Pellucidity

AO3 link to Of Meditation and Revelations (oMaM: the electric boogaloo): https://archiveofourown.org/works/35716852/chapters/89058550

FFN link to Of Meditation and Revelations: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/14005227/1/Of-Meditation-and-Revelations

AO3 link to Of Curse-Breaking and Map-Making (the third in the trilogy): https://archiveofourown.org/works/42748965/chapters/107393895

AO3 link to Remus’ fourth year, Of Animagi and Animosity (still updating, and far darker that the other three): https://archiveofourown.org/works/53019295/chapters/134133121

My Twitter is @pellucidity​isme! Follow if you’re so inclined 😎 

Have another fun little fic, only five chapters long. It’s called Supposed to Be at the Beach, and it focuses on an OC Ministry worker and her reaction to a werewolf being invited to attend Hogwarts. If you like how I write Dumbledore, you’ll like this one.

Supposed to Be at the Beach AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/36205468/chapters/90250660 Supposed to Be at the Beach FFN link: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/14017157/1/Supposed-to-Be-at-the-Beach

I also have a few one-shots if you’d like to read those!

Platypus tells the story of Hope Lupin, the Muggle mother of Remus Lupin. She knows nearly nothing of wizarding culture. She has a tragic, confusing family. She can't do the things her husband can, and her life can be a handful sometimes. But Hope is a good mother, a good wife, and a good person, and she's going to adapt to any circumstance that comes her way through sheer power of will.

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/35386885 FFN link: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13996464/1/Platypus

A Chat With the Hat is a short philosophical fic. The wizarding war has shed an unsavory light on seemingly innocent traditions, and now Hermione has questions—particularly about the merits of a system that pushes children into boxes. She borrows the Sorting Hat from the school (not to worry; she got permission) and sits down to discuss human nature, psychology, and individual values.

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32709040 FFN link: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13923882/1/A-Chat-with-the-Hat

The Marauders’ Complicated Relationship With the Latin Language is exactly what it sounds like. Let angst and nerdiness abound.

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33370447 FFN link: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13942164/1/The-Marauders-Complicated-Relationship-with-the-Latin-Language

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.

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. Thought I’d be a total friendless loner."

"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, and 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. He said that he was ill, and then the Sensor buzzed—ergo, he’s never been ill and it was a lie."

"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, even though Sirius wasn’t sure that technically-inaccurate colloquial phrases counted as “dishonestly” and “secrecy”, which were the only things that the Sensor picked up on. "Okay," said Sirius nevertheless. "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.

~o0o~

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 when Sirius had acted a bit snappy. Remus was annoying like that).

As Sirius sulked in the dormitory, James and Peter came dashing in. They didn't even do the secret Marauder Knock 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 McG. Proves how desperate he is for company, eh?" James plopped Bufo, Remus’ pet toad, 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.

Sirius 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. Remus Lupin was a werewolf, and Sirius Black was an idiot for not realizing it sooner.

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? That was the only thing that could heal a werewolf bite or scratch, after all.

Bite or scratch. Remus Lupin bit and scratched. 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.

~o0o~

Sirius lied awake that night, viciously ruminating.

Remus hadn’t told them. Remus had been suffering alone for months, and he hadn’t told them. Hadn’t even complained once.

Why? 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.

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.

"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 ill mother, which was the excuse he’d been giving them for ages now. There was something so horribly suspicious about the whole thing, and James was going to find out what it was.

"Quiet place to do the Defense Against the Dark Arts essay,” mumbled Remus, but James seriously doubted the legitimacy of his claim.

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."

James had said that before, of course. He’d been suspicious of Remus since first year, especially when the kid began to disappear on full moons, come back with scratches and bites, and explain it all away with convoluted and complicated excuses. James had been certain that Remus’ mother was a werewolf, and that Remus went to keep her under control on full moons (he was probably some type of Animagus!)... but then the Marauders had paid the Lupins an impromptu visit in the middle of the night last summer, and Remus’ mother had answered the door, perfectly human.

James wasn’t about to let the matter go to rest, but 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. “Makes sense to me.”

"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 just worry like he says it is. 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 once had a dog that scratched a lot. He was in a car accident and the windscreen shattered. He’s ill, just like his mum is. He's explained all this, and 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.

~o0o~

"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 Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. 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.

~o0o~

"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."

~o0o~

"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."

~o0o~

"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.”

"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.

~o0o~

Sure enough, Remus showed up in the dormitory a few days later—and sure enough, he was limping. James shot Sirius a look, but 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 sneaking out 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."

~o0o~

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!

~o0o~

"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? It didn’t have a name, you said."

"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.

~o0o~

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 let’s 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.

~o0o~

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.

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 he’d gone on one of his nonsensical “all creatures deserve rights” rants: 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. 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!

"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 precisely 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 Hogwarts anyway? Remus’ friends would find out that he was a werewolf any day now, so he might as well enjoy being at Hogwarts while he could... even if it meant shattering Hogwarts school rules into a million tiny pieces.

~o0o~

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 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.

~o0o~

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 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."

"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."

So Remus breathed—in through his nose and out through his mouth—because that was what he normally did to 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.

~o0o~

"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. "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.

~o0o~

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.

"For Pete's sake," she murmured. But Wilma was a polite person (no matter what her great-aunt said sometimes), so she walked to the door and opened it as promptly as possible. Lo and behold, it was her coworker: Thomas George.

"Looky there, it's the man with two first names," she mumbled. "Hey, George. How are you?"

"Really annoyed," he hissed, and then he planted both hands on her shoulders and pushed her inside, squeezed through the door (George was taller and wider than the Eiffel Tower, it sometimes seemed), and locked the door behind him with a whispered "Alohomora".

"What the heck, mate?" said Wilma. "That kinda hurt!"

"Sorry," said George, but he didn't look sorry. "Ministry needs you to come in today."

"I'd rather get my soul sucked out by a Dementor than come into work today. I'm supposed to be leaving for the beach in ten minutes."

"Yeah, well, that's not happening, Harrington." George's nostrils were flaring, which meant he was really angry. Dangerously angry. George was usually nice and gentle, but when he got angry... he got angry. "The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures are all coming in today. Trust me, we need all hands on deck."

Wilma couldn't help pleading a bit. "But I'm supposed to be at the beach. I've been a tireless employee of the D.R.C.M.C. for a few years now, and this is practically my only holiday since I joined. It's all I ask. Cut me some slack, Georgia."

"My name's not Georgia. Come on, Harrington; this is an emergency."

"To heck with your emergency. I'm going to the beach and that's that." Wilma shrugged George off of her (he'd been gripping her shoulder in a threatening sort of way) and started towards her kitchen to finish the packing that had been so rudely interrupted. "Get lost, Georgette."

"My name's not Georgette." Now George was following Wilma into her kitchen, which was exceedingly weird. George wasn't supposed to be inside Wilma's house. He was her coworker. Wilma was supposed to the see the man at Ministry headquarters and Ministry headquarters only.

"You know," said Wilma, "just because you're not a vampire doesn't mean you can waltz in uninvited. Scram, Suzanne."

"What...?" George shook his head. "Don't call me Suzanne. Harrington, this is serious."

"Seriously annoying."

"This is catastrophic."

"So is losing my only holiday."

"Albus Dumbledore is involved."

"Bloke's involved with most everything nowadays."

"It has to do with Hogwarts."

"I've been finished with Hogwarts since I was eighteen."

"You really want to hear this."

"I assure you, I do not. Now get out of my house before I call my sister. You won't like my sister. Her Bat-Bogey Hexes are unmatched..."

"Harrington, there is a werewolf in Hogwarts."

Wilma paused, her mostly-clean laundry that she'd been packing still in her hands. "In Hogwarts? In the school?" Then she shrugged. "Well, that's weird, but I don't know why you need me. Get the W.C.U. I've never captured a werewolf in my life."

"No, Harrington, you don't understand. There's no werewolf right now, but there's about to be..."

"Then why did you tell it to me like that? And why is there about to be? Get your story straight, mate."

"No..." George rubbed his face and groaned. "Dumbledore is inviting a werewolf to Hogwarts."

"For a cuppa? Odd, but I suppose Dumbledore can handle it..."

"No. As a student."

"Wait wait wait wait." Wilma set her suitcase down and stared George dead in the eye. He squirmed. "You mean to tell me that there is a werewolf—eleven years old—but a werewolf—who will be attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry? Enrolled officially? As a student?"

George smiled grimly. "That's exactly what I mean to say. The Ministry's trying to discourage it, but you know Dumbledore. Once his heart is set on something, he won't stop at anything until it happens."

"Well, isn't that just a Bowtruckle's behind." Wilma paused, considering. "You need me to come debate? Work out the logistics? All that?"

"Yes. I know you're on holiday, but you're good at your job. You know all about magical law and creature-related topics. And term starts in September, so we really need you to help... pull some strings."

"Don't say it in such a creepy way. Sounds like you want me to assassinate Dumbledore or something, and no one in their right mind would do that. He may be batty, but he's a genius."

"I don't want you to assassinate Dumbledore. Just... help him see sense."

"You're still being creepy. Now it sounds like you want me to beat him up."

"I don't want you to beat him up. I'm not speaking in euphemisms. Please just help me out here, Harrington."

Wilma looked back at her half-full suitcase. She looked at the cold weather outside and imagined how much nicer it would be at the beach. She looked back at George, who was giving her as much puppy-dog eyes as a huge, muscular man who was about two feet taller than her could give.

"I'm in, Corinne," she said.

"My name's not Corrine. Fine. See you there."

Then there was a crack like a whip, and Wilma was left feeling very sorry for herself.

She was supposed to be at the beach.

Wilma flushed herself down the toilet, still feeling quite sorry for herself. When she stopped spinning in the nasty water, she was standing in the Ministry headquarters and brushing off her work robes.

She'd only just caught her breath when Aphrodite Burke ran to her side. "Harrington! I'm so glad you're here. This is a living nightmare."

"You're on the werewolf case, too?"

"Everyone's on the werewolf case! It's ridiculous. Every single person in the Werewolf Capture Unit, the D.R.C.M.C., and practically everyone who's ever worked in the Werewolf Registry besides. We're all hopping mad. Dumbledore's supposed to get here soon to discuss, and I fear the moment."

"I can't believe it. Old man's finally lost his marbles." Together, Wilma and Burke walked as briskly as possible to the headquarters of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Burke walked fast, and Wilma was rather short. She had to practically run to keep up.

"I think he has," Burke replied. "Does he really expect that werewolf to hunker down and eat vegetables and chicken instead of people? Does he expect it to patiently wait inside a cage until sunrise come full moon? Does he expect it to control its violent urges all the time, every second of every day? Dumbledore's gone mad, that's what he's done."

Wilma stepped onto the lift and held on for dear life. Ministry lifts moved as fast as a Peruvian Vipertooth, and Wilma was always afraid she'd fly off. "You think he's a werewolf apologist? One of those people who claim werewolves have a heart and soul and all that nonsense?" she shouted as the lift whizzed through the air.

"Probably!" shouted Burke. "Dumbledore believes a lot of right wonky nonsense!"

"If he weren't the most powerful wizard of all time, he'd be an utter nutjob!"

"He's still an utter nutjob! He's just a brilliant utter nutjob!"

"Well, right now he's being about as brilliant as a snuffed candle!"

The lift stopped, and Wilma nearly slammed into the third passenger on the lift (how long had he been there? Wilma hadn't seen him before). She looked him in the eye, still dazed from the rapid air travel.

"I always was fond of snuffed candles," said Albus Dumbledore in a contemplative sort of tone.

There was a long silence.

"Er," said Wilma. "Were you there the whole time, Dumbledore? I didn't see you."

"I find I have a talent for being inconspicuous. A bit, might I add, like a snuffed candle." His words might have been passive-aggressive if he'd spoken them with the right tone, but instead he merely sounded amused. "Now, I believe we all have somewhere to be. Let's walk together."

They walked, mostly in silence. Wilma had just insulted the most powerful wizard in the world. That had been a big oopsie on her part.

Moments passed.

And then...

"Are you a werewolf apologist?" Wilma blurted out. Burke gave her a nasty look, but Wilma just couldn't help it. There was something about the man that made her want to ask questions.

"A werewolf apologist?" repeated Dumbledore. "What, exactly, do you mean by that?"

"You know, like Alexander Adamson—he's growing in popularity. Someone who thinks werewolves are people just as much as we are."

"Ah," said Dumbledore. "I believe the phrase you are looking for is 'rational person'. Yes, I like to think of myself as a rational person."

Even though his words had been simple, it took Wilma a long time to process them. In fact, she didn't even fully understand until she had taken her seat in the Department Meeting Room. Dumbledore had confirmed his status as a "werewolf apologist", and he'd also essentially just called her irrational. She supposed that was fair, though. She'd essentially called him a "snuffed candle", after all.

Oh, Wilma was going to be in so much trouble.

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.

~o0o~

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."

Thursday arrived: the day before Remus left for Hogwarts. He was practically bouncing off the walls when he woke up that morning, even though his head still hurt a bit from the transformation. He bounded downstairs, grabbed some cereal, and made his father some coffee—which was rare, because Remus couldn't stand the smell of coffee (even though his father liked it on rare occasions). But Remus found that it was all right if he held his nose the entire time and breathed through his mouth (he could still taste the coffee in the air, though—yeah, no. Remus was never doing this again).

"Mum! Dad! Breakfast!" he called as he forked some scrambled eggs onto a few plates, and Remus' parents made their way downstairs cautiously.

Remus' father rubbed his eyes blearily. "You made us breakfast?"

"Yeah. What does it look like, supper?"

"That's... kind of you." Dazed and drowsy, Remus' mum yawned. "May I ask why?"

"Last day of holidays," Remus replied brightly. "I'm leaving tomorrow, remember? I was thinking maybe we could take a walk today. Just to the village down the hill? I'm feeling well enough, honest I am, and I want to do something fun while I'm still here."

There was a long moment of silence, and Remus watched his parents exchange worried glances. They were now fully awake.

"About that..." said Remus' father. "We really should have mentioned it earlier."

"Mentioned... what?" Oh, no. A hollow shiver ran up Remus' spine—his father was using his Something-Is-Terribly-Wrong Voice, and Remus hated that voice.

"We think that..." Remus' father sighed and ran a hand through his hair in a very James-esque way. "Well, we think that maybe you should... stay home... this year. And maybe... next year. And the year after. Just... you know. Forever."

"What?!"

Remus stepped away from the table, breakfast forgotten. His hands were hanging limply by his sides—no Hogwarts? Did his friends know? What was he missing?—and as he contemplated this, his mother took his hands in her own, threaded her fingers through his, and regarded him with pleading eyes. "Remus, love," she said. "We adore how healthy you're looking. We love that you have friends. It's great that you're experiencing being independent. And your father and I didn't want to make the decision—that's why we held off on telling you for so long. But we've talked about it a lot, and we decided last night..."

Oh, that was not okay. "It's the day before King's Cross! You're right; you shouldn't have just sprung this information on me after I've been looking forward to it all summer!"

"Yes, we know." Remus' father looked guilty, and Remus, for once, didn't care. Merlin's beard. He should feel guilty. "But after the werewolf attack in Peebleton this summer—and how badly that werewolf was treated—Martin Doves, remember?—he was executed, Remus. And he didn't even hurt anyone. It was horrific."

"We only want what's best," said Remus' mother. "We want to protect you. I couldn't stand it if something were to happen..."

"Nothing's going to happen," said Remus hotly. "Professor Dumbledore, Mum. He's more than capable of protecting me."

"Yes, but... your friends, Remus. They're close to finding out. And when they do... well, good people are sometimes hostile towards people like you, honey. Anything could happen."

“But... but why haven’t you said anything before now?”

“You don’t like to talk about such things, love. We thought we could hold it off. We thought that’s what you’d want.”

And it was true: Remus often avoided the topic of werewolves around his parents with a passion. 

But the truth was, Remus wasn't avoiding the topic because of himself. He'd been avoiding it because of his parents. He always avoided sensitive topics because of them—after all, Remus loved talking things over. 

At Hogwarts, Remus had headed straight for Professor Questus' classroom whenever something awful happened and talked (the snarky Defense teacher who was now his next-door neighbor), and that had made all the difference. But when he was at home, he avoided talking about things because talking made them feel more real to his parents... no, it wasn't about Remus at all. It was about them.

But he didn't say any of that. There was a more pressing matter at hand. “What the problem with my going to Hogwarts?” Remus asked hotly.

Remus' father collapsed into a chair and covered his face with both hands, digging his nails into his forehead. When he resurfaced, he looked to be in physical pain. "They're close to finding out!" he said, agonized. "They're close—your friends—they have to be—and we can't risk it. Do you know what will happen when they finally do find out?"

Remus nodded, but his father paid him no mind.

"I don't want to scare you, but you have to understand, Remus. Your friends will try to hurt you. They will accuse you of putting children in danger. They will complain to the Ministry that you tried to kill them, or something strange like that. Orion Black will take his son's side. You will have a trial. You will be condemned. You will die. Do you understand?"

"Of course I understand! Obviously, I understand!"

But Remus' father didn't stop there. "And that's not all. Even if you aren't killed, news of your condition will get out. The Ministry is magically sworn to secrecy, but your friends certainly aren't. Magically swearing children to secrecy is illegal. The wizarding world will hate you. You'll make the newspaper—probably even the front page. Everyone will know, and you'll never get a job."

"I know that!" 

"And... even if that doesn't happen—which is unlikely!—you'll be forced to leave Hogwarts, at the very least. And, even in the rare case that your friends will keep it to themselves for the rest of their lives, you'll have a tough time finding an employer who sees that you dropped out of Hogwarts after only one year!"

"Like what I'm doing now?"

"No. Right now, we are switching to homeschooling. To 'better suit your talents'. Far less suspicious than dropping out mid-year, and perfectly plausible given your exemplary marks. Questus might even agree to help tutor you."

"We can't ask him to do that!"

"No, but it looks much better on paper when we live next to a former Hogwarts teacher, doesn't it?"

"Dad...!"

"And, furthermore..." Remus' father gave him a shaky smile. "Your mother and I have decided that, seeing as you've proven that you can handle being on your own, we're going to take you more places... travel a bit... go down the village more often. In fact, we were thinking that, if you're comfortable staying home alone, then Mum could get a job. Part-time, of course, but it should cover some expenses. We might be able to afford some potions so that you can heal more quickly." Remus' father swallowed thickly. "Obviously, we need a change. Just... not Hogwarts."

"Dad, I..."

"It's not your fault. It's just too obvious, given your disappearances. But we can take more risks, if that's what you want. We only want you to be happy and safe. You know, you could spend some time practicing and getting really good at a musical instrument. Muggle concerts are sporadic, so if you're good enough, that job wouldn't be suspicious at all. We sold the piano, but we could..."

"No!" Remus had been standing in the kitchen the whole time, watching the horribly unfair scene unfold before him with he scrambled to the other side of the room—away from his parents—and leaned against the refrigerator to calm down.

He breathed. In through his nose. Out through his mouth.

"What's wrong, Remus?" asked Remus' mother, and Remus almost laughed. Wasn't it obvious?

"I... everything's wrong! I'm invited to the best wizarding school in the world, the teachers are nice to me, I've done all my summer homework, I have friends, I have free medical care, I have a safe place to transform, I can take classes, I can do homework, I'm top of the form... this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and I just... can't take it? Because some of my friends used to think that my mother's a werewolf?"

Remus' mum was twiddling with her hair nervously. "Honey, it was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. And you did take it. But maybe it was always meant to be a year-long experience. Good things have to end, and refusing to accept it only makes it hurt worse, dear..."

"It's the responsible thing to do, Remus," said his father. "Perhaps we shouldn't have sent you to begin with, if you can't accept that it's over with."

That felt like a low blow, especially considering how enthusiastic his parents had been about Hogwarts over the past year. Remus' mother had gone on many a rant about his improved health, and Remus' father had been excited to share his childhood experiences with his son... what had gone wrong? "That's not fair," said Remus. "And it's not just Hogwarts I'm upset about. It's not just because I know what it's like, now, to be like other people my age. It's something I thought about a lot, before..."

Remus' mother frowned. "Elaborate, love?"

"I can't live like this!" Remus cried. "I just can't... I can't live like this for the rest of my life. Dad... you've got Uncle Bryson, and your coworkers. And Mum's got Madam Pomfrey—they’re friends. But I don't have anyone, and I need to talk to people sometimes, or else I'm going to go completely mad all the time, not just once a month..."

Remus' mother looked horrible stricken and surprised, and Remus decided that now was not the time for werewolf jokes. Granted, around his parents, it was never the time for werewolf jokes.

"You have Questus," Remus' father pointed out. "You two seem to get on well. You go over there to talk to him three times a week."

"Yeah," Remus said dryly. "Professor Questus, my former teacher, who's almost four and a half times older than I am. That's a pretty sad substitute for friends my age, Dad."

"Well, no one ever said being a werewolf was easy!" Remus' father said; Remus looked at his father sharply, who didn't often outright use the word werewolf to describe his son. A metaphorical storm was brewing. "It's awful, Remus, I know it is," Remus’ father continued, now more gently, "but that's just the way it is. And there's nothing any of us can do about it."

Remus stared at the wall determinedly—he didn't quite have the courage to look his father in the eye—and then he said, "Well, you could send me to Hogwarts and let me see for myself how much longer I can keep my friends! I'm a good liar, Dad. I am. Maybe I can stretch it another year. And the more time I spend away from all of this, the better!"

There was a crashing noise, and Remus tore his gaze from the wall and looked at his father. He'd gotten up from the kitchen chair so suddenly that the chair had knocked against the wall, and now Remus' father was standing in front of the table. "From all of what, exactly?" he asked, arms crossed and eyebrows narrowed. That didn't look good, but Remus wasn't deterred.

"From all of this!" Remus cried. "From napping every afternoon—I hate napping; did you know?—and reading for hours a day. From pacing alone in my room. From talking to you... I love you, but there's nothing to talk about anymore! And I hate being bored. And from... from spending multiple days on the couch, trying to heal without any potions or advanced magic. With Madam Pomfrey, I only need one day after the full moon, and another because she's overprotective, and then I'm feeling just as well as I am on the new moon. I'm not feeling nearly as well now as I was two days after a particularly bad moon when I was at Hogwarts. And, even if I were, there'd be nothing to do! There's nothing worth healing quickly for! Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"Yes, Remus, of course," soothed Remus' mother. She was ever the peacemaker, but it infuriated Remus at the moment. He did not want to be soothed. "And we're sorry. We're so sorry. But it's either leave now and be safe, or leave later and risk everything."

"And shouldn't it be my choice?" demanded Remus. "Maybe I don't care! Maybe I'd rather risk it all! Maybe I'd rather do... do literally anything!... than stay here for the rest of my life! I'm done!"

When Remus' father spoke, his voice was low, dangerous, and completely agonized. "We were under the impression, Remus, that you understood what you had to do when the time came. I know it's hard, but this is for your safety."

"Yeah, safety," Remus scoffed. "Did Romeo and Juliet care about safety? I don't think so."

"They died!" said Remus' mum. "They literally killed themselves!"

"Well," said Remus shortly, "seeing as I'm a Gryffindor, I'll risk dying, thank you very much. That's what James and Sirius and Peter would do."

"Seeing as they're not werewolves," said Remus' father, matching Remus' tone, "you should be listening to your parents, instead."

"Seeing as you're not werewolves, either, I rather think I should be making my own decisions."

"Seeing as you're twelve."

"Seeing as I'm a werewolf!"

"Seeing as you're a child!"

"Seeing as," said Remus, raising his voice to talk over his father, "I know exactly what pain is, far more than you do, and I know what I can handle... I'd like to go to Hogwarts."

Remus' father cut in before Remus even finished speaking. "Do you understand how much your mother and I go through?" he hissed. "Do you comprehend the fact that it hurts to watch you suffer? We almost lost you about seven and a half years ago, and it was the most painful thing we'd ever experienced—and it was my fault, and I swore I'd never let harm come to you again—" Remus' father's voice broke momentarily, but then he coughed and it repaired itself—granted, it sounded like it was being held together with duct tape. "Do you know what it would do to us if you were executed by the Ministry? Like some sort of animal? We will not let that happen, even if you're reckless enough to allow it."

"So it's all selfish, then?" said Remus. "You're keeping me away from everybody my age for your own selfish reasons?" He'd never argued with his parents before—never, not like this. But he was angry. He didn't like being angry, but he also didn't like napping and porridge (really the only things he had going for him here at home)—so it was, Remus thought, a worthy investment.

"Our reasons for keeping you home are only as selfish as your reasons for going," retorted Remus' father in a low voice.

Remus and his father stared at each other—even a human could hear a pin drop. For one terrifying, horrifying second, Remus genuinely wanted to hurt his father. Didn't he know that Remus had been terrified of being selfish, ever since he'd arrive at Hogwarts? Didn't he know that Remus had constantly apologized to everyone for being an inconvenience—even to the point that Madam Pomfrey had forbidden apologies in the Hospital Wing? Didn't he know that he had just confirmed Remus' worst fear?

Yes, he did, because Remus had been writing letters to him all of last year, and he was certain that he'd mentioned his fears a few times (even though he'd known that his family didn't like talking about werewolves). Remus' father definitely knew. He had probably said it because he knew, and that hurt most of all.

Remus' mum stood up too, now, and Remus expected her to take her husband's side. But instead, she put her hand on Remus' shoulder and kissed his forehead. "We're sorry, dear. I'm sorry. Your father's sorry, too, even if he won't admit it right now. No one's being selfish. We're just making the best of a complicated situation. Why don't we talk about it more when everyone's calmed down a bit, yeah?"

Remus pushed his mother away from him, the horrible anger twisting through his stomach like the snakes on the banners at the end-of-the-year feast. But these snakes didn't have magicked-on moustaches, courtesy of James, Sirius, and Peter—no, these snakes were fanged, scary, and not funny at all. "Don't touch me," said Remus, horrified at the prospect of accidentally hurting her. He backed against a wall and breathed.

In through his nose... out through his mouth...

His mum took a few steps backwards and sighed. "Shhh, honey, slow breaths."

"Oh, don't tell me what to do as if you know what it's like. Just..." Remus breathed a little more vehemently. "I... I'm going to Professor Questus'."

He swept past his mother, being careful not to touch her, and closed the front door behind him. He didn't slam it; he wasn't that undignified... but it did make a very satisfying crashing noise when he... gently... closed it.

~o0o~

"Professor. Professor. Professor."

"Door's open. And don't call me Professor."

Remus opened the door and entered as quickly as possible, closing it behind him. He breathed a sigh of relief and rubbed his eyes. "Good morning, Professor. I didn't wake you, did I...? You look ill."

"And you're calling me Professor again, even though I am no longer your teacher," grumped Questus, who was sitting on the armchair with three blankets and two and a half cups of tea. "And yes, I am ill. Both facts are equally unpleasant. Now, why on earth are you here? I thought we'd agreed that last Friday was our last visit before you left for school. You could have at least let me know before you were coming so that I could get cleaned up."

"I'm so sorry," said Remus, seeing how pale and feverish Professor Questus was today. He was ill so often nowadays—he’d been cursed recently while on an Auror assignment. No one had any idea what the curse was, but it seemed to be rather nasty. There were bruises all up and down his hand, and his eyes were bloodshot. But Remus kept talking, because he hated it when people pitied him, and he wouldn’t want to do the same to anyone else. "I needed... to get out of the house."

"And you couldn’t sat on the front porch or something?"

Remus giggled, but he felt awful. "I really should have owled you or something. I can leave now, if you want."

Professor Questus sighed. "No, it's all right. I'm not exactly sure what happened, but goodness knows I fought with my parents plenty when I was a little older than you. Can't imagine having to live with them twenty-four-seven with no escape—at least I was allowed to go off on my own. Sit down somewhere."

"How do you know...?"

"That you had a row with your parents? This is the angriest I've ever seen you, and your parents are the only people you ever see." Questus smiled at Remus, apparently very proud of himself for guessing correctly. "You can make some tea if you want. Pomfrey brought far too much last time she was here. That's why I have three cups."

Remus smiled a little. "Thank you." He walked to the kitchen and made a cup of tea—oddly enough, it felt more natural to make a cup of tea in Questus' kitchen now than even his own. The familiar act of making tea was cathartic, and he was already feeling better when he sat back down and took a sip. "I'm really sorry, Professor."

"You should be sorry," said Questus. "I've asked you multiple times to stop calling me Professor, and here you are doing it again. So... what happened to force the ever-patient Remus Lupin out of his own house?"

"Ever-patient," Remus scoffed. "I am a werewolf." It felt nice to be able to say the word freely. Remus could never do that around his parents—well, he had today, but that had been a mistake.

"Makes you even more patient, seeing as you have more trouble than anyone else being so. You certainly have more reason to be angry. What happened? If you're going to come into my house at nine in the morning, I want to know why."

"Well, my parents..." said Remus, and then he trailed off. He felt tears threaten to fall and internally rebuked them. "We were arguing, and things got... heated. And then I was worried that I was going to hurt someone, so I left."

Questus grinned. "Can't decide whether to be flattered or offended that you weren't worried about hurting me."

"It's because you're an Auror."

"Not anymore. And I'm not exactly fit for fending off a werewolf right now."

"Well, neither am I," said Remus. "That's why I came here. Now it's a group effort." 

“Ha-ha, very funny.”

Remus took a sip of tea. "Tell me that I'm being stupid or something."

"First you have to tell me what you were arguing about."

Remus sighed. "My parents don't want me to go back to Hogwarts."

"What?!" Questus slammed down his cup in surprise. "That's what you were arguing about? Why is that even an argument? They've seen how much better you are for it; I know they have. Honestly." He raked his hands through his hair. "I thought they were brighter than that. Idiots. Why on earth would I tell you that you're being stupid for wanting to go to school? What do they expect you to do, just sit around at home for the rest of your life when you could be working towards your future, receiving care from Pomfrey herself, and spending time around your friends... who do they think you are? Their prisoner?"

Remus felt the snake in his stomach twist around and snap its jaws. "Professor," said Remus. "You're not helping."

"Right," said Professor Questus, still looking angry. "Right. Of course I'm not. You know what, Lupin, maybe your anger toward them is warranted. The fact that anyone would do that to a child makes me sick."

"They have reasons," said Remus, though he didn't know why he was defending his parents. He wanted to go to Hogwarts. He wanted to see his friends. Indeed, he wanted his parents to be wrong with all his heart, yet here he was defending them. "On the last full moon... James came over. And Peter, and Sirius. They still thought Mum was a werewolf and I guess they wanted to be sure. So now that they're on the right track—and especially since my dad's such a bad liar and they're probably suspicious—my parents think it's better to play it safe. But... I still want to take the risk."

"Obviously," said Questus. "Typical Gryffindor."

"That's what I told them!"

"Some risks are worth taking. And really. Sometimes I wonder if it would just be better for word of your lycanthropy to get out."

"What? No, it wouldn't."

"I don't know. It might be better than having to hide for the rest of your life—at least then you could make friends. Not everybody is going to hate you for being a werewolf. A large portion of people, yes, but not everyone."

"I would never get a job."

''You're right. You probably wouldn't. That's the tricky part. But, let's face it, it's going to be difficult anyway for you to have any semblance of a normal life. But, yeah, it's all just speculation. The more I think about it, the more I agree that you would be far worse off if word got out..."

Questus trailed off, annoyingly contemplating something that wasn't even on topic. Remus tried to prod him back to the original Very Big Problem. "But... you still think I should go to Hogwarts, right? Next year? I'm not the only one who thinks it's a bad idea to stay home and play it safe? You think I should go?"

"Absolutely. Staying home would be stupid. If you're anything like me, being cooped in like this is literal torture."

Remus, who had experience with literal torture, said, "Not literal torture, Professor. I'd prefer this to actual torture."

"Not physical torture, but still literal—much like the fact that you're still calling me Professor. This is awful. I'd rather be doing anything than sitting around, bored out of my skull."

"I wouldn't. Typically, I'm thankful for every second that's not a full moon. I'm just finding it... difficult, at the moment."

"I should say so. This isn't fair—the lot of it." Questus leaned back and picked up his tea again. "Look at us. I'm a former Auror with more training and experience and sense than anyone else in the Department. And you're top of your form—not to mention the most mature child in your year and quite possibly the whole school. And here we are, stuck at home because of two stupid curses. Do you see the sick irony here?"

"Irony?" said Remus.

"Yes, irony. You actually like learning. You like school. You like going to class and doing homework and writing essays, you oddball. You have a good sense of humor, you like to socialize, and you're dead decent at magic. And now they're saying you can't go." Questus waved a hand in the air. He looked a bit mad, Remus thought. "And here I am—most stubborn and prideful person in the Department—and I have to get a twelve-year-old werewolf to keep me company. And the school matron to make sure I'm not dead. And I can barely walk. It's humiliating."

"Not to mention you have no idea what it is," said Remus, vaguely seeing where he was going with all this. "And you always were very curious about certain Dark curses."

"Exactly! What kind of cruel irony is this?"

"Cruel irony," said Remus. He liked the words. "You know, that's what Romeo and Juliet was about. The next D.A.D.A. professor assigned that book, for some reason."

"Oh, gag me," said Questus, now chuckling. "You should write to me about that new professor, you know. When you've got time."

"Can't," said Remus dully. "I'm not going to Hogwarts, remember?"

"Yes, you are. I don't care if I have to write Dumbledore to come and convince your parents. Don't care if I have to do it myself. You're going to Hogwarts. I might be stuck in this awful, middle-of-nowhere place, but I'm also not twelve. You're going to keep taking the risk until the risk takes you. Anything could happen. And Dumbledore is a capable man—he can even erase your friends' memories, if need be."

"Oh," said Remus. "No, I'd never allow that..."

"Then he'll convince them not to say anything. If he convinced me, then he can convince anyone."

"Were you thinking about telling people about me, then? In the beginning?"

"Indubitably," said Questus, taking another sip of tea. "You know how I am about withholding important information from people." He trailed off suddenly and made a face. "Sorry. Curse and all that. Pain. Give me a second."

Remus waited patiently.

"Anyway. Withholding information from people. Keeping secrets. I don't like it, and I thought your classmates deserved to know. But Dumbledore reminded me that there's a stigma; I said that if you can't deal with the stigma, you can't deal with Hogwarts..."

"Oh?"

"My mind has since changed. Obviously you needed practice. Don't know what I was thinking. And then Dumbledore asked me if I was planning on telling all of Hogwarts my own secrets... oh, don't look at me like that. Of course I have secrets. Everyone does. I told him no; because it wasn't relevant... and then he asked me why I thought being a werewolf was any more relevant. Argument continued for a while, but he was right, of course. He's the only one I'll never win an argument against."

"Oh."

"Yeah. It really isn't much of a risk at all, going to Hogwarts. Dumbledore is keeping you safe. You'll be fine."

"Thank you."

"And furthermore, I think you have every right to be angry at the world. Feel free to stop by and shout at me whenever you want."

Remus grinned. "Maybe I do have the right, but that's just more cruel irony. I can't. Gets too hard to stop once I've started. But I might come over and shout at you anyway."

"I have never heard you shout, Lupin, and I doubt I ever shall. So what do you think—"

Professor Questus was cut off by a sharp knock at the door. Remus groaned. "That's..."

"Your parents? Good. I think we need to have a chat."

Remus thought so, too, but that didn't make it any easier.

But I think that’s actually a very good thing. There’s a different style, there’s a different process, and there’s a different type of emotion attached to it. 

Many people, when writing (esp published works), are told to “kill their darlings”. That means that if you write a beautiful paragraph, a witty piece of dialogue, a self-indulgent scene—really, anything that you personally LOVE but doesn’t contribute to the actual story—then you have to get rid of it.

That’s great advice for actual novelists, because sometimes what the writer likes isn’t always what is best for the story. Sometimes you have to sacrifice that for the plot, and that’s fine.

But in fanfiction? HECK NO. We don’t kill our darlings. We make them into 5k chapters, and people LOVE it. We aren’t writing for money, so we don’t worry about what kind of resources we may need to print and distribute 400k+ word epics. We don’t have to kill our darlings!

In fact, ALL fanfiction is self-indulgent. We’re writing what WE like, not what we think the general public will like. Again: not writing for money, so we don’t have to worry about pleasing a bunch of people. We just write whatever we want.

And because we write whatever we want, we inevitably write what someone else wants, too. Our fanfiction is unfiltered. It is anonymous. We don’t care what anyone else thinks, we just take a niche that we love and write it. And then readers can seek out the niche that they love and read 400k+ words of it. We don’t kill our darlings, they just sometimes get a smaller audience. And that’s fine, because we’re enjoying ourselves!

Fanfiction is self-indulgent, but all media is, in a way, self-indulgent. We read what we enjoy, and self-indulgence is—by definition—enjoyment.

Fanfiction, like the human condition, is uncensored, untrimmed, and sometimes not very good.