#pellucidity

"Er... dinosaurs?"

"Yeah! What about dill pickles? American dollar bills? Some varieties of dragons?"

"And dandelions... well, the green part."

"And a dead lizard."

"And a dead Slytherin!"

Remus laughed, even though he didn't find it all that funny. "Right, dead Slytherins. So that's how you can remember that Verdimillious is green."

Suddenly, Remus sensed James and Sirius coming near the door. The pair of them knocked on the door overenthusiastically, and Remus rolled his eyes. "Come in," said Peter.

"Remus!" cried Sirius. "We know! We've solved it! We know what's wrong with you! It's werewolves!"

The world stopped.

Remus' heart stopped.

This was the end of the line, then.

~oOo~

Why was he still breathing? Why were they still looking at him? Remus suddenly realized that it wasn't over, not yet... he still had to function like a normal person, even if they knew what he was. And perhaps he could still deny it. "You... you have?" he stuttered. "What does that mean? I told you, my mum is ill..." He couldn't keep the panic out of his voice.

This was it. He was going to have to go home and never see his friends again. The magic of Hogwarts was going to be gone in a few short minutes. No more Hagrid. No more DAD. No more Questus or Dumbledore or Madam Pomfrey. No more friends. Just the monotony of his old life, interrupted only by trips to the Registry and painful transformations. No more classes. He felt tears rise to his eyes, but he resolved that he would not let them fall.

Now this was the end.

~oOo~

But why weren't his friends afraid? Why were they still standing in his presence? Why weren't they angry and hostile?

Perhaps... no. Remus didn't dare hope.

"Yeah, your mum's... ill," said James, curling his hands into finger-quotes around the word ill. "She's a werewolf, isn't she?"

The world stopped again. Remus managed to make a small squeaking noise before James started talking again.

"It makes sense. You look poorly and pale before a full moon because you're half-werewolf. You have to go home during the full moons because you're helping her through the transformations or something... maybe keeping her under control or helping her after or something. You don't talk about her much because you're afraid we'll find out. You're always ill because of lack of sleep. Professor Questus is trying to find a cure, but there's no known cure for lycanthropy, is there?"

"How... no!" said Remus. Curse his squeaky voice. "That's stupid! I... how would I help her through a transformation? Wouldn't she kill me?"

"Werewolves only attack humans," said James triumphantly. "But you're half-werewolf, not completely human, so your mum won't attack you. But you get scratches sometimes from her claws, don't you?"

Remus shook his head. It was a disgusting, horrible thought to imagine his mum as a werewolf, and Remus couldn't do it. He thought he might vomit.

"And that's why you act weird when we talk about werewolves," James continued. "And that's why you knew there wasn't a werewolf in the Shrieking Shack—because you know what a werewolf sounds like. And that's why Sirius' dad saw you and your family at the Werewolf Registry in January..."

It was over. It was all over.

Remus definitely couldn't recover from this.

He couldn't even comprehend the situation. He felt like he was underwater or watching from a distance. How was he supposed to bounce back from this?

~oOo~

No... he had to keep going. He had to remember how to speak English. He had to remember how to breathe. And he had to choose a logical course of action. He could do that, couldn't he?

Remus considered letting them believe that his mum was a werewolf, just for a split second. Half-werewolf was better than full-werewolf, wasn't it? Maybe they'd let him stay, or at least leave quietly.

But no. He couldn't let them believe that his mum was a monster. That wasn't right. That wasn't something he would wish on his worst enemy—and definitely not his mum. That was no way to repay her for years of patching him up and taking care of him. He could not out her as a werewolf in good conscience, even if it meant giving away his secret.

If Remus denied it all, then he would be placing them on the right track. If Remus denied it all, then he probably only had a few months left at most. If Remus denied it all, then they might even come to the correct conclusion right then and there. But Remus couldn't tell them that his mum was a werewolf... so he took a breath and carried out his own sentence.

He tried to laugh, and it came surprisingly naturally. "My mum's not a werewolf," he said, and his calm, even voice was a pleasant surprise. "That's ridiculous. I love her, remember?"

"Can't you love a werewolf?" said James.

Fiddlesticks. What was he supposed to say to that? "Of course not," he said, internally cringing as he did so. "They're terrifying—at least the pictures I've seen. We've all seen pictures, haven't we?" Remus pulled out a picture of his mum; he'd been saving this one for this moment. His mum had been tired from taking care of him all day. She'd been sleeping on the couch. Her face was pale from exhaustion and there were bags under her eyes. She looked very ill indeed, so it was the perfect proof. "Look, here she is. Does she look like a werewolf? Does she look like the pictures?"

"Well..." James' face grew pensive. "I suppose not. She looks too frail and nice. But Dad says they look like normal humans, most of the time."

"Maybe they do. But my mum's not a werewolf... I think I would know. Also, there's no such thing as a half-werewolf. Either you are or you're not."

"Then why were you at the Werewolf Registry?"

Remus attempted a casual eyeroll. "My dad works at the D.R.C.M.C., remember? He was stationed there, and I had to tag along because... well, I've been ill all my life, and my parents sort of baby me. They don't let me stay home alone very often." That was true, at least. Remus had never been home alone before.

"And why are you always ill around the full moon?" James asked, nose wrinkled in confusion. "Sirius and I wrote down all the dates we could remember, and most of them aligned perfectly with the lunar cycle. Not all of them, but the vast majority of them did."

"Er..." Remus had been rehearsing this excuse. "Since my dad works at the D.R.C.M.C., he's always busier around full moons—you know, because of all the werewolf attacks—and I have to go home and take care of Mum for him sometimes. And there are some potions that brew better under a full moon that I have to help with." Remus shook his head. "I know I'm not the best friend ever, but I wouldn't lie to you like that for months on end. I trust you a little more than that."

His friends seemed to believe his blatant lie. "So your mum's not a werewolf?" said James. "Aw. I was hoping she was. That's kinda cool, isn't it?"

"Cool?" said Remus faintly. "It's not cool." He suddenly had a thought. "I bet you'd be pretty excited if she was."

"Oh, yeah!" said James. "I've never met a werewolf before."

"I bet you'd even... even want to meet her?"

"Absolutely."

Remus' heart fluttered.

"Not me," said Sirius flatly. "I'm personally very relieved. That would be awful. I don't think I could share a room with a half-werewolf, even though you're brilliant. I'm glad you're Remus, not half-werewolf-Remus. I like you just the way you are."

I like you just the way you are. Sirius' words were kind on the surface, and he was probably trying to be nice (which was, for Sirius, a rarity). Yet, despite Sirius' intentions, all of Remus' hope immediately evaporated. He came back to reality with a jolt so sharp that he was nearly knocked over by the force of it. "Yeah, I'd hate to be half-werewolf. Even though they don't exist," he said quietly. "Sorry to disappoint, James. I'm not that interesting, and neither is my mum. You know, I'm pretty tired now. Long day. I'm going to bed."

He drew his curtains shut, pulled the covers to his chin, and squeezed his eyes shut. It was only a matter of time.

They.

Were.

Going.

To.

Find.

Out.

It wasn't until ten minutes later that he heard it—just a small whisper coming from Peter's bed. "I'd be your friend, even if you were half-werewolf," said Peter softly.

The hope returned, but Remus pushed it down before it could blossom into delusion.

~oOo~

"And last night you were up until eleven."

"I know."

"The night before it was twelve."

"Do you keep track of my every waking hour?" Remus asked. He felt it was a little too rude, so then he added "I mean, sleeping hour," to lighten the tone.

James did not laugh at his joke. "It's your mum, isn't it? Or are you ill again?"

"I'm not ill again," said Remus, searching for a lie. "It's... it's been exactly seven years... since my mum... you know, received her diagnosis. Since everything changed. I'm all pensive. I know it's stupid... but I can't sleep."

"Oh."

The window taunted Remus menacingly. "Hey, James, may I..."

"Yeah?"

"May I sit on your bed for a minute?"

"Sure! We can trade beds if you want. Sometimes a change in scenery helps."

It would help, Remus was certain. But he didn't want to impose that much. "No, I just need to... I don't know."

"Wanna talk?"

"No." He did, but he couldn't. Remus pulled James' curtains aside and awkwardly perched on the side of James' bed. "Sorry."

"You've done nothing wrong. Here, use a blanket. Oi, Sirius! You're awake now, too. I can hear you moving around."

"I didn't mean to wake you," said Remus helplessly, watching Sirius' drowsy form stumbling out of bed.

Sirius yawned. "Nah, I'm not that sleepy anyway. WAKE UP, PETER."

Peter awoke with a jolt. "Wha—?"

"Remus is awake."

"Good for him," said Peter, nuzzling back into his blankets.

"Wake up!" insisted Sirius.

"Fine," muttered Peter, and soon all four of them were squeezed into James' four-poster bed.

"A little cramped," commented James. "I'd rate it 6/10 stars. S'it always like this, Rem? On the anniversary?"

"Yes," said Remus. Truth be told, he'd always slept on the couch downstairs on February sixteenth. And his mum and dad didn't sleep much at all—and they usually stayed downstairs with Remus overnight. The sleep that Remus received on February sixteenth was always a sort of state of half-sleep, and he knew the same was true for his parents (even though they never, ever mentioned it. They never even acknowledged the day, as if talking about it would cause it to happen again). Remus didn't know why a stupid date held so much power over him, but there was nothing he could do about it. "It's just... everything changed so suddenly, and..."

"You don't have to explain yourself," said Sirius dismissively. "You can't sleep, and that's all that matters. Scootch, James. I want more room."

"Well, you can't have more room!"

"Seeing as I'm the one who can't sleep," interjected Remus, "I think that I should be the one to have more room."

"No!"

"Yes!"

After a heated pillow fight and lots of muffled giggling, Remus sensed Professor McGonagall coming down the corridor. "Shush!" he hissed, but it was too late.

"What are you boys doing?"

"Erm," said James. "We were sleeping."

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but you don't look asleep to me."

"We were having a pillow fight. In our sleep."

"James is a fierce competitor when he's sleeping," said Remus helpfully.

"I was winning," said Sirius.

"You weren't!"

"I was!"

"Shhhh!" Professor McGonagall rubbed the bridge of her nose. "I do hope that you're all too tired to make any trouble in class today. Go to sleep."

"Yes, ma'am," said Remus, but as soon as McGonagall left, the four of them collapsed into silent giggles.

The next night would be harder, but this one was relatively easy. Remus slept well on the morning of February sixteenth for the first time in seven years.

Granted, as well as he could have slept with Sirius drooling on him and Peter lying on his arm and James snoring and half of his limbs asleep. But still.

~o0o~

Remus was a bit sullen all day. He forced smiles and laughs as he joked with his friends over breakfast and read the Prophet, but it was quite obvious to all of them that something was wrong.

"You okay, mate?" asked James.

"Fine."

"You look pale. Like you usually look before you visit your mum or get ill or something."

Remus' heart clenched. He was just certain that they were going to figure it out soon. Certain. Positively and utterly sure. "I'm always pale. Dunno when you lot are finally going to realize that."

"Why's Poppy looking at you like that?"

Remus looked up at Madam Pomfrey, who was indeed staring at him intensely. When Remus met her eyes, she flicked her eyebrows upward questioningly. Remus was confused. "I don't know," he said. How would she know what day it was? Perhaps his mum told Madam Pomfrey about the significance of February sixteenth? He hoped he hadn't; he didn't need more pity. He gave her an awkward smile, and she observed him intensely for a moment before returning to her food.

~o0o~

During lunchtime, Remus escaped to the lavatory to open a letter from his parents without prying eyes. He sat down on the toilet seat and scanned the words, trying to savor any remnant of his parents' comfort that he could in his time of stress.

Dear Remus,

Hope you're doing well! Yesterday I tried to brush Garrison's fur, but he ran off before I could. He's completely harmless; it's quite funny! Mum and I went to the theaters, but they were completely full! I wasn't sure what to think. And the owl post is growing more and more crowded by the day! Seems to me that everybody's trying to get their minds off all that's going on in the world right now, hm?

I tried to learn origami the other day, but it didn't go well. Here's the paper frog I tried to make. As you can see, it looks more like rubbish than a frog!

Remus kept reading, but the letter was full of platitudes and anecdotes, and there were too many exclamation marks for it to look real. There were no mentions of the days' significance. There were no comforting words. Remus appreciated that they were trying to save his feelings, but why couldn't they understand that he wanted to talk about it sometimes? They couldn't possibly comfort him if they wouldn't even acknowledge his pain.

Then again, Remus had changed a lot since coming to Hogwarts. He'd have never wanted to talk about February sixteenth in years past. He'd thought that avoiding subjects was beneficial. But it wasn't; Remus knew that now... still, he didn't think that he could talk about it, even though he wanted to. Remus' mind was an ocean of contradictions, and he felt like he was drowning.

He sighed and set down the letter: it was just like February sixteenth on any other year—all forced smiles and unspoken sadness. Remus wished for a normal life. His parents wished for a human child. But because of this day, no one was going to get what they wished for, and all they could do was wonder what could have been.

Remus sat on the toilet seat and put his head between his knees. He could have been human, if the window had only been reinforced. If he'd slept with his parents that night. If he'd been a little faster. If he had only tried to escape after hearing the scratching and heavy breathing at his window instead of going back to sleep like the idiot that he was. If the stars had aligned in a slightly different manner, then Remus could have been normal and nice and easy to manage.

He could have gone to Hogwarts without needing a whole separate building to contain him. He could have had friends—real friends, not friends that he had to lie to. It could have been so different, and Remus could scarcely imagine it.

But he tried anyway. He tried to imagine telling everything to Sirius and James and Peter instead of making up lies constantly. He tried to imagine being happy and healthy all thirty days of the lunar cycle. He tried to imagine playing Quidditch. He could have been a healthy weight with healthy bones and healthy muscles. Maybe he would have worn clothes that fit him. His parents would have had plenty of money.

He probably wouldn't care that much about school. Perhaps he even would have been a slacker like James and Sirius. Maybe he would have gotten bad marks without even caring. Maybe he would have had a pet dog—his parents had always wanted one, but five-year-old Remus had been too scared of dogs after the incident, and then they were too poor to afford one. And he probably wouldn't even know Madam Pomfrey by name, unless not-werewolf-Remus was clumsy or a Quidditch player or something.

But there was no use ruminating on what could have been, because it was never going to be.

Remus let out a little shuddery sigh and sat up properly. There was no such thing as not-werewolf-Remus, and thinking about him held just the same weight as obsessing over a fictional character, which was entirely and utterly stupid (why would anyone do that?). There was only werewolf-Remus now, who was probably wildly different... but it was the only Remus that existed. Thinking about the could-have-beens only made Remus feel all squishy and dark on the inside.

He exited the loo, wiped his eyes (but there were no tears), and went to meet his friends in Transfiguration. At least they smiled for real, and all of their exclamation points were completely genuine.

Remus sat in his bed alone that night, waiting for his friends to come back from detention and watching the time pensively. It was one minute after eight. Remus had been bitten seven years at around eight-ten at the latest, he assumed. If Greyback had transformed around eight, and Remus had gone to bed at seven-thirty, then... yes, it had probably been somewhere around that time. He watched the second hand move around the face of the watch with the odd desire for it to stop. But it didn't, of course, and time kept marching on until it was nine minutes after eight.

Tick... tick... tick... tick... tick...

Eight-ten.

It had been seven years exactly. If someone had been born at the exact moment that Remus had been bitten, he or she would be celebrating a birthday. He or she would be talking fluently. He or she would probably own a bicycle and have friends. The thought was insane.

Seven years.

Seven was the most magical number, apparently, but Remus didn't feel very magical. He mostly just felt like a monster. A boy who had been a monster for seven years. That was three away from ten. Almost a decade. Remus remembered when he had turned ten. He'd felt ancient.

And seven was halfway to fourteen, and fourteen was only three away from seventeen. An adult. The hypothetical seven-year-old would be a happy adult, and Remus would be... Oh, he didn't even know. He'd be twenty-two then. What would he be doing at twenty-two? Still living with his parents? Not a friend in the world? In Azkaban? Dead? And if he looked so sickly now, after only seven years of transformations, what would he look like at twenty-two? Remus didn't have any plans for after leaving Hogwarts, but he couldn't imagine burdening his parents for the rest of his life; nor could he imagine getting his own place and being self-sufficient.

Seven years.

One year felt like forever at Remus' age, but seven? Had it been that long? Really? Six Christmases, six Easters, eighty-four full moons of torture? Eighty-seven, actually, since he'd lived through... what, three blue moons? He couldn't even remember. They all blurred together.

Eighty-seven. The thought nearly made him sick. Next March—not this March, but the March after—he'd be at a hundred. A hundred painful full moons. Ninety-nine transformations. And then, in April, he'd be at a hundred transformations.

This very night, seven years ago, at this very time, Remus had been crying and bleeding and being taken to St. Mungo's with his head on his mother's lap. Seven years ago, Remus had been watching his father cast curses that he'd never seen before on the monster perched upon his bedsheets as Remus watched, wide-eyed, in horrible pain and complete shock. Seven years ago, said monster had broken the glass on his window and Remus had woken up, not even having time to scream before...

He sat up suddenly and pulled out the Pensieve. It had been six February sixteenths since then. He should be able to get a decent night's sleep tonight, for goodness' sake.

After about an hour, he gave up and sat in Peter's bed. He didn't intend to fall asleep—only get away from the window for a second—but the next thing he knew, it was Thursday morning, Peter was gently snoring in Remus' bed (no questions asked, even), James and Sirius were chasing each other with Dungbombs and shrieking happily, and the horrible, cursed day of February sixteenth was over... until next year.

~o0o~

Sirius pulled James away, and James didn't protest. Peter followed them, his face alight with happiness.

And then Remus was alone. He wasn’t sure he liked being alone.

Wait, no. He wasn't alone. Unfortunately, Slughorn was standing right next to him... yes, Remus would have preferred solitude.

Slughorn put his hand on Remus' shoulder, and Remus jumped and shooed his hand away instinctively. "Calm down, my boy! I'm not going to hurt you! There, now, this way, then..." Slughorn was shouting over the music, and Remus' ears hurt. He let himself be guided away, trying not to inhale too deeply. He sort of wanted to go home.

Slughorn stopped in front of a man with a large gob of curly, greying hair and blue eyes. "Here, this is who I wanted you to meet! Have fun, you two!" Slughorn said something else that Remus couldn't quite make out before ambling away.

Remus, who now thoroughly regretted coming to the party, glanced at the man (out of the corner of his eyes, since it was impolite to stare). The man was tall. He was holding a glass of punch. He, like Remus, very much looked as if he wanted to be somewhere else. Remus stood there silently, unsure of what to do. "Well, this is awkward," said the man.

Remus tried to laugh. "Er... yeah."

"Yes," the man repeated, and then he lowered his voice a little. "Listen, I... well, I'm not a fan of parties. Too stuffy and loud. Slughorn's watching us, but if I create a distraction... we can slip out the back. Undetected. Sound all right to you?"

Remus nodded a little. He wasn't sure what the man meant by "distraction", but he reminded Remus a little of James. And James' ideas were sometimes stupid, but they usually worked out.

The man reached into a briefcase and pulled something out, clenching it tightly in his hands. "Here, watch carefully," he said, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. He opened his hand wide, and three pixies flew out. Remus gaped.

The pixies flew around the room—one landed right on top of Slughorn's balding head. Chaos promptly ensued. The man motioned for Remus to follow, and Remus did—sure enough, there was a door in the back of the office, and Remus managed to slip through without Slughorn noticing.

They ended up in the corridor, and Remus kept following the man. He guided Remus through another door. Now they were standing directly in front of...

"A broom cupboard?" Remus asked in disbelief.

"Shh!" said the man, pushing Remus into the cupboard. It was a very large cupboard, as cupboards went, and there was plenty of room for the both of them. Much better, at least, than the lavatory in which Remus had been trapped with James Potter earlier that day (it was a long story). 

The man entered behind Remus and shut the door, lighting up his wand so that they could see. "This is the largest broom cupboard at Hogwarts," he explained. "I spent plenty of time in here when I was your age."

Remus was confused. Why would anybody spend that much time in a broom cupboard?

"No, no," said the man suddenly, looking at Remus' face. "Not... not snogging or anything... how old are you?"

"Eleven," Remus said.

"Oh. That's probably not what you were thinking, then. Er, I didn't have a lot of friends. Came here to be alone. I don't like people much. Honestly, I'm surprised: this cupboard is in exactly the same condition as it was when I left. Sorry to push you in here, I just thought that perhaps Slughorn would come and hunt us down. I'm... er, I'm quite famous, and he was pushing me to come for what seemed like hours. I didn't want to, but he's... persuasive. Well. Annoying."

Remus giggled a little. He was entirely overwhelmed.

"I'm not sure why he wanted us to meet. Not a big creature fan, are you?"

"No, sir," said Remus.

The man waved his hand. "No need to call me 'sir'. I never grew up to begin with." The man chuckled nervously, and Remus was amused in spite of himself.

"You said you're famous?"

"Yes. A little. I wrote one of the textbooks. And did a bit of field work, some research, you know. I'm currently writing a children's book. Did a few political things, too, though I'm not proud of all of them. Erm, don't tell anybody. I don't... I don't really like being famous? I know that sounds like such a privileged problem, but I'm not a fan of being stared at."

Remus could relate. "May I ask you your name?"

"Oh! Right. You must be so confused; how impolite of me." The man stuck out his hand. "Newt. Newt Scamander."

Remus stared at his hand in horror. Newt Scamander?

"Do you know who I am?" the man asked.

Remus knew exactly who he was. Of course he did. Every werewolf on earth knew who Newt Scamander was, and not for good reasons. This man—the polite man standing in front of Remus Lupin, who was a werewolf—had created the Werewolf Registry.

"N-Newt... Scamander? Er, I..."

"Are you okay? Are you ill?"

This man was the reason that Remus had to suffer every single January—was why he was questioned by people who hated him—was why the Ministry knew about his condition and hated him for it. Remus had read Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them. It was one of the most famous books on earth, and it had been penned by Newt himself. Remus had memorized the paragraphs that Scamander had written on werewolves. It was all correct, of course, but was also very scholarly. Remus ran through the words in his head, and there was no indication as to whether Scamander hated werewolves or not. No bias whatsoever—not one way or another.

It didn't matter, though. It didn't matter! Even if Scamander didn't outright say that he hated werewolves, his actions had certainly proved that he did. How could someone who respected werewolves as people possibly think that they should be marked and listed like animals? It was humiliating, it was degrading, and it was the worst part of the year by far besides Remus' twelve annual transformations...

Remus hated Newt Scamander.

Did Scamander know, though? If he had created the Registry, did he keep up with it? Did he pop in every so often and check the lists? Had he met Remus before? And why on earth did Slughorn think that Remus would want to meet Newt Scamander? Of all people?

Scamander dropped his hand and leaned in a little closer. "Being a magical creatures expert, I can read body language fairly well. You don't like me, do you?"

"I... sir, I..." It was not flattering that Scamander had just compared Remus to a magical creature, though he probably hadn't meant anything by it. Remus thought he might be sick.

"What's wrong?"

"I... er, my friends are waiting for me. I think. I should go..." Remus tried to open the door, but Scamander had locked it. That was disturbing. "Sir! I really need to go..."

Scamander held his hands up. "I'm not going to hurt you; I just want to make sure you're okay. In my experience, frightened animals tend to do reckless things—and although you're not an animal yourself, I like to think of magical creatures as people."

Remus was confused. In essence, Scamander had just compared him to an animal again. But then he said that magical creatures were people. Scamander was tilting his head now, and Remus felt a little like some sort of specimen of which Scamander was trying to gain the trust. The thought did not improve matters.

"I'm not going to do anything reckless... I only want to find my friends..."

"Pixies," said Scamander, completely ignoring Remus' pleas. "The Cornish variety. Not sure what they're doing now, but that horrid man certainly deserves it. Er, don't tell him I said that. There are only three pixies in that room, of course, but three can wreak as much havoc as ten. Fortunately, any somewhat adept witch or wizard can get rid of them. I expect someone has it under control. Most every staff member probably knows that they belong to me, of course, and they’ll keep them safe until I return. Cornish pixies also recognize faces; they know that I'm the one who feeds them. I've set them on numerous people, and they've found their way back every time. Quite useful, don't you think?"

"You shouldn't use a magical creature," Remus said boldly. During Scamander's speech, his fear had well given way to anger. "For any means. They're not tools."

"Good point, good point," said Scamander, unfazed. "I always try to give them a choice. If they prefer, they can go back into my briefcase. But I find that pixies often like wreaking havoc. So it's more of a win-win situation. I know what they want, trust me."

"I don't," Remus mumbled.

"Know what they want? Well, taking Care of Magical Creatures in your third year might help with that. That was my favorite class, you know..."

"No, trust you. I don't trust you, sir, and I want to leave."

"Oh." Scamander still did not look hurt; more like thoughtful. "Well. I suppose humans need choices, too. I'm sorry for keeping you here, I thought that perhaps I could help you feel more comfortable. But I, er, often overestimate myself. Hope you're all right. You don't look well, you know."

Remus tried the doorknob, but Scamander was still rambling, and the door was still locked. "I don't know a thing about humans, to be honest," Scamander babbled. "My wife always wants me to stick around, even when she verbally asks me to go away. Confusing, if you ask me. Not all magical creatures are the same, but at least they don't get bogged down with words. Language is ever so confusing, don't you think? Creatures don't do things like sarcasm and lying."

This one does, Remus thought dryly, and jiggled the doorknob a little more loudly. Scamander was obviously lost in thought, however. "I can't think of why you wouldn't like me, though. Oh, well... that sounded pretentious. I mean, you seemed to like me all right before I told you my name. What have I done that merits such fear? I don't think I'm particularly terrifying. I mean, not everything I've done has been good. Never really been proud of the..." Scamander's voice trailed off and his eyes drifted to meet Remus'. There was silence.

This was it. Scamander was going to kill him. Turn him over to the Ministry. Tell everybody.

"Well, that makes sense," Scamander mumbled. "Er. This complicates things, doesn't it?"

Remus suddenly remembered that he was a wizard as well as a werewolf. He pulled his wand out of the pocket of James' robes and tapped the door. "Alohomora," he said, and then he fled down the corridor.

Remus never once imagined that he'd be escaping to a party instead of from it.

~~oOo~~

It had been a very long day for Newt Scamander.

Currently, he was trying to catch a Pixie who was swimming in the punch when Slughorn tapped him on the shoulder. Newt inwardly groaned. "Sorry, Horace," he said. "The Pixies must have gotten loose while I was..."

"No matter, no matter!" said Slughorn lightly. "Where's...?"

Newt held up a hand. He really didn't want to know the boy's name. That would only complicate things further, and he figured that the boy deserved as much privacy as he could get. Newt lowered his voice. "You wanted me to meet him because... of his condition?" Newt wasn't a hundred percent sure that Slughorn knew, so he was being intentional about stepping around the subject. Although he wasn't sure how the boy could attend Hogwarts without the staff knowing...

"Of course!" said Slughorn, absolutely jovial and not nearly quiet enough. "Seeing as you created the Werewolf Registry. I figured he knew who you were! Oh, and there's someone else I want to introduce you to... a boy in Slytherin, an absolute magical creatures whiz..."

"Please lower your voice; I assume you're sworn to secrecy and we're in a public place," said Newt sharply. Slughorn definitely knew... unfortunately for the boy. "Do you actually know what the Registry is?"

"Of course," Slughorn scoffed. "The sub-department in the Ministry that keeps the Werewolf Register. I know you're much cleverer than I am, but I do know some things!"

"It's not pleasant, the Registry," said Newt. "Not pleasant at all. Sort of like..." Newt hesitated. He wasn't sure how to word this. "Sort of like staying at St. Mungo's, but you feel fine and all the Healers hate you and treat you like a criminal."

"Hm," said Slughorn, not comprehending this at all. That was fine. It hadn't been a very good analogy, after all. "So, how did it go? I figured you two would get along. You have a lot in common, you know..."

"Werewolves don't like me, Horace," said Newt slowly. He couldn't fault Slughorn for failing to understand a complex topic that didn't concern him at all, but it was a bit annoying. "I made their lives twice as complicated. The Registry was a good idea in theory—it felt necessary during the war—but it's incredibly badly-kept. So all it does is alienate werewolves even more. If they're Registered, they're subjected to dealing with the horrid Ministry workers who keep it. And the only werewolves that really need to be monitored are the Unregistered ones. I am not very well-liked in the world of werewolves."

"Oh," said Slughorn, looking remorseful now. "But he's..."

Newt shushed him. "I do not want to hear his name, or any other information about him. Just..." Newt rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Leave him alone, would you? I'm sure he has enough to deal with. Now, where is this Slytherin student of yours?"

~~oOo~~

Remus was hiding behind the curtains in the back of the room, drinking a glass of punch. It tasted a little odd so close to the full moon (the strawberries were over-ripe), but overall not bad. He wasn't exactly sure what to do.

On one hand, maybe Scamander wouldn't tell anyone. Then Remus could continue to stay at Hogwarts, even though he knew he was on borrowed time and his friends would find out at any moment. On the other hand, if Scamander did end up telling someone, he could be in serious danger. Logically, he should be in Dumbledore's office by now, all packed up and ready to go.

But he just couldn't bear to leave Hogwarts, even though it was loud and stressful and he was terrified out of his wits. Remus was a little odd like that. Perhaps, he thought with a smile, it was the Gryffindor in him: recklessly staying in a place that could turn on him at any moment. It was stupid, Remus knew, but maybe James and Sirius were rubbing off on him.

Or maybe it was just because he was all emotion-ed out today.

Suddenly, the curtain pulled back and Scamander was only a few feet away. Remus wasn't sure what to do, so he nodded at him and took another sip of punch. Maybe Scamander was going to curse him within an inch of his life. Or actually kill him. Or turn him over to the Ministry and come up with a false story about how he was an irredeemable monster.

Well, he was an irredeemable monster, technically. One night a month, at least. And there was nothing Remus could do about it now, was there? Remus figured that he really was emotion-ed out; he was usually much more expressive than this.

"Hey," said Scamander, a little breathlessly. "How are you?"

Remus looked at him and blinked. "Wonderful."

"I'm sure," said Scamander with an odd sort of laugh. "I'm not going to tell anyone. Thought you ought to know."

Remus nodded slowly. "Thank you." He wasn't sure what else to say.

"Well. Have a nice day." Scamander turned to leave, and then he paused and turned around again. "And... I'm sorry. Really." Then he gave Remus a small smile—still looking him in the eyes, to Remus' great surprise—and said, "Sorry. Leaving now."

Remus watched him go, entirely befuddled. Then he went to go join his friends, who were trying to teach a wayward house-elf how to dance. It was his last evening with them, after all, and what was a little noise and discomfort compared to what was going to happen next week?

~~oOo~~

Looking back, Newt was glad that he had gone with the simple apology. Because really, there were no words. Being famous and influential had more disadvantages than perks, but Newt had always been a responsible person.

Somewhat, he thought with a snigger as he remembered how he failed History of Magic for five years straight.