture—just a picture of the cupboard, really. I have Bufo's picture—and you know exactly which one. But I don't have Mum's picture. She gets on my case every day about it, and then I tell her that "I have the real thing right at home with me every day; a picture couldn't begin to do you justice, my dear," and then she hits me with a pillow because she knows I'm making things up to annoy her.) I miss you.

James skipped to the end of the letter; it felt weird reading private sentiments that Remus' parents had meant only for Remus. James' parents wrote things like that all the time (though they didn't tease each other as much as Remus' parents seemed to), but it was less weird when they were for James. Then a word caught his eye and he immediately started reading again.

The September full moon is approaching, and I'm terribly worried. The last two weren't very good on you, and I'm very worried that the new location will make it worse. Promise me that you won't stress too much. You seemed quite upset when you wrote us about the meditation with Professor Pensley, but I think that you should try it—anything that might make it easier for you is worth trying. And, even if it doesn't work, you need meditation more than anyone I know. You tend to be a bit emotionally turbulent (you get that from me, unfortunately), and perhaps it'll be good to clear your mind for once.

Questus has been trying to convince us that you shouldn't do the meditation at all. In fact, he wants us to complain to the school. I can see why you like him so much; he always seems to be on your side. But I disagree with him on this topic. Just because there's no known cure doesn't mean that there's not an unknown one, and just because it probably won't cure you doesn't mean it won't be beneficial in some way.

But I'm sorry—I've been talking of werewolf-related topics for far too long. I know you don't like to talk about it. Give us a rundown of your injuries after the full moon, all right? I know it's better at school—more space and all that—but it's still a new location, and I worry.

I assume Questus told you about the cat. It's a very quiet cat, and it sort of follows him everywhere. Every single time he shows up at our place, the cat is walking at his heels. At this point, it'll randomly wander into the house and assume its regular spot on the arm of the chair where Questus usually sits. I don't think he's given it a name (he usually just calls it "the cat"), but I don't think I've ever seen him so... well, indifferently affectionate... towards anything before. It's quite funny.

Anyway. I hope you're having fun at school, I wish all the best for you, I miss you, and I love you! I can't wait to see you (but not too soon. It's nice and quiet around here without you—just kidding!).

Love,
Dad.

James put down the letter.

Remus was a werewolf.

"Transformation". "Full moon". "Werewolf-related topics". The phrases bumped around in his brain, adding to the Remusisawerewolf tune and turning into a full-blown symphony: complete with full orchestration, loud timpani drums, and a soaring melody in the strings.

Why was it so surprising? He'd already known. He'd already been sure. So why was it so shocking? There was just something about his theory being confirmed—totally and completely confirmed—that made him feel a little sick.

Remus Lupin was a werewolf. A creature of the Dark. A terrifying monster that killed people. And he'd been keeping it from them.

The last thirteen-ish months had passed smoothly, and James had spent many of them with... a werewolf. James had been flying, showing off for Peter and... a werewolf. James had been talking between classes to... a werewolf. James had helped... a werewolf... to the Hospital Wing. James had teased and wrestled with and talked to... a werewolf. The word just didn't fit Remus.

Even more surprising, John had a cat.

James laughed aloud—a stifled, sobbing sort of laugh—and put the papers down. A photo fell out, and James picked it up.

It was a photograph of Remus and his mum and his dad—and it was just like Remus, to carry around a photo of his parents at all times. Remus looked to be six, and his father was gripping his right shoulder as if he expected Remus to fall. He did look like he was about to fall, actually—he was more pale and sickly than James had ever seen him. Remus' father was smiling, and so was his mother, and the edges of Remus' mouth quirked up for a few seconds and then fell, like he was trying to hold a smile and failing.

Remus raised his arm to tug at his mother's sleeve, and James noticed that his hand was wrapped in bandages. Did being a werewolf really make someone so sick and injured? Someone was doing a very bad job of keeping Remus under control on the full moons.

Then the Lupin family left the frame, presumably to open presents or have a meal, and James was left staring at the room. There was a Christmas tree up. This picture had been taken at Christmas. It had been Christmas, and young Remus hadn't been happy. That was just sad. James couldn't imagine not being happy on Christmas.

Then James noticed another photograph attached to the first with a paperclip. His own face jumped out at him.

It was the Marauders at a Quidditch game. James knew this photo; it was one of his favorites. They were all clad in Gryffindor colors, Sirius was trying to steal Remus' scarf, Peter was beaming at the camera, and James was laughing. James usually paid attention to his own face in pictures, but now he was staring at Remus'. He'd always known Remus like this—full of life and color and excitement—but, apparently, Remus hadn't always been like that.

Hogwarts had done that. Sirius had done that... Peter had done that... he, James, had done that.

To tell the truth, James had doubted for just a second that Remus was the right person to be James' friend. He hadn't even realized that he'd been doubting, but he'd definitely doubted a little. Even though James' father didn't believe the lies society had told them, James had—only a little, but he had. And he'd thought, for just a few seconds, that Remus was, in fact, the monster that normal people made him out to be.

But now he didn't, and the thought had been so fleeting that James hadn't even registered thinking it until it was over.

James Potter had had many missions. To make the Quidditch team. To play professionally. To defeat Voldemort. To get a new broom. To be the richest and most famous person in the whole universe.

But now his mission was to make sure that Remus knew that he could trust him... to make sure that Remus was always as happy as he was in that second photograph... and to keep Remus at Hogwarts for as long as humanly possible.

"I solemnly swear it!" he whispered to nothing, because solemn oaths always made things more fun.

Then he put the papers under Remus' bed—maybe he'd think that they had fallen out—and traipsed downstairs for Herbology.

He'd missed breakfast, but he didn't mind.

Chapter Text

Madam Pomfrey was fussing... but Remus shouldn't have been surprised. Madam Pomfrey fussed a lot, and for some reason, Remus' bleeding leg brought out the worst in her. Remus wasn't sure why. It was only a bit of blood.

"I knew I shouldn't have let you go so early," she said, her tone so cross that it could ward away a vampire. "You're staying overnight, Mr. Lupin... no, not because of the leg, but because you genuinely need more care in general. Don't bother arguing. You're thin as a rail, and you're stressed to your bones. And, now that you have an excuse to stay longer, your friends won't suspect at all—so now is the perfect time for a longer-term hospital stay." She gave Remus a Look that meant her decision was final, and Remus groaned. She shook her head to shut him up. "If you complain, then you're staying even longer. What were you doing to reopen the wound like that?"

It was a good thing that Remus was good at lying, because he was pretty sure that Madam Pomfrey would blow a fuse if she knew he'd been overexerting himself in the Forbidden Forest. "I told you," he said impatiently, "I cut it on something. Maybe the bedpost or something. I took the Pain-Relieving Potion yesterday evening, like you told me, and I just didn't notice."

"The Potion dulls pain; it doesn't eliminate it!"

"You know I have a high pain tolerance."

"High pain thresholds help you handle pain, but they don't eliminate it, either! You should have noticed!"

"Yeah, well, I didn't," said Remus crossly. "I don't know why."

"I'll tell you why," said Madam Pomfrey as she stepped away from Remus' leg—she'd been able to heal the wound, mostly, but it was still leaking a bit. "You didn't notice because it had been hurting all day. You'd been in agony all day long. You should not have left the Hospital Wing."

"I was fine," said Remus, and Madam Pomfrey dropped a cap into the jar. Remus didn't even care. "I'm always sore afterwards. My right leg is always worse. It was all totally normal. This is my life, and I can handle pain."

"Don't care," said Madam Pomfrey. "Here at Hogwarts, you have good medical care, good friends, and good teachers—yes, even Professor Melody is accommodating when it comes to your condition. Refusing to take what's offered to you is nothing short of ridiculous!"

Remus paused, considered, and then laughed. "You sound like Professor Questus," he said.

Madam Pomfrey rolled her eyes and turned around, but Remus caught a look of pure, unadulterated anger in her eyes before she did so. Remus had expected annoyed amusement, so the outright anger was undeniably odd.

Madam Pomfrey had never liked Professor Questus much (and vice versa), but Remus had always thought that the rivalry between them was... well, fierce, but also kind of funny. He liked to annoy Madam Pomfrey by mentioning Questus, and he liked to annoy Questus by mentioning Madam Pomfrey. They always acted annoyed, and it was funny.

But now Madam Pomfrey was genuinely upset, and that wasn't normal nor funny at all.

Remus leaned back into his pillow and thought about what could have caused such a reaction from Madam Pomfrey. Had Professor Questus stolen her favorite frock? Had he called her names? He couldn't even begin to imagine, but he tried anyway for the next twenty minutes. And, in the middle of imagining a very soap-opera-esque instance that involved Madam Pomfrey, Professor Questus, and Professor McGonagall... Remus fell asleep.

Madam Pomfrey had told Remus to stay in the main ward ("It's your own fault you're here, and it's not obviously lycanthropy-related, so of course you don't get your own room," she'd said). It was weird, being in the main ward instead of Madam Pomfrey's office—he felt so exposed. Madam Pomfrey had come up with a lie about how he'd caught a virus, so he wasn't in danger of anyone finding out... but still, it was odd.

The night was long. There was a sixth-year only a few beds away—from his scent, Remus recognized the boy as a frequent occupant of the main ward—and the undesired company made it very difficult for Remus to sleep. When he finally did fall asleep, he looked to his right and saw a window—which was very odd, since he'd picked the bed furthest from the window on purpose. All of a sudden, there was the sound of splintering glass... and there was a werewolf... and Remus watched it attack the sixth-year boy before it turned on him... and he tried to run, but he was stuck in his bed... and he was sobbing and then everything erupted in pain. His mum was telling him that it would be all right, but Remus' father didn't seem to agree...

And then the scene shifted, and he was attacking his friends...

"All right, there?"

His eyes flew open, and the perfectly intact face of the sixth-year stared back at him.

A dream.

Remus drew a shuddery breath and looked the sixth-year up and down, just to make sure that he was still okay and not torn to bits by a wayward werewolf. A quick glance around the Hospital Wing and the unbroken windows further soothed his fears, and he wiped a few tears off his cheeks (now thoroughly embarrassed). "Did I wake you?" he whispered.

"Well, yeah," laughed the sixth-year. "But it's okay. You know, I used to have nightmares, too, when I was your age. Wanna know how I got over them?"

Remus nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He doubted their experiences were similar at all.

"I played Quidditch. I'm Beater for Hufflepuff. Trust me, an iron ball flying at your face is far more frightening than anything I could come up with. I started having nightmares about Bludgers... and then, once I got to be a really good Beater, I could just knock 'em away."

"It's not the same," murmured Remus, and it really wasn't.

"Well," said the sixth-year, frowning. "Still. You just have to figure out how to beat it in real life—then it'll be easy to do it in your dreams."

"Some things can't be beaten."

"You're right, but Bludgers certainly can be."

Remus didn't really feel like responding to that, so he changed the subject. "Where's Madam Pomfrey?" he asked.

The sixth-year shrugged. "Probably sleeping or something. Maybe caring for someone else. Maybe she's in her office."

"No, she's not," said Remus immediately, and then remembered that humans couldn't smell other humans quite like he could. The boy had no way of knowing where she was and wasn't, and it was probably very suspicious that Remus was so certain of the fact. "I mean, I don't think so. Wouldn't she have woken up?"

"True. You were kinda loud. Crying and all that."

"Sorry," said Remus.

"Nah, it's okay." The sixth-year stood up and walked over to Remus' bed. "May I sit?"

"...Sure." Remus pulled his knees up to his chest, and the sixth-year sat on the other side of the bed.

"I guess it's just us, then!" The sixth-year smiled at Remus, and Remus tried and failed to smile back. "And it's probably gonna be a long night, because my head hurts like you wouldn't believe, and you look too terrified to sleep a wink."

Remus nodded. He didn't know what else to do.

"What are you in for?"

"Virus." Yes, virus was usually a good response. It covered most of Remus' frequent symptoms, including his typical pallor and the remaining sweat on his face from the nightmare. "And also, I... cut my leg on something. A... hex. It was a bit of a weird hex, so I have to wait for it to heal."

"Ah. I botched a potion. Made my head hurt like it was splitting in half. Pomfrey says that my brains would've turned to mush if I'd waited any longer, but she fixed it. I'm sort of thinking she was exaggerating. Still hurts though." He said all this quite proudly, like it was a very exciting thing to survive a botched potion.

"That's too bad," said Remus, not knowing what else to say.

"I'm Basil."

"Remus."

"Oh! I've heard of you! Everyone's talking about you and your friends, you know. That thing you pulled last year with the guitar... brilliant. And you call all the teachers by their first names? I hear they've given up and stopped giving you detention. I have a little sister in first year this year—she's in Gryffindor. Her name's Saffron. Do you know her?"

"I think," said Remus. The name sounded familiar, but he didn't pay much attention to people outside of his circle of friends. He'd probably match name to face if he saw her. But he did recognize this boy's scent, at least, and he supposed Saffron's would be similar... a hazy face floated to the front of his mind: a curly blonde in Gryffindor who sometimes talked to Lily Evans. Yes, he remembered Saffron now. "Yeah, I know her. We've never talked, but she seems nice enough."

"I'll be sure to tell her you said that," said Basil. "She worships James Potter, you know. She's going out for the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Beater, like me," he said, even more pride filling his tone. "She'll be great. Anyway, she says that you and your friends are really funny."

"We do try," said Remus.

"So... tell me about yourself," said Basil. "I'll go first, actually. I'm half-blood—Mum's a Muggle; Dad's a wizard. I'm gonna write textbooks when I'm older, but they'll be amusing textbooks; not like the rubbish we read here. On Herbology. Sorta have to, with a name like Basil." He chuckled. "You?"

"My family's the same," said Remus. "Muggle mum, wizard dad."

"Cool! Where'd you grow up?"

"We moved around lots. But my mum's Welsh. Dad's English."

"Ah. I'm from..."

"London," said Remus, smiling. "Your accent's rather obvious."

Basil laughed. "Perhaps. So what do you want to do when you leave Hogwarts?"

Remus shifted uncomfortably. "I haven't thought about it a lot. I really just want something... secure." Then he almost laughed. Like that was going to happen.

"Security can be boring," said Basil with a wave of his hand. "Be a dragon hunter or something. Hey, do you want to go find Pomfrey?"

"What do you mean? Like, leave the Hospital Wing? We'll get in so much trouble."

"Some Marauder you are," chuckled Basil—and then, at Remus' stricken expression, he said, "Ah, don't look so surprised; everyone knows about your little group name. Potter can't stop bragging about it. So... whadd'ya say? Wanna explore the castle? Look for Pomfrey? It might be fun."

Remus didn't really want to risk the wrath of Madam Pomfrey... but he absolutely needed to get out of the Hospital Wing. He couldn't bear to look at the windows any longer.

"Okay," he said. "Sounds brilliant."

Basil leapt out of bed and pulled Remus with him. Remus winced. "My leg, Basil..."

"Ah, sorry. I'll be careful. Come on!"

Remus shook his head in amusement and followed Basil out of the infirmary and into the darkened corridors.

"Shut that light off," one of the portraits muttered, but Basil brandished his lit-up wand, happily ignoring them.

"The great thing about all this," said Basil, "is that we've got an excuse. If we say we're only looking for Madam Pomfrey, then we don't get into much trouble at all!"

"You sound a bit like James," said Remus. "Or Sirius. They say things like that all the time."

"Do I really?" said Basil excitedly.

"Well, yeah. Talk about breaking rules and you're bound to sound like one of my—" Remus was cut off when a very familiar scent wafted through the air... velvety footsteps echoed... Remus froze. "Cat," he whispered.

"My name's not Cat. It's Basil."

"No, cat. Mrs. Norris."

Basil blanched. "What do we do?"

"Shhh."

They pressed their bodies against the wall and waited in complete silence. A couple of seconds passed.

"I don't see a cat..." Basil began.

"Shhh!"

Mrs. Norris stalked down the corridor and looked directly at them. Then she ran off, her claws clicking against the floor.

"Fiddlesticks," said Remus angrily. "She's off to tell Filch."

"How did you know she was coming?" asked Basil in obvious awe.

Uh-oh. "Er... practice. James and Sirius and Peter and I sometimes go out here to... you know, midnight walks. We annoy the portraits. Stop by the kitchen. Go to the Forbidden Forest..."

"You've been to the Forbidden Forest?!"

"Don't tell anyone," said Remus hurriedly. "You can't prove it, anyhow."

"I wasn't going to tell anyone! That's so cool! Tell me everything!"

"No time," said Remus, pulling him around the corner just as Filch walked past. Remus raised his wand and cast a Disillusionment Charm, and he and Basil blended into the wall nearly perfectly. Remus stopped breathing, and so did Basil.

"I don't see anything, Mrs. Norris," came Filch's whiny, gravelly voice. Shivers ran up and down Remus' spine at the sound of it.

Mrs. Norris came around the corner and looked at them directly, and the shivers in Remus' spine reached a violent crescendo.

The light of Filch's lantern spilled around the corner, and Remus did not dare breath—or even blink—as Filch rounded it... and looked right through them. "There's nothing there," Filch grumbled. "Come on, away to bed with you, Mrs. Norris. I'm tired."

They rounded the corner again, and Basil opened his mouth to speak; Remus covered Basil's mouth with his hand until Filch's and Mrs. Norris' scents had faded completely. Remus still did not breathe, and his lungs were beginning to ache something awful.

"Okay," Remus finally said, removing his hand from Basil's mouth. "They're gone."

"You're an expert," said Basil fervently. "A pro. Wow. That was fun!"

Remus smiled and led him down the corridor a little more, and then he removed the slightly-flimsy Disillusionment Charm. "That wasn't a very good Disillusionment Charm, I'm afraid, but it held all right. And it was enough to fool Filch, anyhow."

"Disillusionment Charms aren't till fifth year!" said Basil. "And that one was far better than any I could cast. How did you...?"

Remus had practiced a lot, and he'd seen Madam Pomfrey do it as they walked to the Willow countless times. "It's necessary when I'm sneaking out with my friends," he said, which was sort of true.

"That's so cool," said Basil again. "Hey, where are we even going?"

"Er... we're looking for Madam Pomfrey, right?"

"I didn't actually want to look for Madam Pomfrey," said Basil with a shrug. "I just wanted to get out of there. Can I tell you a secret?"

"You don't have to if you don't want to," said Remus, who knew all about secrets.

"No, I want to, but you can't tell anyone. If you do, then I'm telling people about the Forbidden Forest."

"That's not much of a threat," Remus snorted. "Chances are, James has already told half the school. But if you want to talk about your secret, I promise I won't tell a soul—no blackmailing necessary."

"Brilliant," said Basil. "Erm... the thing is... I didn't really drink a botched potion. I was in the Hospital Wing because I'm ill."

"With what?" said Remus. Their whispers echoed around the empty corridors, making everything seem even more secret and sacred than it already was. It was the perfect place to tell secrets, Remus thought... but he'd never tell his own, not in a million years.

"I've got some sorta magical blood disease. Makes me feel ill every so often, and it's never going to go away," said Basil conversationally. "It's not super bad; I can usually walk it off. But Madam Pomfrey makes me come down anyway whenever I faint... which happens a lot."

So that was why Remus had noticed Basil in the main ward so many times. "I'm sorry," he said, and he was. He knew what having a chronic illness was like, for the most part. And, now that Remus thought about it, he remembered Dumbledore saying that there were a few other students in the school with chronic diseases—Basil, then, must have been one of them. "Is Pensley making you meditate, then?"

Basil went white. "How did you know about that? Who told you? Was it Saffron? I made her swear not to tell anyone..."

"No!" said Remus. "No, it wasn't. Can I tell you a secret, too?"

Basil nodded, and Remus fumbled for a way to tell his own secret without actually telling his secret.

"I'm ill, too," he said. "Genetic disease from my mum's side. She's even worse than I am. Dumbledore made me do the dumb meditation thing, too."

Basil's mouth dropped open. "You, too?" He grasped Remus' hands excitedly. "This must be fate or something! Wow! How come I've never seen you in the Hospital Wing?"

Well, Remus definitely had to lie about this particular subject. He didn't want Basil sneaking into Madam Pomfrey's office to come see him when he was supposed to be quarantined. "I... I don't often have to go to the Hospital Wing. I can handle it. It makes me ill... but not ill enough to... see Madam Pomfrey. I just look tired a lot, and can't run around... and things." He'd have to write all this down in his novel of lies—A Documentation of the Life of Remus Lupin—and he yanked his hands out of Basil's (Basil was still grasping them with fervor) for fear of Basil seeing the wounds on them. "But I do have to leave a lot to visit my mum. She's not doing well."

"Is she dying?" said Basil.

"Probably."

There was an amicable silence as they walked. Remus didn't know where they were walking, and Basil didn't look like he knew, either... but Remus didn't mind. Basil understood—well, sort of—and Remus felt an odd camaraderie with the sixth-year Hufflepuff, even though Remus was lying about nearly everything.

"So if your mum is dying, then you're dying, too. Right?" asked Basil.

"No," said Remus. "No one knows a lot about the disease, but chances are that my mum has it worse than I do." He paused. "Don't tell anyone... but I probably won't live for a very long time. My friends don't know. And it's not like I'm dying or anything, I just don't know if I can... live into old age. With this." That part was true, at least. Werewolves didn't typically live for a very long time, not unless they were "embracing their nature", like Greyback and his ilk. Remus would much rather die than do something like that.

Basil's mouth dropped open. "I'm the same!" he said. "Like, I probably won't live as long as... Dumbledore, or people like that. Since I'm not healthy. I'm only gonna get worse." He rolled his eyes. "Mum and Dad and Saffron are so worked up about it all the time, but..."

"It's just your life," said Remus. "And a person can get used to anything, really."

"Yes!" said Basil. "Exactly! It's like... I've got time, haven't I? It's not like I'm dying right now. I might not even. Not till I'm much older, I mean. I could live to a hundred and fifty; it's just not likely. And it's not like I need people wasting my precious time fussing over me. It gets so tiring." His grin faltered. "Honestly, I was sort of excited about the meditating—and I do like it a little bit. It's quiet and relaxing, and it really helps. But, all the same... I'm getting tired of special treatment."

"I know!" said Remus, even though he didn't like the meditation one bit. "I hate special treatment. I don't often hate things, but..."

"I hate it, too," said Basil, bobbing his head. "I hate all of this. I hate people treating me like some sort of china doll, thinking I'm going to faint or drop dead any second—I mean, yeah, I might faint, but it's the principle of the thing!"

"What is up with that?" said Remus. "I'm not fragile! I've been living with this as long as I can remember. I hate being called fragile."

"My sentiments exactly!"

They were near the Astronomy tower now, and Basil pulled Remus out the door and onto the tower. The sky was clear, and Remus could see the waning moon. He tried not to look at it. The weather was beautiful for this time of day, if not a tad chilly. Remus wasn't wearing shoes—only socks—and he could feel the cold stone through the fabric. He looked up at Basil, who was smiling at the sky. "Here," said Basil. "This helps."

"What do you mean?" said Remus.

"The quiet. It helps." Basil threw out his arms, narrowly missing Remus, and Remus giggled. "Saffron and I have got a bit of a complicated situation," he said. "My aunt and uncle are homeless, and they have six children. They're coming to live with us until they can get back on their feet."

"Really?" said Remus.

"Yep. My house is always loud and crowded. I share my room with two eight-year-olds."

"Oh," said Remus. He couldn't imagine.

"Didn't get much better when I came to Hogwarts. Hufflepuffs are so loud. Are Gryffindors loud?"

Remus grinned. "My friends are, at least."

"Yeah," said Basil with a laugh. "Anyway, it doesn't help that everyone always hovers over me. So I'm always looking for places to hide—to be alone. And it's quiet out here. The stars are nice, too." He turned to Remus, eyes sparkling. "Want a list of the quiet places? I have one!"

"No," said Remus slowly. "That's never been my problem. Finding quiet places, I mean. I'm an only child, and I've never had friends before Hogwarts... I had to stay inside a lot, you know, because of both my illness and my ill mother. I'm used to quiet, so I like being around my friends—being around people in general. But I'm not used to crowds. Don't like those one bit."

"Well, this is perfect!" said Basil. "You're quiet, and you don't hover or fuss. I like talking to you. And I'm not quiet! So we both have what we want!"

"It is pretty perfect," Remus agreed. He and Basil sat on the stone floor of the tower and stared at the stars for a few minutes. It was quiet and companionable.

"It's always hard, going back," said Basil conversationally as he swung his legs. "Back to the people and the fussing..."

"...and the questions..."

"...and the noise..."

"...and the meditating and the Hospital Wing," finished Remus.

"But I think we should go now. They'll panic if we're not there."

"I think I can go back to sleep, anyhow," said Remus. "I'm sorry for waking you."

"And I'm sorry for troubling you with my troubled life," said Basil, helping Remus up.

"Likewise. If I wake you again..."

"Then I'll talk obnoxiously until you come back to your senses. And if I faint in the corridor..."

"Then I'll talk obnoxiously until you wake up."

They shared a smile, and then they walked back to the Hospital Wing. Basil did not faint, and Madam Pomfrey was still missing.

"Do you want to meet up and talk sometime?" said Basil, sitting on his own bed by the window. Remus tried not to think of nightmare-Basil, covered in his own blood and a werewolf's tooth marks. "We can be friends. You're a lot younger than me, but I'm used to spending time with people younger than me. And you're pretty cool! Saffron'll be jealous."

Remus hesitated.

He was going to have to leave Hogwarts soon—his friends were close to the truth; he just knew it. And the more friends he had, the more dangerous it would be.

Remus wanted to be friends with Basil. He wanted to sit on the Astronomy Tower and talk about being ill. He wanted to sit and be quiet with him. He wanted someone to chat with who wouldn't pity him and really understood what it was like, because Remus so desperately needed someone who understood, at least a little bit...

But he couldn't.

He couldn't because he was a werewolf, and werewolves weren't supposed to have a lot of friends. He couldn't, because every person trying to find out what was wrong with him was a terrible risk that Remus couldn't take. And the biggest reason of all was that it was so tiring, coming up with lies, and Remus was so tired. He couldn't make another close friend. He couldn't bear it.

"I'm kinda busy with my own friends," said Remus, trying for a laugh. "They're a bit of a handful. But if we ever meet up in the Hospital Wing again, I'd be happy to sneak out with you."

Basil looked disappointed, and Remus' heart broke. "Yeah. Okay. Sounds good. I have a bunch of friends too, anyhow. And they're a handful, too."

"Okay," said Remus.

Basil collapsed back into his pillow, and Remus listened to his breathing. He didn't let himself start to drift off until he was sure that Basil was asleep.

He hated being a werewolf.

Chapter Text

When Remus woke up the next morning, Basil was gone.

He blinked the sleep out of his eyes, and the light was oddly bright—he was not used to being in the main ward, where a window with plenty of natural light shone over him. He was used to being in a tiny, dark office with only Madam Pomfrey's fussing to disturb his peace. There was a curtain around his bed for privacy, yes, and he was the only one in the Hospital Wing, but he still felt oddly exposed here.

He turned his head and watched Madam Pomfrey, who was filling up a glass with a thick purple potion. "Good morning, Lupin," she said briskly. "I have a few potions that I need you to take, and then you may leave as soon as I've changed the dressings on your leg."

"Where's Basil?" said Remus.

Madam Pomfrey smiled and handed Remus the purple potion. "Basil? Did you talk to him?"

"We talked a little," said Remus. "I woke him up in the middle of the night."

"He left early this morning. He wasn't that ill; I just needed to keep him overnight for observation."

"Where were you?" said Remus. "We couldn't find you."

"I was taking a bath in the staff bathroom across the school," said Madam Pomfrey. "I don't live in here, you know, and I thought the two of you would be able to take care of yourselves."

Remus laughed a little and downed the purple potion. It tasted horrible, and he nearly gagged. "Yeah, that makes sense," he choked.

Madam Pomfrey patted his hair sympathetically. "So... did you have a nightmare, then?"

"Yeah. But Basil couldn't guess what it was about or anything, so my secret's still totally safe. He even said it was okay that I woke him up."

"That was nice of him. He's a good person."

"He reminds me a bit of James," said Remus. He hesitated to tell Madam Pomfrey this next part, because he knew she wouldn't be happy with him—but he had to talk about it. "He... he wanted to be friends," added Remus cautiously.

Madam Pomfrey sounded ecstatic. "That's good. So now you have..."

"Still four friends," said Remus, cringing. "Peter, James, Sirius, and Hagrid."

"But...?"

"I declined. Politely, of course."

Madam Pomfrey pursed her lips. "That was rather rude."

"Was it really?!"

"Yes, of course."

Remus sighed. "Well, it couldn't be helped. I know it's terribly selfish of me, but... I'm so tired of coming up with fake stories and excuses and things. It's exhausting, Madam Pomfrey, and it's hard enough to keep the truth from my current friends. And since Basil's ill too, he'll want to know all about what it's like for me... and I'll have to lie. A lot."

"Basil's a good person, Remus. If you really want to tell him the truth, I am certain that I or Professor Dumbledore could convince him to..."

Remus rolled his eyes, because Madam Pomfrey was insinuating he do something that was absolutely ridiculous. How could she possibly suggest that Remus give away his secret? That was madness! There was no way—absolutely no way on planet Earth, Mars, or otherwise—that anyone would just accept what Remus was. Nope. No way. Absolutely not.

"No," said Remus firmly. "I'm not putting that burden on anyone else. And it doesn't matter whether Basil is a good person or not, because there are loads of good people who don't like werewolves." Remus took the other potion that Madam Pomfrey offered him as quickly as possible. "You know, once I got lost on my way to a detention with Professor Questus..."

"What? When was this? Why did Questus put you in detention?"

"Long story. Second Hogwarts moon. I fell asleep in class. But I got lost, and Professor Craff, the Arithmancy professor, found me. And we talked a bit, and she was nice... and then I told her my name, and she wasn't nice anymore, because not all nice people like werewolves."

"Professor Craff is only one person, Remus, and she's a little... misguided."

"There was a lady on the bus once," said Remus, referring to the night, years prior, that he'd been bitten. He'd never told anyone this story before. Should he...? No, he definitely wasn't ready. He couldn't tell the whole thing—not to Madam Pomfrey—note here—not yet. But he'd still cite this specific instance, if only because it was likely to help him prove his point. "There was a lady on the bus who was nice to me and my mum until she found out, and then she was downright horrible. Mum was ready to hit her, I think."

"I'm sorry, but not everybody..."

"And there was a boy in my neighborhood once who wanted to play with me. He'd show up at our door, ring the doorbell, and wait patiently. We were the only two kids in the village. I never left the house, but he kept leaving biscuits on our doorstep and asking if I could play. He was very nice. And then his dad found out, somehow—don't remember how; I was too young—and the next time that I was fetching the post he threw a stick at me. We moved the next day, and I was never allowed outside alone again."

"He was young, Remus..."

"The Healers at St. Mungo's were really nice when I was admitted to St. Mungo's after a particularly bad full moon. They were cooing all over me and patting my head and reassuring my parents, and then they found out what happened. Some of them refused to heal me."

"I..."

"We would hire private Healers sometimes, but they all found out after a bit. None of them came back after finding out the truth—except one, and she only came back to ask my parents very politely to get rid of me."

"Remus..."

"At least she was polite."

"Remus!" said Madam Pomfrey sharply, and Remus shut up. "I trust Basil."

"Yeah, well, I don't trust anyone," said Remus, crossing his arms. "You never know until it's too late, and then... well, it's too late."

"Every single one of your teachers has accepted you..."

"That's their job, though! Children shouldn't have to keep a secret like this. The teachers are getting paid to keep my secret."

"I assure you that they are getting paid for other things as well."

"Still! I would feel bad, and Basil would feel bad, and I don't need him to know, and I don't want him to know and I just want to be Remus, not Remus-the-Werewolf, and I can't trust a teenager with my secret, because it's so very important..."

"Okay!" said Madam Pomfrey, exasperated. "Okay. It's your choice. But I stand by my former assertion: Basil will keep it if we ask him. It'll be good to have someone else who knows what you're going through... at least a little bit."

"I have Professor Questus," Remus argued, and the mere mention of the man inspired such anger in Madam Pomfrey that her eyebrows shot into the air—so quickly, in fact, that they nearly flew off of her face entirely.

"What do you mean?"

"Professor Questus," said Remus. "He's got a curse, too. And he's tired and ill a lot, and he's done enough research on my condition to understand a lot of it. He's like Basil and me, too."

Madam Pomfrey's eyebrows fell and then narrowed. "I suppose," she said.

Remus, once again, wondered what had happened between Madam Pomfrey and Professor Questus, because Madam Pomfrey definitely did not look happy. What could Professor Questus have possibly done to merit such anger? Had he insulted her hair? Tracked mud in the Hospital Wing? Forgotten to knock before entering the Wing?

Well, it didn't matter. The only thing that mattered right now was that Remus' imprisonment was almost over: soon, he could go back to the dormitory and see his friends again. "May I go now?" he asked.

"Yes, of course. But be careful. And come back if you're feeling poorly."

"Yes, Madam Pomfrey! Thank you, Madam Pomfrey!" said Remus, already halfway out the door.

Finally.

Remus slid into his normal seat at breakfast, and James grinned and patted him on the back. "You're back!"

"Yep," said Remus, smiling widely. "Pete, pass me the potatoes?"

"Where were you?" said Sirius. "James said you were ill." Remus didn't like the way that Sirius' eyes were narrowed, and he definitely didn't like the implied air quotes around the last word.

"I was," said Remus. Peter had still not passed the potatoes.

Awkward silence.

Peter did not pass the potatoes.

"Time for Transfiguration," said Peter abruptly. He stood up and knocked the butter over in the process—James caught it before it hit the floor, but then it slid out of his hands and landed on the ground with a pathetic little plop. James made a movement as if to clean it up, but then he shrugged, leaned back in his chair, and said that the house-elfs would do it eventually.

"What's up with you?" said Remus, still waiting for the potatoes. "All of you. What's wrong? All of a sudden, you're all looking at me funny, and we can't have a normal conversation... none of this is normal, actually, and it's scaring me a little."

"This is normal," said Sirius, but judging from his clipped tones and stiff expression, it most certainly was not.

James slung his arm around Remus' shoulder, and Remus winced as his hand brushed Remus' left shoulder. "Did I hurt you?" James said, and Remus shook his head slightly and frowned. He hated it when James treated him like a fragile, delicate thing. He also hated it when James talked loudly right next to his ear—the boy had no concept of an "inside voice". "We're just tired, I think," James practically shouted. "Maybe we should keep our Forbidden Forest excursions to a healthy minimum, eh?"

"Merlin's beard," whispered Remus. "Don't go shouting our secrets to the whole school. Peter, seriously. Potatoes?"

Silence.

Peter did not pass the potatoes.

"Let's go to Transfiguration," said Peter.

"Transfiguration isn't for twenty minutes," Remus pointed out. "Can't we just talk? And eat, maybe? And... I don't know, pass the potatoes?"

"Yeah!" said Sirius. He pulled James away from Remus and gripped James' arm like it was a lifeline. "Let's talk. Me and James. You and Peter. Me and James will go to the library..."

Remus blinked. "What?"

"So that you can eat. But the rest of us already did, and we don't wanna wait on you."

"I don't have to eat," said Remus earnestly. "Peter and I will come with you. I'll just eat a lot of lunch."

James shoved Sirius away and laughed. "You have to eat, Remus. And Sirius—we're all staying here."

"Don't tell me what to do," said Sirius, his eyes ablaze. "I'm going somewhere else. If you want to eat breakfast with your two best mates, go right ahead."

"You're my best mate, Sirius," said James patiently. "You know that. But I have other friends, too."

"But I need to talk!"

"We talked last night for, like, three hours. Remus was all alone in the Hospital Wing, and Peter was sleeping. I've spent a lot of time with you lately, and I can spend time with my other friends if I want."

There was a long moment of silence—shocked silence on Sirius' end, patient silence on James', and extremely confused silence on Remus' and Peter's. Then the spell was broken: Sirius growled, called James a prat under his breath, and stormed off.

Remus met James' eyes. "What's going on, James?"

"Nothing," said James, taking a seat. "He's been tetchy all day, but he'll come 'round. Come on, let's talk about Shakespeare. Shakespeare's the worst. What's your least favorite part of Romeo and Juliet, Remus?"

"All of it."

James' laughter was too loud. "Ahhh. Funny joke. Good times. You, Peter?"

"I didn't like how Juliet was ill all the time," said Peter with a pointed glance towards Remus.

"I'm leaving," said Remus. He stood up with such ferocity that Bufo, perched on his shoulder, croaked in protest. In through his nose. Out through his mouth.

"You aren't angry?" said James.

"I'm not angry," said Remus. "But I... need to use the loo."

"So you'll be back?"

"No. Then I need to stop by the library."

"You can't skip breakfast, Remus..."

"I'm not fragile! I can survive one skipped meal!"

He walked out of the Great Hall as normally as possible, even though he felt sort of like he was going to faint. The last thing he heard James say was, "You idiot, Peter! Juliet wasn't ill. She had a nanny, not a nurse!"

"Is he gone?" James whispered to Peter.

"I think," said Peter.

"Good. Now he won't protest when I hit you upside the head. You horrible git. It's not his fault he's ill—well, not ill, but something akin to it!"

Peter bowed his head in shame, but James wasn't going to forgive him that easily.

But he tried, and he continued (in a much gentler voice), "Look, I know we're all confused, and we feel betrayed, and we don't know where to go from here, but... but Remus feels the same way! The Secrecy Sensor proved it, remember? He can't talk about it. He really can't! There's something stopping him: fear, maybe... perhaps someone's threatening him... perhaps it's a curse. But it doesn't matter; not really! He's still the same Remus that he always was!"

"But he's lying to us," Peter whispered.

"Maybe that means that we're just not good enough friends," said James. "If we want him to trust us, then we've got to be even better. And making passive-aggressive comments about his health isn't the way to do that!"

"He's not really ill, though. That was a lie, too."

"He's not ill, but he's definitely poorly... for whatever reason. And that's just as bad."

Considering, Peter paused. "Okay," he finally said. "It still hurts, though. I thought I was his best mate. You know... you and Sirius. Me and Remus."

"Some best mate you're being."

James dragged Peter out of his chair, and then they went to go find Remus.

Remus knocked on the door of the Transfiguration classroom, and McGonagall answered promptly. "Lupin? Class doesn't start for twenty minutes."

"Yes, I know... but is it okay if I take my seat early?"

"I suppose." She moved out of the way to permit Remus entry, and he sat down hesitantly. McGonagall frowned at him. "There's a toad on your shoulder. I don't allow toads in class."

Remus groaned. "I forgot he was there!"

"You may want to run him back to your dormitory..."

"I can't! My friends are being weird and I think they're going to find out soon and normally I would go to Professor Questus but he's not here and I need somewhere to hide because I don't want to be around them when they find out and I definitely don't want to be around them right now because they're acting like they hate me and I don't even know why they're angry because I didn't do anything wrong... or at least I don't think I did..."

"Slow down, Mr. Lupin," said McGonagall, her mouth a thin line. "Do you need to see Madam Pomfrey?"

"No," said Remus. He took a breath and forced himself to slow his speaking. "I'm not ill; I'm hiding from my friends. The Hospital Wing's the first place they'll look."

"They won't guess that you came here early?"

Remus twiddled his thumbs. "I was... I was hoping that you... could tell them that I'm not here."

McGonagall's frown got deeper. "I am not going to lie to my students, Mr. Lupin."

Remus nodded sheepishly. Of course she wouldn't, because lying was bad. As someone who had been conditioned to lie his entire life, Remus often forgot that.

"But I may be able to help you anyway," said McGonagall, and Remus' heart soared. "Why, exactly, are you hiding from your friends?"

"Er..." Remus wasn't sure how to phrase it. "I'm tired. All the time. I have to keep lying to them, and making up stories, and avoiding them when I'm ill. I'm tired of it. And now they're suspicious... they think something's wrong with me, and they're going to figure it out soon—I just know it! And Peter and Sirius are angry with me, and I don't know why, and I'm too tired to deal with that."

"Tired?" repeated McGonagall, frowning.

"Yeah, tired. What if I'm just tired of them? What if we can't be friends because of me and not because of them? What if I don't actually like them; I just think I do because I've never had friends before? I mean, I really do like them, but I'm so tired, and people aren't supposed to be tired around their friends... are they?" He shifted in his chair, more than a tad uncomfortable. "I didn't want to bother you with this. It's complicated."

McGonagall nodded slowly. "Have you ever considered telling them about your condition?" she asked.

"Telling them?" Remus' mouth dropped open. First Madam Pomfrey, and now McGonagall? Why was everyone trying to get Remus to divulge the one secret that he could not, under any circumstances, divulge? "You can't be serious!"

"Why not?"

"Because then they won't want to be my friends anymore. I'll have to leave Hogwarts!"

"And why would that be a bad thing, if you're so tired of it all?"

Remus paused to think about that. That was a good point, actually—she'd trapped him with his own confession. "I see," he said gravely, supposing that he wasn't that tired after all. It was still enjoyable, being around them, and he might as well enjoy it while he could—just as Questus had suggested. But that didn't change the fact that he was tired right now. He needed a break, even if it was only ten minutes before class started.

"Professor McGonagall," he said, a little panicked. "I think my friends are coming down the corridor..."

There was a knock at the door, and McGonagall stood up to answer it. Remus breathed.

In through his nose. Out through his mouth. In through his nose...

"Hey, Minerva! Is Remus in here? He ran away, I think," said James. Remus inhaled. Sirius was not with James, but Peter was. Remus exhaled.

"He is," said McGonagall, "and he'd like you to take his toad back up to the dormitory." She plucked Bufo from Remus' shoulders and dropped him into James Potter's surprised hands. "While you're up there, please fix your tie. We uphold a very strict dress code here at Hogwarts, you know. And do tell Mr. Black that class will not wait for him to finish sulking."

"How did you know that he was...?"

"He seemed very angry when he came stomping down this corridor about fifteen minutes ago," said McGonagall. "It doesn't take a genius to put two and two together, Potter. Now take that toad upstairs before you're late."

"Why can't Remus come do it with us?" James whined.

"I'm helping him with a Transfiguration that he's been having trouble with. Now, up you go. Best hurry."

"Fine," said James. "Bye, Remus! Don't be angry with us!"

Remus heard James leave and set his head down on his desk. "Thank you, Professor," he breathed.

"Of course. Believe it or not, every single twelve-year-old on the planet—with the possible exception of James Potter—needs a break from his friends every so often, even if it only is for ten minutes. Now... let's work on mouse to snuffbox. I told your friends that I was helping you with Transfiguration, and I don't want to lie. Take your wand out, please."

Remus smiled and lifted his wand. He did the charm perfectly, having practiced it on stray mice in his house.

"You've improved drastically since your first-year examination," said McGonagall.

"I've practiced at home. Don't tell the Ministry. But... I can only do it after a full moon. Not before."

"Transfiguration is a very psychological art. It relies a lot on mental state, and your mental state is not as easily controlled as Potter's. You'll have to practice staying calm first."

"Thank you, Professor," said Remus. "I think... I think that's a point to you?"

He was referring to the Competition that he and Professor McGonagall had devised in his first year. She'd been rather uncomfortable around werewolves, and Remus had been rather uncomfortable around her—as a solution, McGonagall had proposed a game of sorts. Since then, they'd awarded each other points for "acting normally" around each other—which, once they'd both become perfectly comfortable, had devolved into awarding each other points for nearly no reason at all.

"And three to you," said McGonagall. "One for coming to me. One for a successful Transfiguration. And take another for not completely losing your head." Remus smiled. A few students trickled in, and McGonagall took a seat at her desk.

Suddenly, James and Peter burst through the door like human hurricanes, utterly frazzled, panting, and red-cheeked. "WE DID IT!" yelled James. "WE'RE ON TIME!"

"You're also shouting," said McGonagall. "Please sit down. Quietly, Potter."

James took a seat next to Remus, panting. "You don't have to hide from us, mate," he said. "Peter and me were looking for you. No one's angry at you."

"Sirius and Peter seemed pretty angry," Remus mumbled.

"I wasn't angry," said Peter, looking a little ashamed. "Just grumpy. James woke me up early to talk about Quidditch, so I was tetchy. Wasn't your fault."

James' mouth fell open. "Oi, don't blame your behavior on me, you traitor!" he said, nudging Peter in the arm. Then he sobered and explained, "Sirius is tetchy, too. He got a nasty letter from his mum and dad."

"Oh."

"Yeah, he's skiving right now. But it's not your fault, and we're not angry at you. You know—maybe next time, you should just assume that we're not angry with you, ever. How could we be? After all, you're the one who's going to help us plan that armor prank that we talked about but never really got to."

Remus rolled his eyes. "...Right." He glanced at McGonagall, whose eyebrows were slightly raised, and smiled.

Suddenly, he felt a tiny bit less tired.

Remus tried to avoid Sirius all evening, but it proved impossible when James physically dragged him to the dormitory to talk.

"Jaaaames."

"Reeeemus. We have to talk. I'm not letting the Marauders split up because everybody's in a bad mood." James did his Secret Marauder Knock on the door before entering—Peter was already in the dormitory with Sirius.

"Okay," said James. "We're going to talk about this. Peter, what problem have you got with Remus?"

"Nothing," said Peter, terrified. "I was just having a bad day."

"That's what I thought," said James. "Sirius?"

"Of course I don't have a problem," said Sirius earnestly.

Earnestly?

Sirius was chipper?

Sirius Black, of all people, was chipper, upbeat, and generally smiles-and-giggles?

That was... odd. Remus wasn't sure how to feel about it all.

"I'm really sorry for making you think I'm angry with you, Remus," Sirius continued, chipper as could be. "I only got a letter from my mum, and I was caught off-guard. But I'm not angry with you. No one is. You're brilliant."

There was a stunned silence. Remus felt his heart blossom into an oddly-shaped flower of sorts.

James grinned. "Knew we'd all come 'round. Perfect. Now let's go outside. You're all going to watch me practice Quidditch, and we're none of us going to be in a bad mood!"

Remus, Sirius, and Peter all groaned good-naturedly, and Remus' heart-flower-thing got a little warmer at their perfect synchronization. He liked synchronization. He liked being like other people. He loved having friends.

And so Peter and Remus watched James and Sirius show off for the next hour or so. Peter was sitting a little further away from Remus than he normally did, but Remus didn't mind—at least they were talking.

Yet part of Remus, deep down, almost hoped that they would drift apart naturally and become less close. If the other Marauders didn't care about Remus anymore, then maybe they'd stop paying attention to him... and they wouldn't figure out his secret... and he could stay at Hogwarts.

But no. Remus didn't want that; he'd miss his friends' company so much that he didn't think he could bear it.

Remus, even though he was surrounded by his friends, felt very isolated... and simultaneously so crowded that he couldn't breathe. He started to feel the same tiredness he had before; it was creeping through his bones—the heavy tiredness that made him feel like sleeping for the rest of his life, reminding him that he wasn't normal and could never be normal; the tiredness that surpassed every speck of joy he had ever felt... tired of lying and sneaking and napping and reading and being alone, but also tired of people like his his friends and Basil and even Madam Pomfrey sometimes. He was tired.

But then he remembered McGonagall's words and resolved to enjoy what he had while he still had it. There was no room to be tired. Not here. Not now. He was at Hogwarts, and he was going to enjoy it... yes, he was even going to enjoy James' loud voice, Peter's odd mood, and Sirius' weirdly chipper attitude. He was going to enjoy it all if it killed him.

He moved closer to Peter, and Peter did not move away.

Yes, Remus was going to enjoy it if it killed him... and honestly, it very well might. It was certainly a risk, but Remus Lupin, Gryffindor Extraordinaire with a penchant for chaos, lived for risks... or at least he told himself that he did.

Chapter Text

Sirius Black hated Remus Lupin.

Hated him. Hated him. HATED HIM!

How dare Remus? How dare he trick his friends into trusting him? How dare he lie? It was ridiculous! It was morally questionable enough to lie about something so terrible as one's own mother being deathly ill, but all those other things?! Sirius didn't even know who Remus was anymore! It was all so stupid!

Sirius was almost blown off of his feet by the injustice of it all, and the horror of the Secrecy Sensor buzzing in his pocket as Remus detailed his entire life haunted his every thought whenever he looked at Remus. Because this was supposed to be Remus. This was supposed to be Remus Lupin, with whom Sirius had always felt a sort of kinship. James and Peter had great lives, but Remus was the only one who understood exactly what it was like to have a hard one. They'd even formed a little two-person club back in first year. The "Tragic Backstory Club", they called it, though they'd tended to change the name whenever they spoke of it.

Sirius thought of the hours spent talking to Remus behind bedcurtains—the hours' worth of sensitive, true information he'd shared with this pathological liar. Sirius had only ever asked for Remus when he was particularly distraught—James was always the perfect listener, but the fact that his life was just as perfect as his listening skills sometimes made Sirius angry. Sirius liked finding solidarity in Remus' awful life. Remus' life wasn't as awful as Sirius' was, no, but Sirius loved to talk about things—he loved having people to connect with. He could connect his awful life with Remus' awful life, and the fact that he wasn't the only one with an awful life made him feel safe.

Had Remus lied about all that? That was downright villainous of him. Unfair. Sirius hated Remus Lupin.

Because Remus' mother had never been ill, and he wasn't ill himself. Remus had told Sirius once, in a moment of sympathy for Sirius and his awful family, that his own extended relatives had disliked and eventually disowned him. Had that ever happened, though? What was a lie, and what was the truth? Sirius didn't know, and James had ordered that they didn't confront Remus about it (for some stupid reason. Sirius loved James, but sometimes he was so stupid).

And it hurt so much. Remus was the only other person besides James that Sirius could trust with the details of his life, but that was all gone now. Who was Remus? Who was the person that Sirius had told all of his secrets to? Because it certainly hadn't been the person whom Sirius had known and liked!

And Remus had been so nice and understanding and clever, too. Not as clever as James and Sirius, of course, but clever all the same. He always said the right things, and he always made the right jokes. Remus had a perfect balance of humor-to-sympathy when Sirius was telling him things, and Sirius always appreciated that. He appreciated Remus, because he was Remus Lupin: a good listener, a good friend, and the keeper of an annoyingly straight moral compass.

Except that wasn't true anymore, because Remus was a pathological liar. It had never been true. One couldn't have a moral compass at all and lie that much.

Who was Remus, really? Sirius had no clue. At this point, Sirius wouldn't have been surprised if Remus was actually a six-year-old girl named Steve who lived in Ukraine and liked to smoke cigars. Because none of it had been true. It had all been a lie. It had all been a sick manipulation of Sirius' thoughts, emotions, and logic, and it was ultimately unforgivable (even though James said there was probably a good reason behind the lies. Because what good enough reason could there be?).

Remus had been the only person in the world that understood... but did he even? Why had he lied?!

Sirius told all of these things to James (behind the privacy of James' curtains) the night that Remus was mysteriously missing (again).

"Look, mate," said James, doing that thing with his hair. "Remember when you came here and you were throwing around slurs like they were nothing?"

"Yeah, that dumb M-word. I don't really get why it's bad, since 'Pureblood' isn't a dirty word. Why would the opposite be a slur? Why haven't they gotten rid of the word 'Pureblood', too? But yeah. I remember, and I stopped. Well, mostly. I'm working on it. Felt kind of awful that I'd fallen for my family's lies like that."

"Yeah, I remember. You were worried I'd hate you and think you to be a prejudiced git like the rest of them."

"Uh-huh."

"And I told you that I didn't care. I didn't care about your family, and I didn't care about your upbringing, and I didn't care what you were used to saying and hearing and doing. I didn't care who you used to be; I only care about who you are now. And you appreciated that, didn't you?"

"Are you waiting for me to say 'thank you'? Because I'm a man. Men don't say 'thank you'. My dad never does, at least."

"No, I'm trying to make a point. Look, Sirius: I don't care about how Remus used to be, either. His background doesn't really matter, does it? The only thing that matters is who he is now, and I know for a fact that he's a good person."

Sirius thought about it. It actually kind of made sense. But still. How could James know if Remus was a good person or not? Remus hadn't told the truth about anything else, so perhaps his "nice person" exterior was merely a front. "It's just that he hasn't been open about his problems," said Sirius. "I was open about mine, wasn't I?"

"Little too open and talkative sometimes," chortled James, and Sirius lobbed a pillow at him. "Kidding! Only kidding."

"Git. But Remus... he lied about everything. Why couldn't he just have told us that he had a secret?"

"You really think that we would have stopped pressing him for answers?" said James. "We'd've been curious forever. We'd've kept prodding him until he either told us the truth or left Hogwarts. Depends on how awful the secret is."

We'd've. Relaxed grammar made Sirius so happy—he copied James' grammatical errors and informal contractions all the time. It was so different from the Perfect Pureblood Syntax that Sirius' parents had instilled into him at an early age. And the fact that Remus kept good-naturedly correcting him made Sirius feel like he was doing something against the rules—something truly rebellious against his awful family. Sirius liked that.

But it hurt to think about Remus with anything other than annoyed derision right now, so Sirius donned the derision once again and imagined punching Remus' face in.

"You think we'd've prodded him? I dunno, like what we're doing now?" said Sirius bitterly. "Maybe you would've prodded him. I'd've stuck by him. I'm a good friend like that."

"Like you're doing right now?" echoed James, a self-righteous smirk on his face.

"Shut up. I am. But it's different now, 'cos he lied to us." Sirius looked in the direction of Remus' empty bed, as if he could see through the curtains. "And now he's gone again."

"I told you, he really is ill. I can vouch for him."

"He's not ill at all, though. The Secrecy Sensor said so."

"But he wasn't ill then, stupid. Maybe that's what the Secrecy Sensor meant. He wasn't ill at the exact moment that we asked the question, but he does get ill a lot."

That sort of made sense. "Okay," said Sirius. "Doesn't change the fact that he lied to us a ton."

"I do hate how he didn't trust us," said James, frowning. Sirius leaned forward eagerly. James didn't often talk about his own feelings—he much preferred to be the all-knowing, self-righteous helper—and Sirius was quite curious about how James was really feeling. "I just... we trusted him with so much. You told him about your family. I told him I'm afraid of cockroaches, and that's extremely sensitive information. Peter must've told him a bunch of things—they spend so much time together alone. Why couldn't he have told us the secret?" James sounded genuinely hurt. "I would've stood by him no matter what."

"But now...?" said Sirius, desperately wanting James to feel the same way he did.

"I still will, of course." James gave Sirius a scrutinizing look that looked kind of ridiculous on the twelve-year-old face with the thick, rectangular spectacles. "And so will you?"

Sirius thought about Remus. He thought about James. Then he thought about his other options... but it didn't take long, because he didn't really have any. He couldn't lose this; he'd go insane without his friends. Sirius was a little like Remus (if Remus had been telling the truth about this particular thing) in the sense that he'd never really had friends before. He and his brother had played together, sure, before his brother was stupid enough to act like a Slytherin before he'd even gotten his letter. Sirius had also played with Andromeda as a kid, and there had been other Pureblood children that he didn't mind having about. But he'd never really had friends like James... and Remus, even. He would never give that up.

"Yeah," said Sirius finally. "No matter what. After all, I'm a bit of a prat sometimes, too. We've all got our faults."

"Exactly!" said James. "We're annoying, Pettigrew's dumb as rocks, and Remus is a pathological liar. Look at the four of us!"

"The Marauders," said Sirius.

"Marauders," echoed James.

"Marauders," said Sirius, wanting to have the last word.

"Marauders!" said James.

"Marauders!"

"Marauders!

"Marauders!"

"Good night, you annoying git."

"Good night, you self-absorbed prat."

"Good night."

"Good night."

But neither of them went to sleep—they kept talking for hours about whatever popped into their heads. Merlin's beard, Sirius loved having a friend like James Potter.

But.

Then again.

The talk with James hadn't snapped Sirius out of it like he thought it would, and he couldn't help but treat Remus like the liar that he was over breakfast one morning. He'd tried to be nice, he really had, but it was so hard. Being nice was for losers, anyway, and now that he'd finished breakfast and thoroughly offended Remus, Sirius was ruminating on his Not-Mistakes (they were not mistakes, because Sirius had meant everything he'd said, and it wasn't his fault that Remus had gotten all sad and self-pitying. Remus was annoying like that).

As he sulked in the dormitory, James and Peter came dashing in. They didn't even do their secret Marauder Knocks first, which soured Sirius' mood even further. "What is wrong with you?" James hissed. "I thought his past didn't matter! I thought you were going to be nice!"

"I tried."

"You didn't try very hard."

"But he's being all sensitive, isn't he?" groused Sirius. "I didn't even say anything wrong."

"It's more about what you didn't say," said James. "And how you acted. Idiot. We're returning Bufo because Remus is too afraid of you to come back up to the dormitory. He's hanging out with Minerva. Proves how desperate he is for company, eh?" James plopped Bufo onto the knitted Gryffindor hat that Remus had repurposed as a pillow (Remus' father had tried to make it—supposedly—but it had been so badly knitted that it was unwearable—supposedly. Sirius couldn't trust anything that kid said anymore).

Bufo the Toad croaked, and Sirius vaguely wondered if Bufo was even a toad. Was he even real? Was he a cardboard cutout? He couldn't trust a thing of Remus' anymore, and he hated it.

James didn't seem to be deterred by the cardboard cutout's croaks. "I'll fix my tie on the way down, Pete. We've got a few minutes left. Let's go. Coming, Sirius?"

"No," muttered Sirius. "Skiving."

"You're pretty young to be a delinquent," said James, and Sirius' heart lifted a bit at the jest. "All right, Pete. Run like the wind. Or a Nimbus!"

Then they left the room, and Sirius was alone.

He walked over to Remus' bed and sat there, closing the curtains and looking around. Remus had put photos of the four of them on the top of his four-poster (Sirius could see them perfectly lying down) which was actually rather sweet. Sirius hadn't known about that.

He peeked under Remus' bed. There were a myriad books, and Sirius frowned. He hated books. He was pretty sure he was allergic, actually. As he was considering nicking them all, just to be a git, he saw a small bundle of papers. It couldn't hurt to take a look, right...? He stretched out his hand...

...and then changed his mind. Knowing Remus, they were hexed. Besides, Sirius really couldn't trust anything of Remus' right now.

He walked over to James' bed. He and James shared a trunk now—James had shared so many of Sirius' things at this point that it wasn't really distinguishable what was James' and what was Sirius'. He started flipping through their shared trunk idly.

There were some textbooks, never opened for more than a few seconds. There were some clothes—not all of them were clean. There were lots of Dungbombs, and quite a few sweets. And then... there was a book.

It had a glossy cover, and Quidditch Strategies was written on it in dark ink. Sirius grinned and flipped it open, wanting to see James' handwriting in his time of emotional distress. James wouldn't care. James had no secrets (unlike Remus, that horrible liar).

But the book, keeping up with the theme of foolery and deception that seemed to be following Sirius wherever he went, did not contain Quidditch strategies. It was a store-bought book about—Sirius opened to the cover page—about werewolves.

Werewolves.

Well, it was worth a read, even though Sirius was probably allergic to books. It was probably left over from James' stupid "Remus' mum is a werewolf!" theory. Besides, Sirius needed something to take his mind off things, because he was going to go mad if he kept...

Wait.

What?

Oh.

Oh!

As Sirius flipped through the book, the truth became blindingly apparent: things he'd already known, but hadn't been together in one place before... things they'd attributed to other causes... things Remus had explained away with that same panicked look in his eyes. Terrible things. Suspicious things. Incriminating things. Things that finally, finally made sense.

Werewolves are ill before and after the full moon... werewolves are very dangerous in wolf form and must be restrained... there is no known cure for lycanthropy... werewolf bites and scratches will never fully fade... can only be sealed with a mixture of silver and Dittany...

Holy mackerel. Merlin's pants. Blimey!

"Well, give me some gold and call me a Niffler," Sirius mumbled. "This is the only thing that's made sense all day."

That was why Remus was usually peaky—he wasn't ill; he was a werewolf. And that's why Remus disappeared on the full moon—he wasn't visiting his sick mum; he was a werewolf. It couldn't be cured. He might not live long. He wasn't dying. He had scars all over him (from the werewolf that bit him, probably?).

Sirius remembered the tiny bottle that Remus always carried around—it fell out of his pocket while they were goofing around, sometimes, and he'd always hurriedly pick it up and put it back in. Or he'd take it out when he thought no one was looking and rub a bit on his thumb... and sometimes he left it in his trouser pockets, and then he'd panic and look through the pockets of his dirty laundry to find it before he went out anywhere. Sirius had thought that it was some sort of medication. Was it silver and Dittany? In case he accidentally scratched someone... or himself?

Remus Lupin—lovably stupid, sarcastic, bookworm extraordinaire—was like Fenrir Greyback. He was a werewolf, with fur and claws and horrible long teeth once a month.

Blimey.

Sirius ground his teeth together and flipped to another page. It was a drawing of a werewolf, with shaggy fur and muscles all over and fangs protruding past its lips, dripping saliva. It had a tufted tail and a short snout, and its claws were long and sharp.

That was Remus! Seriously! Once a month, that was Remus Lupin.

No, that couldn't be right. It couldn't be right at all.

Sirius put down the book and furrowed his eyebrows so deeply it hurt. Remus? A werewolf? It fit together so nicely... but it couldn't be right! Remus was only twelve! He was... well, he was Remus! Twelve-year-olds couldn't be werewolves—not quiet, nice ones like Remus. No, werewolves were dirty, feral, and murderous. But Remus wouldn't hurt a fly, and he'd probably start crying and apologizing if he did it accidentally, that annoying crybaby.

And Sirius knew about werewolves. They lured people in... gave them a false sense of security... and then, when the time was right, they struck with all the glory of a hulking monster on four legs! Werewolves were monsters all the time, even when they looked human. Yes, indeed! That had never been in question.

...Right?

Sirius' mum had ranted for hours about a "murdering half-breed" being allowed to live. Sirius' father had glimpsed Greyback once, and he had waxed poetic about how awful the monster was. Sirius' family were definitely not supportive of werewolves—before James had mentioned his father's obsessions last year, Sirius hadn't been aware that any good and decent person could be "supportive of werewolves". Like, seriously?! Who could support werewolves? They killed people! That was like being supportive of trolls or something. Werewolves were only dumb animals, and Sirius' mother had always said...

Hang on.

Sirius' mother.

Sirius' mother didn't like werewolves. But she didn't like half-bloods, either... or Muggle-borns. She didn't like anyone, much.

But James... James said that half-bloods and Muggle-borns were all right. James' dad said that werewolves were all right, too. And Sirius wanted to believe that Remus was "all right"... yes, he so desperately wanted to believe in Remus' humanity, and not just because he didn't particularly fancy being murdered in his sleep by a ravenous monster.

He had already gotten rid of so many of his prejudices and ideas about society. His family had been wrong about so much. What if...?

No.

But... yes. Yes. Remus was only Remus. It was like James had said: Sirius already knew Remus. He liked Remus. Remus was a good person, if one ignored all the lying and sneaking. It wasn't much of a stretch for the Black family to be wrong about another thing, right? What if Greyback wasn't a monster, either? Perhaps the newspaper articles had been wrong about him...? Just as the books had been wrong about Remus!

Sirius remembered his late-night conversation with James—he loved late-night conversations with James, huddled in the dark of night behind the curtains, Remus' deep sleep-breathing and Peter's snores surrounding them as they whispered, reverent and hushed as church mice. Behind the curtains that night, Sirius had basically sworn to support Remus no matter what.

No matter what!

James didn't know Remus' secret, no. But Sirius did, and Sirius would support Remus, because they were friends!

And Sirius' family were wrong!

Take that, Blacks!

Sirius was used to taking full one-eighties after receiving information from James, but now he was making a one-eighty on information that he had decided for himself. His family no longer controlled his thinking. No one did. He was going to make his own decisions, make his own friends, and be his own person. He was Sirius, friend of James Potter and Remus Lupin. He was Sirius, good on a broom and in the classroom. He was Sirius, who was friends with a werewolf and proud of it! Heck, he was Sirius Black, and his surname didn't define him one bit! His mum would never approve, but thank goodness for that! She didn't deserve to approve, and Sirius didn't care about her, anyhow. He was twelve now, almost thirteen. That was plenty old enough to make his own decisions!

Sirius didn't want to rely on anyone, not even James, because there was no telling how James would react. James' father supported werewolves, but people weren't their families, so that didn't necessarily mean that James supported werewolves. They'd never really talked about it before, and Sirius seriously doubted that James was a secret werewolf supporter. Sirius would've known if James was, because James had no secrets from Sirius.

Now, Sirius had a secret from James... but it was okay, because it was for James' own good! And James had never been angry with Remus for keeping secrets, so Sirius saw no reason why he'd hate Sirius for doing the same.

Besides, keeping Remus' secret was the right thing to do as a good friend. Sirius would keep Remus' secret for the rest of his life. He'd drag his own friends away from finding out, just as Remus had. He'd stick with Remus through thick and thin. His mother would hate it, his father would hate it, his brother would hate it... but Sirius didn't care about any of them. And it was possible that James would hate Remus, but... well. Sirius loved James even more than his own brother, but James didn't need to know the truth—he was supporting Remus just fine without it. And now Sirius would support Remus in his own way. He'd keep Remus' secret, he'd help Remus with all his might, and he wouldn't even tell Remus that he knew, because that would only make Remus panic.

He was like some sort of undercover superhero! Oh, this was going to be fun.

But wait.

With an awful jolt that he felt in the pit of his stomach, Sirius remembered all of the awful things he'd said about Greyback. That terrible thing he'd said about Remus' mum back in first year while Remus was in the shower... back when James had thought that she was the werewolf... If they had any sense of decency, they'd get rid of her. She could hurt someone.

He had actually said that. He'd essentially said that Remus deserved to die. That Remus' family were stupid and indecent for keeping around a werewolf.

That was why Remus hadn't told them. Maybe he'd been working up the courage, waiting to see if he could trust them... and then Sirius went and made some stupid comments about werewolves! This was Sirius' fault!

But it was okay.

It was fine!

It would all be okay, because Sirius Orion Black was going to fix it if it was the last thing he did. That was his Undercover Superhero Mission, and he was going to succeed—come fire, come rain, come hail, come death. He would succeed no matter what, because Sirius was a good friend... and, what was more, his mother would be furious if she found out (and she wouldn't find out, of course, but it was the principle of the thing).

Sirius grinned into his pillow. Making his mother furious, even if it was just in his imagination, was one of his favorite pastimes.

"Of course I don't have a problem," said Sirius to Remus that evening, and he tried his best to be nice in a happy-go-lucky sort of way. "I'm really sorry for making you think I do, mate. I only got a letter from my mum... and I was caught off-guard. But I'm not angry with you. No one is. You're brilliant."

Remus' face rearranged into a stunned expression, and then he... almost smiled. The edge of his mouth quirked up just a little, and his eyebrows knitted together slightly—like he was confused and happy all at once. Sirius felt a little wave of panic as he gazed at Remus' mouth, and then reminded himself that Remus wasn't going to eat him and reprimanded himself sharply for his own prejudice. He wasn't like his family.

Sirius kept stealing glances at Remus as he was flying with James, watching the sky turn to dusk and the students trickle inside as curfew began. Remus had an book on his lap, and he was shivering slightly in the chill of the evening with his jumper clutched around his arms, and he was smiling. A real smile. He had his hand over his mouth, but he was smiling all the same.

Sirius cringed as he realized why Remus covered his mouth so much. He was probably hiding fangs or something of that nature.

But Sirius didn't care! He wasn't like his family. He was his own person. And Remus wasn't like society thought him to be, because he was his own person, too.

And, now that Sirius thought about it—maybe Remus hadn't been lying about his life. Not completely.

He'd been scared to leave the house as a child? That was probable, if the wizarding world was out to get him. His family had mostly left him? Also probable, if he was a werewolf. He'd been lonely as a kid? The Marauders were his first friends? Probable as well. Remus hadn't been lying after all—he'd merely been twisting the truth a bit.

And he was still Remus. He was still the same Remus that Sirius quite liked. He was still the same Remus as he'd always been! And Sirius wasn't afraid of him, not one bit.

So as the four of them were walking back to the castle, walking as quickly as they could because they had pushed curfew quite a bit, Sirius slung his arm around Remus' shoulders—yes, he was touching a werewolf, and the thought was insane. Remus stiffened a bit and looked at Sirius, but Sirius wasn't deterred. He merely smiled and waved his hand a bit, motioning for James.

James came over now, too, and put his arm around Remus' other shoulder. And then Peter put his around James'. They walked like that, shoulder to shoulder, Remus with the same surprised-happy look on his face.

"Today's a good day!" declared James, making Remus jump. Sirius snickered, and Remus punched him in the arm a little.

"That's so random," said Remus, rolling his eyes. "And can the two of you let go of me? You're being annoying."

"Nope," said Sirius, and Remus tried to punch him again, but James grabbed his arm before he could—a quick tussle ensued that Remus unequivocally lost—and then they continued walking, still arm-in-arm like a quartet of idiots doing a three-legged race. Well, not three-legged. Five-legged.

Sirius couldn't help being a bit proud of himself—here he was, touching a werewolf, and he wasn't even panicking. It felt totally normal. Sirius was touching a werewolf, and he didn't even care. Take that, Mum! Take that, Dad! Take that, Blacks!

He gave Remus a knowing look—I know about you, and I don't care, he tried to say with his eyes.

Remus raised an eyebrow quizzically. "You look constipated, mate."

Sirius rolled his eyes and swatted Remus' arm (not too hard, though. Sirius wasn't quite brave enough to start a real fight with an actual werewolf. It was entirely possible that Remus had been hiding super-strength this whole time).

They rushed down the corridors, arm-in-arm—Sirius and James were much faster than Remus and Peter, so Remus and Peter were lagging behind and laughing, being dragged mercilessly by James' long-legged strides and Sirius' sprinting. It was kind of uncomfortable, actually, but it worked—if one ignored Remus' half-hearted complaints as they positively dragged the poor boy down the corridor. They passed McGonagall, and Sirius stopped in his tracks. The four of them separated.

"Hey, Minerva," said James, and Sirius snickered.

"Good evening. Curfew is very close, you four," she said. Then she looked at Remus and smiled. Remus smiled back, still breathing hard for trying to keep up. "Four points from Gryffindor for running in the corridors. Hurry back, now... but don't run."

"Sure, Minerva," said Sirius.

"Sounds great, Minerva," said Peter.

"Okey-dokey, Minerva," said James.

"Of course, Professor McGonagall," promised Remus.

Sirius poked him in the side. "You don't really understand how this game works, do you?"

"I think Lupin understands the game far more than you three do," said McGonagall, a small, tight smile gracing her features. "In fact, I do believe that he has earned another point in whatever game he is playing."

Sirius couldn't make head or tails of that, but it seemed to make Remus happy. Maybe it was secret werewolf language. Minerva stalked off, and then James took off down the corridor at warp speed. Sirius got ready to follow him... and then he changed his mind and walked along Remus and Peter. Remus was limping, he noted. From the last transformation? Had it hurt him?

"You're being weird," said Remus, walking as briskly as he was seemingly capable. Sirius flung his arm around Remus' shoulder again, imperceptibly supporting him as he walked.

"I'm not being weird. You're being weird."

"No, you are. Peter, back me up."

"You're being weird, Sirius," said Peter.

"Shut up, Pettigrew; you don't know anything," said Sirius scornfully. "I'm not being weird. I'm always weird: ergo, I'm being normal. Come on, let's catch up to James."

"I'm not running," said Remus. "Too tired."

"Good, 'cos I don't want to run, either. James wore me out, flying broomsticks and all that."

"Yes, because sitting on a broomstick is such a strenuous aerobic exercise."

"I'll have you know it takes plenty of core muscles to hang onto that teensy little stick."

"I'll take your word for it. I had enough flying in first year, thank you very much."

The three of them were late back to their dormitory, but no one caught them. And Remus looked like he was starting to warm up to them again, even though Sirius had been a right berk to him for such a long time. Sirius was glad. Remus had been a bit emotionally distant since vacation, he felt, which was entirely unwarranted. Sure, the three of them had spent time together without Remus a lot. Sure, they'd had a birthday party for Peter without him, even though they'd planned it together in the notebooks. Sure, it had been a little cruel of them. But honestly, it seemed as if Remus was being all distant by choice.

Because he was a werewolf. Because he was scared of them. Because of Sirius' offhand comments about his... what was the word? Species? Kind? People? Affliction? Sirius started to feel weird again. What was that feeling?

"Hey, Remus?" he whispered after everyone was in bed.

Remus sat up and pulled his curtains back. "What's up?"

"You read a lot, right?"

"I mean." Remus looked utterly confused, and James and Peter were hiding snickers behind their curtains. "I s'pose."

"So you know a lot of words?"

"Yeah, maybe...? What are you getting at?"

"I need a word, that's all. What's the word for when you feel angry at yourself for doing something, and you feel sick even thinking about it? And then you start to hate yourself and especially everybody else who got you into that situation? And you want to punch a wall or something, but mostly you just want to vomit? And also, you're hungry?"

"Er," said Remus, and James and Peter started to laugh. "I think it's guilt. With a little bit of a... Sirius-y twist."

"Ooh," said Peter, surprising Sirius. He'd forgotten that Peter was there. "I have one. I'm thinking of a number between one and a hundred..."

Sirius had meant it as an honest question, not a game, but he humored Peter and joined in anyway. "Seventy-seven."

"Yeah, that's it. How'd you get it so quickly?"

"You're so predictable," sighed Sirius. "You couldn't keep a secret if your life depended on it. I spy with my little eye... something red."

"Literally everything of James'," Remus deadpanned.

They played until eleven pm, and all the tensions between the four of them were lost completely—dissolved into the wind itself, ceasing to exist, much like Sirius' former inhibitions about werewolves.

Chapter Text

Remus' friends were incredibly nice to him for weeks and weeks, and Remus was suspicious.

It wasn't that his friends were usually mean or anything, but... this was getting ridiculous. They were far too nice. Scarily nice. Horribly nice. Awfully, terribly nice. Remus liked nice, but this was bordering on pity, and Remus did not like pity.

One night, he woke up at about midnight after an ugly dream of killing his friends under the light of a full moon: sweat that felt like blood was dripping from his neck, tears that felt like blood were dripping from his eyes, and there was real blood somewhere—he could smell it—but he didn't know where. He sat up bolt upright, panting and not-crying (not crying. His eyes were merely watering), and noticed that both James and Sirius were at his bedside.

Both of them? That was Suspicious Activity Number 1. Usually, it was just James who bothered to comfort Remus—Sirius was a little more impatient, so he'd usually stuff his head under a pillow and complain loudly about how loud Remus was being.

"I'm fine," Remus mumbled. "M'fine, jus' a nightmare..." Was the blood smell just left over from his dream? The image of blood dripping from Sirius' neck still burned in his eyes, and his friends' screams still burned in his ears, and blood still burned in his nostrils, so what if it hadn't been a dream?

"Just a dream," said James, and Remus relaxed.

"Are you still using the Pensieve that Dumbledore gave you?" asked Sirius. "It seemed that the Pensieve helped with the nightmares, at least a little."

And that was Suspicious Activity Number 2. Remus knew Sirius, and Sirius liked to make jokes whenever he was even slightly uncomfortable. Where was the biting comment about Remus' messy hair and askew bedsheets? Why wasn't Sirius calling Remus a "girl" and a "baby"? Remus' eyes were watering (okay, maybe he was crying a little), and they were boys, so teasing seemed like the natural thing to do for Sirius Black. And where was James' insistence that Remus was a "fragile china doll" (which was James' favorite thing to call Remus, and Remus' least favorite thing to be called)? Who were these people, and what had they done with Remus' friends?

"Yeah, I've been using the Pensieve," Remus mumbled. "Hasn't been working recently. I think... I think I'm just stressed." The blood smell was definitely real. And it was definitely his. And he thought he could taste it, too...

"Your finger," said James suddenly. "Lumos."

A bit of light spilled onto the bedsheets, making Remus blink. He looked down at his finger—sure enough, it was bleeding profusely. Remus jumped at the sight of blood covering his hand. He could definitely taste it. He'd probably bitten his finger during the nightmare. That was horribly embarrassing (although it would be more so if Remus' friends knew what he was and what he could do, so Remus was thankful that they did not).

Sirius stumbled back, and Remus apologized profusely. "Yikes," said James. "What is with you and blood?" Suddenly, James' face colored a little. "I mean... what I... you were bleeding the other day, and... it was a joke. I'm not saying... yeah. There's nothing with you and blood. You're just a normal kid. Haha."

"You're bleeding?" asked Sirius, still a bit green. Sirius, for all his constant bravado, was afraid of blood. "Are... I mean, are you okay?"

"Not a big deal," promised Remus—and it really wasn't. It hardly hurt at all. Still, he needed silver and Dittany; his finger wasn't going to stop bleeding otherwise... but the bottle was still in the pockets of his school robes.

Suddenly, Sirius thrust Remus' school robes towards him. Remus blinked. How had he known? "Here," said Sirius. "I noticed that you sometimes use the ointment in the pockets. For... your blood disease."

Remus internally thanked Sirius for providing him with such a good lie. "Yes, that's it," he said weakly. "My blood disease. The ointment helps a bit. Erm... Sirius? I know that my robes are red and it'll blend in, but... my hand is bleeding, and I don't want to get blood on my robes. Would you... get it for me? Left pocket?"

"Of course!" said Sirius, pulling out the small bottle of silver and Dittany with frightening dexterity and speed. "Want me to uncork it for you, too?"

"No, thanks," said Remus. "I can do it myself." There was probably already dried blood on the bottle from previous incidents, and Remus didn't want Sirius to see it. He uncorked the small bottle and dabbed a bit on his thumb, and the bleeding slowly ceased. "I'm sorry, Sirius, I know you don't like blood..."

"Perfectly okay!" said Sirius, a little too chipper.

"We're happy to help!" said James, equally chipper. "Want us to make your bed again for you?"

"I can do it myself," muttered Remus. "I'm going to... well. I'm going to wash my hands. Be right back."

He walked to the sink, closed the door behind him, and rinsed his hands. Then he cupped them tightly and drank as much water as he could. It wasn't enough, so he brushed his teeth. Twice.

When he was satisfied, he wandered back into the bedroom. Sirius and James had made up his mattress with pillows and blankets and even Remus' favorite childhood toy: Baynie the stuffed shark. Remus smiled, a little confused (and also sort of miffed that they'd made his bed despite Remus' request that they didn't). Why were they being so... well, they were usually nice, but this was... wow.

Remus went to thank them, but both James and Sirius were already in their own beds—curtains drawn—and the only sounds in the room were four hearts beating, four people breathing, and the erratic flipping of pages coming from James' four-poster. That was odd. James didn't usually read unless there was something to read about (like Quidditch. James loved reading about Quidditch).

Yes, it was probably Quidditch. Mystery satisfied, Remus lied down and went to sleep, and there were no more nightmares that night.

Pensley was absolutely insufferable, but that was nothing new.

"Today," she said, "we'll be doing a dramatic reading of Julius Caesar! I want you all to split into groups of three."

The Marauders looked at each other awkwardly. There were four of them.

Remus figured he'd be the odd one out—after all, his friends had spent a lot of time without him over the summer. But, to his surprise, James and Sirius both walked over to him immediately. "Remus. Our group?" James asked.

Remus looked at Peter. "What about...?"

"He'll be fine," said James, but Peter didn't look fine. He looked rather hurt and left-out, actually.

"Maybe we should split into two groups," said Remus. "Me, Peter, another person... you, Sirius, another person. Then none of us will have to be alone. You two can be together, of course, and I'll be with Peter..."

"Fine," said James. "But I think it should be me and you, Remus, and then Sirius and Peter."

That was undeniably Suspicious Activity Number 3. James and Sirius were attached at the hip. There was never any question as to whom James liked best (it had always been Sirius), and there was even less question as to whom Sirius liked best (James Potter all the way). They were always partners; always a group; always best mates. James leaving Sirius to pair with Remus? That was unthinkable.

Remus expected Sirius to be offended, but Sirius didn't seem to be—he merely froze, and a queer expression shadowed his face. "No," he said. "It should be me and Remus, and you and Peter."

"Trust me," said James. "It should be me." He shot Sirius a pleading look. "I think it would be good."

"No," said Sirius slowly. "Because I... know." There was an odd pause, and then Sirius added, "I know that me and Remus would work well together, I mean."

Remus gave them both a quizzical look. "This is a joke, right? You two are best mates. Since when am I so popular?"

Sirius looked him dead in the eyes, which made Remus slightly uncomfortable. "Since I found out," said Sirius. Another odd pause. "That you were so cool, I mean."

"Er. Surprised it took you this long," quipped Remus. "But...?"

Suddenly, Pensley clapped her hands. "We need Peter to join a group. Apparently, the number of children in this class is not quite divisible by three. Who's willing to be in a group of four?"

Remus felt a rush of annoyance at Pensley for not counting the students in the class before assigning groups of three, but he knew that he was being unreasonable. In through his nose. Out through his mouth. He shot his hand up along with James and Sirius, and Peter joined their group gratefully.

The damage had been done, however. James and Sirius had picked Remus over Peter, and Peter was feeling very left-out. Remus scooted his chair closer to Peter. "I wanted to be with you, anyway," he whispered, and Peter beamed.

"All right," said James. There was a squeak as James' chair moved closer to Remus'. There was another squeak as Remus moved further away. There was another squeak as James moved closer again, and then there was the noise of rushing air as Remus gave up with a sigh. "There are four people in this scene. That's perfect. Peter, you be 'First Commoner'. Sirius, you can be 'Second Commoner.' Remus is 'Flavius.' I'm 'Marcellus'."

"You only want to be Marcellus because of his monologue," said Sirius, and James waggled his eyebrows in confirmation.

"First Commoner only has one line!" complained Peter.

Remus shrugged. "I'll switch with you."

"No, he can't," said Sirius. "You know all the big words, and Peter doesn't. Let's go, Flavius-Remus. Your line first."

Remus sighed. "Hence. Home, you idle creatures, get you home: is this a holiday? What? Know you not, being mechanical, you ought not walk upon a laboring day without the sign of your profession? Speak, what trade art thou?"

Peter blinked. "I... what?"

"Just a complicated way of saying... it's a workday, why are you on the streets instead of working? And where do you work in the first place?"

"Eloquent," snorted James. "Peter, your line."

Peter straightened up. "Why, sir!" he said with far too much enthusiasm. "A carpenter!"

Then he put down his book, because that was his only line.

The next few lines between Marcellus and Second Commoner that ensued made Remus laugh so hard that he nearly fell off of his chair. James and Sirius were so perfect together, even though Remus didn't particularly enjoy Shakespeare. "Indeed, sir, a mender of bad soles!" shouted Sirius.

"What trade, thou knave?!" shrieked James. "Thou naughty knave! What trade?"

"If you be out, sir, I can mend you!"

"Mend me, thou saucy fellow!"

"Why, sir, cobble you!"

Remus was laughing so hard that he could barely get out his next line. "Thou art a cobbler, art thou?"

The other groups were reading with a dull monotone, but Remus' group was barely hanging on to sanity. Remus lost it completely when James stood up on the desk for his monologue. The class went silent as James Potter started shouting his lines at the top of his lungs. "And do you now strew FLOWERS in his way that comes in triumph over Pompey's BLOOD? Be GONE! Run to your houses, fall to your KNEES, pray to the gods to intermit the PLAGUE that needs must light on this ingratitude!"

Suddenly, James extended a hand towards Remus. It was his line next, and James obviously wanted Remus to get up on the table next to him.

Remus sighed. To heck with it.

He took James' hand and stood next to him. "Go, go, good countrymen, and for this fault, assemble all the poor men of your sort!" The class was still listening, even though Remus' voice was much quieter. Sirius was standing on the table now, too, doing some sort of weird dance that Remus couldn't quite identify. Peter jumped on the table as well, copying Sirius.

It was chaotic. It didn't make any sense. It was stupid.

But Remus was almost having fun, though his heart was pounding at the prospect of speaking in front of the class. "...if you do find them decked with ceremonies," he finished, his voice trailing into nothingness.

"May we do so?" said James. "You know it is the feast of Lupercal."

"These growing feathers plucked from Caesar's wing will make him fly an ordinary pitch—who else would soar above the view of men and keep us all in servile fearfulness?"

"The end!" cried James. "Thank you! Thank you all! You may leave your babies in the atrium, and I shall kiss each and every one of them! Autographs permitted—seven Galleons each! Many thanks, my loyal fans!"

Pensley started to clap. "Oh, wonderful! Wonderful! Amazing!"

James swept into a deep bow.

"Fantastic!" continued Pensley. "Phenomenal! Glorious! You should be actors, the four of you! Especially you, Leonardo! Your line nearly brought me to tears!"

Peter beamed, and James took another bow.

Remus didn't much like Pensley, and he didn't much like Shakespeare, and he definitely didn't like acting, speeches, talking in front of the class.

But he liked being accepted, and he loved his friends. The good outweighed the bad, and that was always a wonderful thing.

The Marauders were playing Gobstones on the floor of the common room. It was raining, so the common rooms were very crowded. James had stolen the cushions from the couch, much to the rest of the House's dismay, and he'd built a sort of fort around the Marauders so that they could play in peace. Remus had never liked crowds, and he suspected James was doing it just for him. That was unsettlingly and unnecessarily kind, but Remus didn't have the guts to argue.

"What do you think of vampires?" asked Sirius all of a sudden.

"Who, me?" said Remus.

"Yeah."

"Your go, Peter," said James loudly. "Let's talk about something else, yeah, mate?"

"James," hissed Sirius.

"Sirius."

"I know," said Sirius, giving Remus a pointed look. "I know that this is an important question, I mean."

"Why would it be important?" said James, casting Remus a different kind of pointed look. "Species isn't important. Isn't it, Sirius?"

"But—"

"But...!"

"But!"

"I've never met a vampire," said Remus quickly, hoping to avoid an argument. His friends' current actions definitely counted as a Suspicious Activity, but Remus didn't know what number it was—he'd lost count. Probably Suspicious Activity Number 4,003 or something.

"But what do you think of them?" pressed Sirius. "Vampires, I mean. Do you think they're monsters or something?"

"'Course not," said Remus. "Professor Questus said that they can control themselves—despite their odd cravings—and that they're proud of their heritage and culture. Why would they be monsters? Those are both solid qualifications for Being status."

"Hm," said Sirius. "What about werewolves?"

Remus froze. Did Sirius know? Did he know that Remus was a werewolf? Did he suspect?

No. Sirius didn't know, because he was still sitting next to Remus and playing Gobstones with him. There was no way he'd do that if he suspected—so Remus was still safe. He was certain of it.

"Werewolves are monsters," said Remus, because he was certain that this particular affirmation would lead his friends further away from the truth. Why would they suspect someone who hated werewolves of being one himself? "Yeah, complete monsters, I think. I've never met one. But they're different from vampires, remember? They can't control themselves. And we've all heard about... about Greyback. Werewolves hurt people."

The look on James' face was very queer, and Sirius dropped his Gobstone. Those constituted as Suspicious Activities Numbers 4,004 and 4,005, respectively.

"So... you don't think they're people?" asked Sirius slowly.

"Nope," said Remus. "Can't be. My family sort of know firsthand."

"You... do?" asked James, and there was a look in his eye that Remus couldn't quite identify.

Remus furrowed his eyebrows. "Yeah, duh. My dad works for the D.R.C.M.C. There are werewolf attacks in the news all the time, and Dad has to go help. Werewolves constantly attack people, so they can't be good and kind, can they?"

"What if they can't control themselves?" said James quietly. "What if they don't want to be werewolves?"

Remus' heart fluttered a bit. That was a bit of an odd view for a Pureblood wizard; most of them hated werewolves. This was good. Perhaps—it was a long shot, but perhaps—there was hope. Perhaps his friends would let him leave Hogwarts quietly and promise not to tell anyone... but Remus wouldn't get his hopes up, because hope was a dangerous thing.

"I'm not offending you, am I?" Remus asked, remembering James' rights-for-all father. "Since your dad argued for werewolf rights once..."

"No," said James. "You can tell us what you think."

Why were they being so weird and somber? Remus laughed a little, if only to lighten the mood. "If werewolves can't control themselves," he said, "then they should do humanity a favor and do themselves in before they hurt someone." He pushed his Gobstones to Peter with a little too much force, suddenly feeling quite grumpy. "Here, you can have mine, Pete. Win the game for me. I'm going to the dormitory to revise for a bit."

"Okay," said Peter. He wasn't being nearly as weird as James and Sirius, Remus noted.

Remus ran up to the dormitory, placed Bufo on his lap, mashed his face into his hands, and mumbled all the memorized poetry that he could remember for the next half-hour. The rhythm was comforting, and Remus needed a bit of comfort.

James Knocked on the door.

"Come in," said Remus dully.

"Hey," said James. He sat at the foot of Remus' bed. "What's bothering you, mate?"

"Nothing."

"You can tell me," said James. "You can tell me anything, you know." A pause. An obvious pointed glance. That was Suspicious Activity Number 4,006. "I mean it, Remus. Anything."

"Mum's ill again," mumbled Remus. "Really ill. I might have to go back soon." His mum was becoming his excuse for everything, but he was too tired to come up with something better. Besides, his friends were being weird enough that he was allowed a bit of suspicious behavior, wasn't he?

"Oh," said James, nodding eagerly. "Okay."

There was a pause.

James twiddled his thumbs nervously (which was a bit strange for the ever-confident James Potter). "D'you really believe all that about werewolves?" he blurted.

"James," said Remus trying for a laugh. "I've never met one. Do you still think I have a werewolf relative? Because I don't. And you said that you were going to stop pressing me for information."

"I don't! And I will! And I wasn't the one who brough up werewolves in the first place—that was Sirius!"

Sirius barged through the door, and both James and Remus jumped. "James, I told you I wanted to talk to him!" cried Sirius.

"Sirius! It has to be me!"

"No! Because I know." A pause. "That it has to be me, I mean."

"You're both being weird!" said Remus throwing up his hands. "I'm fine! It was just noisy in the common room and I was tetchy! And I don't know why you're so concerned about werewolves all of a sudden!"

"Werewolves are obviously a sensitive subject for you," said Sirius, staring Remus dead in the eyes. "We wanna know why... so that we can help you!"

Fear seized Remus' chest. He hated talking about werewolves, and he didn't want to come up with more excuses, and he was so tired... but this was necessary. He scrambled for a good lie. "Er... my dad. Works for the D.R.C.M.C., remember? Has to leave on full moons and I have to take care of my mum. Werewolves are the reason that I have to leave Hogwarts and take care of her. And I know I shouldn't be so reluctant to do it, and I know that I should like seeing her, but... it's tiring." The last two words were so painfully true that they welled up in his heart and made him feel like he was choking. He was so tired.

"I love her, I really do," he continued, "but I always worry that I'm not good enough to help her. It's scary, and... I want to stay here. I don't want to leave when she's poorly." That was true. He didn't want to leave on the full moons, but he knew that staying would be far more graphic, bloody, and overall much worse. "I wish that everything was normal and that I didn't have to worry," he continued, which was also entirely true. "Lots of people don't have to worry, but I do, and it's not fair. And... I know that people are making accommodations for me... to go visit her. So I shouldn't be ungrateful, but... I am, sometimes."

That, Remus reflected, was the closest he'd ever come to telling his friends about the actual feelings that were constantly tethered to his lycanthropy. Feeling tired. Wanting to be normal. Sick of special treatment. And guilty for his own emotions. Yes, that about summed it up, and this was the only way Remus could talk about it—through mother-related metaphors—no, not metaphors, lies. He was sick and tired of it all—of lying, of sneaking—but that was not something he could tell his friends.

"Well, that makes sense," said Sirius, glancing at James. "You're affiliated with werewolves... but you've never met one. Right, James?"

James nodded knowingly, looking back at Sirius. "Exactly. Makes perfect sense to me."

Then the both of them bounded over to the bed and hugged Remus tightly. That was Suspicious Activity Number 4,007, because they weren't normally so touchy-feely. Remus laughed. "It's not that big a deal," he said.

"It's not ungrateful to recognize that not everything's perfect," said Sirius.

"And everyone gets tired of things sometimes, no matter how much is given to them," said James. "I should know. My pocket money is probably higher than your entire savings account, and I still don't like my parents sometimes."

Remus giggled. "Yeah, yeah. Okay, you idiots. Now..." He stretched, yawned, and put Bufo on his nightstand. "I have some homework for Pensley. Either leave me alone or help me with it, yeah?"

Sirius and James disconnected themselves from Remus and appeared to be thinking. "Get Pettigrew," said James. "We're all gonna do the homework."

Okay. That merited another 1,000 Suspicious Activities. They were officially on Suspicious Activity Number 5,007.

"You're being so weird," mumbled Remus.

"Weird and unpredictable. That's me," declared Sirius, "so I'm being normal!"

But he was not being normal, because he managed to sit relatively still for the next hour or so. That was probably a record. Definitely not normal.

And Remus found that doing homework with James and Sirius was actually quite enjoyable. They were bright, they could work hard when they wanted to, and the homework took about a third of the time that it usually did. He crawled into bed at a reasonable hour, having emptied his thoughts in the Pensieve earlier. He didn't have a nightmare, and all was well... if, of course, one discounted the 5,007 Suspicious Activities that had transpired over the past several hours.

Remus' friends continued to be lovely to him. Were they still making up for the fight? Remus wasn't sure, but he was thankful.

Peter didn't seem to know what was going on—he certainly didn't currently possess the same level of weird as Remus' other friends did—but he copied James' and Sirius' enthusiasm. Remus felt a little odd about it, yeah, but he was on top of the world for the next few weeks. The niceness was weird and unpleasant, but it meant that his friends liked him. They wanted to be around him. They went out of their way to help him!

In Charms and Transfiguration, James whispered jokes into his ear, making him laugh. Flitwick gave the Marauders a few dirty looks, and McGonagall took points from Peter when he laughed too loudly, but stifling laughter together in the middle of class was such a beautiful feeling of friendship.

In DAD, Sirius switched seats with him. "Just for today," said Sirius sternly, but Remus couldn't help but grin as he sat far away from Pensley. It was hilarious when Sirius got hit in the face by her flying hands, and still funnier when he tried to scoot away from her elbows that were spilling onto his desk space and nearly fell off of his chair.

In Astronomy, James and Remus were paired up for a constellation identification project. James offered to do the stargazing if Remus did the writing. It was a small thing, and James couldn't possibly have known... but it was nice all the same that Remus didn't have to stare at the waxing moon for what seemed like hours on end.

In Potions, Sirius paired up with Remus instead of James. "Just for today," he said. Remus protested, but Sirius plopped down next to him and offered to fetch every single one of the ingredients if he added them. Remus was surprised and grateful—again, Sirius couldn't possibly have known how much he hated going into that strongly-smelling cupboard, but it was very nice that he was willing to do the generally less desirable job. Remus and Peter had used to split the work evenly, since no one really liked fetching ingredients nearly as much as they liked adding them.

In History of Magic, James and Sirius didn't try to distract Remus at all. In fact, they even shushed a girl who was talking while they learned about wars and warlocks. James took notes when Remus' hand was getting tired. And they helped Remus with his essay that evening.

Remus wasn't sure what was going on, exactly, but it seemed that his luck was finally looking up. It was true that, no matter how nice his friends were being, they'd find out and abandon him... but Remus figured he might as well enjoy his last few—days? weeks? months?—at Hogwarts to the fullest. That was what Professor Questus had suggested, after all, and Professor Questus was usually right.

Chapter Text

Dear Professor Questus,

Everything's going really well. TOO well, actually—it feels like something's going to go wrong at any minute.

My friends are no longer pressing me for information. I suppose that "sternly-worded" letter you wrote James must have worked, because James told me that my background doesn't have anything to do with who I am and that he's going to stop looking for answers. A nice sentiment, but I'm not sure how long it'll last. Sirius and James are both being really weird around me, but now they're treating me a lot more nicely than they used to. They're tiny things, really, but it's nice.

It's probably because of the fight earlier. Sirius and Peter were having a bad day, some things happened, and it ended with me hiding in the Transfiguration classroom with Bufo and Professor McGonagall. I'm guessing my friends feel bad now, because they're practically falling over themselves to help me out.

It makes me feel a little weird, to be honest. I kind of wish that things could just be like they were a few months ago... but there's no use complaining when they actually seem to enjoy my presence. I'm thankful, I really am—it's just WEIRD.

James is going insane about Quidditch tryouts, I think. He's always got this book on him—he wrote "Quidditch Strategies" on the cover. I don't know how much strategy is in Quidditch. Seems to me like they just throw balls around. But to each his own, I suppose.

Pensley is still giving loads of homework, but now Sirius and James actually do theirs and help Peter and me out a bit. That's weird, too, but I'm not complaining. It keeps them out of trouble. They've stopped hexing students in the corridors, too.

Talking of Defense Against the Dark Arts, what can you tell me about hags? The textbook doesn't say much on the topic—only that they're considered Beings and like to eat children—so I'd like some further explanation from an actually competent teacher. I don't really understand why something that eats children is considered a Being. I don't eat children, and I'm not technically a Being (didn't mean to sound bitter; just making observations). So are hags like vampires, who have controllable impulses? Or like dragons, whose only morals are "every-creature-for-itself"?

I went to Dumbledore the other day and told him that I wanted to quit meditation with Pensley, but then he started talking about how much she loves children, and how isolated she feels from the other teachers, and how teaching gives her a purpose, and how she only wants to help, and how I should let her get closer to me because I need more friends, and how we have a lot in common... and all that. I don't know what he's playing at. Does he just like to watch me suffer? It's horrible. I don't think I can spend another three hours in that classroom two days before the full moon. I'll KILL someone.

Professor Dumbledore also says to ask you how your houseplant is doing. I think he's afraid you've killed it.

—R.J. Lupin

Lupin—

In my experience, things don't usually go well, and tragedy often chooses to strike in the happiest of times. When things seem to be going smoothly, then you need to pay closer attention. I suspect that your friends are trying to keep an eye on you, because there's no way Potter stopped being curious after my letter. Do you really think he read it and thought, "Oh, yes, that makes perfect sense. There's definitely something fishy going on, but I'll just elect to ignore it forever." Do you really think a simple sternly-worded letter changed his mental makeup? Do you really think he forgot how to be James Potter? If you do, you're an idiot, because Potter's not that type of kid. It was a good letter, but it wasn't THAT good. Chances are, they're trying to butter you up so that you'll tell them (which you won't, obviously). Tread with caution.

As for Quidditch strategy. Quidditch has quite a bit of strategy, from what I can tell—nearly as much as duelling, and the strategy that we discussed in your lessons only scratches the surface. But I don't understand the outcome of Quidditch in general. What's the best that can come from it? Winning a shiny trophy? Glory? I don't like to lose, but I don't waste hours competing unless I'm getting something besides bragging rights. Flitwick used to pester me to go out for a national duelling title, but that seems pointless to me. Titles are useless. I much prefer doing something I'm good at when it saves lives, thank you very much. That was why I liked being an Auror. I like to be useful.

I suppose I'm finished being useful for now, which is a mildly depressing thought. It's all right, though. At least I can still do what I do best: annoy people. Your parents claim that they are starting to tire of my constant unsympathetic comments, I believe. They secretly enjoy them, though; I know they do.

Anyway. I'm very sorry about Pensley, and Dumbledore shouldn't be guilting you like that. I suspect he has an ulterior motive—he usually does. The best you can do for now is trust him. I hate to say it, but he usually knows what he's doing. He probably has a million-point plan stretching years and years into the future, and it is likely a very, very good plan. Just wait it out.

I'm happy you've noticed the unfortunate lack of Dark-creature-related information in your textbook. Sometimes the textbook will have plenty of information, but be completely devoid of first-hand accounts. No one seems to think about the actual creatures themselves; they only care about how to survive an attack. You know how much I think that people need all the details, although I wouldn't have cared about creatures' "feelings" about a year and a half ago, I admit. Witches and wizards don't typically consider such things, but I can understand why you would.

From what I can understand: hags are capable of human speech, but have low intelligence compared to humans (and werewolves). They're similar to trolls in the sense that they hardly have any magic, most of them have no qualms about killing, and they are most certainly, not even debatably, inhuman. That said, they are indeed like vampires in the sense that they can control their impulses. The Ministry won't arrest them for existing; they'll only arrest a hag if she has been proven to have killed someone. There are quite a few in Borgin and Burkes every so often, since they like dark spaces and Dark magic—you've probably seen one or two around, but you mightn't know. There's really no way to tell if a witch is actually a hag unless she takes off her shoe (hags only have four toes), and accusing a witch of being a hag is something of a social taboo. Besides, since hags are often quite unintelligent, the Ministry doesn't see them as much of a threat.

I wonder if you'd be able to identify a hag based on the scent, though. Let me know if you ever discover the answer to that question, because I'm terribly curious.

Yes, hags sometimes kill children—and it's tragic when they do. But, at the same time, it's very rare that parents will let their children around hags. Hags, unlike werewolves, are frail, stupid, and incapable of breaking into a house, so they don't pose any real danger if one is very careful. A woman named Nutcombe started an organization to help hags be more "human" in 1713, but there's a reason that she had "nut" in her name. She was utterly nutty, and it didn't work one bit. The fact of the matter is, hags don't possess enough intelligence to WANT to be a part of wizarding society. And they definitely don't have enough magical talent or intelligence to go to Hogwarts in their youth.

But they have Being status, yes. They can speak, understand many things, walk on two legs, and are not irredeemably violent. They are held in higher regard than werewolves because werewolves are far more dangerous. The fact of the matter is, Lupin (and the moral of this story in the long run): even though you haven't done anything even slightly morally questionable, the Ministry will only ever see you in your most dangerous state. I'm not saying it's right, but it's true. The first thought that comes to mind when someone thinks "werewolf" is a wolf, not a person. I doubt you'll get pure Being status anytime soon, because your full-moon form is the only thing taken into consideration when classifying these things.

My houseplant is not dead yet (unlike your reputation with the Ministry), and I think that Dumbledore knows it. He's very obviously charmed it with something to give it water and sunlight—which is prudent, because I haven't watered it once. Can't be bothered. Werewolf the Cat is also doing well, though your parents aren't enjoying the amount of cat hair on their furniture. I do hope you're not allergic, because Werewolf seems to like your house nearly as much as mine.

Again: tread with caution. And don't call me Professor.

—J. Questus

"Remus," said James, waving an annoying hand in front of Remus' face. "Did you get another letter from John?"

Remus folded up the letter hastily and prayed that James hadn't seen anything incriminating. "Yeah. He didn't say much. Mostly talked about his cat—did you know he got one? And also hags."

"What about hags?" said Peter, his mouth full of food.

"I asked if they had human emotions and things. He told me—and I'm paraphrasing—that they had hag-like emotions, not human-like emotions."

"Huh," said Sirius. "But other creatures that are classified as Beasts have human abilities and emotions, too." There was a slight thwap as James hit Sirius, and another as Sirius hit James back. "Like Centaurs and Merpeople," Sirius continued.

"They were offered Being status," said Remus. "They refused. Didn't want to be lumped together with hags and vampires."

"What about werewolves?" said Sirius, and there was a louder thwap as James hit him again. Sirius paid no mind. "You know, since they can do human things when it's not a full moon?"

"Werewolves are a sensitive subject for Remus, remember?" said James.

"They're not! Not really," said Remus desperately. He couldn't allow them to think that. "I was being dramatic. They're... werewolves are complete monsters on the full moon, and there's some debate as to whether they're really... you know, people... all the other times of the month. So they're not Beings nor Beasts right now. The Ministry can't decide. I think. My dad talks about it sometimes. And... yeah, that's all there is to it. I barely know anything about werewolves, to be honest."

"Oh," said Sirius sagely. "Pass the bacon, please."

Remus exhaled and passed the bacon.

The Marauders were lounging in the dormitory together one evening. Peter and Remus were doing homework for Pensley, but James and Sirius had given up a while ago: currently, James was hanging upside-down off of Sirius' shoulders, who was hoisting him by the legs and dragging him all around the dormitory. James laughed as his head bumped against the floor mercilessly.

"Heyyy," James said, and his voice went up and down as his head did the same. "We should do that suit of armor prank. Like, tonight."

"You're not thinking straight," said Remus patiently. "Your brains are scrambled."

"No! I am! They're not! I'm serious! We should do it!"

"Remind me what the prank was?" said Peter.

"You know, the one we planned last summer! Where we dress up the suits of armor in the corridors like the teachers!" James gesticulated wildly, which looked absolutely ridiculous from his upside-down position. "We've been too busy with... revelations... and things to properly cause mischief this year. We're the Marauders! We need a little mischief right now, eh?"

"What revelations?" said Remus.

There was silence.

"A little mischief," James repeated. "Come on, who wants to help me plan?"

No one wanted to, but they all did anyway. James attributed it to his irresistible charms. Peter attributed it to James' intellect. Sirius attributed it to a secret Imperius curse. Remus attributed it to James' persistent annoying demeanor.

But, no matter the cause, the Marauders had a forty-two-point plan in place by seven o'clock and were ready to execute it.

The suit-of-armor-statue prank, James had decided, wasn't nearly enough. "It's not big enough," he complained, so they added more: after they'd charmed a row of statues to look similar to the teachers, James used a very, very complicated spell to make said statues say things that the teachers would say. "It's like the one that they use on portraits," James explained. "Takes into account a person's reactions to others and guesses what they'd say to certain things."

They'd been sneaking around the corridors for hours at that point, but James still didn't think that it was enough... so he started making a suit of armor that looked like Snape. "Look, Sirius, I made Snivellus," he chortled.

"Is there a grease-dumping spell?" said Sirius. "His hair is too clean."

"Engorgio," said James, pointing his wand at Snape's nose. It grew to twice its size, and James and Sirius were practically rolling on the floor with laughter.

"I don't think that we should be making students," said Remus quietly. "It feels more... targeted."

To Remus' great surprise, James immediately Vanished the entire statue. "Sorry."

Remus blinked.

What?

"You've never listened to me like that," Remus said in awe. "What's going on?"

"Maybe we just want to be better friends," said James, shrugging.

Sirius spoke again. "Yeah, and we know." Pause. "That you don't like us teasing Snivellus. Snape, I mean."

"Huh," said Remus. "That's very kind of you."

"Yep!" James affirmed. "We've got some time left before Remus and Peter collapse from exhaustion. Let's go to the Forbidden Forest for a bit!"

Four Marauders crept down the corridor in the dead of night.

They weren't wearing the Invisibility Cloak—the corridors were empty enough that they did not need it. Suddenly, a bone-chilling howl rang out. It was quiet, but it cut through the air. It was wolfish, but not wolfish enough to give Remus the urge to howl back—but it scared him all the same. He froze, and then it happened again. Remus jumped and grabbed onto Peter. Where was it coming from? Who was doing it? Even Remus' heightened senses weren't helping—there was no scent nor sounds of heartbeats in the air! What was it?

Oh, he was dreaming. It was a dream. A nightmare. It would all be over soon. Had he really fallen asleep in the corridors? That was embarrassing.

"All right, mate?" said James, a concerned look on his face.

Remus nodded, but realized too late that he had nodded side-to-side.

Suddenly, a dark-colored blur flew down the corridor, sweeping past Remus with a massive fwoooosh. Remus let out a small squeak and clutched Peter's arm even harder—he knew, now, that it could not possibly be a dream. No, this was real. "What was that?" he said, and his voice was much higher than he would've liked it to be. He still couldn't smell anything, and he hated it—as much as he disliked his werewolf senses, he was used to knowing what was going on...

"Calm down, Remus," said Sirius. "It's just Peeves."

Peeves.

Remus tensed. He had seen poltergeists before—his father was an expert on Spirituous Beings. They'd had one flying around their house for two days when his father was studying it, but it had been too disruptive to keep it around any longer than that. Disruptive was bad; disruptive was dangerous; disruptive was unpredictable... would Peeves keep Remus' secret? Peeves obviously knew about Remus' lycanthropy if he was howling like that. He was making fun of Remus. Yeah, he knew. He had to.

Peeves stopped whirling around like a howling cyclone, and Remus looked at Peeves more closely; the poltergeist in question was fat, garishly dressed, and had a disturbing toothy smile on its face. No wonder Remus hadn't caught any sort of scent—Peeves was a spirit, just like the Hogwarts ghosts. Still, Remus thought that it was quite disconcerting to rely solely on his senses of sight and hearing. How did humans do this all the time?

Peeves howled again, more quietly this time. It wasn't particularly obvious that he was imitating a wolf (his annoying howls just sounded like random chaotic noises to the untrained ear), but Remus knew what he was trying to do. He hoped that Peeves was sworn to secrecy. He prayed that his friends wouldn't figure it out, because Remus would just die if they did, maybe literally if the Ministry or a miffed parent got ahold of him...

Peeves grinned wider at him and howled a third time. Remus felt his face go bright red, and he stepped behind Peter a little.

"Shut up, Peeves," said James scornfully.

Peeves made a little howling noise again, and this time it had just the right cadence for Remus to feel that horrible, animalistic urge to howl back. He flinched. This was humiliating.

"Stop doing that, Peeves!" said Sirius.

Peeves grinned wider and let out a whoop as he did a flip. "Who've you got with you this time, Potty?"

"This is my friend Remus Lupin," James explained emotionlessly, as if he'd entertained Peeves countless times before and was quite bored of it. Remus wondered just how many times his friends had snuck out without him, and he immediately felt very left-out. "He doesn't like loud noises."

Remus winced at the lycanthropy reference. Wrong thing to say. "Ooh, doesn't he?" Peeves mocked. The edges of his smile extended past his face, which creeped Remus out a little. "Like an itty-bitty dog afraid of thunder, hm?" Peeves snapped his fingers, and a crack of thunder echoed down the corridor. Even though it hadn't been very loud, Remus nearly jumped out of his skin. Peter was patting Remus' back a little reassuringly, but it didn't help.

Sirius and James looked absolutely livid, even though they couldn't have caught the subtext behind the "dog" joke. "You're a git, Peeves," said Sirius. "And you're going to get us caught!"

"Aw, his face is all serious," said Peeves. "Serious Sirius. What makes you think I don't want you to get caught?" He turned his face to the corridor and cupped his hands around his mouth. "STUDENTS OUT OF..."

Remus thought fast. He remembered the Poltergeist they'd kept at home—has father had managed to keep it under control, to a point (sort of). What had he done?

He'd kept the poltergeist under control by playing its own game... by annoying it as it had annoyed them. Poltergeists hated being beaten at their own game. But what spell annoyed a poltergeist? How could Remus tease Peeves with his own tricks? Was there a... werewolf-related trick he could play? What about...?

Remus wasn't sure if it would work, but it was the only thing he could come up with at present. "Docaudam!" he cried, pointing his wand at Peeves. He'd used this hex on his trunk the summer before last, and it was a lot easier to do it on an actual item than to trigger an item to perform it later on.

Suddenly, a long, furry tail sprouted from Peeves' behind. Peeves shrieked and stopped mid-sentence. He whirled around, gave Remus (whose wand was still outstretched) a furious look, and then flew away in the blink of an eye.

The corridor was silent once again, and Remus exhaled.

"Woah!" said Sirius. "That was brilliant! Where'd you learn that?"

"We had a poltergeist at our house once," said Remus, shrugging. He was trying to act nonchalant, but it was very difficult after his friends had seen him panicking and clinging to Peter. "It was only around for two days—Mum made Dad get rid of it because it was horribly annoying—but I learned a few tricks. You have to beat it at its own game. If you annoy it worse than it can annoy you, it'll leave you alone. I just gave Peeves a... well, a tail like a dog, because of his comment. Ergo, I annoyed him back, and won. Poltergeists generally don't like to lose, so he's probably sulking somewhere. Perhaps I should have used Silencio... but that was the only thing I could think of."

"That's so cool," said James. He shook his head in wonder and then started to look a little guilty. "I'm sorry Peeves treated you like that. I should have seen that coming. We should have worn the Cloak."

"What?" said Remus. "How could you possibly have seen that coming?"

"No, I should have seen it coming," said Sirius, "because I know."

"Know... what?"

"That you're all small and pitiful and fragile. Of course he'd come after you."

Remus gave a cry of anger and punched Sirius' arm. "I am not fragile! I just don't like loud noises."

"Doesn't mean you're a dog or anything, though," James mumbled. "What Peeves said wasn't nice at all."

"That was nothing! There are worse things than being called a dog! He hardly did anything. I was just caught off-guard."

"Yeah," said Peter helpfully. "Dogs are kinda cute. I like dogs. I wouldn't mind if Remus was a dog."

"Shut up, Pettigrew," said Sirius with far more force than usual. "Just shut up. Remus is just like the rest of us. Most of the time."

Remus froze. "What do you mean?"

Sirius paused, evidently thinking hard. "Well," he started, "sometimes, he's just all around better than us. Good marks. Does his homework. Responsible."

"Responsible," mused Remus. He was thoroughly relieved that Sirius didn't seem to know anything. "Yet here I am, sneaking to the Forbidden Forest in the middle of the night. Come on, let's go already. It might rain soon, and I don't want to get caught in it."

"Fragile," Sirius teased.

"Remus isn't fragile," said James.

There was dead silence.

"Who are you and what have you done with James Potter?" said Remus. "The old James Potter would have never passed up an opportunity to tease me about my supposed fragility."

"Well, that's the last time I ever try to be nice," said James, grinning. "But really. I tease you, but you're not fragile, mate. You're not used to people, you have a lot going on... at home and stuff, I mean... but you're still perfectly normal and nice to everybody. You're a good person. Most wouldn't be, if they were as stressed as you are. I don't mean to get all sappy on you, but..."

Remus wanted to tease James for being sappy, but he found that he couldn't really speak. His throat had more or less closed up. James thought he was normal and nice. James thought he was a good person. James liked him. And James Potter was always right, wasn't he? Remus had been trying so hard to keep his secret, and it had paid off. James saw something good in him, and he saw something good without knowing the full story. This wasn't out of pity. It wasn't like Remus' parents telling him that he was good and kind and just like humans... it wasn't even like Professor Questus, who told the truth but was still biased... no, James was a normal human who genuinely couldn't tell the difference between a werewolf and the rest of his friends.

Remus hit James a little, not trusting himself to speak, and James hit Remus back (a little lightly, like he was afraid that Remus would break, but Remus was ultimately okay with that).

That night, as Remus ran around in the Forbidden Forest with his friends, he was perfectly happy. For a full minute and a half, he completely forgot that he was a werewolf.

That was another record!

Dear Professor Questus,

I definitely wasn't out in the corridors with my friends last night after hours. I definitely wasn't sneaking out to the Forbidden Forest. I definitely didn't help them decorate and charm the suits of armor. I didn't break any rules last night whatsoever.

But if I HAD, then I would have possibly encountered Peeves. And poltergeists are clever, so maybe he would have imitated a wolf's howl in a way that wasn't obvious to my friends, but was very obvious to me. And perhaps he would have made a subtle werewolf joke, which would have led me to believe that he knew about me.

So... does he? And is he sworn to secrecy?

—R. J. Lupin

P.S. Remind me to tell you exactly what I did to Peeves (well, what I would have done if I had encountered him) next full moon when I have time to write about it in detail.

Lupin—

Yes, he knows. The ghosts tend to listen in on staff meetings, so all of them have been briefed just in case. It's safer that everyone at high risk of finding out knows. That way, everyone understands that it's a secret, that it must not be told or implied, and that Dumbledore trusts you and supports your attending. Otherwise, a ghost or staff member may spread the information upon finding out rather than going directly to Dumbledore (which is what your friends may do if they find out, so tread carefully).

I don't, however, trust Peeves. You said that it wasn't obvious that he was mocking your lycanthropy, but I think that's wishful thinking more than rational analysis. I would even go so far as to suggest that you keep your distance from him and stop sneaking out of the castle (I wouldn't be making this suggestion if it weren't for Peeves, by the way. Goodness knows I snuck out plenty as a kid, and I've served countless hours in detention because of it).

Peeves seems to be afraid of you, at least a little, since he didn't come find you at all in your first year. And that's a good thing, Lupin. I know you don't like being feared, but sometimes it can be a very good thing indeed. Feel free to use that to your advantage whenever possible.

Please be careful. You need to stay at that school as long as possible. I cannot stress the importance of keeping your friends, keeping your education, and keeping your mental sanity for the maximum amount of time. You don't want to end up like me, do you? I'm incredibly bored, and I'm sure you don't want to waste away at home like I'm currently doing.

Your mother is still tacking all the letters you send her to the wall, and they've started to spill all the way into the kitchen. Don't be surprised when you come back (whenever that may be). And fair warning: the cat ripped a hole in one of the pillows. Fortunately, your mother turned the pillow upside-down—it's like it was never there.

There's nothing to do around here but feed the cat, read the Prophet, take naps, and tease your parents... so please write again soon.

I hate asking favors from a twelve-year-old.

—J. Questus (not Professor)

Chapter Text

"You lot are being oddly nice to me," said Remus one night in the dormitory. "It's really weird. Someone care to tell me why?"

There was silence as Remus' friends looked at each other awkwardly.

And then... Sirius started to laugh.

"You really think we were being nice to you?" said Sirius, now laughing quite hysterically.

James nodded his agreement; he was smiling, too. "Of course we weren't being nice! We were only acting nice because we were terrified of you... because we found out that you're a werewolf!"

Remus stared at them in horror. "What?" he said.

"We found out!" James ran his hand through his hair, grinning. "We just didn't want to tell you yet. We were scared. But we've just reported you to the Ministry, and now this whole mess will be over..."

Remus looked out the window; a full moon hung in the sky. "This is another nightmare, isn't it?" mumbled Remus. "So I can do whatever I want. Don't transform, don't transform, don't transform..."

It didn't work.

Remus woke up and promptly noticed that every inch of his body was in pain. Due to tonight's full moon, he was more sore than the normal aches that he got from after nightmares (during particularly awful nightmares, he often tensed his muscles to the point that he was sore afterwards), and it was terrible. Remus groaned quietly and ran both hands through his hair, mussing it thoroughly. He felt awful.

He checked his watch. Three am. That was unfortunate; he usually had at least another hour and a half before he woke up on full moon mornings.

Remus swung his legs over the side of the bed and rested his forehead in his hands. His head felt like jelly, and his bones felt like hot iron rods beneath his skin. Everything hurt—everything. Just as he was getting up the courage to try to walk on his burning legs, he heard James get out of bed.

Well, fiddlesticks.

"Remus? All right there?" The floor creaked as James walked closer to Remus' bed. Without permission, James pulled back Remus' curtains the rest of the way and sat beside him. Remus stiffened. He was very uncomfortable being so close to his friend when he was feeling like this. There were certain people who were allowed to see Remus when he was poorly, and James Potter was not one of them. Well, except for that time Remus had cut up his leg in the Forbidden Forest... but that had been an entirely different situation.

"Fine," said Remus. "I'm ill."

He'd used that excuse quite recently, so he really didn't want to use it again... but he was sure that he looked terrible, so he had no choice.

"It's the full moon, too," James mused, and Remus bit his tongue in horror. "So your dad's probably away keeping the werewolves under control."

Remus squeezed his eyes shut—that had been a close one. "Er... yeah. Yeah. I have to go home to help Mum out, but I'm not sure what to do since I'm ill."

"Have your dad hire a private Healer later," said James. "You know, for your mum. I'll take you to the Hospital Wing, and you can spend the day there—or the next few days, if you need to. Dunno when you'll be... feeling better."

"I don't think Madam Pomfrey's up yet," Remus mumbled. "Maybe I'll go back to sleep." He scooted to the side a bit, and a wave of pain washed over him. He drew in a sharp breath, and James gave him a very concerned look.

"That's not a great idea, mate. You're obviously in pain. You'll never get to sleep."

"Yeah... my head hurts from... lack of oxygen... the blood disease, you know..."

James held up a hand. "You don't have to explain yourself if you don't want to. Let me help you get to the common room, and we can talk there. I'll start up a fire. You're shivering."

"I'm not... it's the... fever... from the illness..."

"I believe you. Here." James stood up and held out a hand, and Remus took it hesitantly. Gently, James hauled Remus to his feet, and Remus tried to ignore the stabbing pains in his feet and legs and arms and head and... well, everywhere else. "Must be a pretty nasty illness," James said cheerfully. "I didn't know you went through this every month."

Remus panicked and toppled over, and James caught him expertly with Quidditch reflexes. Remus hissed as his arm was yanked backwards in the uncomfortable hold. "James, that hurt. You should have just let me fall," he grouched.

"And wake up Sirius and Pete? No way. I think that—"

"What do you mean 'every month'?" Remus interrupted, still panicked. His whisper was getting loud, so he lowered his voice for fear of waking his friends up. "I don't get sick every month. Only some months. Some weeks, I mean. It's not regular. It's probably triggered by pollen, Mum thinks. Perhaps—"

"Calm down," said James. "I'm not asking any more questions, remember? You don't need to share all that. I don't care what you have. I only noticed that it seemed to be around every month, with some irregularities..."

"You've been keeping track?" said Remus, trying for a casual tone. He failed miserably, but hopefully James hadn't noticed.

James shushed him and ushered him out of the room. It hurt to take steps, but Remus gritted his teeth and soldiered on all the way to the common room. "I'm not keeping track," said James, helping Remus onto an armchair by the fire. Remus looked away. He knew he probably looked terrible, and the dimly-lit common room didn't keep him as hidden as the darkness of the dormitory did. "It doesn't make sense that it's every month, anyhow. You visit your mum on full moons, and you have to be perfectly well when you do that, hm? But you're ill now. So it's not perfectly regular."

Remus nodded fervently. "Yeah. Yeah, that's right. I do. It is. Which is why I'm staying at the castle today... yeah. James, you should go back to sleep. I'll be fine. I'll go to the Hospital Wing in a few hours... maybe I'll just read a bit for now."

"I'm not tired," said James, shrugging. "I'm a creature of the night. I don't need sleep."

"Well," said Remus. "I'm not a creature of the night, and I do need sleep." The second part was true.

James put a hand over his mouth to stifle his laughter, which seemed like a little much for such a stupid joke. He'd done that last time Remus had made a joke like that, too. "Shut up, Remus. You're not going to sleep. You're ill. Here, let's just talk. Let's talk about the statue prank! That was funny."

"I'm not..." Remus murmured. "Are you sure you're okay with this? Seeing me ill? I know it's disconcerting." His throat was scratchy, and it hurt a bit to talk.

"S'nothing," said James. "Hey, I've got an idea! Let's write to John!"

Remus blinked, bewildered. "Questus?"

"Yeah! You write to him a bunch. Ooh, what if we write it in the notebook? Then we can rip out the page when we're done. Both of us can write at the same time."

Indeed, James had bought the Marauders enchanted notebooks last year—using their code names (which were terribly stupid and not likely to stick), the four of them were able to write to each other instantly. The notebooks were linked in the sense that anything written on one page would appear on the other notebooks as well, which was quite convenient. And also (in this case) a little stupid.

"That's a stupid idea," said Remus.

"I live for stupid ideas," announced James. "Come on, Remus, it'll be fun."

"Didn't bring my notebook."

"I'll get it! It's in your bag, right? The brown one that you bring to visit your mum?"

"Yes... would you get Bufo, too? And his pillow? I might have to stay the night—"

"In the Hospital Wing, yeah. Okay. Back in a flash!"

Remus watched James go, and then he leaned back and exhaled.

He felt awful. This was much worse than normal. And James was obviously close to the truth... was it time for Remus to go home? Should he leave now, before they found out? Should he minimize casualties?

Alas. He knew it was the responsible thing to do... but he didn't think he could bear it. His friends, it seemed, had made Remus a much less responsible person.

He'd be fine for a few more weeks, right?

He closed his eyes and sighed, letting the quiet of the common room wash over him like a waterfall. In the distance, James' footsteps grew louder and louder; soon, he was clomping down the stairs with Remus' things in hand. Remus opened one eye and watched as James plopped Remus' bag in his lap. Remus flinched slightly as it touched his sore muscles.

James looked absolutely distraught. "Oops, sorry! I'm so sorry, Remus! Did I hurt you?"

"No. You don't have to treat me like this, you know—like I'm going to fall apart at any minute. I've been ill like this before. I can deal with it. I'll be fine."

"That doesn't mean I want to hurt you," James said dismissively.

"But—"

Remus wanted to argue, but it was too late; the moment had gone, and James Potter had moved on already. "You can still write, yeah, Remus? You're all shaky."

"I can write," Remus affirmed.

"Good. You start."

Remus rolled his eyes and pressed the nib of his quill to the paper. His handwriting was a little shaky, but he knew Questus wouldn't really care—his own was just as bad on occasion.

Dear Professor Questus,

It's three am, and I'm in the common room with James Potter

Remus stopped writing and watched James' messy scrawl take up the next bit of parchment.

As if you know any other Jameses.

"That's actually pretty cool," Remus murmured. He continued writing.

I don't, but Professor Questus might. There are probably other Jameses (is that the plural?) in this school, you know.

Not as good as me! I'm the best James. The Jamesiest. The James to end all Jameses.

Maybe the plural is "Jami"? Anyway, I'm in the common room with James. I'm feeling ill again, and James thinks it's funny to annoy me when I'm ill

I'm not annoying you!

James, you annoy me with your very existence. As I was TRYING to say, we're here together and James wanted to write to you. I'm not sure what he wants to write to you about.

Dunno. Remus just seems like he likes writing stuff down. You wouldn't believe how much time he spends doing schoolwork—the sheer amount of pages of notes he takes in class is ridiculous.

The sheer lack of notes you take in class is ridiculous.

Well, people who have brilliant memories like mine don't need to take notes. Anyway. What do you usually write to John about?

Usually, we just discuss how annoying you are. Professor Questus doesn't think you're very good at Quidditch. We were going to take a bet about who was going to make the team this year, but it's pretty hard to work out the logistics since we're both betting against you...

James made a sort of furious scribble.

Kidding, kidding, wrote Remus. His whole chest ached with silent laughter—and with the shadow of the impending transformation, but Remus didn't need to worry about that right now. Come on, James. Writing this letter was your suggestion in the first place. If you don't want to write about your Quidditch skills, then what do you want to discuss?

I DO want to discuss my Quidditch skills. I just don't want to discuss them with YOU. What about the statues the other night? Let's talk about those. Wait... is John gonna write to Albus Percival Wulfric Brian if we tell him that we were _ _ _?

I assume you're trying to write "out after curfew"? Or "breaking the rules"? Or "doing a prank"? No. I hope not. Even if he does, then Professor Dumbledore will probably let me off the hook if I tell him that you coerced me into it—so you don't have to worry about ME. Don't worry, I won't feel a bit guilty if I pin all the blame on you.

You git. Anyway, we were out after curfew, and we were decorating the suits of armor to look like the teachers! The staff, really. We made one into Rubeus and one into Argus. And we used the Colovaria Charm and some Transfiguration to make them really look realistic, and then I used a spell that made them say things that were. What's the word? In-character. The Minerva statue had a little bun... and there was a Mrs. Norris statue... and we didn't know what Kirsten Craff looked like, but Remus did and he helped. Only he gave her a moustache, I think.

Remus watched James' handwriting materialize and relaxed—it was more tiring to write than Remus cared to admit. Why was he so tired and sore this month? Perhaps it was just because he'd been stressed lately. Nevertheless, he was glad James was taking over and writing paragraphs so that Remus did not have to.

...So then we decided to go to the Forbidden Forest, but we saw Peeves, and he was yelling a lot. Then Remus made him grow a TAIL and he flew away, and then we duelled in the Forest (I won).

Remus rolled his eyes. Only because Sirius physically tackled me, James. I have no upper OR lower body strength, so I was at a severe disadvantage.

Pish-posh. Anyway, the next day was magnificent chaos. People were talking to the statues and the statues were talking back. It was soooo funny. Someone walked up to the Pensley statue and asked what she thought about the whole thing, and the statue said, "It's so creative! Brilliant! Phenomenal!" It was spot-on. And Statue-Albus kept offering people sweets and crumpets. And statue-Rubeus had the same accent, and statue-Minerva kept telling people to go to class. Filius managed to get rid of all of our spells while we were still in first period, BUT the prank still served its purpose. And Sirius got a photograph of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian talking to statue-Albus-Percival-Wulfric-Brian! We even got him to sign it. Real Dumbledore, that is. Not statue-Dumbledore.

He's not exaggerating, Professor, Remus wrote. The school was in an uproar. People were talking about it all day.

Wish you still worked here. I'd've made a great statue for you. Never mind, I DON'T wish you still worked here. It's not worth it—Sirius and I HATED you (no offense). Oh, and the Mrs. Norris statue had ears and meowed! And hissed, mostly. Remus! How did your meditation with Pensley go? You had one only a few days ago, didn't you? It was a little bit shorter this time.

I don't want to talk about it. It was the same as last time, only she was all dejected this time because she thought it'd be "working better".

She's so funny.

She's not funny.

Remus' hands were shaking now from the pain and fatigue—not as severely as they did directly before the full moon, but enough to greatly impact his handwriting. James, apparently, noticed.

We've been writing for a long time now and my hand is getting tired. Remus and I should probably stop. He needs to go to the Hospital Wing—we're just waiting in here because he woke up at THREE AM. Anyway. I'd say "see you soon!", but I'll probably never see you again. Bye!

"How should I sign it?" asked James. "D'you want me to sign your name for you, too?"

"Of course not," said Remus, a bit embarrassed to be fussed over by his friend. "I'm capable of writing my own name, James."

"I know, but your handwriting is..."

"Perfectly normal, thank you very much."

"Oh." James fell silent for a minute, examining Remus' very-shaky-and-definitely-not-normal handwriting. "How do you usually sign it?" he asked. "First name only? Feels weird to be writing to a teacher."

"I usually sign 'R.J. Lupin' since he doesn't like first names much. He's never used my first name, so it feels weird to be signing with it. But I use initials because he knows the rest of my family, too."

"Well, I'm not using my middle initial," said James.

Remus almost laughed. James Potter harbored an intense hatred of his middle name, and it had been a well-kept secret for as long as Remus had known him. "I knew you didn't like your first name," said Remus, "but really? The mere first letter is so offending that you won't use it?"

"I just don't want to give you any clues!"

"Fine, fine," said Remus, laughing. It hurt his chest a little, but he ignored it. "Here, you sign first."

J. Potter
and
R. Lupin.

"There, nice and uniform," said Remus. "Do you actually want me to send it, or...?"

"Of course I want you to send it! We wrote it, didn't we? There's nothing else to do with it besides send it."

Remus carefully ripped the pages out of the notebook, and the pages fell out of James' notebook, too. "Cool," said James, picking up the pages and examining the jagged edges. "I love this thing."

Remus smiled, folded the pages, and stuck them in his bag. "What do we do now?" he said, and his was voice alarmingly hoarse. He didn't usually talk this much the morning of the full moon.

"Well," said James. "We can talk. It's still super early, and no one's listening. If there's anything you want to tell me, feel free. Any dark secrets? Secret fears? Tragic pasts?"

Remus pursed his lips. "I thought you had stopped pushing for answers."

He wondered, vaguely, if James was merely pretending to be nice so that he could coax the truth out of Remus. That was what Questus had suggested, after all, and James was certainly clever enough to know that one caught more flies with honey than with vinegar... oh, Remus was beginning to get a stomachache.

"I have!" protested James. "I'm not pushing for answers, Remus! I just... sometimes it helps, to talk, and I want you to know that... you can talk to me if you ever need to. I don't judge. Ever. No matter what it is, you're still my friend."

"What makes you think I have secrets in the first place?" asked Remus, more panicked by the second.

"I don't! You just don't like to talk about things, but it helps, I promise!"

Remus sighed and played with the cuff of his pajama sleeve. "I'm not hiding anything, James, and I don't want to talk."

"Okay. I just thought you should know, since you're pretty frequently embarrassed. I thought a lot of awful things about you when I was trying to figure out your secret—and I know you don't have a secret, fine, but you have to admit you were very suspicious, mate—really, though, I don't care if your home life is all complicated. I don't care if your mum is a werewolf. I don't care if you're a werewolf, even. Or a vampire. Or a Pygmy Puff. And I don't care if you're secretly one of those Death Eater terrorists or the Queen of England or an Animagus. I don't care if you're a pirate or a Fairy or a..."

He kept pattering on, but Remus wasn't listening. His blood felt as if it had frozen in his veins. I don't care if you're a werewolf. I don't care if you're a werewolf...

"James?" he said in a low voice, once his throat had stopped constricting, and James stopped talking and looked at him eagerly. "Are those... all things that you've considered?"

"'Course not!" said James. "Being a pirate or a Fairy or a werewolf or a vampire is ridiculous, hm? I'm just joking."

"Yes," said Remus. He felt like he was going to trip over his words and end up flat on his face at any minute. "Yes. It is. They are."

"But I really don't care. I don't care who you are, and I don't care about your background or anything of the sort. I know you, and I know you're a good person, no matter what..."

You will, Remus thought. You will care. You'll find out, and you'll hate me, and you'll abandon me or try to kill me and I'll have to leave. It's easy to say all that now, but when you know, you won't believe it anymore.

"Of course I'm a good person," said Remus. "I don't understand why you'd think any differently. Besides, you've said all that before, and it's getting a little annoying and repetitive. James, I'm feeling... I mean, would you...?"

"Hospital Wing?" said James. "Of course. C'mere, I'll help you up. You have Bufo, right? Need help carrying anything?"

"I don't need help," said Remus, forcing himself to stand. The world spun, but he didn't faint. "I can walk there on my own. But thanks for the offer."

"Sorry, mate, but it's pretty obvious that you need help. I'll walk with you."

"No."

"Yes!"

"No. I'll walk on my own. Go back to sleep. Thanks... for whatever this is, James. But I don't like being fussed over; really I don't."

James rolled his eyes and ruffled his hair again. "You're so stubborn, mate."

"That's me," said Remus, smiling faintly. He took a few steps towards the door, trying to walk as normally as possible. "See? Fine. Go back to bed."

Remus walked off, pretending that he wasn't in debilitating pain.

He still had a stomachache.

"Madam Pomfrey," he said. His voice was a bit croaky; he didn't usually talk so much on the day of the full moon.

He heard scuffling noises coming from the inside of the Hospital Wing and immediately felt guilty for waking her up. She opened the door, fixing her mussed hair and rubbing her eyes. Yeah, he'd definitely woken her up.

"Mr. Lupin!" she said, and her voice was a bit croaky, too. "You're quite early today. We usually have until half four at the earliest. Come in, come in..."

"I'm so sorry for waking you up, Madam Pomfrey."

"Oh, it's no issue. None at all. You look terrible."

"I know." Remus walked through the main ward and sat on his bed, tremors running through his fingers. He rested his hand on the bedsheet and watched his fingers jump around, unbidden, like Bufo when he was particularly excited. "I really am sorry for waking you," he said softly.

Madam Pomfrey dropped a cap in the jar. "Stop apologizing. This is my job. Do you think you're in for a particularly rough one, then?"

"S'hard to tell," Remus murmured. "Sometimes I feel awful, but then the moon isn't all that bad. It's unpredictable, unfortunately."

"Can you sleep?"

"I... I don't think so." He took off his shoes, placed Bufo and his pillow on the nightstand, and then burrowed under the bedsheets. "I'm shaky and I hurt all over," he complained.

"Sleeping Draught?" offered Madam Pomfrey.

"Yes, please, Madam," said Remus with a grateful sigh, and he drank the concoction eagerly before immediately collapsing into a blissful slumber.

James Potter was going to be the death of him, but Remus figured it wouldn't be a terrible way to die.

Chapter Text

Remus woke up from his very relaxing nap, smelled scented candles, and was suddenly no longer relaxed. "Madam Pomfrey," he groaned.

She was by his bedside in seconds. "Yes?"

"Pensley is here. She's standing outside the Hospital Wing. Why the heck would she be here?"

"Not Pensley; Professor Janice," Madam Pomfrey corrected. "And I've no idea. How long do you think she's been out there?"

"Not long enough. You should let her stand there for a few more minutes. Hours. Days. Months."

Madam Pomfrey rolled her eyes. "Don't be rude. But thank you for telling me. She doesn't like to knock; I might never have known she was there."

"Wish I hadn't told you, then," muttered Remus. "Don't let her in, okay? Even if she wants to see me. Especially if she wants to see me."

"You're not the gatekeeper, Mr. Lupin," said Madam Pomfrey loftily. "I may let in whomever I wish. Now close your eyes and try to sleep without the Draught."

Remus closed his eyes, but he listened carefully nonetheless as Madam Pomfrey left her office and opened the door to the main ward. Immediately, the scent of candles reached a crescendo, and Remus nearly choked.

"Poppy!" came Pensley's infuriating voice, squeaky and stupid as nails on a chalkboard. "I was wondering if you have Remus Lupin with you."

"I do," said Madam Pomfrey, and Remus suppressed another groan. "He's always here on the day of the full moon," she added, and Remus lost the battle. He doubted, however, that human hearing was good enough to hear his groans of annoyance all the way from the main ward. What if Pensley decided to visit every full moon? Remus would just die.

"Good, good!" said Pensley, even though nothing was good about the situation in the slightest. "May I speak with him?"

"It's seven am, Janice. I'm trying to get him to sleep."

Pensley's airy voice reached an octave that Remus didn't think possible. "Oh! He's awake, then?"

"We're not accepting visitors right now."

"The full moon is tonight, correct?"

How dumb could this woman be? She had only just met with Remus a while ago for the stupid meditation exercises, so she had to know it was today—and besides, Madam Pomfrey had just mentioned it! Remus squeezed his eyes shut until sparks appeared behind his lids. In through his nose. Out through his mouth.

"...Yes, Janice, the full moon is today."

"Better I see him now than tonight, then!" tinkled Pensley.

How dare she? How dare she make a joke about such a sensitive topic? It didn't matter that Professor Questus did it all the time. It didn't matter that Remus actually appreciated a well-placed lycanthropy joke because it made him feel a little more human. It didn't matter! Pensley didn't know Remus, and she had no right!

In through his nose. Out through his mouth.

"If it's really that important," said Madam Pomfrey, "then you may speak with him for five minutes only."

No no no no no no no. Minime. Dim. Non. Nein. No. Remus couldn't think of any more languages to say "no" in.

Despite his multi-lingual protests, Pensley entered his room. Artificial candle-smell emanated from her every pore, and Remus nearly gagged as he sat up and pulled the top of his left sleeve up to his neck nervously. "Professor, I'm very tired," he pleaded. "I'm not up for visitors."

Pensley promptly did what she did best and ignored Remus' pleas. "My meditation failed again, didn't it? Oh, that's such a shame!" She was wearing a very matted and scraggly scarf that reminded Remus of a dead ferret. That was an odd fashion statement. "You can't have been doing the meditation correctly, then. Were you relaxed the whole time?"

"I did it just as you asked, but meditation won't cure lycanthropy. I've been telling you that for months."

"Meditation cures everything! I think the problem is that your innermost soul has become stuck somewhere—have you been getting headaches? Fatigue? Pallor? That's a sign of a trapped soul."

"No, those are the symptoms of lycanthropy," Remus muttered, but it wasn't loud enough for Pensley to hear.

"What was that?"

"My soul isn't trapped," said Remus. "But I'm glad you think that werewolves have souls; that's more than most people can say."

"Remus!" said Madam Pomfrey, poking her head into her office. "Don't talk like that!"

Professor Questus would have laughed, Remus thought sourly, and he had to stop himself from sticking his tongue out at Madam Pomfrey as she left. With difficulty, he donned his most polite voice. "With all due respect, Professor Pensley..." he started.

"It's Professor Janice today, Remus!" she tinkled, and Remus' polite exterior evaporated in mere yoctoseconds. "I only wanted to discuss your last Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. Professor Dumbledore told me that he visited you a lot in the Hospital Wing after the full moons to catch you up and give you notes."

"Yeah, he did. Every month."

"Well, here I am!" she said, doing a little flourish. Her very wispy hair flew about in the breeze a bit.

"Here you are to...?" Remus had a very, very bad feeling.

"I want to help! It's my first year teaching, and I very much want to be a good professor. So here I am to give you notes and help you with the lesson!"

Madam Pomfrey poked her head in the doorway again. Remus gave her a pleading look, and she said the blessed eight words: "It's been well over five minutes, Professor Janice."

"Oh, I'm going to need more time than that," said Pensley, her hair still flying about. "Remus is missing today's lesson, so I'm going to go over it with him! It'll be fun! A little bit of private tutoring, if you will!"

Remus groaned for the umpteenth time that day. "Professor! You've got to be kidding!"

"Slow down, Remus," said Madam Pomfrey with a frown. "Has anyone explained your condition to Professor Janice? She hasn't done any research, so she doesn't know nearly as much as Questus or I."

"I..." Remus spluttered. "I... okay. Look, Professor, I appreciate the sentiment—I really do. But Professor Questus always came one or two days after the full moon to catch me up. I'm afraid that I'm very ill right now, and I won't be well tomorrow, either... I don't have the patience or energy to learn a lesson. I really need to sleep; that's why I'm in the Hospital Wing in the first place. If I were feeling well enough to learn, I'd be in class, wouldn't I? And besides, we don't really do..." He fumbled with the words, trying to find the least offensive way of wording it. The problem was, he kind of wanted to offend her, so he was in a bit of a pickle. "We don't really do... Defense-related, cumulative things in class, anyway. So I can do with missing lessons, can't I?"

Pensley sighed, and the air tickled Remus' nose a bit. Her breath smelt of stevia leaves and peaches, and he wrinkled his nose. "Oh, Henry," she said sorrowfully. "I don't think you understand at all. You're very bright, but you don't understand at all."

In through his nose. Out through his mouth. In through his nose.

"Defense Against the Dark Arts has two phrases in it. First, 'Defense Against the Dark'. Second... 'art'. There is art in the craft of defending oneself. To defend yourself against the Dark, you must first know how to defend yourself against the infinitely darker forces of inner demons. Guilt. Fear. Anger. To defend yourself, you must first know yourself. Nosce me ipsum!"

"Nosce te ipsum," muttered Remus. "You just said 'know myself'. I think you mean 'know thyself'."

"See? You know lots of things, but you don't know yourself—who you are on the inside! My activities are not silly, contrary to some people's beliefs. They are designed to guide you; to help you take a deep look at yourself. After all, you can't defend yourself if you don't know what you're defending! You need a clear goal in mind of what exactly you are preserving. Otherwise, fighting is futile."

"I do know myself, Professor."

"Really? Who are you, then?"

Remus felt an Incoming-Cheekiness-Alert go off in his brain, but he did not suppress it. "I'm a Dark and dangerous creature classified as XXXXX by the Ministry. I'm not human, I could kill you in a few seconds flat, and I fantasize about murdering my friends and family when the moon is full. I'm completely evil, 100% Dark, and a product of the very magic against which we are learning to defend ourselves. I'm despised by society and will most likely be homeless and alone when I'm of age. I'm a werewolf." He stopped and smiled at Pensley's horrified face, and then he pensively added, "I also like to read."

Pensley's mouth opened, and she looked quite comical. Remus leaned back into his pillow. He was just about to ask her to leave when Madam Pomfrey stormed in. "You're dismissed, Professor Janice."

Pensley nodded and was gone in a few seconds flat. Remus, on the other hand, stared guiltily at Madam Pomfrey. "Er... what did you hear?" he asked.

"I was listening the whole time, Remus! You don't—how could you—why...?"

"I wanted to get her to listen," said Remus. "It works with my parents. Mentioning my own inhumanity is often quite the attention-grabber."

"Professor Janice wanted to help! Shocking her like that isn't okay! And it isn't okay with your parents, either... oh, your poor mother. You're in an awful mood today, Remus."

"That's why I asked you not to let Pensley in! The full moon is tonight, Madam Pomfrey! I'm tired, I'm ill, I'm sore, I just woke up, I have no patience, and I'm cross with everyone and everything!"

"I refuse to believe that you can't control yourself," said Madam Pomfrey, and she sounded just as cross as Remus felt (which was quite the feat indeed, because Remus was unbelievably cross). "You're usually outstanding at controlling your emotions. I know how hard it is for you, but you usually restrain yourself. You aren't trying, and it's uncharacteristic for you. Last time you lost your temper, you were completely inconsolable, you asked me not to touch you, and you were utterly brimming with guilt and regret—what changed?"

"I don't know! She just gets on my nerves! I really, really don't like her! And I didn't—I didn't lose my temper, per se. It was under control. I didn't shout or throw things or throttle her..." He frowned. "I wanted to, sort of. But I didn't!"

"No, you just made her feel guilty about coming to help you, used language that you know I don't abide to shock her into leaving, made about a hundred sarcastic comments, were scowling the entire time, and were overall not very grateful that she's making an honest attempt to help you!"

"You don't understand!" cried Remus. "You can't understand! No one understands! In this entire school full of students and teachers, no one understands! I'm completely alone, I don't know how to deal with these things, and I hate this! My life is just full of people making wild guesses as to how they can help me! Professor Dumbledore, Mum, Dad... even Professor Questus...! No one knows what it's like, so I don't see how you can reprimand me for losing my temper only thirteen hours before I transform into a literal animal!" Remus was legitimately losing his temper now, and he knew it. He froze and forced himself to breathe. In through his nose. Out through his mouth. "Madam Pomfrey... maybe it's best to leave me alone until I can... compose myself."

It had been stupid to mention Questus; Madam Pomfrey looked even angrier at the mere mention of him. "Fine. Yes. Fine. Me too, and I'm not even a werewolf. We'll discuss this later. I'm going to write a letter."

She left, closing the door on her way out, and Remus buried his face into his pillow and tried not to think about anything in particular.

"Remus? Are you asleep?"

"No."

"I didn't think so."

Remus looked up at Madam Pomfrey, and his eyes welled up with tears. "I'm a horrible person," he said. "And I feel really, really ill. I want to go home."

"No, you don't."

"No, I don't. But I don't know what I want anymore. I..." He couldn't get any more words out, probably because he was currently biting his cheeks so hard he tasted blood. Madam Pomfrey sat down beside him, and he moved away. "I'd be more comfortable if you stood over there," he said dully.

"You're twelve, and you're about as strong as a baby bird right now. You couldn't hurt me. I'm not moving." She moved closer to Remus, who inched back a little more. "Remus, you're not a horrible person. You're a very good person who has too many problems for a twelve-year-old to handle."

"I'm sorry!" said Remus. "I'm so sorry! I didn't mean... I only wanted... I don't know what I was thinking."

"You just spent a summer with John Questus. I'm not surprised that you're more blunt about your condition than you used to be."

Remus blinked, and tears fell on his bedsheet. He felt like such a baby, and he knew his friends would be teasing him within an inch of his life if they were around. "I hope Pensley doesn't hate me now," he said, mopping his face with the sleeve of his nightshirt. "I'm sorry."

"She won't."

"It's only—I really don't like her. And I've never disliked anyone before, not really, not like this. I have no reason to dislike her, but I dislike her more than I hated Professor Questus when he held me back after class and lectured me on something I didn't do... or Ragfarn whenever he says something mean to me... or... anyone, really..." Except for Fenrir Greyback, but that was different, and Remus wasn't about to say that in front of Madam Pomfrey. "But Pensley's never done anything to me, so I feel awful about it."

"Wait... did you say Ragfarn? Edmund Ragfarn? He called you a...?"

"Edmund Ragfarn? I don't think so. I think his first name is Dav. He works at the Werewolf Registry."

"Oh," said Madam Pomfrey. "There's a Edmund Ragfarn in Slytherin—he's a first-year. You scared me for a moment. Look, Remus, there's no shame in disliking certain people... as long as you're careful to treat them with respect. You need to pretend to like people, at least. It sounds like a rude thing to do, but it will eventually yield actual results. You know how terrible it is when people like that Dav Ragfarn treat you badly, so please try not to do the same to anyone else."

"I try!" said Remus. "But... but I've never been around someone I didn't like on the full moon! It's hard enough with you, and I actually like you. So it was really hard with Pensley around... and it's not much easier when she makes me meditate with her for hours and hours only a couple of days before the full moon!"

"I know. And I'm sorry for being cross with you, as well as ignoring your request to dismiss visitors immediately. This is partially on me. I'm afraid I'm quite accustomed to the Remus Lupin who's more or less desperate for visitors around the full moon..."

"You, Dumbledore, and Professor Questus are all significantly less infuriating than Pensley."

"I agree with the first two, but not the latter."

Remus almost laughed. "Why do you hate him so much?"

"My point is," said Madam Pomfrey loudly, completely ignoring Remus' question, "you're right—you know a lot more about your psychological state than I do. And I'm afraid you caught me off-guard as well as Professor Janice during your little monologue." She tried to smile, but it didn't reach her eyes. "You don't really believe everything you said, do you?"

"Of course I believe it," said Remus. "It was very objective. All of it was true. Except for... except for maybe the 'completely evil, 100% Dark'. I meant to say 'on the full moon,' but it didn't sound as good. You know. Aesthetically."

Madam Pomfrey shook her head; fortunately, she seemed to be amused rather than angry. "But you were still wrong. All of that isn't who you are."

"It is, Madam Pomfrey."

"You didn't tell the full truth. There's more to you than that."

Remus was silent. "Okay, yeah, maybe, but that wouldn't have been as effective. I figured that rambling about poetry and toads and Boggarts wouldn't carry as much shock value."

Madam Pomfrey laughed a little, and Remus calmed considerably. "No, I suppose not," she agreed.

"I'm really sorry about tomorrow."

"Whatever do you mean? Tomorrow hasn't even happened yet, so you've nothing to apologize for."

"I'm stressed, aren't I? And I've been really ill all day. The full moon is probably going to be awful."

"Then you should be apologizing to yourself. I assure you, Mr. Lupin—healing you is completely painless for me. It only hurts you. Also, I get paid."

"The Hogwarts Library is payment enough for me," chuckled Remus.

"Good, because you're spending at least twenty-five extra minutes with me. You just apologized four times, and you know very well that I don't abide your incessant apologizing in my Hospital Wing."

"Madam Pomfrey!"

Remus slept for the rest of the day, only waking up to drink water (he didn't want to, but Madam Pomfrey insisted). Eventually, Madam Pomfrey told him that it was time to go, and he sighed and changed into his transformation robes. Everything hurt even more than normal, and pain shot through his body every time he moved. He tried to focus on his steps as they walked down to the Willow, because focusing on anything else was sure to drive him insane. Right. Left. Right. Left...

He stumbled; before he could fall, he gripped Madam Pomfrey's Disillusioned shoulder and held himself up. "Madam Pomfrey, I..."

"Shush," she said. She entwined her arm under his so that she could support him more securely. "Almost there."

"Maybe we—we should—should start leaving... earlier."

"Absolutely not."

"I'm s—"

"Don't apologize, or you'll be up to an extra half-hour in the Hospital Wing. Focus on walking."

Remus thought about arguing. Since he wasn't currently inside the Hospital Wing, he was technically allowed to apologize without being fined for it. But he didn't quite have the voice for that, so he only imagined the situation in his head. "Wow, you're right," Madam Pomfrey would say. "Feel free to apologize as much as you want. And guess what? I just got a call from the Minister, and they've found the cure for lycanthropy!"

Okay, she definitely wouldn't say any of that. Remus stopped focusing on impossible fantasies and began to focus on walking. Right, left. Right, left. Right, left.

It felt like ages before they finally arrived in the Shrieking Shack—but at the same time, it felt like no time had passed at all. As soon as they stepped into the Shack, Madam Pomfrey removed the Disillusionment Charms, and Remus collapsed into the armchair, limbs burning angrily. Dumbledore had mended the furniture again. He did that after every full moon—last year, they'd decided that it was far better for Remus to attack the furniture than himself.

Madam Pomfrey gave Remus a look that was permeated with pity, and Remus tried not to cringe. "Let me stay and wait with you a bit, Remus," she said. "There's plenty of time before the moon rises, and I don't want you working yourself into a state."

"No."

"Just for ten minutes so that I can get you situated and make sure you're okay."

"No."

"Five minutes."

"No."

"Two minutes."

"No. Leave. Right now."

She sighed. "Do you have your book?"

"Yes. Now leave."

"Are you—"

"I'm fine, Madam Pomfrey!" The words came out more harshly than he'd intended, and Remus made amends with a very fake smile. "I'm fine, Madam Pomfrey. Please go."

"Very well."

Remus closed his eyes and waited until she was gone, and then he slid out of the armchair and onto the floor, because it wasn't comfortable to transform on furniture. He wouldn't cry this time, though. Not this time. He could do this. Tomorrow morning, he'd be a person again, and then he wouldn't have to worry about any of this for a whole month.

He picked up his book and waited. Outside, the moon rose steadily and ominously, and Remus tried with all his might not to think of it.

Remus opened his eyes blearily and blinked against the sunlight streaming through the slat in the boards. He was numb all over—as he typically was directly after a full moon—but he still tried to sit up before Madam Pomfrey came to fetch him. The first order of business was wiggling his fingers... but they wouldn't move.

They wouldn't move.

He scrunched up his face and tried again. They still wouldn't move. He started to panic. He had to move—he had to remind himself that he was in human form—he had to get situated on two legs—he had to sit up—the nightmare wasn't over until he sat up!

He struggled for a second, and his breath came short and shallow. Come to think of it, he couldn't move at all. Had he even transformed back? He felt like a person—but he couldn't see anything but the ceiling, so he wasn't sure.

No, he was a person! He remembered turning back, so he had to be a person, because he didn't feel like a wolf, and he definitely didn't want to attack anyone—he just wanted to read a book in the Hospital Wing and take a nap. He never wanted to do anything like that as a wolf. So he had to be transformed back, right?

He tried to sit up again; this time, his hand twitched. That was a start. He wiggled his fingers—he couldn't feel them, no, but he doubted they were paws. He put his palms on the floor and pushed himself into a sitting position very, very slowly.

Okay. He was fine. Everything was fine. Wolves couldn't sit up like this, so Remus finally felt like a human once again.

He saw Madam Pomfrey enter and mumbled a greeting. She shook her head, exasperated. "Good morning to you, too, Mr. Lupin, although you really shouldn't be sitting up." With that, she moved his robes aside... and suddenly made a small noise.

"What did I-I d-do?" asked Remus, and his voice was raspier than James' was after a Quidditch match.

When Madam Pomfrey spoke, her voice was harsh in a You're-In-Trouble-Mr.-Lupin sort of way. "Don't speak," she said. "Remus, you shouldn't be sitting up. You really shouldn't. Did you notice this at all?"

"No, I c-can't feel..."

"It was a rhetorical question. Don't speak. You're bleeding rather badly... and..." She waved her wand silently for a few minutes, and seemed to be putting pressure on a wound. Remus didn't feel it.

"Can you k-keep talk... ing?"

"If it helps, but you have to stop talking yourself. You're going to need more Skele-Gro tonight, I'm afraid—your right leg needs to be regrown from scratch. And you tore some muscles, I think. You seem to have... can you move your legs?"

Remus tried. He could not. He tried to shake his head, but that wasn't really working out, either.

"I take that as a 'no'. Probably a spinal cord injury. How on earth did you sit up to begin with? Don't answer that. Are you dizzy? You can just blink twice for yes."

Remus blinked four times.

"Very dizzy, then. Take a deep breath in... and out. That's not very even. I think..." She trailed off again. "Maybe a..." She mumbled a few spells. "All right, then, your spine should be more or less healed. I've completely removed one of the smaller bones in your right leg—too many broken parts. You may walk, but only if you're very careful. And you've only one working leg, so you'll have to lean on me. You've a rather awful gash on your side, but it's mostly sealed up with the Dittany." She stood up and reached out a hand, and Remus took it gratefully. The pain was gradually coming back, and he nearly cried out. "All right, Lupin?"

"Yesssss."

"Good. Let me know if you need to stop; I can always levitate you."

Remus very much did not want to be levitated, so he leaned heavily against Madam Pomfrey and focused on every step, just as he had the night prior. Left... sort-of-right... left... sort-of-right...

"It's not great, Remus," said Madam Pomfrey as they walked. "But it's not awful, either. Certainly not as bad as it could have been. You seem to have relaxed very admirably before the transformation."

"Thanks, I think," said Remus, and his words were alarmingly slurred due to all the blood in his mouth. There was a bit of fur under his tongue, and he spat it out immediately. "How long will I have to stay in the Wing?"

He could almost feel her rolling her eyes. "Too early to tell. Probably three days, at least—more, depending. But it's not as bad as the first December full moon last year, so that's saying something."

"Three days is too much," grumbled Remus. He lost focus on his walking and promptly stumbled—but he managed to catch himself—and he clenched his teeth against the horrible pain. It was positively all-consuming and blinding.

"You are the only person I have ever met that is as injured as you are and still thinking about going back to class," Madam Pomfrey said, shaking her head and tightening her grip around Remus' shoulders. "Now stop talking or I'll Silence you, got it?"

Remus got it.

Chapter Text

"That hurts, Madam Pomfrey."

"Wouldn't hurt so much if you hadn't sat up and ripped the wound open even more."

"Ow ow ow ow ow..."

"Shhh. I know. It'll be over in a few seconds."

Remus gritted his teeth and tried not to make any odd noises as Madam Pomfrey applied more silver and Dittany to the gash on his side. "Ow ow ow ow," he muttered. "Ow."

"There. All done."

"Thank you, Madam Pomfrey. Good night."

Remus turned over to attempt to take a nap despite the pain, but Madam Pomfrey pinched him. He opened his eyes and gave her a dirty look. "Madam Pomfrey! I'm tired!"

"Well, you'll have to catch up on sleep later, because the potion that I gave you just now doesn't work well when one is sleeping. Would you like me to get you a book?"

"No, thank you."

What Remus wanted was to alleviate the crushing burden on his shoulders—the burden of having a secret, the burden of having clever friends, and the burden of being afraid—which was nearly as bad as the physical pain. What Remus wanted was to talk to Professor Questus for a bit about recent events. What Remus wanted was... he was sort of craving an apple, actually, but Madam Pomfrey had just gotten him some toast and he didn't want to be ungrateful. "May we talk for a bit?" he asked, hoping it would at least partially fulfill the first two desires.

Madam Pomfrey nodded curtly. "Of course. I still need to brew a few potions, though, so I'm afraid I can't give you my full attention. And I want you to finish your soup and at least two glasses of water while we're talking."

Remus sort of wanted to be cheeky and point out the fact that he couldn't both eat and talk at the same time, but he didn't. "Sure," he said, picking up the toast and taking a bite.

"Now what did you want to discuss?"

"James is being nice."

"I'm sure he is. You have good friends... when they're not causing trouble, that is."

"They're causing trouble ninety-nine percent of the time, Madam Pomfrey."

"One percent is still better than zero. So what, may I ask, is the problem with James' relative kindness?"

"No, I mean... he's really nice. Really, really nice. So is Sirius, which is even more concerning. They've been nice all month, and it makes me think that something's wrong. That they're suspicious. Or something."

Madam Pomfrey stopped stirring the potion, put down the ladle, and turned around to look Remus in the eyes. She didn't look happy. "You've written to John Questus about this, haven't you?"

"...Yes?"

She sighed, and it was the sort of long-suffering sigh that usually accompanied a biting remark in Professor Questus' direction. "And what did he tell you?" she asked tiredly.

"He said that James isn't the type to let things go, and he's right. He suspects they're trying to get me to tell them the truth, which seems accurate. Then he told me to be cautious."

Madam Pomfrey shook her head. "That ridiculous man. I suppose he's also told you to get rid of them because it's 'too dangerous to have friends'?"

"No, he actually talked me out of it a few times."

"Doesn't change the fact that he doesn't approve of talking to people, of sharing secrets, of getting close to people. He doesn't get close to anybody, that man. Far too cautious, and he's encouraging you to do the same. Terrible influence."

"You aren't suggesting I tell my friends that I'm a werewolf?!" said Remus, horrified. "I can't!"

"You know where I stand. You've known your friends for over a year, and they like you a lot. I think you should: Dumbledore's persuasive, the school is safe, and secrets tear a person up from the inside-out."

"It's an important secret to keep, though! Professor Questus doesn't think they'll let me stay at Hogwarts. Why would they? That's ridiculous. They wouldn't want to room with a werewolf, now would they?"

"I all but room with a werewolf three days a month, and it doesn't bother me," huffed Madam Pomfrey.

"Professor Questus says that..."

Madam Pomfrey's eyes narrowed at the speed of light. "Professor Questus," she said rudely, "is a bitter, hypocritical excuse for a wizard, and I wouldn't take anything he says at face value if I were you."

It took a great deal of effort, but Remus finally worked up the courage to utter the long-awaited question. "Did you something happen between you?" he asked, watching Madam Pomfrey's face carefully the whole time. "You seem angrier with him."

"It's nothing," she snapped. "Not according to him, that is. Nothing at all. Nothing important."

"Then why are you...?"

"Nothing happened whatsoever," she repeated. "It's more about what didn't happen." She looked at Remus closely, seeming to choose her words very carefully. "He is pessimistic, careless, rude, and thoroughly annoying. Most importantly, he's extremely selfish. Let me ask you a question: if you could help someone at your own expense, would you?"

"Er..." said Remus.

"Don't answer that. You already do. Locking yourself up every month, offering uncomfortable information to nearly any staff member who asks, helping your friend Mr. Pettigrew do his schoolwork all hours of the day..." She huffed again, turning back to her potion. "Don't try too hard to protect others' emotions, he says. The Dark Arts wait for no one, he says. It's just a fact of life, he says. You need to talk about it, he says. But, beneath the surface, he's paranoid and cowardly, and I don't want you to absorb any of that whatsoever."

As much as Remus wanted to know more, he could tell that the conversation was going nowhere. "Er," he said again, "I think that maybe a student's here. In the main ward. He's been knocking for twenty seconds."

"Oh! Oh, yes. Thank you." Madam Pomfrey started to hurry out of the room, but then stopped and looked back. "If you'd... keep this conversation between us..."

"'Course," said Remus with a smile. "I didn't understand a single word you just said, anyway."

And he really didn't. But whatever it was, he figured he didn't have to worry about it—after all, he fully trusted Professor Questus' judgement.

The problem was, he trusted Madam Pomfrey, too

Whatever it was, he decided, he'd let them work it out. Secrets were sometimes meant to be kept, and poking his nose in others' business when he had so many of his own seemed hypocritical.

Remus was finally able to take a nap around noon, and he woke up to more water that Madam Pomfrey insisted he drink.

So much water. About seven glasses full, in fact. "Did you drain the Pacific Ocean or something?" he muttered. "I can't drink all this, Madam Pomfrey."

"Tough luck, because you most certainly will. Your parents wrote to you this morning, by the way."

"Thanks," said Remus, taking the letters and flipping through them quickly. "For the letter, I mean. Not for the infinite glasses of water."

"You're welcome. For the water, I mean—not the letter."

Remus rolled his eyes. "Heavens. Mum wrote me another novel. Is the owl dead?"

"The owl has survived," said Madam Pomfrey. "Barely. Now finish your water."

"May I have an apple?"

"An apple?"

"Yeah."

"I didn't know you liked apples."

"I dunno. I just want an apple."

"All right. I'll get you an apple, but you have to finish your water first."

Remus sighed and finished his water, and then he ate his apple.

It was a very good apple.

He woke up from his second nap, ate some applesauce (Madam Pomfrey kept bringing him apples now, and Remus didn't have the heart to tell her that it had been a one-time whim), and then leaned back to go to sleep. Madam Pomfrey put a hand on his shoulder to stop him, and Remus didn't panic, because Madam Pomfrey never touched the wrong shoulder. She was nice like that. "Your friends came right after you fell asleep," she said. "They wanted to see you."

"What did you say?" murmured a half-asleep Remus.

"I told them you weren't accepting visitors. I can't stem the bleeding completely, and it stands out like a sore thumb when you're so pale, so a visit would most certainly raise suspicion. But I figured I should let you know that they really care about you."

"Or they're curious."

"Well, perhaps. But it's supposed to rain sometime soon—James gave up his last few minutes of sunny Quidditch weather to come see you."

Remus was wide-awake now. "Woah," he said, and Madam Pomfrey smiled.

"They care about you and want to make sure you're all right. Is that so hard to believe?"

"Well, yeah. They're preteen boys. They've got other stuff to do, and boys their age aren't known to be caring."

"That's your reasoning, eh? So it's not some more self-deprecating humbug?"

Remus laughed. "No."

"I think that they'll care just as much about you if they ever figure out the truth, Remus."

"No," Remus repeated. "I've seen it firsthand. Remus the Person isn't the same as Remus the Werewolf. No one ever thinks I'm the same person once they find out. And no one ever treats me well once they know."

"I do," said Madam Pomfrey. "Dumbledore does. Your parents do. Hagrid does. Most of Hogwarts' staff does..."

"The teachers at Hogwarts and my parents are the only ones, Madam Pomfrey. There's literally no one else."

She paused. "Really? There must be someone else. A Healer at St. Mungo's? A Ministry worker?"

"Some are less hostile than others. But all of them are either afraid, spiteful, or violent. Why do you think we've had to move so much? We've had this conversation before, Madam Pomfrey—just last month, I'm pretty sure. Even if my friends do think that they want to be friends with a werewolf at first—before the implications have really sunk in—I still have to leave. I can't trust them: they're twelve, they're quite stupid sometimes, and they've no impulse control. And I'd never put that kind of burden on them..."

"Ah, so here's the self-deprecating humbug."

"Self-deprecating, maybe, but it's all true and you know it. I may be an enjoyable, humorous, incredibly clever, kind, amazing, talented, and good-looking burden, but I'm still a burden. Children shouldn't have to deal with this sort of thing."

"Adding adjectives doesn't stop it from being self-deprecating," said Madam Pomfrey, but she was smiling. "And you shoulder the burden just fine."

"I've been trained to do so since I was four. And it's not pleasant. Why would I wish it on anyone else?"

"The knowledge of your lycanthropy in and of itself is not a burden. What, exactly, would they have to do for you once they know you're a werewolf? Would it be anything more than what they already do now? I bet it wouldn't be."

"It doesn't matter. Because they'll hate me. And I hate to do this to them."

Madam Pomfrey sat on his bed and both of her hands on Remus' shoulders. He flinched—and to think that he had just mentally praised her for never touching the wrong one. She stared at him intensely, and he grew uncomfortable.

"Be selfish," she said.

"What?"

"Be selfish."

"But I'll feel bad about it."

"Fine. Feel bad about it. But you still need to be selfish."

"But—"

"Shush. Be. Selfish. They won't mind."

"But I will!"

She shook her head and let go of Remus' shoulders. "You are an odd one, Lupin. Please consider it, though. Dumbledore thinks they'll continue to tolerate your presence, and Dumbledore is hardly ever wrong."

"Everyone's wrong sometimes," said Remus shortly. "I've finished eating. I'm going to do some homework for Pensley."

Madam Pomfrey sighed. "Very well. Do you need anything? You're clear to take a nap now, if you'd like."

"No. I'm just going to read the textbook for a bit. Would you take it away from me if I fall asleep? I don't want to wrinkle the pages."

"Of course."

Remus found a vaguely comfortable position and read about offensive spells until he fell asleep.

Remus had a dream that night of murdering his friends again. He woke up covered in sweat and whimpering, and Madam Pomfrey was at his side in seconds. "Just a dream," she said soothingly, and Remus was reminded of James... which reminded him of the nightmare... which didn't help at all. Suddenly, he felt a vaguely familiar pain in his right leg.

"Back up," he commanded, his heart squeezing uncomfortably. "Lock the—Dumbledore—full moon. Please."

Madam Pomfrey pulled the sheets off of him, and Remus scrambled away. "Stop!"

"You're in the Hospital Wing. The full moon was last night. Everything's fine."

"No... my leg... the..."

"The what?"

"Prickling! Stabbing! But it doesn't hurt... as much... Don't touch me!"

Madam Pomfrey blinked. "The Skele-Gro?"

It all came flooding back. "Oh, the Skele-Gro. Okay. Not a full moon?"

"Not even close."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

"Okay." He sat up with some difficulty and wiped his brow. "Sorry."

"Forgive me for asking," said Madam Pomfrey (after she allowed Remus a few moments of silence to regain his composure, of course), "but does the Skele-Gro... feel like... transforming? I suppose it makes sense, since your bones are essentially... growing...?"

"A little," said Remus, considering, "but it doesn't hurt nearly as much—the Pain-Relieving Potion might be helping a bit, and it's only one bone. It's just... oddly familiar, that's all. So I panicked. But I'm fine now. Going back to sleep." He shut his eyes and leaned back into bed, and it was seven minutes (he counted to four hundred and twenty) before Madam Pomfrey left his side, which he appreciated.

He also heard her drop a cap in the jar on account of his forbidden apology, which he did not appreciate. But alas, the years had proven over and over again that Remus Lupin could not have everything he wanted in life.

The images of Remus' friends, however, would not leave his head. About half an hour later, he sat up and started reading Practical Defense, Year Two. Madam Pomfrey wandered in again and went on the normal tirade about how he needed to sleep and his body needed to repair itself and the last thing he needed was more stress, etc. etc. etc.

"I'm not sleepy," said Remus.

"Is your leg hurting you?"

"No. I told you. It's not at all like a transformation. I barely feel it. I just... don't really want to sleep."

"Because of the nightmare."

Remus was silent.

"Tell me about it." She pulled over a chair and stared him down. "Put the book down and tell me about it, beginning to end."

Remus did not want to, but he knew that Madam Pomfrey would keep pushing, so he complied.

Also, he did want to. Kind of. Sort of. He didn't know anymore.

"Er... I was in the Shrieking Shack... on the full moon," he said. "And James and Sirius and Peter came in, and I told them to leave... and they wouldn't. They'd seen us walking to the Willow and had followed us. I don't know why neither of us noticed them coming, but it was a dream, so it wasn't quite logical. You know?"

Madam Pomfrey nodded.

"Yeah, so James and Sirius and Peter saw me waiting there, and they were confused, as anyone would be. I tried my best to... to explain everything, but they didn't believe me. So I locked myself in the bathroom on the bottom floor and... prayed that the door would hold." He paused. "It didn't."

"Do you want to keep going? Graphic images don't much disturb me."

"No," said Remus, shaking his head. "Absolutely not. You can imagine. They looked like me after a full moon, but worse. And also very dead." He tasted blood again. "I need water," he said desperately. "Please. Right now."

"Of course," she said, and she delivered right away (along with yet another apple. Remus was getting sort of tired of apples now). "Did you bite your lip?"

"Yes."

"Do you need silver and Dittany?"

"No. It's not good for mouth sores. It'll stop bleeding eventually, I think. Always does." He gulped down some more water, but he didn't eat the apple. "May I stay up for a... ow!" He jammed his hand over his mouth.

"Pain-Relieving Potion's wearing off, hm?" said Madam Pomfrey, sighing. "It's about that time."

Remus felt tears on his face, and he pressed his hand tighter into his lips and squeezed his eyes shut. Everything hurt. His leg was prickling more, but that wasn't the worst part—his head was going to split open, and pain was shooting up and down his spine... He was vaguely aware of Madam Pomfrey pulling the sheets to his chest and brushing his sweat-soaked hair away from his face, but he couldn't feel anything but pain...

It was going to be a long night.

Lupin—

This blasted curse of mine tends to affect my fine motor skills every once in a while, so my handwriting isn't nearly as legible as I would like it to be. Good luck reading it. I figured I'd write to you, though, because I imagine you're completely miserable (and I know how "miserable" feels—I, too, have been miserable for a long time. Some would say I've been a miserable excuse for a person my whole life long). The letter from you and Potter surprised me, I'll admit—I didn't think you'd let him see you in that state. It was, however, exceedingly entertaining.

Pomfrey told me that you usually arrive at the Hospital Wing around four-forty-five, so the fact that you were awake at three is concerning, is it not? Abnormal, at the very least. I hope last night went well—as well as it could have gone for a bloodthirsty and self-destructive wolf, that is.

Madam Pomfrey, who Remus didn't know had been reading over his shoulder, made a small noise.

"Hey, don't read my letter," said Remus, but he didn't really mind.

"He's being brash again," said Madam Pomfrey.

"He wants to know how I'm doing."

"He's being rude."

"Madam Pomfrey! I like Professor Questus, okay? He's only joking. And joking helps—makes me feel more like it's a... you know, a lighthearted thing, and not as terrible as it really is. I like it."

"That's not joking," she grumbled. "That's insulting."

"May I read my letter in peace?"

Madam Pomfrey huffed and turned away. "Just be careful with him, Lupin. He's not the good person you think him to be."

"Madam Pomfrey, you barely know him. He's helped a lot. Please trust my judgement."

"Fine."

Remus turned back to his letter.

Your mother probably already told you, but your uncle is coming here to visit your father—who has very sternly told me to stay away, of course. I don't think he trusts my ability to keep a polite demeanor, which is ridiculous. "Polite" is my middle name, right after "cautious," "kind," and "politically correct."

But, seeing as you (as his nephew) are also an authority, do I have permission to... perhaps drop an armchair on his head? Turn his hair green? Play music really loudly? Or I could play a speech... Alexander Adamson gave an interesting one a while ago. I might have you listen to it next time you come back. He's a leading werewolf advocate—I think I sent you one of his articles last Christmas. I think your uncle would just love him, hm?

I've heard stories from your parents, and I think I already detest your uncle more than you do. Let me know when he dies so that we can throw a party. No cake, though—that's horribly disrespectful. To me, that is, because I don't like cake very much.

Keep me posted on your friends. Sirius Black's father, Orion Black, said something rather disturbing the other day... but it's not new, of course. I'll attach the clipping. Your father was rather distraught, but I don't think he's going to alert you of it. For a creature who isn't believed to have feelings to begin with, people are always remarkably insistent on protecting your emotions. I, nevertheless, believe it is important information. I'm sure you'll agree.

Remus scanned the rest of the letter, which contained the usual updates and biting comments. He'd read it more closely later. There was indeed a clipping from some type of magazine, and Remus removed it and read every word.

Half-breeds and non-humans threaten the very fabric of our world, and we must accept the fact that people who are born differently also live differently. They are, by definition, inferior. The best thing we can do for them is stop humoring them: they do not deserve a life like ours, and they are not "just the same" as the rest of us. Purebloods are more intelligent, wizards are more worthy, and humans are more decent. Other, lesser creatures should be subservient at the very least.

Furthermore, we have pretended that dangerous creatures are "good" and "kind" for far too long. It is time to treat them like the animals that they are. Hags, werewolves, vampires, and other humanoid monsters should be treated just the same as tigers and lions: they must be killed if they pose a threat and restrained if they do not. Perhaps the way that Voldemort achieves his agenda is too extreme, but his ultimate ideals are—for the most part—accurate. If we can find a way to achieve said ideals with peace instead of violence, then the world will be a much better place.

Remus quickly folded it up, hoping that Madam Pomfrey hadn't been watching his face as he read. Killed if they pose a threat, restrained if they do not... What did "threat" mean? Was Remus "posing a threat" by going to school? And what did "restrained" mean? Prison? Remus knew that Azkaban could not hold a werewolf on the full moon. He started imagining dark cells with thick walls... being alone with no books or friends forever...

And peace instead of violence? Remus was pretty sure that a mass execution of non-human creatures counted as "violence"... but what did he know? He was an inferior creature, according to Orion Black. With a dark scowl, Remus found the other page of Questus' letter and continued reading the familiar but shaky handwriting.

Don't mean to scare you, but I think you should know where the Black family (now very publicly) stands. Orion Black's a politician, and he has made it clear that he approves of Voldemort's ideals. That's a dangerous thing to admit that when Voldemort is literally a terrorist, which just speaks even more to the fact that Black was confident enough to say it.

But I wouldn't worry about the actual content too much if I were you. Things like this are professed every day, and they have been so for centuries. I went to Italy years ago on an Auror assignment, and I remember visiting Roman runes that read "Death to Werewolves" (singular form of Latin used here was "versipellis"; you'll find that interesting). Mass werewolf execution has been discussed for centuries, but no one's ever done anything about it. I don't suspect they ever will, because it's impractical, expensive, and stupid. You'll be fine.

Still, your father was quite upset. Ranted for nearly an hour and a half. Downed four cups of tea. I'd recommend avoiding the topic of Sirius Black in your next letter to him; otherwise, he might fear for your life and advise you stop talking to the kid. He's paranoid and annoying—now I know where YOU get it.

—Q.

"Done reading?" said Madam Pomfrey, and Remus jumped.

"Yes, Madam Pomfrey."

"Good. I need to change your dressings. How much pain? Give me a number."

"Four."

"I need to stop asking you to do that; your numbers are always far too low. Did you finish your water?"

"No."

"How's the leg?"

"Regrown."

"And the spine?"

"Fine."

Madam Pomfrey dropped a cap in the jar. At least she didn't seem angry anymore.

While she twisted and tightened the dressings on his leg, Remus leaned back and tried very hard not to think about his Uncle Bryson, mass werewolf execution, or Voldemort. He'd been waiting for a letter from Professor Questus all day, but it hadn't made him feel nearly as good as he thought it would.

Chapter Text

It was the morning of the full moon, and James Potter—for once in his life—wasn't exactly sure what to do.

He'd sat with a very ill-looking Remus in the Gryffindor common room. He'd helped him write a letter to John (he'd thought it might cheer Remus up). He'd tried to be peppy and kind and helpful and all that. He'd fetched things for Remus. He'd helped Remus all he could. He'd watched Remus stumble towards the Hospital Wing, a heavy stone forming in the pit of his stomach. And then—only after Remus was completely out of sight—James had stood up slowly and started walking back to his dormitory.

It was still early—too early. Remus didn't usually wake up this early on full moons, did he? It was always before five am, but not at three. James, who was a very light sleeper and always woke up when his friends did, knew this. So was something different this month? Was something wrong this month? And had Remus always looked this awful on the full moon? Had James really been so unobservant that he hadn't noticed?

Maybe that was it. Perhaps Remus always looked that awful on full moon days, but James had just never noticed—after all, Remus' health had been in steady decline over the past few days (James had been watching carefully), and gradual things were always more difficult to notice. And James had never before known about Remus on a full moon day, either, so perhaps that had something to do with it. He'd never, ever watched Remus as closely as he had that morning.

And, upon watching his friend more closely than a gardener watches a garden gnome, James had noticed that Remus looked ill. Really ill.

His handwriting had been shaky, his face had been dead pale, his hands had been trembling, and he'd looked like he was going to be sick the whole time. He'd been shivering from the fever, his eyes had been bloodshot, and he'd looked thinner than ever. If Remus had ever looked like that before, James hadn't noticed. He kept making excuses in his head—I've noticed it before, I've just never known why. He's never stuck around the day before a full moon before. It's always dark when I see him on full moon mornings. I've never spent this much time with him and him alone—but the truth was that James Potter, despite his extraordinary cleverness, just hadn't been paying much attention to anyone but himself, and that was sort of a git move on his part.

He opened the door to the dormitory (doing his Secret Marauder Knock very lightly, because that was just procedure) and flopped back onto his bed, staring at Remus' empty four-poster. Yeah, James felt pretty awful. And worried, too, which was a bit of a weird thing for a twelve-year-old Gryffindor to feel. But no matter. Everything was going to be fine. Everything always worked out for James Potter, so he had nothing to worry about.

Right?

"James?" came Sirius' half-asleep voice. "Did you just sneak out without me?"

"Yep," said James.

James heard rustling as Sirius got out of bed. "You prat! Did you see Peeves? Did you play a prank? What happened?"

"I..." James pulled back his curtains a bit more to see Sirius better. "I was with Remus, actually. He was feeling ill, so I... sat with him and talked for a bit, and then I helped him to the Hospital Wing."

Sirius' eyes went comically wide, even though James was certain he had no idea it was a full moon. Sirius didn't keep track of things like that. Why would he? He had no idea that Remus was a werewolf. "He was ill?" cried Sirius, his eyebrows practically higher than the Astronomy Tower. "You should have woken me!"

"I had it under control. I think less people was better for him."

"Then you should have let me do it instead of you!"

"Why? I think I understand far better than you do, mate. No offense, but you're a little... brash, sometimes."

"I sincerely doubt that you understand better than I do, James," said Sirius, his arms crossed.

James felt a little nauseous. What would happen when Sirius finally found out about Remus? James trusted Sirius with all of his heart, of course, but... what if? James liked the four of them together, and he didn't want anything to happen to their little club... all the more reason to keep Remus' secret, James supposed.

"Look, it's over and done with," said James with a heavy sigh. "He's resting now."

"We should go see him."

"Don't think he'd like that."

"We should anyway."

"Yeah, we should."

There was a long silence, and James felt the bedsprings creak as Sirius sat next to him. He sat up and drew his knees to his chest. Everything felt so somber today. He couldn't stop thinking about Remus... about Remus getting that ill every month... Merlin's beard. A life like that was pretty awful, and James couldn't imagine.

"He looked ill, too? How bad was it?" asked Sirius anxiously, breaking the silence. James was happy that Sirius seemed to care about Remus' well-being at the moment, but he still had doubts about that sympathy's longevity. Sirius wasn't a sympathetic person by nature, and he had no reason to trust a werewolf... how long would it be until the Marauders split up for good?

"It looked really bad," confessed James. "But he seemed well enough to hold off on the Hospital Wing for a bit. We wrote a letter to John Questus—a few loose sheets are probably in your notebook. Remus still had his sense of humor. Teasing me. Bantering. He just looked ill, and it kinda hurt just to watch him." To tell the truth, the fact that Remus could function so well, as ill as he was, made James feel worse. Remus really did go through that all the time. That was unthinkable.

"Good," said Sirius. "Well, not good. But all the same."

"Yeah."

"And you still think it's okay that he's lying to us?"

"Yeah, I do. I trust him. There must be a reason he didn't tell us, and I'm willing to respect that, hm?"

"Me too."

"Remus would never hurt us on purpose. Ever. He'd be all torn up about it if he hurt us on accident, even."

Sirius made a little noise of agreement.

"He's a better person than the lot of us," continued James.

"You have no idea," said Sirius, smiling.

But James did.

James went to the library straight after class ended, which was a horrific activity that he typically tried to avoid at all costs. But this was a last resort.

It was raining now, so he couldn't practice for Quidditch tryouts coming up. The only thing left to do, therefore, was research werewolves—and, now that Remus was gone, James could pick out a few new werewolf books without Remus getting all panicked.

James' Library Disguise (a disguise intended to keep people from seeing him in the library and getting the wrong impression, because James was not the bookish type) typically consisted of sunglasses, a floppy hat, and colored hair. But Remus knew about James' library disguise, and James was sort of afraid that Remus would pop out of nowhere and recognize James' flamboyant outfit immediately, because James had no idea how long Remus would be in the Hospital Wing. So, fueled by this logic, James switched out his Library Disguise for Library Disguise 2.0: a sombrero, a fake moustache, and a long, blond wig.

He made his way towards an open table, and he couldn't avoid a bit of a swagger—because Merlin's beard, this wig made him feel like a Veela—and, just as James was considering making the hair change permanent, he promptly caught sight of the last person that he expected to see. "Sirius?!" he cried.

"James?!" cried Sirius, and he sounded even more horrified than James was. "Why are you dressed like that? That's not your normal Library Disguise!"

"Well... it's important, trust me. I know what I'm doing. There's a reason. James Potter doesn't do anything without a reason."

"Except for the time when you tried to swallow a minnow and the time you threw Amelia Hashover's cat into the tree and the time you tried to balance all your things on your head as you walked to class and the time you insisted on giving Argus Filch a romantic ride on your broomstick and he declined, obviously, and then you got detention for a week..."

"There were reasons for all of those things, old friend. The reason was chaos. My point is, I need to be here."

"Wha...? Why? Are you doing a prank?"

"Yes," said James grandly. "A prank. Yes. A big prank." He looked to his left and saw Peter poring over a textbook. "Aw, man. All of us are here?"

"I suppose... all except Remus. Why are you planning a prank without me?"

"Why are you in the library?"

"What are you two doing here?" said Peter, lifting his head. "S'that you, James?"

"No!'

"Yes!"

"Maybe!"

"Shhhhhh!" said Madam Pince, and the three present Marauders immediately shut up. Madam Pince, however, did not. "Out of my library!" she hissed. "Potter! Black! You two are incapable of being quiet! Go somewhere else!"

James did a salute, grabbed Sirius' arm, and pulled him out of the library. Peter, who looked a bit sour at being completely ignored by both Madam Pince and his friends, followed.

It was the day of the full moon, and Sirius Black, like usual, had a lot of questions for James.

"Where are you taking me?" cried Sirius, wresting himself from James' grip. "Where are you going in a hurry? And why were you in the library?"

Sirius had been in the library because he'd wanted a book on werewolves, but he couldn't tell James that. He'd have to admit that James was right about the whole werewolf-thing... at least partially. What was worse, Sirius would also have to admit to wanting a book, which was definitely not an item that Sirius typically coveted. And also—as he constantly reminded himself—making Remus trust them was Sirius' responsibility. Not James'. Sirius had been the one to mess it all up—not James—so Sirius would be the one to fix it—not James—because Sirius was his own person—he wasn't James.

Sirius' question was answered when the three of them arrived in front of the dormitory. They did the Secret Marauder Knock before entering (as per protocol), and then Sirius tried to shut the door behind him... but he'd forgotten Peter was there and slammed it into Peter's nose. Peter yelped.

"Oops, sorry," said Sirius.

Peter made a little moaning noise and shut the door gently. "It's all right, Sirius. I think maybe it's bleeding, though."

"You'll be fine."

They sat on the carpet, and there was dead silence.

James was picking at his nails, Peter was holding his nose... and Sirius was staring at Remus' empty bed.

He knew it was his responsibility to keep Remus' secret, but he hated keeping secrets. He so desperately wanted to talk to James about it. He wanted to help Remus together, because group projects were always so much more fun than individual ones.

Sirius Black had been alone all his life. He'd never had anyone to talk to... and here James was! Why was he keeping this a secret, again?! That made him no better than Remus—it made him worse than Remus, actually, because Remus had a reason to keep his secret. Sirius had no reason not to trust James. He just didn't want the group to split up... he didn't want James to yell at him for saying mean things about werewolves in the past... and he wanted to fix this on his own. But, all the same... he trusted James, didn't he? And something had to be done. Something had to change. For all of their sakes.

"James," said Sirius in a low voice, hardly daring to believe that he was actually saying it out loud. So much for his undercover superhero mission. "I think I know what's wrong with Remus."

He watched James' face carefully, but James didn't really react much—he just sort of sagged, sighed, and looked at the ground. "Yeah, me too," said James. "Was wondering when you'd finally figure it out. Your behavior's been kinda weird lately, so I figured you were on the right track."

Sirius had not been expecting that at all. "What?"

"I've known for a while." James looked up at Sirius again and gave him a sort of apologetic shrug. "I didn't know how you'd react—not exactly, anyhow. And I was afraid to ruin things. I have friends at home, but you... I mean, the Marauders are what I've been dreaming about. I've always wanted to go to Hogwarts and be popular and play Quidditch and be in a secret club, and this is everything I ever wanted. I didn't want it to end just because Remus was lying sometimes."

Lying sometimes was an understatement, but Sirius' head was still reeling too much from the information to argue. "You've known... for a while?"

"Mm-hm. That's why I always wanted to be the one to help him when he was distressed. And he's distressed a lot, that oversensitive... well, I guess he's not oversensitive. He's going through a lot, I'm sure. But I knew what was wrong with him—or at least I could guess. You're okay with it, right?"

"What? Of course I'm okay with it! I actually—"

"Good. It's not that I didn't trust you, but... oh, Merlin's beard, it kind of was. Not not-trust, exactly, but... I'm sorry! I shouldn't have kept it from you, because I do trust you... but I was so scared. I'm sorry. You don't have to forgive me..."

It was a little disturbing to see James so distraught and guilty; he was usually as cool as a cucumber. Sirius held up a hand and sighed—Remus' secret seemed to be having a negative effect on all of them. "James. I've known for a while, too, and I was keeping it from you."

They stared at each other in silence for a bit.

"So... both of us thought that we were the only ones who knew?" said James. "Both of us felt that with the burden of information came the responsibility of helping... and both of us were trying to keep the revelation away from the other... and both of us were lying to each other to protect Remus?"

"That about sums it up," said Sirius.

Peter shifted from his spot on the floor. Sirius had forgotten he was there again, but it wasn't his fault that Peter was relatively uninteresting and forgettable. "Er... what's wrong with Remus? Must have missed it," Peter said.

And then James and Sirius erupted into peals of laughter.

"He's... rubbing off... on us!" James gasped. "All this... lying... and secret-keeping... and things!"

"It's contagious!" said Sirius. "I thought for... for sure you didn't know yet!"

"Me too!" said James. "Were we really... this whole time...!" He wiped his eyes fervently. "I've known since the day we went to the Forbidden Forest. When we were talking in the corridor—that's when I found out."

"I found out that day I was being mean to Remus," said Sirius. "Found that book in our trunk, and then it all came together."

"Ha! I found out first! I knew I would!"

"Ugh."

"Hey!" said Peter. "What's going on?"

"Shall we say it together?" said James. "Maybe we're both thinking different things. But I know I'm right; I'm always right."

"I know I'm right, too," said Sirius. "Count of three. One... two..."

"Remus is a werewolf!"

"I only counted to two, mate."

"I know, but I wanted to be the one to say it."

"Git."

Peter's eyes were wide—almost too wide. "What? Like... Remus? Our Remus? A werewolf? An actual werewolf? Not his mum?"

"Six questions in a row," said James. "That's a lot, but I think I've got this one. The answers are as follows: Remus is a werewolf, yes, yes, yes, yes, and apparently not."

"I... don't think so," said Peter, and Sirius rolled his eyes.

"Are you daft? The signs are all there. He gets ill around the full moon. Scars. Nightmares. Hearing. Panics when we mention werewolves. It all fits."

"But he's just Remus. He's not all... big and muscular and toothy. He's nice. He's patient. He reads. He's quiet. So he couldn't possibly be a werewolf, because he's so nice and perfect..."

"Werewolves can do all that," said James. "Dad says that werewolves are just like us, except on the full moon. It's like a disease rather than personality trait."

"But..."

Sirius sighed. "Peter, James and I are way brighter than you are. Remus is a werewolf. One hundred percent. Just trust us, okay? Ruminate on it in your tiny brain for the next few days. You'll see."

"Have you been having those tiny revelations, too, Sirius?" said James. "Every so often I'll remember something and think... oh! That's why he does that!"

"All the time! That bottle he keeps... silver and Dittany. For when he scratches himself accidentally, since werewolf wounds don't heal..."

"Oh, yeah! And John Questus must be one too, or at least an Animagus. That's why they were so close last year, and that's why John moved near Remus' house after he quit teaching! Keeping him under control and all that."

"That makes sense... and you know how Remus always covers his mouth when he smiles? He's probably hiding fangs or something."

"Ooh, that's cool. I'm pretty sure he doesn't feel pain around the full moon."

"Hm. You know, being a werewolf explains his overprotective parents."

"And how he... what was that phrase Pete used back in first year?... acts small. He seems uncomfortable a lot, you know? He's scared of us, I think. Scared of being found out, I reckon."

"Yeah, all my family hate werewolves." Sirius frowned. "I thought you'd be angry with me. Back before I knew, I said some terrible things about werewolves to Remus' face. That's why I didn't tell you earlier; I thought it was my responsibility to sort it all out."

James pursed his lips. "You kind of did say some terrible things, mate. But we can fix it. Now you've got me."

"And me," said Peter, who was still wide-eyed.

"You probably don't even know what's going on, Pettigrew." Sirius said, but then he quailed under James' look. "Right. I should be nice. Sorry."

"So..." said James, ruffling his hair nervously. "What now? Do we tell him?"

"I suppose," said Sirius. "Maybe after he gets back from the Hospital Wing?"

"I'm kinda scared to do it," confessed James. "I'm worried he'll get spooked. He's panicked about it all the time."

"Only because he thinks we won't like him," said Sirius.

"True, but... I think we need to plan it out carefully."

Sirius groaned. "Of course you'd say that."

"I like planning!"

"I knowww. But he needs someone to talk to, and I want to help him. I've been trying to drop hints, you know, really subtly, but..."

"You were not subtle, mate."

"Shut it, you."

"Let's wait until after Quidditch tryouts. I don't want that hanging over my head; I'll need to focus."

"Yeah, okay."

"Are you all right, Pete?" asked James. Peter's face was an odd shade of grey.

"Y-yeah."

"It's still Remus. He hasn't changed."

"I know. Just... just trying to figure out if you're pranking me, because this would be an excellent prank. You are, aren't you? And Remus is in on it? If you are, it's very elaborate, so well done..."

James sighed impatiently. "No! Remus is a werewolf! It makes sense!"

"Yeah, kind of... but he's Remus!"

"Uh-huh, exactly. Remus Lupin. Remus. Lupin. Both his first name and surname have things to do with wolves. Duh, Peter."

"I... suppose. You don't think he's dangerous?"

"Dangerous? Remus?" James stood up and crossed his arms. "Peter Pettigrew, you have known him for more than a year. He adores you. You idolize him. He helps you do homework and sits with you outside and talks to you. He defends you from me and Sirius when we get impatient. He likes you. How dare you even question him? He's REMUS!"

"Okay, okay!" After a quick pause, Peter held up his hands. "If you two trust him... then so do I. You're right. He's Remus."

"Good," said James. "Don't ever think anything else. He's a good friend."

Sirius nodded his agreement. He was glad that he wasn't bearing the weight of Remus' secret by himself anymore. Remus bore the weight of his secret all alone all the time—that was sad. For the first time ever, Sirius knew what it was like to have a horrible, terrible, ginormous secret... and he didn't like it one bit.

He couldn't wait until after Quidditch tryouts!

(And, at the same time, he was terrified. But Sirius wouldn't admit that to anyone, not even himself.)

No one asked Peter how he felt about it.

It was ages before anyone asked Peter. Peter's world had just been turned upside-down, but no one asked Peter. Peter's best friend was a... werewolf, and no one asked Peter what he thought about the whole fiasco. A werewolf? Really? Remus? It was such a big deal, but no one cared how Peter felt about it!

How did Peter feel, actually? He didn't know. Mostly just... weird. That was the only word for it. Weird, wrong, and left-out.

Sirius and James had known forever, and they didn't care at all. Did Peter care? He didn't know. He was frozen.

Werewolves were big and hulking and muscular, and Remus wasn't. Werewolves were bloodthirsty and mean and evil, and Remus wasn't. Werewolves would kill without a second thought, and Remus wouldn't. Remus was more kind, more patient, more helpful, and more human than anyone else that Peter knew. And they were saying that Remus was a werewolf anyway? Madness, that was what it was. Pure madness.

Peter was terrified of werewolves. But he wasn't terrified of Remus.

Couldn't Peter die, though? If Remus was a werewolf—sly and conniving and tricky—then he could strangle Peter in his sleep... or lead him somewhere quiet on a full moon... perhaps this was all an act! Peter couldn't blindly trust Remus like Sirius and James did. He wasn't brave! He wasn't clever like they were! He wouldn't stake his life on plain intuition, because he couldn't trust his intuition! Peter hated making decisions, and this was the biggest one he'd ever had to make.

Remus was lying the whole time? Weren't they best friends? Peter didn't understand it. Did the Remus that Peter knew and loved even exist? What was going on? What should he do? James and Sirius said that Remus was a good person, but the whole of society didn't... so who was right? James and Peter or the whole of society and numerous experts?

The only thing that Peter knew for certain was that James Potter and Sirius Black were unfathomably intelligent... so if they believed Remus, then so did Peter. Peter didn't have to make the decision—James and Sirius had already made it. And James Potter was always right.

But what if he was wrong?

No. James was always right. (Except for that time he thought Remus' mum was the werewolf, and that time he thought Remus was dying.) Remus was a werewolf, but he was a good werewolf. James was always right. And when James and Sirius (both very clever people) agreed, then Peter could be sure that it was the right thing to do.

If Remus left their group, then Peter would be a third wheel. He'd be alone and teased and yelled at. Peter was often jealous of all the attention that Sirius and James were giving Remus (even though Peter spent more time with them—Peter deserved it, not Remus!), but Remus held Peter to the group. Peter would be nothing without Remus. Peter was afraid of losing his friends—even Remus. Especially Remus.

"Are you all right, Pete?" Peter heard James say. Now they were asking him. Finally!

Peter took a deep breath and voiced his concerns (they were his friends, after all. They'd listen), and then James blew up. He started shouting and yelling and Peter thought he was going to cry, and he felt so bad and just wanted James to like him, and he shouldn't ever have doubted Remus at all. "Okay, okay!" said Peter. "If you trust him, so do I... you're right; he's Remus."

And Peter did trust Remus.

Now that Peter thought about it, he actually wasn't afraid. He didn't care at all. Remus was the one who helped him with homework, who pushed James and Sirius to include him more, who said that he wasn't stupid. He liked Remus. Remus would never hurt him... probably. And James was always right... usually. And Dumbledore would protect him... most likely.

Peter's brain hurt.

Remus always said that Peter wasn't stupid. He always said that Peter was just good at other things—memorization wasn't it. Apparently, deductive reasoning wasn't, either. But honestly? Peter didn't mind the fact that he hadn't found his niche yet. The thing that made Peter so frustrated all the time was that he liked being slow, and it often felt that he was the only slow-moving person in a fast-paced world.

Peter loved slow things. He liked to stop, think, and wait until ideas fully permeated throughout his brain. He liked to smell the roses and get distracted without guilt. He liked to read slowly, move slowly, and walk slowly. But moving slowly with James and Sirius? That wasn't an option, and Peter always felt so dreadfully behind when he was with them. Remus could keep up, but Peter couldn't—and he'd tried, sure, but he just didn't match with the rest of them. That scared him sometimes. Perhaps he wasn't cut out to be a Marauder after all. Perhaps there was a friend group out there that was a better match for Peter... but James and Sirius were so cool, and Peter couldn't bear to leave them.

Still, now Peter had to deal with this. This was a huge chunk of information—the sort that almost made him regret becoming a Marauder in the first place. Things would have been so much easier if Peter had just stopped spending time with James and Sirius early on and started spending time with people who were more his speed.

Sometimes, James and Sirius had light-hearted competitions over meals. They would each take a sandwich, and then they'd try to take the biggest bite possible—ten points if they swallowed without chewing, zero points if they had to spit it out, and twenty points if they made one of the girls say "ew!". It was gross, but extremely entertaining to watch.

But Peter never participated in those competitions. No, Peter wasn't interested in literally biting off more than he could chew. But that was what this felt like—it was going too fast, it was too much, and Peter just wanted time to think about it, but he couldn't, and he couldn't even talk about his feelings because, even though he was still chewing his sandwich, his friends had all swallowed the whole thing a very long time ago...

Peter liked Remus, sure. But he didn't much like sandwiches anymore.

Chapter Text

"Your father and I put a roof over your head, give you clothing and money and food, taught you to read and write in multiple languages, and raised you with every Pureblood ideal and mannerism that you shall ever need to know in order to be successful in life!" shrieked James in a very posh accent, and Sirius doubled over with laughter. "How dare you squander it all to be friends with James Potter, who is wonderful, brilliant, far better than I'll ever be, and an excellent Quidditch player?"

"She didn't say that," gasped Sirius. "No way."

James grinned and put down Sirius' mother's letter—he read them aloud to Sirius every morning, and, in Sirius' opinion, it provided quite the breakfast entertainment. "Nah, she didn't," said James, ruffling his hair. "But I like this version better. Anyway. After that, it's just the normal things. 'How dare you' is in there six times... no, seven. And then there's the infamous all-capital letters..."

"Motherly love." Sirius tried to deadpan (something that Remus was all too good at), but failed miserably. He was laughing too hard—not as hard as Peter, though, whose face was redder than the Gryffindor tapestry. How did Remus always keep such a straight face? And, talking of Remus... "It's been a couple of days since the last full moon, James," said Sirius quietly. "Where is he? Still recovering?"

James shrugged. "Sometimes he's gone for a long time... I think. It's been two days... maybe. He should be back soon... probably."

"You sound unsure."

"I am. Wasn't he gone for six days that one time? Last December?"

"Oh, right."

"Can't wait to ask him about it after Quidditch tryouts and get some answers."

"Me either. Hey, Mum said something else in her letter, too, but I was laughing too hard to hear it properly. Something about the Daily Prophet?"

"Yeah. Your dad made some sort of political statement that's going to be printed soon."

Peter made a small noise of amazement, but Sirius only scowled. "I'll bet Regulus is excited, then," Sirius grouched. "He loves it when Dad's in the paper."

"Your brother is never excited. I don't think I've never seen him smile."

"He was like that at home, too. Always reading. Impassive. 'No, Sirius, I do not want to play a game. Amuse yourself. It's not that difficult.'" Sirius dropped the ridiculously posh accent—he'd been sort-of adopting James' recently; it fit in a little bit better than his old RP with hints of upper-class wizarding twang. The Blacks took pride in maintaining the Pureblood wizarding accent of the olden days, but Sirius didn't care for it. His brother—stupid Regulus—got an absolute kick out of sounding like a Black, though.

"He's an idiot," Sirius continued. "I was so disappointed when he started doing magic and I realized we'd be at Hogwarts together. Although..." Sirius grinned. "Regulus was a late bloomer. Started when he was nine. Mum and Dad were terrified that they'd birthed a Squib. That's why Regulus wanted to get in their good graces... afraid, you know. Wanted acceptance, which he'd never gotten. Did all of his perfect little Pureblood training and all that, hoping it would give him magic or whatever. Now he's just relieved he's in the Blacks' good graces, and he's being even more insufferable. Ugh. I'm so glad he's not a Squib, though. That would have been terrible for him."

"You're glad he's not a Squib...? But you sound like you hate him!"

"And that's why I don't like talking about Regulus with you, James. You don't get it. You can love a bloke and also dislike him. I wish he weren't my brother. I wish I'd never met him. I wish I didn't have to deal with him. But... well, he is my brother, and there's nothing I can do about it. So I hate him. But I am glad he's not a Squib, for his own sake."

"Makes no sense."

"Exactly. You don't get it. I told you—I want to talk to Remus about it, because Remus understands more. When this whole thing blows over and we're friends again, I mean."

"You think Remus will understand your ridiculous brother paradox?"

"Mm-hm. That was another thing I realized the other day. Remus told me that his relatives had mostly left—said they were angry with his father for marrying a Muggle, which I believed at first. But it makes more sense that they left because he's a werewolf, doesn't it? They found out that he was a werewolf and skedaddled. So he understands family problems, I think. It's basically the same thing that happened to me, except Remus doesn't have to deal with his relatives anymore and I still do."

"I'm glad you have someone who understands, then. At least a little. I try, mate, but you know my parents. Definitely not the same as yours."

"Definitely not. My mum would rather keel over and die an early death than send me those stupid care packages your mum sends."

"Don't be jealous. I share with you, don't I?"

Sirius smiled. Yes, James shared. He shared very frequently. Sirius liked it best when James shared with him without telling Remus and Peter—Sirius and James sometimes ate the sweets in the care packages during detentions while no one was looking, or in the common room in the middle of the night, or during class as quietly as possible. It was a shared experience as well as shared sweets, and Sirius was more thankful for it than he cared to admit.

James yawned, stretched, and accidentally knocked his hand into Peter. Peter laughed and hit James back, and then they both started laughing. "Well anyway, Sirius, Remus gets my Daily Prophet," James said, still grinning, "and you don't get one. Do you want to see your dad's statement?"

"Nah. Let's not worry about it. If it's important, then Remus will tell us." There was a very long, uncomfortable silence. "Well, maybe he will," amended Sirius, because Remus hadn't told them much of anything recently.

"Maybe. I'm gonna go practice Quidditch."

"I'll come with."

"I'm coming, too!" said Peter, speaking for the first time.

And so the three non-werewolf Marauders went to play around on broomsticks, allowing themselves to forget their various troubles for a small moment.

Remus could not forget his troubles, even for a small moment.

"Madam Pomfrey? May I have some water?" he asked, and his voice was impossible hoarse and scratchy.

Madam Pomfrey hurried over to Remus' bedside and filled his cup. "Certainly. How are you feeling?"

"Er... everything kind of hurts in a weird way. But it's... dull, not sharp."

"Your spine is still healing up; that's probably why. You have a few letters from home."

Remus accepted them gratefully and sipped his water. Suddenly, his fingers spasmed violently, and the cup slipped out of his hand. Water spilled all over Bufo, who blinked up at Remus dolefully from his perch on Remus' lap. "I'm sorry!" said Remus. "Sorry, Bufo."

"Two caps in the jar," said Madam Pomfrey, drying Remus' bedsheets immediately. She ignored Bufo, which was fine. Bufo needed a bath anyway, so a little water wouldn't hurt him (although he did look quite angry with Remus now, in his own froggy sort of way). "What happened?"

"I don't know! My hand just... moved! All on its own!"

"Probably still the spinal injury. They're tricky things. I can't always get them healed up on the first try—I'll have to have another go when you're sleeping later." She filled his cup again, but Remus didn't dare take another sip. "You told me that werewolves won't fatally injure themselves on the full moon?" she asked.

"Yeah."

"Well, I still don't believe it. How on earth would you have survived with that sort of injury? It's preposterous."

"Would have healed eventually, and sometimes transforming to and fro takes care of the rest of it."

"Transforming helps heal you?"

"Not from a wolf. But to a wolf, yeah, since werewolves are magical and dangerous by definition and all that. They have to be dangerous come full moon; that's part of the magic. Human injuries don't often translate, and when... you know, when my bones rearrange themselves come moonrise, sometimes they do it more properly than they were before, if only to fulfill the magical requirements and make me... well, dangerous. I wouldn't have died; I just need to be healed so that I'm not in pain all the time and can attend my classes."

Madam Pomfrey frowned. "Mind if I ask a question?"

Remus was reminded a bit of Professor Questus, although he didn't often ask for permission first. "Go ahead."

"I'm not sure if you know the answer, of course. I just figured I'd ask. There are werewolves who don't try to integrate themselves into human society, correct?"

Remus wasn't offended at the statement, but he did wonder if anyone in his place would be offended. "Human society" implied that there was no place for magical Beings—only humans. It implied that society belonged to humans and no one else. But Remus wasn't offended. Of course society was intended for humans. That's why it was so hard for him to get along in it. "That's right," he said.

"How do they survive? I assume they don't have access to Healers and potions and spells. How do they function, being injured all the time?"

"They're not injured," said Remus uncomfortably. "Only me. I'm... going against my nature. Locking myself up. That's why I get hurt, remember? Werewolves who don't do that... don't get hurt. They just walk away from a transformation... well, I suppose a little tired and sore and worse for wear... but not hurt."

"What about the few days before? Do they get as ill as you do?"

"Never really met another werewolf," said Remus. "Except Susi from the Registry, and I don't see her before full moons. Dad thinks the extensive illness is partially because I'm young—he supposes that maybe it'll go away a little when I'm older and not growing anymore. And I think that part of it is that... there are things werewolves do... to make it easier on themselves. Things that I would never do. You know?"

"No, I don't. May I ask...?"

Remus appreciated Madam Pomfrey's hesitancy to make him talk about such topics, but her excessive politeness was a bit off-putting. Remus rather preferred Professor Questus' brash way of approaching the subject so harshly he practically trampled over it. But Remus could work with this, too. "It's just my theory, and I might be wrong. But I think that the transformation is generally easier on werewolves who genuinely... look forward to it. Wild ones. You know?"

"No, I do not. Are you comfortable elaborating?"

"I suppose. Er, McGonagall was talking about it around Halloween last year. Viciousness of an object affects Transfigurations because it's harder to Transfigure an object against the object's will." The theory had been bouncing around Remus' head for a while, but he'd never voiced it before. Still, talking things out was addicting. "So I think... maybe it's worse on werewolves who do try to... integrate themselves into human society. Wild werewolves probably don't feel it as acutely, because the transfiguration from human to wolf isn't going against their will. It's still a Dark Transfiguration, of course; they're going to be ill before, and it's going to hurt no matter what. But maybe it's a little bit better."

Remus thought back to February sixteenth, 1965. He didn't mean to, but the memory just popped into his head—and he was just as powerless to control it as he had been powerless to control his hand when he'd dropped the cup. February sixteenth, 1965... yes, he remembered. He remembered all too well.

He remembered being half-asleep and drowsy. He remembered hearing noises outside his window just as he drifted off, but hadn't paid them mind... he'd thought it was just a harmless animal. There had been scuffling, growling, grunting, and scratching. There had been the noises of heavy breathing. Then, there'd been scratching noises on his window... and then, finally, crashing. There had been sounds outside Remus' window, yes, but there hadn't been sounds of screaming, yelling, shrieking, or other sounds of unbearable pain. And Remus didn't like to compare himself to Greyback... but he couldn't really imagine silently transforming like that. So something had to be different.

Madam Pomfrey spoke, jerking him out of his thoughts. "Are you quite all right? You've gone pale."

"Fine," said Remus hurriedly. He picked up the water and drained it, unable to wait any longer. "I would never," he told Madam Pomfrey, setting the cup down and wiping his mouth. "I'd never. I don't care how much easier it would be. I would never live in the wild like them. I would never look forward to it. That's sick."

"I know," she said, and she patted his hand (just like Remus' mum sometimes did when Remus was getting worked up). "That's what makes you such a wonderful person. What would you like for breakfast? It's nearly eleven."

"Anything's fine."

"Toast, jam, and eggs?"

"Sure."

"I'll be back soon."

Remus watched her go, and then he pulled out the letter that bore Professor Questus' handwriting. It was distinctive—Questus' handwriting was thick and bold, as if he'd been pushing the quill into the parchment with unbearable force, and at the same time shaky—as it was whenever he was feeling ill. Remus opened it carefully and read it as quickly as possible. He figured he'd better do it now, lest he risk another "that man isn't as great as you think he is" rant, courtesy of Madam Pomfrey.

It mainly consisted of normal pleasantries: updates on his parents, updates on Werewolf the Cat, inquiries about Remus' health, and a lengthy response to the question that Remus had asked pertaining to the DAD curriculum... Remus breathed a sigh of relief and folded the letter back up. He'd read it in full later, but skimming Questus' letters first thing was always relaxing. If there was nothing ominous in Questus' letters, then there was nothing ominous going on—for Professor Questus always told Remus everything. Now Remus had nothing to worry about in his parents' letters, either.

The rest of the day was quite boring. He read his parents' letters, wrote a couple of his own, did homework, munched on every morsel of food that Madam Pomfrey fetched for him, and flipped through the Prophet. There was nothing notable in it—except Orion Black's statement on Dark creatures, which was now printed publicly on page two. Remus caught himself reading it over and over again until it was nearly memorized.

"What do you think, Bufo?" Remus whispered as soon as Madam Pomfrey was away in the main ward, caring for a student. "How much is Sirius going to hate me?"

Bufo croaked. He probably didn't know the answer, either.

Remus sighed and read the article for the hundredth time. "Yeah, Sirius is gonna hate me," he decided. "He's going to be furious if he ever finds out what I am."

Sirius was furious.

He marched back into the dormitory, slamming the door behind him. He didn't even bother to do his Secret Marauder Knock before entering, which was a testament to how furious he truly was. "Stupid stupid stupid," he muttered. He punched his pillow. "Stupid!"

He didn't have to worry about James coming in, because James was away at Quidditch practice. He didn't have to worry about Peter coming in, because Peter wouldn't miss watching James practice for anything. And he didn't have to worry about Remus coming in, because...

Suddenly, he heard a tentative knock at the door—a Secret Marauder Knock, no less. He recognized it immediately as Remus' signature knock.

Wait.

Remus?!

"That you?" he called. "Remus? Loopy? Lupin? W...er... Mr. Fragile China Doll?" He'd almost said "Wolf-Man," but now he realized why Remus had never liked that name. He grimaced. Then he remembered getting Remus that silver wolf figurine for his birthday last year—it had just been a joke, but he could only imagine how terrified Remus had been. His stomach roiled uncomfortably, and he punched the pillow again. He was getting quite the workout today.

"Er, yes?" said Remus. He entered the dormitory and shut the door behind him. "Sirius? Another letter from your mother?"

"What are you doing here?" said Sirius flatly, staring at Remus' bandaged hands... the bruise blossoming under his chin... the bag clutched tightly in his hand... Bufo on his shoulder. Remus was pale, sickly, and limping. Whoever had kept Remus under control on the full moon had done a very bad job preserving his health. Sirius scowled, angry at the world. "You shouldn't be out of the Hospital Wing," he said, even though he knew he was being quite rude. "You look like a zombie or something."

"Nope, not a zombie. Still one-hundred-percent human," said Remus, and Sirius chuckled a little. He wondered how many werewolf jokes Remus had made that he'd missed. Remus smiled a bit in return, but it looked like it has hurt a bit to do so. "I'm ill all the time, Sirius. I can deal with it at this point."

"Oh."

"I saw you talking to a Slytherin in the corridor. Was that your brother?"

"Yes."

"Regulus, was it?"

"Yes."

"You didn't look happy. Is that what this is about? He said something that upset you?"

"Kinda."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"...Yes." Sirius budged over and drew his knees up to his chest. Remus sat beside him hesitantly (Remus did everything hesitantly) and plopped Bufo on the tops of Sirius' knees. Sirius looked up in surprise.

Remus was smiling mischievously. "Bufo helps," he explained.

Sirius let another watery chuckle loose, which bought him time, because... well, he couldn't really tell Remus what was wrong.

The problem that was currently plaguing Sirius resided in the Daily Prophet. Regulus had caught him in the corridor—tapped him on the shoulder. Sirius had turned around, furious. "I thought I told you to avoid me as much as possible at Hogwarts," Sirius had spat. "I don't spend time with the likes of you. Slytherins. Pureblood terrorists."

Regulus' face had remained perfectly blank, which had annoyed Sirius even more. Sirius could never draw a reaction from Regulus, because Regulus was a perfect little Pureblood robot. "I've never hurt a person in my life," Regulus had said. "You know that, Sirius. I simply thought you should know that Father printed a statement in the Daily Prophet. I know that you don't receive the newspaper, but I'm certain that you are still expected to read this particular issue. It is, after all, an important family matter. It describes what we stand for."

"It's not what I stand for." Here, Sirius had felt fire running through his veins, and it had taken all his self-control to stop himself from strangling his brother to death.

"I am just trying to help. Mother will be angry."

"Let her yell. She can't do anything else—it'll ruin her perfect Pureblood image."

"I am risking my own image coming to you, Sirius. And I think I have proven over and over again that I know better than you do when it comes to our parents' expectations..."

"Nah, I know just as well as you do. Probably better, because I know they're stupid. I choose not to follow them."

"Sirius, you are being completely unreasonable..."

"Oh, stop talking like a stilted little gentleman Pureblood."

Regulus had looked around, scanning the corridor quickly, and then he'd leaned closer to Sirius. He'd dropped the formal accent at once, and then had said in a quieter voice, "Mate. Don't be an idiot. Don't you think it's good to know what your parents stand for? Even if you don't agree? You can be both defiant and informed, you daft clown. And it's nothing bad—it's just on Dark creatures—not Mudbloods or anything."

"Don't you dare speak that word around me," Sirius had hissed. A very, very bad feeling had flooded his chest right around then. "Fine. Gimme the newspaper."

"Very well." Regulus had handed Sirius the newspaper, and with every word that Sirius read, his heart had grown heavier with guilt.

He'd thrusted the paper back at Regulus and stood at his full height—more than half a head above Regulus' small frame, because Regulus was a bit short for his age. "I hate you and I hate this family," he'd declared. Then he'd sprinted towards the dormitory, the offending sentences running through his brilliant memory at warp speed.

Hags, werewolves, vampires, and other humanoid monsters should be treated just the same as tigers and lions—killed if they pose a threat, and restrained if they do not.

And then that emotion had welled up inside of him, fierce and strong. What had Remus called it? Guilt with a Sirius-y twist? Yeah, that was it.

And now Sirius Black was in his dormitory, staring at the very "humanoid monster" that his own parents sought to destroy. Remus was smiling a little, blessedly oblivious. Bufo was on Sirius' knees, staring up at Sirius with the same expression that he always wore. Sirius wanted to punch something again, but he was afraid of hurting Bufo. Yeah, Remus had been right. Bufo did help... if only to stop Sirius from doing something stupid.

"Did you read the Prophet yet?" said Sirius. "I know you were ill, but did you read it...?"

"I read it," said Remus. Sirius searched his face for signs of offense, fear, anger... anything!... but alas, he found nothing but worry for Sirius' plight. Perhaps Remus had missed the statement. But then... "You father made a statement, didn't he?" asked Remus, dashing all of Sirius' hopes with one sentence.

"Yeah."

"You don't look happy."

"I'm not."

"Does it... bother you?"

Sirius finally found emotion on Remus' face—hope. He didn't see that very often, and he was determined to cultivate it. "Yes," said Sirius firmly. "Yes, it bothers me. Hags and werewolves and vampires should be treated like humans, shouldn't they?" He wondered vaguely if he was insulting Remus by just insinuating that they weren't human. Oops. "I guess they kind of are humans, I mean..."

"They're not," said Remus. "Don't you listen in DAD? Hags are Beings, but not humans. And werewolves aren't even that."

Sirius didn't detect any bitterness in Remus' tone, but he still felt guilty.

"Furthermore," continued Remus, "I happen to agree with your father fully. If it poses a danger to society, it should be restrained or killed. I thought you... didn't like werewolves? Isn't that what you said?"

The words might have been accusing if they had been spoken in that kind of tone, but Remus just mostly sounded confused. Sirius was a little taken aback by Remus' harsh words towards himself, but Sirius was going to fix things. It was, after all, Sirius' responsibility to do so. "I don't want to be like my parents," he said. "If they believe that humanoid..." Sirius didn't think that "monsters" was the right word... "You know, hags and werewolves and vampires... if they don't like them, then I do. I've had a change in heart."

Remus, to Sirius' surprise, scoffed at that. "That's silly. Would you stop writing just because your parents taught you to do it?"

"Er, no."

"Your parents are right about some things. Just not everything."

"So you don't believe that... people who aren't human... can be good? I'm inclined to trust you more than my parents."

Remus was quiet for a long time, and Sirius wondered if this was where he was finally going to get a confession. He hoped so; he couldn't wait for the secrets to be over. "No," Remus finally said, and Sirius' hopes were dashed yet again. "Not really. But the fact that your father agrees with Death Eater ideals is... disturbing. That he would admit it publicly, I mean. He officially supports the other side now, hm?"

"Yes!" said Sirius. "Exactly! He's said it around the house, but never in public like that. And... for the record... I think you're wrong about hags and werewolves and vampires."

"Hags eat children. Vampires kill people. And what about Greyback?"

"Maybe he's just misunderstood."

"He is not," said Remus, and his words were more harsh than Sirius had ever heard them. Remus closed his eyes and breathed in through his nose and then out through his mouth. The air tickled Sirius' nose a little, and he suppressed a laugh. Laughing, he suspected, might be very inappropriate in this situation.

"Maybe not. But I'm sure there's a good werewolf, hag, or vampire around somewhere," said Sirius, grinning at Remus.

"They are animals," said Remus.

"Bufo's an animal, isn't he?"

"S'pose." Remus was silent for a bit. He seemed to be considering something. "You really think so, Sirius?"

"Yes. Absolutely. You're mad if you think your pet toad is secretly a human."

"No... I mean, yeah, but... about that other thing. About non-humans being good people sometimes."

"Of course."

Remus took back Bufo, and Sirius caught a ghost of a smile playing around his lips. But when he spoke, it was as flat and emotionless as Regulus' voice always was. "You're wrong. But I'll let it slide, seeing as you're wrong about a lot of things. About 90% of the time."

Sirius forced a laugh and tried to change the subject. He wasn't about to get any information out of Remus, and he was clearly upsetting him, so it was time for a change in tack. "You were in the Hospital Wing for a pretty long time," he pointed out. "Four days."

Remus tensed. "I was ill."

"I know. But James and Peter and me wanted to do a Halloween prank. You up for some planning tonight? We all know that James is going to keep us up with his hundred-and-one-step Halloween plan."

Remus laughed at that, and Sirius nearly breathed a sigh of relief at the sound. "Of course. Hey, Sirius? Question."

"Yeah?"

"You... believe me, right? Because you've been acting weird. You believe me about my mum? You and James don't have some weird theory again?"

"Nope," said Sirius, waggling his head. "No weird theory. You're a good person, and that's all that matters. We don't care anymore."

Remus smiled a little more at the words "good person", and Sirius was glad to see it.

Sirius was angry at the world, he was angry at his parents, and he was angry at himself... but he wasn't angry at Remus. Not really. Just frustrated by all the lying and sneaking and internal anxiety.

How did Remus do it all the time?

Chapter Text

The Marauders were all in the common room together—finally, after Remus' long Hospital Wing stay—and it invited a feeling of camaraderie that Remus had missed indeed.

Sirius was sprawled across the floor, writing diligently with pages of parchment surrounding him. He had not brushed his hair today, and it stuck up a little like James'. Remus reckoned Sirius was copying James' style on purpose, and it was sort of sweet (even though both boys' hair looked like literal rats' nests).

James had managed to climb to the top of the destroyed bed in the corner (there were only three functional beds in the Marauders' dormitory. Remus didn't know what had happened to the last one, but it was a mess), and he was talking animatedly from his perch: his hands were flapping wildly as he tried to express himself, and his thoughts were less organized than his trunk (which was really saying something. James' trunk was a black hole that seemed to swallow everything within a meter radius, and it smelled of sweat and stale sweets). Sirius looked a little panicked at the apparent speed at which he was meant to be writing, but he kept up admirably.

Remus was pacing back and forth near his bed, because pacing helped him collect his thoughts. It usually made him feel self-conscious—after all, didn't caged animals do the same thing?—but he'd recently started to feel more comfortable doing it around the Marauders. He jumped in a few times with revisions to the plan, but he mostly just watched his friends fondly. He loved being part of a group. He didn't want anything from them but their company.

Peter was lying on his bed sideways, head propped on bent arm and smiling widely. He didn't talk much (he never did around James and Sirius), but it was clear that he enjoyed watching their combined genius. He kept staring at Remus for some reason, though, and Remus got too self-conscious and stopped pacing around.

They continued their various activities until it had grown dark outside—indeed, it had taken what seemed like ages of planning—but finally, the Marauders' Halloween plan was in place.

"We forgot one thing!" James squawked. He'd only descended halfway from his place on the fifth bed, and now he crawled back up immediately. "Costumes! What are we wearing? For Halloween!"

"Same thing as last year?" Remus offered. They'd dressed up as each other for Halloween and it had been quite enjoyable. "Except we could switch. I want to be Peter this time." Peter beamed at Remus, who beamed right back.

James shook his head. "No. That was fun for one year, but I want something else this year. Like... what about... the professors?"

"We already did a prank on them this year. Remember the suits of armor?" said Remus.

Poor Sirius was rubbing his wand hand (which was covered in ink) and making a face. "We don't have to write this one down, right?"

"Let Remus write. He has the second-best handwriting," said James, and Remus groaned and switched places with Sirius. Sirius stuck his tongue out at Remus, and James rolled his eyes at both of them before continuing. "I think... maybe..." James trailed off, and an evil grin suddenly spread across his face. "I got it."

"Oh, no."

"So we dress up as birds... hey, what's a bird that flies in a V-shape?"

"Geese?" said Remus. "That's the dumbest costume I've ever heard of."

"No, you haven't heard the whole thing! Save your judgement for the end, mate."

"Fwoopers fly in V's," offered Peter.

James grinned. "Excellent. So we dress up as Fwoopers, because geese are dumb..."

"Why can't we be Phoenixes?" asked Sirius. "I like Phoenixes better."

"Because Fwoopers fly in V's, and Phoenixes are mostly solitary creatures. Right, Peter? You seem to know a bit about birds."

"Yeah," said Peter, swelling with pride.

"So we dress up as Fwoopers, because geese are dumb and phoenixes are lonely, and then we convince the first-year kids to dress up as Fwoopers as well, and then we all fly around the castle in a V and screech at the tops of our lungs—like Fwoopers—and annoy the teachers! It's brilliant!"

"James," said Remus. He had not started writing yet. "Tell me. What happened the last time you roped innocent first-years into your plans?"

"I got detention for the whole second half of the year and lost Gryffindor a hundred points," said James. Indeed, that was what had happened exactly the year prior, when James had coerced tens of first-years to fly back to Hogwarts with him after holidays instead of taking the train. "But this is different. Last year, we were first-years, too. This year, we're second-years teaching first-years how to cause trouble safely. Older and wiser. And all that."

"...You're leading people younger than you into danger. Arguably, that's worse."

"That's the other difference!" said James. "Flying to Hogwarts was kinda dangerous. Nothing was going to happen, but it was still kinda dangerous. But this isn't dangerous at all. Just fun! We're not technically breaking any rules; only flying around for a bit. It's not like we're going to do it during class..." Suddenly, James' eyes lit up.

"No," said Remus. "I don't know what you're thinking, but I do know that look. No."

James' shoulders slumped. "Yeah, you're right. I don't want to be banned from trying out for Quidditch. Okay. We're not breaking any rules doing this, Remus. Come on. Help us make some Fwooper costumes."

Remus sighed. "All right, but I'm not participating. I hate flying."

"Yeah, okay," said James. "We didn't need your permission anyway, but I'm glad you're okay with it. And I'm sort of glad you don't want to—no offense, mate, but you were an awful flier."

Remus frowned, indignant. "I'll have you know that I was exactly average. Passed my exam and everything."

"I know. I'm just teasing. Don't... fly off the handle, haha."

"You're an idiot," said Remus with an eyeroll, and Sirius loudly collapsed into laughter behind him. "So how exactly do we go about making Fwooper costumes and recruiting first-years?"

A mischievous smile spread across James' face. "First," he said grandly, throwing his arms out to the sky, "we plan!"

Sirius and Remus groaned. As much as Remus was happy to be back from the Hospital Wing, he was really sick of planning.

"All right, Peter, are you ready?" asked James.

"I don't see why I have to do the distracting again," Peter grumbled. "Maybe I want in on the action this time."

"Well, too bad. Me and Sirius are the best at doing the spells, and Remus knows the spells. You're not good at anything in particular, so..."

"Peter's very good at spells," said Remus. "Maybe we should invite him to join us this time."

"Then who's going to do the distracting?"

"I will," offered Remus. "You know the spells. You've got them all outlined in the plan. You don't need me."

"But you'd have to talk to Pensley to do the distracting, Remus, and you hate her."

"I don't hate her!" said Remus, because hatred was reserved for full moons. He knew what hatred was, and he didn't hate Pensley. "I don't hate her," he said again. "I strongly dislike her. As a person and as a teacher. But that doesn't mean she's bad."

"Don't care. You're not doing the distracting, Remus. Absolutely not."

"But..." said Peter.

"Nope. Remus needs to come with us. Got it, Peter?"

Peter's eyes suddenly got wide, and Remus heard his heart rate speed up very quickly. "Are you... telling Remus...?" Peter squeaked.

"What? Shut your mouth, Peter! No!"

"Tell me what?" asked Remus. "Is it something important?"

"Nah," said James, casting another furious look towards Peter. "Don't worry about it. You're coming with us, and Peter is doing the distracting. Got it, Pete?"

Peter hung his head and nodded. "Right."

"Pensley really likes you anyway," said Remus, trying to make Peter feel better. "You'll be good at it. The best."

"Okay," sighed Peter. He set off in the direction of Pensley and started talking to her. James and Sirius peered out from behind the corner, and Remus stayed behind it, crossing his arms. He could hear Peter and Pensley perfectly anyway. "Professor," Peter was saying sweetly, "what is it today? Your name, I mean."

"Professor Tina," trilled Pensley. "What can I do for you, Leonardo?"

"Well, I'm a little... confused... about hags. I'd love it if you could explain them further."

Pensley giggled. "Hags? To learn about hags, Leonardo, you first must learn about yourself. Close your eyes..."

"This is ridiculous," Remus grumbled.

"Shhh!" said James. "It's got her distracted, though. Come on."

The Marauders' master plan this year was to decorate the DAD classroom for Halloween. A year prior, they'd done the same to Dumbledore's office—they had covered the room in bat, spider, and pumpkin decorations, and Dumbledore had left them up for a long time. It had been a big hit, and they'd decided to do the same thing this year... except with Pensley this time, because they'd wanted to annoy her almost as much as she'd annoyed them.

They snuck into the DAD room and started hanging decorations. Remus noted that it had been a lot more exciting last year when they'd barely known how to do the spells, but it was still a certain sort of thrill that came with breaking the rules. Somehow, James had sent home for even more decorations this year, and it was difficult to carry them all, much less fit them all onto the DAD classroom walls and ceiling.

"I hereby declare Phase One completed," said James upon hanging the last decoration.

"Can we get out of here now?" said Remus. "The scented candles are a nightmare."

Sirius leaned against the wall and grinned. "Really? You must have a pretty good sense of smell." James poked Sirius in the side with his elbow, and Remus knit his brows in confusion and worry. Having a good sense of smell wasn't enough to out him as a werewolf, was it?

"I guess," said Remus slowly, "but it's mostly just... annoying. Not what I'm used to. I'm sensitive."

"China doll," murmured Sirius, and Remus nearly hexed him.

"Time for Phase Two," said James.

Sirius and Remus shut up, and then the three Marauders snuck out of the DAD room and crept down the corridor. Pensley was still talking to Peter about knowing himself, and Remus huffed a small breath of annoyance. "Calm down, mate," said James. "She's a nut. We already knew that. She's not hurting anyone."

"I am calm," said Remus. "She just annoys me a bit. That's all."

"Do you have the costumes?" asked Sirius.

"Yep!" said James. "This is gonna be great. All right: here's the plan. We sneak into the Gryffindor common room and we hand out costumes to whoever agrees."

"Whomever," said Remus.

"I don't know who he is, but I'm sure he'll agree, too. And then we tell them all the plan. Tomorrow we'll fly around the grounds in a V formation and make annoying Fwooper noises. It'll be amazing."

"Right," said Remus. He still thought it was a pretty stupid idea (on multiple levels), but he wasn't about to tell his friends that. What was even the point?

James had shrunk the costumes to fit inside his pocket. They'd decided to omit any other House from the plan ("Only Gryffindors will be up for it," James had said, "because they're the coolest"). It was a bit awkward sneaking about the castle in broad daylight; they had to constantly dodge other students who were walking around—but at least it was a bit more roomy without Peter under the Cloak.

"We can take the Cloak off now," said James. "We're far enough away that no one will be able to see that we've just emerged from Pensley's office." With that, he slid the Cloak off of them and put it in his pocket. His hair stuck up even more from the static electricity, and Remus nearly laughed out loud.

"They'll know it was us," said Remus. "That's the thing about running jokes. They figure out one, they've figured out them all—and Dumbledore knows for certain that it was us last year, remember?"

"Doesn't matter," said Sirius. "They can't prove it."

"Look," said James, "you're clever, Loopy McLoony, but you really don't understand some things. The idea is to maintain mystery. They know it's us, yeah, but they don't know it's us. Got it?"

"Not really. And, since I'm assuming you want to be the one to lead the V formation, James..."

"I absolutely do."

"...then everyone will know that it was you who planned it all."

"We don't have to maintain mystery for that one. It's just fun."

"You might get detention."

"Detention is fun," said James. "Sirius brings the mirror sometimes and we talk to each other during detentions, even when we're in separate rooms. Small price to pay for such delicious havoc."

"Delicious havoc," Remus scoffed. "What...?" He trailed off.

"What is it, Remus?" asked James.

Remus inhaled. He smelt tears. Someone was crying... and indeed, he heard soft, stifled sobs coming from down the corridor. "This way," he said. "Come on."

He started walking briskly towards it. He didn't recognize the scent, so it couldn't be someone that he knew... but it was probably a boy, based on the sound and the scent. Sure enough, Remus poked his head around the corridor and saw a miserable young first-year Ravenclaw hanging upside-down off of a secluded bench in the shadows. Tears were dripping into the boy's sandy hair, and his light-colored eyes were bloodshot and red-rimmed.

"All right, there?" asked Remus softly. James and Sirius hid behind him, clearly lost for words.

"You're P-Potter and... B-B-Black. And... Lupin," sobbed the boy, suddenly sitting up and holding his head.

"You know us?"

"Evvvveryone d-does." The boy wiped his eyes and winced slightly. He was in pain; Remus recognized pain when he saw it.

There was a long silence. Remus wasn't sure what to say. He didn't often speak to his peers (save the Marauders), and he'd totally clammed up.

James began talking, and Remus thought for a moment that he was coming to Remus' rescue and helping the boy—because James surely knew what to do; James was always right. But alas, this was not the case. Apparently, James wasn't feeling sympathetic today in the least. "As interesting as this is, Remus-my-friend," said James, "we're going to go do that prank. Coming with?"

"You're just... leaving this boy alone?"

"If he needs someone, he can go find a teacher."

Remus narrowed his eyes. "Don't tell me you're uncomfortable. You don't have a problem comforting me when I'm like that."

"You're never like that," said James. "You're... quieter about it when you're ill. Less sobby. And less drippy. And less... snotty. And stuff. Besides, I..." He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "You're my friend. It's my duty to help you. But, well... I'm excited, and I don't want to... be slowed down. It's just a first-year. I've got no obligations, and I'm sure he's got other friends to help him."

"Yeah?" said Remus scornfully. "I don't see them, James."

"My friends are doing schoolwork," said the boy. "They told me to go away because I was an-an... annoying them!" The boy started sobbing anew. Remus wasn't sure what to say.

Sirius, unfortunately, did. "Your crying is pretty annoying, kid," he said, and the boy started crying harder. Remus' mouth dropped open a centimeter, and he scrambled for a way to tell Sirius that he was being a git without making Sirius hate him, because as much as Remus wanted to help, he couldn't lose his friends (Professor Questus had said so!). Light-hearted teasing was one thing, but Remus couldn't possibly genuinely call out his friends for being rude... oh, this was quite the dilemma.

James was smiling, which was downright horrible of him. "Coming with, Remus?" he asked, twirling his wand around his fingers lazily.

Even though Remus' heart was already feeling a bit queasy, it constricted even more at the question. He wanted to go with his friends and laugh at their stupidity and help them avoid detention. He wanted to laugh in the dormitory afterwards and watch James get all animated and excited. He wanted to sit with Peter and share his quiet excitement at being accepted. He wanted to be with his friends, not this crying first-year.

Remus' heart was now squeezing into itself so violently that Remus feared it would explode. He wanted to leave the first-year alone, and that made him just as bad as he'd thought Sirius and James to be, didn't it? Remus was worse than Sirius and James, actually, since leaving the first-year alone would be a wickedly hypocritical thing to do. As a person who was often ill himself—as a person who took refuge in his friends and teachers when he wasn't feeling well—as someone who always had someone else to fall back on, even at his worst, even if it was just his parents—yes, it would be awful of Remus to leave the boy alone when he knew firsthand how it felt.

But Remus couldn't lose his friends. He didn't get much time with them between full moons anyway, and who knew how much they'd start to hate Remus if he stopped spending time with them? And what harm could it do, asking the boy to buck up and go find a teacher by himself? That was what Remus would have done. He wouldn't have burdened a second-year if it had been him. It had been him a few times, actually, and Remus had always gotten through all by himself—he'd found Professor Questus, or Madam Pomfrey, or Professor Dumbledore...

But this boy didn't even have that.

But Remus wanted to go with his friends! He'd only just gotten back from the full moon, after all, and he deserved some time to himself...

But his conscience wouldn't let him. This crying first-year needed help, and Remus couldn't leave him to his tears.

"I'll catch up later," he said with a wave of his hand. "Go on without me."

"But...!"

"Relay the whole thing back to me later."

"But...!"

"And do rescue Peter from Pensley."

"Fine, mate," said Sirius. "Have it your way."

"See you later. Don't get caught."

"We probably will." James shrugged, grinned, and then ambled off with Sirius. Fortunately, neither Sirius nor James sounded angry. Remus watched them go and then turned back to the dripping and snotty first-year.

"Hey, budge over," he said kindly, and sat next to the first-year. The first-year was staring up at him in awe.

"L-Lupin, right?"

"Remus," said Remus. "You are...?"

"Oswald," said the boy, wiping his eyes. "Ozzie. Th-thank you so much. You didn't need to do that."

"I wanted to," Remus lied, and then he immediately changed the subject. "How did you know my name?"

"You and your friends are just about famous! Everyone talks about you! My Prefect told me to watch out for you because you'd try to rope me into some stupid prank. Well, not you, specifically, but Black and Pettigrew and Potter. People say that you seem nice enough, but you follow them around a lot."

"I just don't get caught as much as they do," whispered Remus, and then grinned at Oswald's horrified expression. "I'm joking. They have more time than I do, and sometimes I don't approve of their antics. But they're good people. And James is a great Quidditch player, isn't he?"

"I know! They're so cool. I wish I could be just like them."

"Yeah, me too."

"You really didn't need to do all this," Oswald repeated. "Stay with me, I mean. Help me. You needn't."

"I wanted to; I really did. You seem pretty cool, yourself." Two more lies, but Oswald beamed anyway. Remus smiled, but he thought perhaps it came across as a grimace. He stopped smiling. "So... what's the matter, Oswald?"

Oswald's eyes welled up again, and he brought his knees up to his chest. "I'm ill!" he cried. "I feel really really bad. My head hurts and I feel like I can hardly breathe!"

"Why don't you go to the Hospital Wing?"

"Because... oh, please don't laugh."

"I would never," said Remus. And he really wouldn't. Not after all the times that he'd been too stubborn to go to the Hospital Wing. That would be horribly hypocritical of him.

"I don't know where it i-is. And I'm too... too em-embarrassed to a-a-a-ask."

Remus blinked. "Oh. Yeah, I guess that's the downside of not having maps in this place. Hogwarts is a huge school." He stood up. "Well, after living with James and Sirius... I know exactly where the Hospital Wing is. Can't tell you how many hexes have gone wrong." That was a partial truth. "Did you know that once Peter ended up with his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth?" That was the truth.

Oswald giggled a bit and stood up, only to waver a bit and then sit back down. "I'm dizzy. I don't think I can w-w-walk. Oh, this is so embarrassing!"

"No, don't be embarrassed." Remus hesitated, and then he took hold of Oswald's arm, helping him stand and beginning to walk. Poor Oswald's cheeks were bright red. Remus knew how that felt. Madam Pomfrey had to walk him back to the castle after every full moon, and it leaning on her so much still made Remus embarrassed (when he had the presence of mind to be so). "Can I tell you a secret?"

Oswald nodded, his eyes large. He was shaking and pale all over. "I promise I won't ever tell."

"Okay, good. If you do, then I'm telling my friends to play a prank on you," Remus threatened, and Oswald giggled nervously. "Only kidding. I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy. So here's the secret: once I had to spend the night in the Hospital Wing because of a... really bad injury. Woke up crying in the middle of the night. Madam Pomfrey had to come in and try to calm me down. It was awful." Remus grimaced. Truth was, he did that every month. "My point is... Madam Pomfrey doesn't judge. She's lovely."

"That's g-good. Some of the teachers scare me."

"How are your classes, then?" asked Remus; from personal experience, he knew that walking whilst in pain was much easier when one was distracted.

"They're okay," said Oswald. "I'm... what was the word? Muggle-born. I didn't even know wizards existed. I'm still trying to catch up."

"My mum's a Muggle. She still gets confused sometimes, and she's been married to my dad—who's a wizard—for a whole thirteen years. No shame in being confused sometimes."

"Yeah, it's hard. And Transfiguration is hard, too. I think I might fail that class."

"I never got the hang of it, myself. Professor McGonagall's nicer than she looks, though. She let me re-attempt my Transfiguration exam last year when I nearly failed it."

"Was it hard?"

"No. I just panicked. You'll be okay. So... how are you feeling? Does it feel like a virus or something?"

"Feels like I'm dying."

Remus laughed. "Makes sense. You're paying attention to where we're going, right? Just for next time, in case there ever is one. Take a turn here... and here it is. Hospital Wing. Do you want me to come in with you?" Remus prayed that Oswald would say no. Madam Pomfrey might want to keep Remus for a check-up, and Remus definitely did not want that.

"Yes."

"Sure." Remus opened the door and helped Oswald in, suppressing a sigh of disappointment. "Madam Pomfrey? I found an ill first-year in the corridor."

She clucked her tongue—there were already two people in the main ward. "Oh, dear. You can lie down on the bed, Mr..."

"Collins. Ozzie Collins."

"Mr. Collins. And nothing's wrong with you, Lupin?"

"No," said Remus quickly. "Nothing."

Madam Pomfrey gave Remus a scrutinizing look... but finally, to Remus' great relief, she nodded. "Good. You may go back to... whatever you were doing."

Remus gave Oswald one last encouraging look before hurrying out of the infirmary. He wasn't sure how long he had until Madam Pomfrey changed her mind and decided to keep him for a check-up after all.

Now that Remus had done his good deed of the day, it was time to return to his friends, try to forget about his guilt and worry, and endure James' incessant planning... and he'd never expected to be so excited about it.

Chapter Text

Remus returned back to the common room and saw every single Gryffindor first-year trying on a Fwooper costume, James and Sirius and Peter at the center of it all. "You convinced them all?" said Remus incredulously. They'd made enough for everyone, but Remus had been certain that the majority of students wouldn't want to participate in such a risky prank. Flying without a teacher's permission and supervision was—for first-years—very against the rules.

"Yep," said Sirius. "Every last one of them, save Kathy Lewis right there—she's right terrified of flying."

"How'd you get them all?"

"Told 'em it was an extra-credit assignment."

Remus' mouth fell open so harshly that his jaw—slightly damaged from years of strenuous transformations—made a loud, painful popping noise. "You did WHAT?"

"Told 'em that it was an extra-credit assignment..."

"I heard you, Sirius! That was a lie!"

"And you think lying is always bad?"

"Yes!"

Sirius gave Remus a very long look. Remus wasn't sure what the look was supposed to mean, exactly, but he felt guilty anyway. Remus was lying to his friends; even though Sirius didn't know it, Remus wasn't who he professed to be. So no, Remus didn't think that all lying was bad. Some lying was for survival. But he didn't know how to explain which lies were good and which were bad, so he left the matter at rest. What was one more lie?

"You're making false promises," Remus continued. "What are you going to do when they find out that it wasn't an extra-credit assignment? That they're not receiving any extra credit for this at all? That they very well could get into huge trouble for this? That they're wasting their time to follow three second-years' whims?"

"Three second-years? I think you mean four."

"I said what I meant. Answer the question. What will you do?" Remus' words could have been harsh, but he spoke them with genuine curiosity, not in demanding accusation.

"Er... laugh?" said James, shrugging, and Sirius high-fived him.

"Merlin's beard," Remus muttered. "You have no consciences."

"You know you love us for it," said Sirius. "We're hilarious."

But did he? Did Remus really enjoy his friends' antics?

Well, yeah.

For someone who had grown up completely surrounded by adults, all the time... this was a lot of fun. Causing trouble gave Remus a thrill that he'd never experienced before in his quiet life. He loved his friends—boisterousness and all, even though they sometimes hurt Remus' ears—and the fact that they were so carefree whilst Remus was so careful really helped him relax. Remus felt guilty all the time, and they never did. Remus was afraid, and they never were. Remus worried, and they never did. Their differences were so refreshing after Remus' childhood (during which sameness and monotony had been all he'd known) and Remus loved it.

But purposefully tricking those younger than they? Tricking them into breaking school rules? Creating for them a reputation as troublemakers before they even had a chance to develop their own reputations? Getting them into trouble when they only sought to please? Taking advantage of these small, terrified, frankly confused first-year children?

You aren't much older, a voice in his head reasoned. Probably by only a few months. They're basically just your peers, and tricking one's peers is infinitely better than tricking little children who don't know any better.

But it felt wrong. Remus had been the youngest in his family of three his entire life—he'd been isolated and babied constantly, so much so that Peter had been the first person ever who had genuinely looked up to him. Remus was often the youngest, the most inexperienced, the one from whom people withheld information, the one who was inferior simply because of his species, the one who was fragile and weak and naïve. He was used to being the little kid.

But these first-years looked up to second-years, just as Remus had. They had no Hogwarts experience, and the second-years had a full year of it under their belts—that was a big difference, even though the age gap was small. And Oswald had proven that the first-years had heard a lot about the Marauders... and therefore looked up to them even more so than other second-years. The Marauders had a reputation, and with reputation came responsibility. Remus had responsibility now. He couldn't help but remember how helpless he felt as a first-year—how much he valued people that helped him—and then, ultimately, Remus couldn't help but think that the Marauders were crossing a line in lying to first-years. Remus knew that he should tell the first-years that it wasn't an extra-credit assignment after all, so at least they would know what they were getting into.

But then again...

Remus remembered how angry James had been back in first-year, when Remus had accidentally told him off for hexing the other students. He remembered Sirius siding with James, and Peter siding with both of them. He remembered feeling ostracized and alone all day. He remembered the loneliness, and he remembered that he couldn't do that again. Then he remembered Evans' words... what was it she'd said? She'd said that she had a loyalty to Snape, since he had been her first friend. Remus had a loyalty to his friends, right?

And again. Professor Questus had told Remus that he needed to keep his friends around as long as possible. No matter what. Because Remus needed them, didn't he? He couldn't risk this.

Besides, Remus had never gotten a childhood like they had. People always told him that he was responsible and mature—too mature, in fact. Once, back in first year, Madam Pomfrey had forgotten that he was a child and had accidentally sworn in front of him. Remus' parents were happy when he acted like a rebellious preteen. James and Sirius told Remus that he was being too serious all the time. Remus deserved this, didn't he? A normal child wouldn't snitch on his friends and ruin their fun, and Remus had only ever wanted to be normal. Remus had already been the responsible one today when he'd helped Oswald, so he could allow himself to be an irresponsible child and go along with the joke.

Just this once!

And maybe next time. And the time after that. Because Remus' friends had made a huge difference in his life, and he needed to keep them no matter what (Professor Questus had said so, so it had to be true).

"It is pretty funny," admitted Remus. "But... you're sure that this is okay?"

"Positive," said James.

Remus' mind was made up. He wouldn't stop the prank. He couldn't stop the prank. "Fine, then. I'm going to the dorm. Feeling a bit tired. I'm going to read for a bit."

"Sure thing, mate."

But Remus didn't go to the dormitory. He went to Hagrid's, even though he'd just been there the day that he was released from the Hospital Wing. Hagrid invited him in to eat rock cakes and drink tea, but Remus politely declined. "I just need a quiet place to walk around think," said Remus. "May I use your pumpkin patch?"

"Make yerself at home, Remus!" said Hagrid, blessedly retreating back into his cabin and leaving Remus to himself.

Remus took a very long walk amongst the pumpkins until it was past curfew, and then he hurried back inside before anyone noticed he was gone, his nose cold and runny and his legs aching from pacing back and forth for two hours.

He needed a handkerchief. Where could he find a...?

Wait.

Oh no.

Remus Lupin was used to sore joints and fatigue and headaches and general aches and pains. He was used to being tired and not getting enough sleep and feeling all-around awful. He was used to coughs and shortness of breath and fevers and chills. But he was not used to runny noses. And—to his horror—he suddenly realized that his nose had started running before he'd paced out in the cold.

He suddenly realized that he didn't feel great. He'd subconsciously chalked it up to typical post-moon illness, but after encountering the ill first-year... Well, wizarding viruses were rapid contagions. Symptoms often started immediately. His father had brought one home from work once, and Remus had started showing symptoms exactly ten minutes after his father had walked through the doorway. His mother (as a Muggle, she'd been immune) had made Remus and his father soup for a week straight while they recovered, and she'd complained about it for two.

Instead of going back to his dormitory, he headed towards the Hospital Wing, an awful feeling in the pit of his stomach that was only partially because of his possible-virus and partially because of his residual prank-adjacent mental turmoil.

Madam Pomfrey greeted him at the door. "Mr. Lupin? This is quite the surprise. Are you feeling quite well?"

"Er, yes, Madam Pomfrey. I'm feeling... adequate. I just think that maybe... maybe I caught Oswald's virus? I might want to check up on that before I go infecting the whole school."

"Sensible," said Madam Pomfrey. "But you don't have symptoms?"

"No... I do. I think. I don't know. It's all very confusing since... you know. The... the other day." Remus was eyeing Oswald, who appeared to be sleeping. Madam Pomfrey glanced at him quickly and then pulled Remus into her office and shut the door.

"What are you trying to say, Lupin?"

"Full moon, Madam Pomfrey. Werewolf. I feel under the weather quite often, so I can never tell when I'm actually ill. Besides... I haven't been ill a whole lot since... since I'm pretty much perpetually quarantined." He grinned. "I only get ill when Dad gets home before he notices symptoms."

"What do you mean you 'feel under the weather quite often'?"

"I'm sore and fatigued a lot. Surely you knew that, Madam Pomfrey. I can't go through what I do every month and be right as rain all the time."

"I thought it was a minor thing, not like this. Oswald Collins has a very severe strand of wizarding virus. If you feel like that constantly, to the point that you can't tell whether you have the virus or not... that's not ideal."

"Well, maybe I don't have it, Madam Pomfrey. I came because I wasn't sure. Do you have a handkerchief?"

Madam Pomfrey sighed and removed a handkerchief from a small drawer. "It's not looking good, Mr. Lupin."

"I'm aware of that." Remus blew his nose and tried to hand the handkerchief back to Madam Pomfrey, who wrinkled her nose and shook her head. "I might not have it, though. I can't even catch the vast majority of viruses, wizard or Muggle."

"And why is that?"

"Well, I'm... not human, technically. Basically..." Remus cringed and flushed a little before continuing. "Basically, if a dog can't catch it... then neither can I. So if this is a human-only strain...?"

"It's not."

"Oh. Then you're right, it doesn't look good."

Madam Pomfrey sighed again. "Especially because of the full moon. I imagine you have a terrible immune system right now. Sit down on your bed and hold out your hand; I'm going to do a quick diagnostic charm." Remus held out his hand, which was always a bit embarrassing. He hated his hands; they were scarred and ugly and tiny—but, honestly, that was the least of his worries right now. Madam Pomfrey moved her wand in a complicated wiggling shape and then tapped Remus' palm. Immediately, his hand turned blue—after about two seconds, it faded.

"What did that mean?" said Remus, panicked. "That was weird. What did it mean?"

"It means," said Madam Pomfrey, putting her wand back into her pocket, "that you're going to be in the Hospital Wing for a very long time."

"Oh no."

"Oh, yes. I imagine half the school will be soon. Professor Dumbledore had better give me a pay raise; breakouts like these are exhausting. Go on—find a bed in the main ward."

"Can't I stay in here?"

"No. It makes it easier when you're all in one place, and there's no need to be hidden away in here since it's not lycanthropy-related."

"But Oswald will feel bad for infecting me, and I don't want him to..."

Madam Pomfrey nearly laughed at that. "You have quite the penchant for guilt, Mr. Lupin, but this is very advanced guilt indeed. You feel bad because Mr. Collins will feel bad that you feel bad? Surely you realize how ridiculous that sounds?"

"It doesn't feel ridiculous," grouched Remus, and then he realized something horrifying. "Oh no! I'm going to miss Halloween! And Quidditch tryouts!"

"Well, what do you want me to do about it?"

"I... don't know. Isn't there something I can do to help? I know I'm ill and have to stay here, but... I feel fine. I really do. How long must I stay?"

"A week and five minutes," said Madam Pomfrey, dropping a cap in the jar for the offending word.

"But I'm telling the truth! I feel... just the same as I usually do... oh, please don't pity me. I'm so used to soreness and fatigue that I barely feel it."

"I hate the idea of you walking around feeling like you have the wizard flu all the time. I wish there was something I could do to help. You must understand that, as the matron, incurable illnesses are very unsettling for me."

"Trust me, it's unsettling for me, too," said Remus. "So... how's the wizard flu different from the Muggle flu?"

"It's a particular strand that's evolved and infused with magic. Comes about in magical environments. Symptoms are similar to the Muggle flu, but occasionally a bit worse, depending on the strain of Muggle flu that we're using as a comparison."

"Will I feel worse tomorrow?"

"You certainly will. Now go take a bed in the main ward, because I'm very busy. I imagine I'll have ten students in here by tomorrow."

Remus took a seat in the bed furthest from both Oswald and the window. "What if I have a nightmare and wake up everyone else up?" he called.

"They'll live."

"But they might hate me."

"Did you want them to like you?"

"I don't want to stand out."

"No one will care. People wake up with fevers in the middle of the night all the time when they have the wizard flu. Hospital Wings aren't ever particularly quiet at night, so calm down."

"Fi—I mean, I understand," muttered Remus, and he leaned back in bed to read a book.

He honestly felt fine.

Oswald was still sleeping two hours later. Remus heard his friends knocking on the Hospital Wing door, and he put down his book, very worried that he'd infected them.

"Is Remus here?" said Peter quietly. "It's past curfew and he isn't back."

"Exactly. It's past curfew. Why are you here?"

"Because we want to make sure he's all right."

"He's fine. He has the flu. He'll be in here for a week."

James made a noise of utter frustration. "A week?! But what about Halloween? And Quidditch tryouts? And the feast? And... well. We had big plans for after Quidditch tryouts. What about our plans? Where will he be then?!"

"He'll be here, obviously."

"Can we see him?"

"Of course not. He's highly contagious."

"Is he awake?"

"Yes."

"Will you pass on a message?"

Madam Pomfrey sighed for the third time that day. "I suppose. But then it's off to bed with you three or I'll be forced to take House points. Not that taking House points seems to bother you, but I'll take my chances."

"Tell him 'notebook'."

"Notebook?"

"Yes, that. Thank you! See ya, Poppy. And take good care of him! We wouldn't survive without him."

"No, you would not."

Remus heard his friends' footsteps fade, and then he pulled out the notebook as quickly as possible.

"May I ask what that is?" said Madam Pomfrey curiously.

"No," said Remus. He was still a bit frustrated with Madam Pomfrey for making him sleep in the main ward, and besides, the notebook still felt like a sort of secret.

"Very well. Not sure I want to know, anyway. It's ten o'clock, Lupin. To bed at eleven. You're feverish, so I'll allow you to stay up past curfew."

Remus felt fine. This was a much lower fever than the one that he sometimes got before a full moon, and he was certain that he could fall asleep in seconds without any sort of potion. But he didn't tell Madam Pomfrey that, because special allowances were pleasant sometimes—in this extremely specific case, at least. "Yes, Madam Pomfrey," he said, and then he waited for writing to appear on the next clean page of the enchanted notebook, complete with his friends' stupid code names. He was Sheep. James was Nimbus. Peter was Goldfish. Sirius was Red. It was a long story.

Nimbus: Hey Sheep. Did Poppy pass on the message?
Sheep: You forgot the vocative comma.
Nimbus: You're a git.
Sheep: I'm also ill, so don't be mean to me.
Goldfish: Are you feeling okay?
Sheep: Yeah. I'm fine.
Goldfish: Do you want to sleep? We'll leave you alone if you want to sleep.
Nimbus: Don't be an idiot, Goldfish. He doesn't want to sleep.
Sheep: Thanks for asking, Pe
Nimbus: You mean Goldfish.
Sheep: These are dumb code names. Anyway. I'd rather talk with you.
Red: You'll miss Halloween!
Sheep: I know. Update me?
Red: Constantly.
Nimbus: We'll let you know how the pranks go!
Goldfish: And the feast!
Nimbus: And the Quidditch tryouts. I expect you two to be giving live updates and taking pictures the whole time.
Red: Ughhhhh.
Sheep: I don't need that, James.
Nimbus: Nimbus.
Sheep: Fine. Nimbus.
Nimbus: And yes, you do! This will be the most legendary Quidditch tryout ever. I am going to make the team with a perfect score.
Sheep: Sure.
Nimbus: Don't be mean.
Sheep: But I'm ill. I can do whatever I want.
Red: Except go to the Halloween feast...
Sheep: Well, you don't have to rub it in!
Goldfish: I'll do live updates for Remus, Nimbus!
Nimbus: Thanks, Goldfish. You're the best.
Red: I thought I was the best?
Nimbus: Not anymore.
Sheep: I always knew you were the best, Goldfish.
Red: I'm still the best.
Nimbus: After me.

The banter continued for a while, and Remus was smiling ear-to-ear the entire time. They continued to talk until eleven, when Madam Pomfrey gave Remus a stern look and told him that it was time for bed.

Sheep: Madam Pomfrey says it's time for bed. I have to go. Thank you so much for keeping me entertained.
Nimbus: Least we could do. Night!
Red: Sleep tight!
Goldfish: Good night!
Red: Don't let the wer
Nimbus: RED NO DON'T SAY THAT
Sheep: What? What was he going to say?
Red: Don't let the BEDBUGS bite. Sorry. Misspelled bedbugs there.
Sheep: Since when does "bedbug" start with W-E-R?
Nimbus: You know Sirius. Plays by his own rules. Haha. Anyway. Good night.

Remus didn't have any nightmares that night, even with giant windows looming at him from right across his bed.

Yep. His friends were good for him, all right, and he couldn't afford to lose them.

"Lu—Remus? What are you doing here?" cried Oswald, and his voice pierced through the darkness that was Remus' peaceful slumber—immediately, Remus was yanked out of his sleep. He rubbed his eyes. Then he quickly looked himself up and down, making sure that nothing had slipped off during the night. He couldn't afford any scars to be showing. His friends were already close enough to the truth... he couldn't risk Oswald finding out, too. That would just be a disaster.

"Seems I've caught the virus that's going around," he said airily. "But I feel fine. Must have a lighter strain."

"Is it my fault?" said Oswald, his eyes wide.

"Probably not. I've been feeling ill for a while." That was the truth, but not in the way that Remus had implied it.

"Oh," said Oswald, who looked absolutely exhausted, what with his droopy eyes and messy hair. Mere minutes later, he fell asleep again. Remus smiled and laid his open notebook on his lap (just in case his friends started writing again), and then pulled out a spare piece of parchment.

Dear Professor Questus,

My life is awful.

You already knew that, of course. I'm not a particularly lucky person. But this is AWFUL. Everything's happening at once!

The full moon was only a few days ago, and now I'm in the Hospital Wing again because I caught some nasty strain of the wizarding flu. Madam Pomfrey says I'm highly contagious, so even though I feel FINE, I'm not allowed out. She told me that it's evolved, infused itself with magic, and become immune to magical solutions. So the only thing she can offer me is "bed rest, water, food, and good old-fashioned Muggle remedies". I don't need any of the above; I just need to stop being contagious. I can attend class in this state! The only problem is that I'll spread it around if I do. I'm plenty resilient, aren't I? I can attend class with the wizard flu. Easy.

I caught it from a first-year whom I found crying in the corridors—his name's Oswald. I helped him to the Hospital Wing (because he didn't know where it was) and now I'm ill. James and Sirius and Peter wanted to visit me, but Madam Pomfrey didn't want them to get the virus. Honestly, how do humans feel all the time if THIS bothers them so much? Am I really that different? Madam Pomfrey was HORRIFIED when I told her that I didn't notice the symptoms because I feel like this a lot.

Madam Pomfrey says that there will probably be at least ten students in the Hospital Wing by the end of today, and they'll only increase exponentially. She says that there's an outbreak like this at least once every few years. Sometimes she has to start releasing people while they're still contagious (because the Wing gets too full), and then they have to heal up the rest of the way in their dorms. When that happens, just about everyone in the school gets infected, and Madam Pomfrey says she gets so busy that she hardly sleeps at all.

She also says that she's been exposed to so many wizarding flus (apparently she started working in the virus ward at St. Mungo's right after leaving Hogwarts, and she was an intern during summers) that she's pretty much immune to a lot of them. Lucky.

She's still got it worse than me, though, what with all the kids who are going to need her help, all at the same time. She seems to think it's the end of the world, but I can think of at least ONE thing that is much worse to be infected with. Anyway.

James and Sirius and I decorated the D.A.D.A. room for Halloween. The decorations are much better than the ones we used to decorate Professor Dumbledore's office last year. We're quicker at using spells now, so we could get a lot more done. We hung banners and spiders and signs and skeletons and pumpkins in every direction—I've attached a photograph that Sirius took. Ignore James in the background; he was practicing his push-ups at the most inopportune time.

We also did something that I didn't completely approve of, but I couldn't stop them if I wanted to. They made these costumes for the first-years (Fwoopers. They're stupid costumes really), and James and Peter and Sirius are going to fly around the castle with them in a V-formation. They figure it's the perfect costume, and James really likes coercing first-years into doing dangerous broomstick activities.

But I'm going to miss all that now that I'm ill, and I'm also going to miss James' Quidditch tryouts. On the other hand, though, I'm ALSO going to miss a couple D.A.D.A. classes and the Halloween feast (loud, crowded, and noisy), so I'd say it worked out for me.

Even though I am HORRIBLY bored.

Please let me know how it goes with Uncle Bryson, and do try not to antagonize him. He really is very nice to Dad, and Dad likes him a lot. He's not a bad person... he just thinks that werewolves are a menace to society. And, seeing as I just assisted my friends in decorating the D.A.D.A. classroom and coerced ALL the Gryffindor first-years into participating in a dangerous activity on broomsticks, I'm inclined to agree.

Madam Pomfrey's making me sleep in the main ward, so I'm being very careful to stay completely under the covers so that no one accidentally sees any of my scars—which means that I'm unbearably hot. (You know, I have to be very careful not to speak those words around James: if he were here, he'd run a hand through his hair, chuckle in that self-righteous way of his, and say "No, Remus, I'M unbearably hot." He makes that joke about seven times a day, and it gets very predictable and annoying. Classic James.)

Is Mum still hanging my letters on the wall? I just sent her an eight-page essay about why Gryffindor is better than Ravenclaw. Dad's going to throw a fit if he sees that on the wall and I'd really like to be around to see that.

Write back soon, because I'm bored, lonely, and miserable.

—R.J. Lupin

Chapter Text

Lupin—

What a coincidence! I happen to be bored, lonely, and miserable as well! What a joyous time to be alive!

In case you couldn't tell, that was sarcasm. I thought I'd make that perfectly clear, just in case the fever has rendered you incapable of basic human communication. Didn't want you getting any wrong ideas about my supposed joy.

And don't you dare lecture me about being nice to your uncle. Your father told me all about the things that you've done to him. The way you talk about him, you'd think that his hatred towards you is unmerited, which is entirely untrue.

Apparently you managed to convince him that werewolves could read minds last time he visited, just because you thought it would be humorous to observe his paranoia? And you hid his suitcase? And you "accidentally" cooked his food wrong? And you "accidentally" let the Boggart escape? And don't even get me started on the OTHER essay that you mailed to your mother to hang on the wall. "World Domination is Sixty-Seven Easy Steps" with specific instructions to hang it in very plain sight? Come on, Lupin. You're not even trying.

(By the way—I did read that essay, and you spelled "space-time continuum" incorrectly. Also, you used it in the wrong context. Do you even know what it means? Helpful hint: it is not a type of machine gun, nor is it a black hole.)

Anyway. You say that he "doesn't like werewolves," but perhaps your uncle doesn't like you because he doesn't like children who fill his shoes with dead worms...? Just a thought.

(I do not disapprove of any of this. I find it highly amusing. In fact, I wouldn't be opposed to your coming home for Halloween so that we can antagonize your uncle together. I know some good hexes, and the wizard flu is a wonderful excuse to come home for a week. I don't even care if you infect us all. It'll make my life a little more interesting, at least—I'm horrifically bored.)

But anyway. Despite the jokes, I am sympathetic to your plight—I'm very sorry you're ill, and I'm far sorrier that you are stuck in the Hospital Wing with the ever-annoying Pomfrey. I would be happy to give you some updates from here in rural England to keep your mind off of your Pomfrey-induced misery. Yes, your mother did hang up both essays (the one about Gryffindor and the one about world domination), though I wouldn't recommend dominating the world until you're at least fifteen. I know you don't like to hear this, but you're a bit young. When you do rule the world, however, I would like you to lower the price of cat food. After you do that, then you may focus on less important things (like... I don't know... werewolf rights. But only after the cat food).

Your father has already written an essay in response to your Gryffindor/Ravenclaw essay—it's nine whole pages on why Ravenclaw is better than Gryffindor, so he's currently winning. Yours was only eight pages. It is, to your mother's dismay, hanging on the wall next to yours. I imagine he'll send you a copy. I'm planning on writing my own about the benefits of Slytherin, myself, and your mother is working on one denouncing wizarding culture completely. We're all bored. Can you tell?

I'm very sorry that you are hot under the covers. If only there was a convenient Cooling Charm that is described in detail on page 560 of your Charms textbook. (About halfway down the page—learning it should provide entertainment as well as better temperature control.) Goodness knows that being too hot is probably the worst thing that you've ever had to go through. You have my complete sympathy.

I'm glad you had a nice Halloween. I'll be honest: I forgot about it completely. Just let October thirty-first pass without a second thought. I think that's a testament to how miserable I am. I'm bored as well; your parents won't let me leave my house. I think they're downright terrified of what I'll do to your uncle.

Anyway. Feel free to write back whenever you'd like. Right now. In two weeks. I don't care. It isn't like I've got anything else to do.

—J. Questus (not Professor. Please. I'm miserable enough.)

Remus put down the letter with a chuckle. "What is it?" asked Madam Pomfrey, who was mixing a Pepper-Up Potion.

"Professor Questus. He's in a good mood today, and it's quite a funny letter."

"Oh." Madam Pomfrey's face wasn't in view, but Remus could practically feel the eyeroll. He ignored it and started writing a response immediately.

Dear Professor Questus—

I DON'T antagonize Uncle Bryson, and he really DOES hate me on the pure basis of my lycanthropy. I tried to please him for many years before I realized that he was never going to like me, no matter what I did—and then I started having some fun with it. You should know that not all of that was on purpose, and ALL of them were his fault. I did not tell him that werewolves could read minds; I simply fueled his assumption. (It was hilarious. He wouldn't stay in the same room with me for two seconds, which was a win-win. I doubt there's anything in his head to begin with... sorry; that was uncalled for.)

The suitcase incident was completely his fault—he told me not to touch it (he was convinced that I'm a kleptomaniac, just because some other werewolves steal things to live). So HE was the one to put the Disillusionment Charm on it, not me. Then he forgot where it was and blamed me.

As for the food, he mentioned to my father that werewolves often go hungry because they're picky and dramatic, and he was very careful to let me overhear. Then I put vanilla, salt, hot sauce, and a bit of pumpkin juice in his tomato soup. The color turned out fine. The taste did not, but he couldn't very well ask for something else after he'd professed that I was such a "picky eater". It was a stroke of genius on my end, I think.

He brought the Boggart upon himself. Started teasing my father about how useless his work was—said that no one's afraid of Boggarts anyhow since we all know they're not real. Dad was laughing it off, but he was bothered. Then Uncle Bryson said that he didn't know why my father trusted a Boggart in the house with a werewolf, anyway—so I left the cabinet door open. "Oops, looks like you really can't trust a werewolf in the house with a Boggart!"  I felt guilty and put it back before it found Uncle Bryson, but Mum caught me wrestling with the cupboard door and I got a very stern talking-to.

...BUT t hen Mum accidentally let it out an hour later when Uncle Bryson called me a "financial burden", which was the funniest thing I'd seen all day.  Unfortunately, Dad came across it first and then got angry with the both of us.

I'll have you know that my essay on world domination is the finest literary work that I have ever produced. I plan to get it published someday. Then I'll teach a class at Hogwarts with my essay as the textbook. "D.A.D.A.: Domination And the Dark Arts" sounds like a great title, doesn't it? I do hope it doesn't scare Uncle Bryson when he sees that essay hanging on the wall. I do hope that it doesn't lower his opinion of me. I do hope that he doesn't panic. I do SO want to uphold my shining reputation as an upstanding member of society.

(No, I do not know what a space-time continuum is. What is it?)

I appreciate that you invited me to my own house (thanks, I guess), but I can't leave Hogwarts because I'm highly contagious. Even though you wouldn't mind having the wizard flu, I wouldn't want to infect Mum or Dad (although infecting Uncle Bryson... never mind; that's mean). That said, I would be willing to learn any hex you would be willing to teach me, even though I wouldn't use them on Uncle Bryson. James and Sirius need to be brought down a peg every so often.

I mean it, though—don't antagonize Uncle Bryson. I don't hate him; he's just fun to tease. He loves my dad, and Dad loves him. That's enough for me.

I'll give you updates on the Halloween pranks when I get them from my friends! That should make you slightly less miserable (or perhaps it won't change anything. Maybe you're just a naturally miserable person).

Have a great afternoon, Professor!

—R.J. Lupin

Nimbus: Prank update time!
Red: How're you doing, Sheepie?!
Sheep: Significantly worse now. The name "Sheep" is dumb enough. You don't have to make it dumber.
Goldfish: It's not dumb! And about the prank: Pensley hated it!
Sheep: She did?
Nimbus: Oh, yes!
Red: I could have told it better, Goldfish. Should have let me do it.
Goldfish: Sorry.
Nimbus: She said that we were demonstrating a "disgusting lack of respect" and needed to "act with maturity".
Red: But get this... she couldn't take all of the decorations down!
Sheep: She couldn't?
Nimbus: Nope! Especially the flying bats. Her aim is terrible. Tiny bats were flying around the classroom all day.
Sheep: I thought that she would like it. "Creative" and "fun" and all that.
Nimbus: She didn't! And then she blamed me and Sirius right off the bat.
Sheep: Not me?
Red: Nah, she likes you, I think. Sometimes. She thinks you're a paragon of virtue. Sometimes.
Nimbus: You never can tell with Pensley.
Goldfish: The other students have been talking about it nonstop.
Red: Yep! And no one could prove that it was us.
Nimbus: Nope! And I reckon Minerva doesn't even mind. She doesn't like Pensley much.
Red: Exactly! And you'll never guess what Filius said when she went to complain to him.
Sheep: I daresay I shall not.
Nimbus: "It's some advanced spellwork, especially if it is indeed Mr. Potter and Mr. Black. Accusing them means that you think them capable of fifth-year spells, does it not? You must think very highly of them."
Sheep: It's official—I adore Professor Flitwick.
Nimbus: Me too! Pensley shut up after that. Doesn't think we're good enough to do it, I suppose—or at least won't admit it.
Sheep: How did the other prank go? The one with the Fwoopers?
Goldfish: It was a lo
Red: Let me tell it. It was a lot of fun!
Nimbus: I want to tell it, actually. We flew around like BIRDS, I tell you! Perfect formation.
Red: Not really, though. First-years kept bumping into each other willy-nilly.
Nimbus: Okay, maybe not PERFECT. But I would argue that bumping into each other MADE it perfect. Rolanda was FURIOUS.
Red: Minerva was even more furious.
Nimbus: But the sight of tiny first-years clad in bright colors swooping across the sky with me in the lead well made up for it.
Sheep: How much detention did you get?
Nimbus: THAT'S THE BEST PART. None!
Sheep: No way.
Nimbus: Well, we got a ton, actually. But none during Quidditch practices! Minerva REALLY wants me to make the team, I think. But detention that doesn't interfere with Quidditch is hardly detention at all!
Sheep: Your logic astounds me.
Red: But we did lose a myriad House points for tricking first-years. Minerva's livid.
Nimbus: So anyway,  Red and Goldfish and I have pictures we wanna show you.
Sheep: I hate these nicknames.
Red: I know. We'll put them in the notebook so you can see them. The pictures, not the nicknames.
Nimbus: Pick your favorites and we'll copy them for you. The pictures, not the nicknames.
Goldfish: Are you feeling better? (You, not the pictures.)
Sheep: I am, actually. I feel great.

Hours passed, and Remus and his friends wrote back and forth for ages.

Evans could say what she liked about Remus' friends, but Remus thought they were brilliant.

Dear Remus,

Your uncle Bryson visited yesterday evening. It was nice to see my brother again, even though I don't hold a lot of his views. He wasn't nearly as insensitive as he was last time he visited the house—but then again, you were in it last time. It was quite lovely, reminiscing about old times...

Love,
Dad.

Dear Remus,

Your father is stupid and your uncle is a git. I ended up staying home with them, and I wish I hadn't. There were so many thinly-veiled insults towards certain groups of people that I wanted to throw him out the window. I don't know how your father was so complacent about it all...

Pray for me,
Mum.

Lupin—

Your father seemed happy to see your uncle Bryson. Your mother did not. There was some shouting. There were some disputes. You'll be proud to note that I did not antagonize him, but I did try very hard to listen to whatever they were saying (it wasn't like there was anything else to do). I didn't catch anything, and I doubt your parents will tell you about it. Be assured that, when they inevitably tell me all about it tomorrow, I will bring you up to speed (unless, of course, they make me promise not to tell you. I am a man of my word). Be forewarned: your mother is livid. Anyway, I hope Pomfrey isn't being too insufferable...

—J. Questus

Lupin—

Your parents did not have to good sense to make me promise to keep the information that they divulged about your uncle's visit to myself, so I am going to tell you everything that I know. You have to right to know, after all. He is your uncle, and much of the visit was indeed about you (which I'm sure you've already guessed).

He Apparated just outside of your house around ten am, knocked politely, and your father came to answer the door. They talked for a bit about trivial things (money, home life, "how have you been?", etc etc etc I HATE small talk), and then went inside. Apparently, it started out very pleasant. Your mother made tea, your father and uncle sat in the sitting room and talked, there was some good conversation, etc. Then things started to go south when your father brought up your education. Bryson Adams, apparently, did not know that you were going to Hogwarts—and he wasn't very happy about it.

Your father described the chaos that ensued as "a spirited discussion." Your mother prefers the more forcible phrase "a heated row." Judging by your mother's face and your father's blind spot towards his brother, I'm inclined to agree with Mrs. Lupin. All I got out of them was that Bryson Adams proposed that Hogwarts was a strictly human institution, your father challenged him to find a difference between you and a human, your uncle provided many differences, your mother got angry, and then exceedingly disrespectful things were said regarding werewolves (by your uncle, obviously). He seems to think that it is your parents' responsibility, first and foremost, to "get rid of you," and that pushing the burden of a twelve-year-old werewolf onto others is sheer impudence and immorality. Which is wrong of him to say, by the way (because you're the idiotic type of person who might actually believe such nonsense).

When your parents came to rant over tea, however, I did learn some information that I think you might find useful.

1. Your father will never, ever, find irredeemable fault with your uncle. They grew up together, they love each other, they were close as anything as children, and your uncle is the only one in your father's entire extended family that did not disown you. Your father is extremely grateful for his "tolerance," (he defines the term loosely) and is more or less blind to all of your uncle's faults. He's annoyed and angry, but he isn't willing to cut ties. You might be interested to note, however, that he loves you far more. If your father had to choose, he'd choose you—that is a fact of which I am certain.

2. Your mother, however, did NOT grow up with your uncle, and she found irredeemable faults the second that he changed his name on your account. In fact, she thinks that your father is betraying you even by meeting up with his brother in private. That said, she does care about her husband's happiness and trusts his judgement. Whether she will or will not after yesterday remains to be seen. You know, I do believe that she automatically sees all of her in-laws as villains after the way that they treated you.

3. Bryson Adams has been a matter of dispute between the two of them for years. I don't think that the two of them could have an honest-to-goodness fight, though. For all of the teasing that they do, they're annoyingly afraid of offending each other.

4. Your uncle advocated for your "humane" execution when you were four. I hope this isn't shocking information—I should hope it would have been obvious. He thinks that werewolves are evil, emotionless, incapable of empathy and love, and dangerous. He believes that you became a literal monster after you were bitten and cannot be cured (and, to be fair, all of that is true on the full moon). He believes that your father is keeping you around out of delusion, self-deception, and sentimental value. I don't believe he loves you at all. But he does love your father, and that's something.

5. Apparently he also made some derogatory comments towards Muggles as well as werewolves. He's just all-around awful—clearly the standard Lupin afraid-of-offending-people thing doesn't run in the family. Your mother is seething. Your father is guilty. I am not surprised. Do let me know how you feel about it so that I can add it to the list.

That's all I've learned about the situation, regrettably. If you can fill in any of the gaps, that would be wonderful. I hope that some of this has been helpful—and please do NOT tell your parents that I've told you this. Even though they didn't make me promise not to tell you, they didn't explicitly give me permission, either.

Get well soon.

—J. Questus

Remus put down the letter and stared at Questus' fourth point. Humane execution? Incapable of empathy? Sentimental value? The second-to-last sentence of that fourth point was so hard to swallow that it seemed to get caught in Remus' throat. I don't believe he loves you at all. Remus read it over and over again. Over and over and over and over again.

He had known that his uncle didn't love him. He'd known that his uncle probably wanted him dead. He'd known his uncle's views inside and out. But no one had ever said them, because Remus' family never talked about anything, and there was power in words. It was one thing to believe that Remus should be killed. It was another to walk up to one's brother and say, "Hi, I think that your four-year-old son should be executed because he's a menace to society. Don't worry, it'll be humane."

Of course Remus hadn't known that. Of course it was a shock. Of course Remus' dad hadn't told him that Uncle Bryson had legitimately voiced his opposition and had tried to act on his views.

Remus felt ill, but he didn't understand why he felt ill. He's already known. So why...?

He suddenly felt very angry at Questus. Why would he tell Remus that? I hope this isn't shocking information? Of course it was shocking information that Remus' own uncle wanted him dead!

But Remus had already known that.

But that sentence... I don't believe he loves you at all... it made Remus sick. He'd known this. He'd suspected this. Even his father hadn't ever implied that Uncle Bryson loved Remus deep down... or even liked him. Not even a little. But hearing someone actually say it hurt Remus in a place that he'd never been hurt.

Why did it hurt? He'd already known!

Suddenly, Remus realized why it hurt.

He hadn't known.

He'd known in his head. If someone had asked him if Uncle Bryson loved him, he'd have said "no" without even hesitating. But the fact was, Remus loved Uncle Bryson. He didn't like him much. He hated spending time with him. But he always sort of admired the way that Uncle Bryson believed that his brother was harboring a monster and tearing the family apart, yet went to see him regardless. Uncle Bryson went against the rest of the family to go see a brother that he himself disapproved of. Uncle Bryson was a fundamentally good person (in Remus' opinion); he just didn't like Dark creatures. Didn't like werewolves. Didn't like Remus.

And that hurt. Remus couldn't care less if Pensley didn't love him. He hoped she didn't (although he didn't want her to hate him, seeing as he saw her on a daily basis). Remus wouldn't have been shocked if someone told him that no one at the Ministry loved him. That was common sense. And Remus would have been much more concerned if someone like Evans or Snape did love him than if they didn't. But it hurt when it was family—because they were supposed to love by default, weren't they?—and it hurt even more when Remus loved the person and the person didn't love Remus back.

Love felt like too strong a word, but everyone that he genuinely liked at least cared for him, didn't they? And Remus had always loved Uncle Bryson... he just didn't like Uncle Bryson's views.

But Uncle Bryson wasn't the only one. Remus' father's family all hated him. Remus' father's mother didn't love him. Remus' father's father didn't love him. None of them did. Remus didn't even remember them, so it didn't hurt as much as facing the harsh reality of Uncle Bryson, but it still hurt to admit it to himself. They don't love me. They don't love me. They loved me when I was four and they don't anymore. Only two people in my family know what I am and still love me. I only have my parents and some of the Hogwarts staff. Not even the government cares if I live or die. In fact, they want me to die so much that they outright asked my father to do it, and I was only four.

The thought was shocking, but it was settling in. Why did it hurt less to admit that Uncle Bryson hated him than it did admitting that Uncle Bryson didn't love him?

He picked up a quill, and his hands were shaking slightly—Merlin's beard, he was so sensitive—and then he set to writing.

Dear Professor Questus,

Thank you for the letter. I must say that #4 did shock me a bit. Just a bit. I didn't know that Uncle Bryson advocated for my death when I was younger (Dad never mentioned it, obviously), and I did think that he might love me a little. Well, perhaps I didn't think it, but I'd never admitted the opposite to myself. Confronting that reality was probably the most interesting thing I've done all day (because I'm very, very bored).

I know you asked me to fill in some gaps, but I'm afraid I can't—clearly, I don't know much if I'm just now discovering that my uncle doesn't love me.

Thanks for letting me know. Mum and Dad never talk to me about Uncle Bryson, and he only comes over once every couple of years. I didn't really know all that (or at least I'd never put it into words). And it's very good to know that Mum might still be angry when I come home, whenever that may be. Now I can brace myself.

Also, I can't quite master that Cooling Charm. The best that I've achieved so far has been a few snowflakes on my bedsheets (which Madam Pomfrey wasn't happy about), and I don't think that's right. I've finished some work for Pensley, though, so my stay hasn't been completely wasted as of so far. Question about the Softening Charm: it cannot be used on living things, correct? I can't imagine the havoc it would wreak if it could, but I can't find anything in my textbook that professes that it cannot. If it can, then isn't it a very Dark spell? One could kill someone with it, couldn't one?

I'm starting to get a very runny nose. Impossibly runny, really. Which is unfortunate, since that's the only symptom of the wizard flu that I'm not used to on account of the full moons. There are currently fourteen people in the Hospital Wing, and Madam Pomfrey is more frazzled than I've ever seen her. I'm accustomed to one-on-one attention, so this is wonderful.

James has Quidditch tryouts tomorrow. I'll keep you posted if you do the same for me!

—R. Lupin

Chapter Text

Remus was sitting up in bed, listening to the chatter around the busy Hospital Wing and reading the rapid writing appearing on the pages of his notebook.

Red: And now James is doing a dive... oh no oh no he's gonna crash... he didn't. We're good.
Goldfish: Boy, that was a fantastic dive.
Red: Really was. And... he got the Quaffle in! He's really good.
Goldfish: The captain looks impressed.
Red: There's no way he won't make the team. His attitude is better than it was last year, too.
Goldfish: Yeah, he's not shouting at people and trying to correct them.
Red: I told him not to do that last night.
Sheep: Lo and behold, he does listen.
Goldfish: That was the BEST dodge I've ever seen.
Red: Yeah, he's gonna make it.
Sheep: After all McGonagall did to make sure detentions didn't conflict with practices, I'm sure he will.

The next day, Remus woke up at five-thirty am and stared at the next blank page in the notebook until writing finally appeared there (five-thirty-five. Apparently, James was excited enough to wake up early and wait for the lists to be posted. That wasn't new, though, because James Potter was usually up at the crack of dawn).

Nimbus: I MADE THE TEAM! CHASER! LIKE, ACTUALLY MADE IT. NOT EVEN RESERVE! PRACTICE STARTS NEXT SATURDAY!
Sheep: I knew you would!
Nimbus: Everyone did! I was brilliant! Wow. Wow!
Red: Does this mean that he's going to get all angry and snap at us every time there's a game?
Nimbus: I didn't ever do that.
Red: Yeah, you did. You get all snappy when you're anxious.  You were a right monster this morning.
Sheep: I wouldn't use the word "monster". But you kind of were last year, too.

There was a very long silence. Finally, James responded.

Nimbus: None of us are monsters, least of all me. I'm a loveable person all the time.
Red: You wish.
Sheep: The only loveable person here is Pe—oh, I hate these names. Goldfish.
Goldfish: I think you're loveable, too.
Sheep: That's nice of you to say. Madam Pomfrey doesn't. She yelled at me yesterday for staying up too late doing homework.
Red: How long did you stay up?
Sheep: About twelve-thirty. But I had a high fever, so she was sympathetic somewhere deep down.
Nimbus: What a rulebreaker.
Sheep: Shut up.

Sirius' birthday came and went, and Remus wrote back and forth with his friends in the notebook nearly all day. James tried to put the mirror inside of the notebook, but it didn't transport to Remus, unfortunately. Instead, James tried to draw Sirius' expressions at the party that Remus had helped plan for him via notebook. James was awful at drawing, so it made Remus laugh so hard that Madam Pomfrey got worried about him.

Remus ended up making Sirius a very elaborately charmed birthday card, and it transported via notebook perfectly. James ended up buying Sirius a fancy camera case that shrunk to fit in his pocket (as per Remus' suggestion). Then the writing died away—Remus figured his friends were doing something exciting and didn't want to write to him anymore—and Remus had to occupy himself another way.

This, Remus realized guiltily, was the second year in a row that he'd been in the Hospital Wing during Sirius' birthday. But his friends didn't seem to mind.

Professor Questus started a very large game of dots and boxes on the back of one of his letters, and he and Remus started making a move whenever they exchanged letters. Remus lost every single game, but he suspected that perhaps Professor Questus was cheating. But there was nothing else to do, especially since Remus' parents' letters were rife with pity and his friends were too busy to write to him all hours of the day.

Dear Professor Questus—

James made the Quidditch team, there are twenty-three people in the Hospital Wing, and I only have three more days before I can leave...

Lupin—

Your parents really can't cook. Additionally, I have taken to trying to murder Dumbledore's houseplant...

Dear Professor Questus—

Just leave it with me until the twentieth of November, I'm sure I can do the trick...

Lupin—

I swear it is invincible. Even fire didn't work...

Dear Professor Questus—

I did the Cooling Charm this morning to an acceptable degree (degree, get it? Haha)...

Lupin—

I'm assuming that you haven't started your plan for world domination yet, because cat food is still expensive...

Dear Professor Questus—

There are thirty-two students in the Hospital Wing. They're filling up the floor and Madam Pomfrey's office...

Lupin—

This houseplant is making me very angry...

"So..." said Sirius, popping a Chocolate Frog into his mouth. "We telling Remus soon? Quidditch tryouts are over. You made the team. Let's tell him."

"He only just got the wizard flu," said Peter. "Let's wait a little bit longer."

"No!" said Sirius. "He's had to deal with this alone for long enough, don't you think?"

"What if it's worse for him when we know?" said James thoughtfully.

"But we do know. There's no stopping that from happening. It's already happened."

"What if it's worse for him when he knows we know?"

Sirius groaned dramatically. "So what if it is? Let's just tell him! I'm tired of sneaking around and I want to ask questions!"

"But..." protested Peter.

"He's an indestructible werewolf, for goodness' sake! He can deal with it!"

"Fine," said James. "We'll tell him soon. But we need to plan first."

Sirius, who hated planning more than anything, groaned again—but, admittedly, it was partially out of relief.

After Remus' quarantine period was—finally, finally, finally!—over, he went to breakfast with his friends the next morning—finally, finally, finally!—and the Great Hall was oddly empty. Which made sense, because there were currently forty-one students in the Hospital Wing. "Have any of the staff gotten ill?" he asked James, who was buttering a crumpet with fierce concentration.

James shrugged. "No. Minerva would just scare the wizard flu off. Even the wizard flu won't go near Horace or Pensley. Rolanda doesn't stay on the ground long enough to catch it. Albus Percival Wulfric Brian is too good at magic. Cuthbert can't; he's a ghost. And Filius is so tiny that the virus probably missed him."

"We think that Argus has got it, but he's too stubborn to admit it," said Sirius. "He's just walking around the corridors sneezing like nobody's business."

"And Rubeus intimidates germs, I think," Peter added.

Remus laughed. "There are forty-one kids in the Hospital Wing," he said, "but Madam Pomfrey says that the virus seems to be contained... by some miracle. So she's not letting any out until she's sure they're not contagious. It was a tight fit."

"Brilliant," said Sirius, but he didn't seem to care much. "Fair warning: Pensley's still angry with us. That woman sure can hold a grudge."

"Also, I think that all of the Gryffindors are after me," said James, chewing thoughtfully on a scrap of bacon. "Their anger increases exponentially with their year. A twelve-year-old beat them at Quidditch tryouts. They're furious, especially the seventh-years."

Remus got the gist. "I was afraid of that."

"Don't be afraid. I could take them on any day!" James started spearing the air with his fork. "Hi-yah! I am the master of Quidditch and fork warfare!"

"You wish!" said Sirius, joining in with his own fork.

"You realize that we are in the middle of a flu epidemic," said Remus. "Fighting with your saliva-covered forks may not be the best idea."

"Bah, I won't get ill," said James. "I'm too talented."

"And I'm too Pureblood," said Sirius. "Immune system of steel."

"Not sure that's how inbreeding works," muttered James, which earned him a sharp jab in the side from Sirius. Remus was afraid that James had genuinely offended Sirius at first, but Sirius was laughing.

"Anyway," said Sirius, "we're too good to catch some old wizard flu!"

In Charms class, Sirius sneezed.

"You idiot," hissed Remus. "Go to the Hospital Wing. You have the flu."

James blew his nose; he was sneezing, too. "Just allergies," he said.

"No! Go! Don't get anyone else ill! Go!"

"No!"

"I suffered; now it's your turn."

"I'll miss my first Quidditch practice!"

"Yes, you'll miss one practice out of tens and tens of practices. How terribly tragic. After Saturday, you've got practice three times a week. Go."

"But..."

"Think of all of the classes you'll miss."

James looked at Sirius. Sirius looked at James.

"Think of how much havoc you could cause in a small, crowded hospital room," Remus muttered, switching tactics.

James' and Sirius' hands shot up in the air at the same time, and they were in the Hospital Wing before Remus could even gloat about his success.

Peter sneezed during lunch.

"Go to the Hospital Wing, Peter."

Peter didn't even argue. He was looking quite green.

For the second week in a row, Remus was alone.

Just his luck.

He attended class alone. He took notes alone. He revised alone. He did Pensley's homework alone. He had to read Julius Caesar aloud alone (which was incredibly embarrassing). He used the Pensieve alone before bed. He didn't have any nightmares, but if he did, then he would have had them alone. He wrote letters to his parents and Professor Questus alone. No one pressured him to go outside. No one helped him revise for the Charms quiz (he aced it anyway). No one helped him revise for the Transfiguration quiz (he failed).

Before the Marauders had taken Remus' life by storm, this was what he'd expected Hogwarts to be like—a lonely, friendless Remus Lupin wandering the corridors, existing in the intervals between full moons—and Remus decided that he didn't like it. Not one bit.

"Good morning, students and faculty!" said Dumbledore, standing in front of a quite empty Great Hall. Remus put down his toast—he hated eating alone. "Faculty," Dumbledore mused. "I'm not sure if I like that word or very much dislike it. "Students and staff" has better alliteration anyway. Let me start over." He cleared his throat and started over. "Good morning, students and staff!"

There were a few mumbled greetings.

"Madam Pomfrey has just reported that the virus is not, in fact, contained. Your parents have been alerted, and you have the option to go home. All classes and activities are canceled until further notice. The Hospital Wing has been more than full for a while, and we are going to start releasing students and letting them recover in their own dormitories. That does—for those of you who are good at deductive reasoning—mean that every single person in this school will likely catch the virus. It's not the ideal way to do things, but we have no other option. Madam Pomfrey will be receiving a pay raise. If you have questions or concerns, please come see me."

There was a brief silence as the few students in the Great Hall contemplated this. For a moment, Dumbledore merely smiled serenely... and then he said, "Remus Lupin—see me in my office later today."

Remus dropped his fork with a clank that rang across the near-empty hall and nodded.

Oswald tapped him on the shoulder (the wrong shoulder), and Remus flinched. "May I... may I sit here?" Oswald said. "I know I should be sitting with the Ravenclaws, but all of my friends are ill..."

"Oswald. Good to see you again. Sure," said Remus.

"Ozzie," Oswald corrected. "I mean, Ozzie... if you want. Er... why does Professor Dumbledore want to see you?"

"I don't know."

"You're not in trouble?"

"I don't think so."

"Ah." Oswald poked at a piece of sausage.

"Pretty awful first year, huh?" said Remus with a smile. "There wasn't a flu epidemic when I was a first-year last year."

"Yeah. I'm still really happy to be a wizard, though."

"Me, too. Hogwarts is brilliant."

Here, Oswald's face absolutely lit up. "I know!" he said, grinning, and then he began to ramble about the moving staircases, the magic, the professors, his magic wand, his classes... Remus listened with interest, trying to get a word in edgewise, but he couldn't. That was all right. Listening to the ecstatic Oswald with entertaining enough. "But..." Oswald finally said, finishing his tirade and wringing his hands slightly, "I have some questions, actually. My friends have answered most of them, but if you don't mind..."

"Go ahead! My mum always says that wizarding culture is incredibly confusing at first, so I'm happy to help."

"Okay. What's a Mudblood?"

Remus dropped his fork again, and this time it was even louder than the last. A Slytherin gave him a dirty look, and he nodded apologetically. "Where did you hear that?" he hissed at Oswald, massaging his hand where the tines had grazed him.

"Heard some Slytherins talking in the corridor. Your friend's brother, and the blonde one who's also related to your friend."

"That..." Remus rubbed his face and sighed. "Well, that word isn't very nice. It's a slur. Some people think that... they think that just because all their family are wizards, then they're better than everybody else. People with a really long history of wizard family members are called Purebloods. And the opposite... people without "pure" bloodlines... are... well, they're that. According to some people. It's not a nice word at all. They shouldn't be saying it."

"Oh." Oswald paused, considering. "Are Purebloods better?"

"No! And calling people... that... means that they consider Muggles to be... well, mud. And they're not. My mum is a Muggle, and she's brilliant and clever and even brighter than my wizard father sometimes."

"Huh," said Oswald. "And that's what the war is about?"

"Some of it, but my dad thinks that Voldemort is just adopting the ideology because it'll attract the strongest supporters. Pureblood families are often wealthy."

"So do lots of people hate me?"

Remus knew a thing or two about hatred. "No. No one hates you. Some people think that you don't deserve to go here, but those people are very few and far between. Besides... sometimes discrimination is a good thing, because you can find out who your real friends are, eh?" Remus didn't actually believe that... but Oswald might.

"Maybe," Oswald conceded. "I have questions about wizard money, too. Can you explain it to me again? I don't get it."

Smiling, Remus gave Oswald the run-down, but Oswald didn't look satisfied. "That's confusing," he said. "They should just count it in fives and tens, not... seventeens and twenty-nines. That's dumb."

"Wizards just know their obscure times tables really well."

Remus and Oswald, currently the only two people who didn't need to fear the flu, spent the rest of breakfast laughing and talking of wizard customs. Remus knew exactly what to explain first, since he remembered the things that confused his mother most of all. It was useful after all, having been brought up with one foot in the Muggle world and one in the wizarding world. When breakfast was over, Remus felt a little bit better.

He was alone, but at least he was surrounded by people.

Remus' poked his head into Dumbledore's office and timidly said, "Professor? What did you want to talk to me about?"

"Ah, Remus. Blueberry scone?"

"...No, thank you, sir."

"Are you certain? I have quite a few. Too many, I'd say. You see, Professor Flitwick keeps trying to steal them from me—he adores blueberry scones—so I take them back to my office and hoard them in a refrigerated space. Unfortunately, I keep forgetting to eat them. I have far too many blueberry scones..."

"I don't want one, Professor."

"Are you certain?"

"Extremely. I just ate."

"Very well. I wanted to discuss something that may be an extremely sensitive matter. Have a seat."

Remus sat down, albeit hesitantly. "Is it my parents? Did something happen? Is everything okay?"

"No, no, and yes. It's your uncle."

"Uncle Bryson?"

"Bryson Adams, yes. What can you tell me about him? In fact... I'd like to know about your whole family situation, if you wouldn't mind starting from the beginning. Tell me about the family on your father's side of the family."

Remus toyed with his tie, and he could feel his cheeks going slightly red (it was a curse of pale skin). What had Uncle Bryson done? Had he died or something? Had Professor Questus killed him? Remus wouldn't have been surprised, actually. "Technically they're not my family, sir," he said. "All except for Uncle Bryson. Er... they were never fond of... of werewolves. It's not their fault. They're just mostly all wizards and were brought up with—well, certain beliefs. Dad told them what had happened as soon as I was out of St. Mungo's seven years ago—he figured that they deserved to know—and they asked him to. You know. Get rid of me."

Remus kept fiddling with his tie. He could feel the edge fraying, so he stopped and started fiddling with his collar instead. Moving his fingers helped. "When my parents refused, they disowned me, changed their names, and cut contact. Uncle Bryson was close to Dad, though—they were best friends as children—so he didn't officially disown me as per Ministry requirements. He meets up with Dad alone, usually, but I've met him a couple times since... since I was bitten. And he came over on Halloween."

"And what can you tell me about his Halloween visit, Remus?" prompted Dumbledore.

"Well, I wasn't there, but Professor Questus wrote to me about it. He told me that Uncle Bryson doesn't think I should be going to Hogwarts. He also says that Mum was really angry afterwards. I... well, I didn't get much else."

Dumbledore smiled a little. "I am very glad that John fills you in on such things."

"Me, too. Mum and Dad try too hard to protect my feelings, and then I just end up confused." Remus didn't dare mention how weird he'd felt after Questus' letter about Bryson. He was starting to think—almost—that sometimes his family's refusal to talk about hard subjects was a good thing on occasion... but only a little. "So what's the problem, sir?" he asked, trying to distract himself from uncomfortable thoughts.

"Well, I received a rather disturbing letter from a certain Bryson Adams the other day, and I wanted to check with you to make sure that I wasn't reading the situation incorrectly," said Dumbledore, waving a piece of cream-colored stationery in the air. Remus felt his heart skip a beat for the second time that day.

"I'm so sorry," muttered Remus. "What did he say?"

"I am not going to let you read it. I am... what was that phrase you used?... oh yes, "trying too hard to protect your feelings." But it is very to-the-point, I will tell you that. To summarize: he does not want you at Hogwarts."

"So... are you sending me home?"

"Gracious, no. Obviously not. I simply wanted to ensure that he got the information directly from your parents... and also to confirm that he will not be telling anyone else what you are out of anger if I write a sternly-worded letter back. If we have to pretend that you have left Hogwarts in order to protect your secret, I will be all too willing to do so."

"Oh. That won't be necessary, Professor. He won't tell anyone; if he does, his own reputation will be at risk. But you don't have to respond to him at all... please don't go through any trouble on my account."

Dumbledore laughed. "Oh, Remus, you underestimate how much I enjoy writing sternly-worded letters. I am all too glad for an opportunity to be morally rude. All right, then: that is all I wished to discuss. You may leave... unless there's something else you want to talk about. Due to the wizard flu and the cancellation of classes, I am completely and utterly free at the moment."

Remus thought about discussing his discomfort when facing the reality that his uncle didn't love him. He couldn't tell Professor Questus—for some reason, he didn't want to be told that he was being too emotional on this particular topic, and that was likely what Questus would say. It was probably perfectly fair, of course, but Remus didn't want to hear it this time. He couldn't tell his parents—they'd be angry if they knew that Professor Questus had told him such things. He couldn't tell Madam Pomfrey for the same reason. But he could tell Dumbledore...

But he didn't want to. He didn't have any particular reason; he just really, really didn't want to talk about it. Why would he complain about such trivial matters with the most powerful wizard in the world? No, Remus would much rather forget about it. Out of sight, out of mind.

Surely there was something else he could discuss with Dumbledore, though, because Remus was lonely and itching for some conversation. He briefly thought about discussing February sixteenth, 1965. He'd never told anyone. But he dismissed that idea quickly.

Remus thought about discussing the full moon. Dumbledore was the only one who had ever seen it, and it might help to talk about how afraid he was about the upcoming moon. He was afraid all the time, and he was so sick of being in the Hospital Wing, and he was worried that people might still be ill and crowding the ward and someone would see him coming back from the Willow and figure it all out...

Remus thought about discussing his friends, or Quidditch, or the flu, or the awful word that Oswald had picked up as a mere first-year, or the war—oh, Remus was terrified of the war. What if they started really trying to recruit werewolves? What if they came up with more laws restricting werewolf activity? What if werewolf sentiments deteriorated even more in the upcoming months?

Remus thought about discussing Basil or Pensley or Professor Questus' curse on his leg or how tired Madam Pomfrey looked. He thought about discussing the guilt that was running through his veins whenever a teacher made a special accommodation for him. He thought about asking Dumbledore for general tips about spells or Transfiguration or loneliness.

But he didn't talk about any of that.

"May I ask you a bit of a personal question, sir?" asked Remus quietly.

"You may ask. I may not answer, depending on the question, but I shall certainly do my best."

"What kind of indestructible species of houseplant did you give Professor Questus? We've been trying to destroy it for a week. He's tried overwatering it, casting temperature-altering charms, dunking it underwater, cutting off its leaves, and he even set it on fire. It's still thriving. It can't be just a plant. Is it some sort of Animagus? Er... Plant-imagus, I suppose. Is it going to seek revenge on us when it finally achieves godhood? Or something? It can't possibly be a mere plant—it has to be some sort of special species..."

Dumbledore cut off Remus' rambling with a chuckle. "It's not some sort of special species, Remus. Sometimes a houseplant is just a houseplant. In cases of resilience and ability, species is often irrelevant in the grand scheme of things."

Remus cocked his head. "It sounds suspiciously like you're trying to fit a moral into this scenario," he said. "Did you give Professor Questus the houseplant just to be able to tell me that when I asked?"

"No. I just thought it looked nice, and then I put some charms on it because I knew that he wasn't going to bother watering it. It is a mildly interesting fact that I have just about achieved immortality in a plant, however."

Remus laughed. "Yes, I should say it rather is."

"Or perhaps not immortality—perhaps just intense resilience and perseverance in the face of fire. I must say I admire that houseplant. People may do their best to dispose of it, but it remains as strong and upright as ever. What an admirable houseplant, hm?"

Remus shook his head and snickered, and then he thanked Dumbledore, grabbed a blueberry scone, and walked back into his dormitory, need for intelligent conversation sated.

Dumbledore was a bit eccentric, but at least he was encouraging. All of a sudden, Remus felt a hundred percent better than he had before—essentially, Dumbledore had addressed nearly all of his concerns in one fell swoop.

Chapter Text

James and Sirius and Peter were finally back from the Hospital Wing. According to the whispered rumors that Remus picked up as he wandered the corridors alone, an "incident" that involved an Antler-Growing Hex, a dead fish, and spinach had extended their stay. Remus didn't dare ask.

But, even after the Glorious Return of the Marauders, the nearly-empty school remained ominously quiet. The Marauders spent the next few days doing the old sort of thing—watching James practice Quidditch, laughing in their dormitory, chasing each other around in the chill of autumn—but even that got old. Eventually, Remus finally convinced his friends to go to the library with him so that they could have a quiet place to read, because Remus had been craving a quiet atmosphere to match the quiet, student-deprived feel of the place. A quiet Hogwarts felt out of place in the courtyard and corridor, but it felt so right in the library. It felt normal, and Remus loved normality.

James, who apparently did not love normality, came in a full disguise—about as subtle as a Yeti in summer—but it was better than nothing.

"James, no one is in here," said Remus. "Not one person. You have no reason to be embarrassed for being in the library."

"Shhhh!" said Madam Pince, who was, unfortunately, still healthy as a whistle.

"I don't care," said James. "It's the principle of the thing." Then he leaned over to Sirius and Peter and mouthed something—Remus, who had very good hearing, thought it sounded suspiciously like Phase One Initiate—whatever that was supposed to mean.

"So what are we doing in here?" said Sirius, leaning back in his chair and balancing it expertly on two legs. "Having a rough time in school, Remus?"

Remus wrinkled his nose. "A what? Why are you talking like that?"

"You know. Rough. A rough time."

"No. I'm fine. I'm more worried about you and James, academics-wise, because neither of you have studied a lick since first year. You've ended up doing well, though, so I suppose there's no reason to be worried. Anyway... no, I'm okay. I just think that reading up on a subject or two could be fun. Relaxing, you know?" Remus didn't want to explain how normal the library felt in the middle of the schoolwide silence. His friends would never understand.

And besides, they didn't seem to care much. "But I'm dog tired," moaned James. Which was odd, because that was an expression Remus had never heard James use before.

"We can go back to the dormitory if you want, James."

"Nah, it's fine. If you want to work your tail off, we won't stop you."

There was muffled giggling, and Remus raised one eyebrow. "Are you going to play a prank on me? I know those looks."

"You're barking mad," said Peter, and James covered his mouth with his hand to stifle laughter.

"I've never heard you be that direct, Peter," said Remus slowly. "Er... if you're done being weird... why don't we start on Pensley's homework? I really can't describe how happy it makes me that we're finally doing what I want for once. We never do what I want, it seems. And you might find it fun!" Remus considered. "No, homework isn't really all that fun. But you might find it relaxing to be free for the rest of the break without homework looming above your heads, at least!"

"Yeah, we know your dogma," said Sirius, and he stressed a very odd part of the sentence that wasn't normally stressed.

Remus raised his eyebrow again. "Are you sure that the virus didn't travel to your brain and turn you mad?"

"Don't bite our heads off," said James indignantly.

"Yeah, we'll work just as doggedly as you from now on," said Sirius.

"How'll we ever catch up?" said Peter.

More muffled giggling.

"Hard work, I expect..." said Remus, looking at his friends quizzically.

"I'm gonna need you to pause for a second," said James, holding up a hand and also holding back laughter. "We don't do hard work."

"We're positively lazy," said Sirius.

"Revising is impossible," added Peter.

"But we'll make an effort," finished James.

Suddenly, Remus regretted coming to the library at all. "Why are you talking so weirdly?"

"Our bark is worse than our bite," said James solemnly.

"I don't think you used that expression quite correctly, James."

"Yeah, I don't really understand either," said Sirius. "In fact, I can't make heads or tails of it."

Even more muffled laughter.

Remus sighed. "Is this just the way you speak now? Is it a Marauders thing? Stressing random words and syllables?"

"Yeah, it's the new thing," said James. "Pretty newfangled, but I like it."

"Furthermore..." said Peter, but he couldn't get anything else out because he was laughing too hard.