4

Three days.

Three days until they knew for sure.

Three days to figure out how they were going to keep him from going on a murderous rampage in the middle of Hogwarts.

"We've got to talk about it eventually, Freddie." George whispered. They sat in the back of Macdonald's Transfiguration and halfheartedly flicked their wands at a disgruntled hedgehog they were supposed to be changing into a Quaffle. Fred said nothing so George kept on. "Maybe… maybe we should tell someone."

Fred's gaze hit his twin sharply. "They could just as easily help us as they could throw me into the woods of Albania."

"Dumbledore wouldn't let that happen," George protested.

"Do you want to risk it?"

George shifted his weight awkwardly and shook his head in the negative. "If we don't tell anyone, then we're going to need to find some place to for you to hide."

"You mean, a place to keep me contained," Fred grumbled.

"Well, yeah."

They thought. To be honest, Fred had been unsuccessfully trying to ignore this part for far too long. It terrified him. "The forest?" he offered.

George shook his head. "Someone might see. And there's nothing stopping you from wandering onto the school grounds."

"True."

"What about one of the tunnels?"

"You know a tunnel strong enough?"

George huffed and muttered a spell when the teacher passed by to make it seem like he was at least trying. "Let's go looking for something tonight."

They were on the seventh floor in the left corridor of the Hogwarts castle next to the tapestry depicting the attempt of Barnabas the Barmy to teach trolls ballet. Fred stared up at it, bemused at the weird picture and tired from walking. He'd felt sick all week but couldn't tell if it was in his imagination or not. His muscles ached and his head pounded for no particular reason. Worst of all, there was an odd jumble of magic in his chest that jumped and bumped around. The moon was nearly full, and Fred was utterly terrified. Across the hall, George paced back and forth, chewing his lip.

"A room to contain a you-know-what… I don't know, Freddie."

Fred yawned and slid down the wall to watch George pace. He squinted at the wall opposite. "Didn't there used to be a broom closet there?"

"What?" George stopped his pacing. "Oh, yeah, there was." They'd hid from Filch in it once. They blinked and suddenly there was a metal door in the stone wall where there most definitely had not been.

Fred jumped to his feet, and George startled back. They stared at it for a few seconds lest it disappear. "A disappearing broom closet…"

"Wicked." George stepped forward and tried to door. It was unlocked. Casting a grin back at his brother, George swung open the door and walked in. His steps echoed inside in a very un-broom-cupboard-like way.

Fred frowned. "George?"

"This is… not a broom closet."

Fred followed George into the darkness, which let up a moment later to reveal a large room that reminded Fred of Snape's potions classroom without all the clutter. It was cold and stone with mats on the floor. Written in flowery handwriting on a plaque on the floor were the words:

The Room Of Requirement

which will take on any form

the witch or wizard desperately needs

when they pace thrice before it.

"Well, that's convenient."

"It's brilliant. I said a room to contain a you-know-what, and here it is!"

Fred squinted at the plaque. "What the heck does thrice mean?"

Remus Lupin considered himself to be a very dedicated person, not prone to fantasy or fanatics, even if he could be a bit paranoid.

And he must just be being extra nervous because Sirius was nearby, and Remus was being forced to put his trust in that long nosed git Snivellus. Oh, excuse him, Severus. But if Snape couldn't get over his childish angst enough to be at least outwardly civil, Remus could call him names in his head all he liked. Remus couldn't tell if the Potions Master hated him because of Remus' childish mistakes as a youth, or because of his lycanthropy.

But that wasn't the issue at hand. He accepted the potion from Snape, who swept from the room without a word, leaving Remus to drink the horrid potion alone in his office. It was near midnight. Tomorrow, at this time, he would be curled up under his bed in his room trying to sleep and forget that he had paws and a tail.

Remus swirled the steaming liquid and eyed it carefully for any sign of poison, as always. He wouldn't put it past Snape to try to kill him.

Sighing deeply, Remus downed the potion that would let him keep his mind as a wolf and grimaced at awful taste and the buzzing in his mind that it produced at first. But he would suffer any such discomfort to be spared a full moon without his senses. Remus shivered, remembering the times as a child he'd...

Well. He put the cup down. No point dwelling on the past, as they say.

Never in his wildest dreams would he wish a night without Wolfsbane on any werewolf. Not on his greatest enemy.

Remus pinched the bridge if his nose, recognizing the headache as an old familiar. As usual, he'd felt like hogwash all week, and it would only grow worse until the moon waned.

With a sigh, Remus turned to the stack of essays he was supposed to be editing. He picked up the first and snorted. "Funny, Severus." he grumbled. Just follow the syllabus, he'd said. But of course, the slimy git chose to teach on and assign a three foot essay about yours truly.

Was this Snape's idea of a joke or was he trying to get Remus discovered? Probably both, Remus reasoned.

Werewolves, a Misunderstood Species, was the title of the first essay. Remus blinked and checked the name. Ah, the Granger girl whose hand appeared to be glued upwards. She was worryingly clever.

And apparently in the minority's opinion when it came to werewolves. Remus sat back with the essay and read it quickly. It was of her usual quality, written well with noted sources and accurate information (which was saying something because the theories about werewolves were wild and varied and usually wrong).

Remus chewed his cheek and tapped the paper with his finger. What was she trying to say?

"While many in society would disagree, werewolves are deserving of privacy just like anyone else."

Remus considered that. Did she know? Had she figured out his secret? Hermione was bright enough. And if she had, was this her way of saying she would stay quiet? He certainly hoped so.

Or maybe he was reading too much into the words. Yawning tiredly, Remus moved on through the piles of essays.

Two other papers caught his attention, however. The papers of the Weasley twins, who had turned their essays in at the last possible moment, were actually rather good.

Startlingly good.

Remus frowned. He'd think they were cheating except that they never bothered to put effort into schoolwork, even if cheating was an option. And there were anti-cheating charms around the perimeter of his classroom.

They actually were knowledgeable on the subject of werewolves... of all things.

His mind wandered back to the last week. He'd caught them sneaking around after curfew (something he'd done often enough as a student). Remus had been certain, for a moment, that he could sense... But it was ridiculous.

Remus rolled the thought over in his mind. There simply was no possibly. Besides, he'd been around the tricksters all semester and hadn't sensed anything before.

All the same, he resolved to watch the boys carefully for any signs that either of them displayed as best as he could. It was probably nothing. Most likely nothing.

But as he'd said before, he'd never wish a night without Wolfsbane on any werewolf. Even one that broke curfew.

"Hey, Fred!"

Fred turned around, slightly flattered that he had not been mistaken for his brother. His feet crunched in the cold snow as he turned to behold a very disgruntled Team Captain.

Ah. Practice. Yes. George and him had overslept that morning after falling asleep against each other in the Room of Requirement reading the night before. They'd moved all their books and such into the metal room just off to the side of the larger room. That little room had chairs and a bed and more books on Lycanthropy than they'd ever managed to find in the library. Better yet, the doors and walls looked nigh impossible to break into.

George was ecstatic that he wouldn't have to leave his brother totally alone, and Fred was less so, thinking about how utterly terrifying it would be to be in a metal box with a monster pacing around it all night. And if he managed to get in somehow...

But Oliver did not know any of that, and he was livid. "Where the heck were you!"

Fred's mouth didn't appear to be online. He opened and closed it uselessly until George, who'd just caught up, managed to speak. "We had detention."

Oliver snorted. "And you actually went? At four in the morning?"

"We might have-"

"-bombed Mrs Norris."

"Bit messier than we thought. Couldn't get out of it."

At this, Oliver's expression cleared to one of mild pleasure and expectation. "Is she dead?"

"Unfortunately not." Fred answered. "We have a theory that she's actually-"

"-the immortal Nicholas Flamel," George finished. "Just in disguise."

Raising an incredulous eyebrow, Oliver shook his head. "Oh, whatever, just warn me next time you decide not to show up. Or better yet, just show up."

"Got it," they said with identical smiles.

"Good." He turned and stalked off to intimidate other team members who had failed to show. Fred watched him go with a smirk, and then flung his arm over his brother's shoulder. "Good thinking," he said into his ear.

"I'm not called the smart one for nothing." George copied him and they fumbled their way through the snowy courtyard to the dining hall trying to trip each other.

"For the record, no one calls you the smart one."

"Well, I don't see them saying that about you. It's a process of elimination."

"Whatever, oh witty one," Fred answered mockingly. To Fred, there was George, and then their was the rest of the world. They existed in a very tight circle and everyone else was mere pranking material. Not to say he didn't love his family and friends. But the level of care in comparison to the relationship he had with George just would never measure up. He was well aware that George was trying to distract him from tonight and he appreciated the gesture, ineffective though it was.

Even if George could distract him, his pounding head and aching bones were reminder enough. Feeling like crap was all apparently quite normal for a you-know-what according to his reading.

On another note, Fred didn't think he had willingly read so much nonfiction in his entire life. But how else were they supposed to know what to expect? It's not like they could just walk up to a professor and ask for information. It would be too suspicious. Especially now that they had turned in that werewolf essay (destiny had a sense of humor) and had no valid reason to keep researching.

It would only be one night, Fred thought. Just one night. Then it would get better... Until the next waxing moon set him on edge again.

One step at a time.

Time had a way of slipping away worryingly fast when he wished it to slow. Soon breakfast was over and he was sitting in Potions. A clock on the wall ticked like mad and Snape's voice was like salt in a wound. They shared the class with Hufflepuffs, who continued to be equal parts irritating, cheery and irrational. He did not understand the point of that house. A shot of pain had Fred screwing his eyes shut for a moment, and George nudged him.

"I'm fine," Fred murmured, his mantra of late. George obviously didn't believe him.

At the end, he was so tired and distracted he forgot to mess up the potion they were assigned like they usually did (can't have mucky mucks catching sight of them and making them do any more education than needed). Snape peered down his nose at the bottle of flawless eyesight enhancer, and his gaze flicked up to Fred suspiciously. George was still cleaning up their desk. "That was a stroke of luck, wasn't it, Weasley?"

"Sir?" he said with innocence. At least his headache had receded for the time being.

Snape rolled his eyes. The man's sharp gaze whipped up and down him. "You look horrible, Fred or George or whoever you are. You did not have the idiocy to inhale the moon drop's aloid, I hope."

"Think I'm just catching a cold."

"Indeed," Snape muttered. "Don't leave your childish runny nose about the place." He flicked the bottle of Fred and George's potion once more before waving him away. "Full marks," he said irritably.

Fred walked out quickly, his fingers shaking with nerves. He stuffed them into his pockets and waited for George, who exited with a concerned look. "Maybe you should just say you're sick and miss class."

"And bring attention to it? George, we all just did an essay on them. Someone would put it together after a few moons."

George didn't look convinced but he did not mention it again. "It's going to be fine, Fred. We've got the room. We'll be fine."

As much as Fred wanted to believe that, his stomach only turned tighter and tighter as the day wore on. Tonight they would know for sure. Tonight would change everything. Fred had never dreaded something so much in his entire life.

AN: AHHH! Hi. Bit of a filler chapter but the next one should be more exciting. I wasn't sure whether or not I should include the Room of requirement and went back and forth. But then I thought, aw whatever. There are more important issues than containing him to deal with in the future. But... spoilers. Anyway, please leave a review.