"You know," Sirius had said, his voice tight and uncertain, "sometimes...sometimes I wonder."

Remus turned to look at Sirius, curiously wary. His friend's back was to him, his black hair and robes standing out sharply against the white snow like an old photograph, the contrast so great it gave Remus the sudden urge to look down at his scarf, just to make sure the world hadn't been drained of colour.

"Wonder what, Padfoot?" Remus asked in what was supposed to be a cheery voice, hoping to lighten the mood and failing miserably. His ungloved fingers played with the edges of his Gryffindor scarf, worried.

"I..." Sirius hesitated, and Remus's heart jumped into his throat. Sirius never hesitated.

"Sirius?"

"Sometimes I feel like you only do things because we ask you to, not because you want to," Sirius finally blurted, jerking his head fiercely to the side. Remus felt himself grow cold, and his eyes fell back to his scarf. Still red.

"What do you mean, Sirius?" Remus managed, surprised by how normal he sounded. What was wrong with him? Surely this was not a normal time to sound normal.

"I mean," Sirius huffed, turning around at last and revealing a face far more flushed and nervous than Remus had expected. "I feel like sometimes you just say what you think we want to hear, like you'd do anything we'd ask, even the stupidest shit, because you're – I don't know, it's like you're fucking grateful we even talk to you, and damn it, Moony, I hate that. You're not a fucking charity case, you know, you're a human being. It's okay to grow a fucking backbone once in awhile. We're not going to stop talking to you just because you don't agree."

For the fourth time that week, Remus woke up screaming.

Once he remembered that he was safe in his room and not in the backyard, he sat quietly in his bed, sniffling worriedly into the pillow held in his arms as he strained his ears for the sound of footsteps, waiting for his comfort. It was coming, it had to be coming. Mum wouldn't leave him alone when he was this scared; there was no way she could sleep through the loud thumping in his chest. No way.

There was silence for a few moments before he finally heard a creak and the soft, slow padding of his mother's slippers on the floor. A gust of wind blew by outside at the same time, and the shadows began to dance around the room, the long crooked fingers of the branches of the tree outside reaching for him at all sides. Remus stared resolutely at the door, refusing to look anywhere else as he listened to her walk; he was absolutely sure that as long as he waited for his mother and didn't pay the shadows any mind, they couldn't hurt him.

The footsteps stopped outside his room, and Remus straightened expectantly, his poor heart still pounding in his ears. There was a soft sigh before it creaked open, and for a wild, breathless instant Remus thought he might see another wolf ready to eat him, teeth glistening and fur on edge, a nightmare come to life. But before he could properly wrap his mind around the possibility, however, he saw his mother and the threat instantly disappeared.

"Mummy!" Remus stretched his arms desperately out for a hug. The skin beneath his cheeks pulled against itself as he spoke, his drying tears leaving stiff tracks on his face. "Mummy, I – he – th-the wolf, it was back, i-it - "

"Shhh." His mother made her way over to him, switching the lamp on as she did, and Remus strained his arms further, unable to wait any longer for her warmth. "There is no wolf, mon petit prince," she assured him, the lines on her face looking deeper in the light and a strange, almost frightened look in her eyes. "Go back to sleep."

As soon as he could smell her mummy smell, made up of baked goods and sweet perfume, Remus's heart leaped in anticipation, but instead of an embrace, he felt her hand on his shoulder, gently leading him back down towards the sheets.

"You are safe at home," his mother continued, carefully prying the pillow out of his arms in spite of his cries of protest and placing it neatly beneath his head. "No wolf will come and eat you."

"But I saw him, I saw him," Remus insisted, trying to sit back up again to get the hug he so craved. She didn't see how angry he was, how huge. "He was big and angry and he had teeth and fur and - "

"You are safe," she repeated firmly but not unkindly, still pushing him down. "I promise."

Why wasn't she hugging him? Remus didn't understand why she wasn't hugging him. Didn't she understand? Didn't she know that when he was in her arms it felt like she could keep all the monsters away? Remus frowned. Was that why she didn't want to hug him? Was it because he was a monster, like the man in the white coat had said?

"But," he tried again, interrupted once more by another hush. The mattress near his feet dipped in, and he felt her hand rubbing his back soothingly, familiar words washing over him.

L'était une petite poule grise
Qu'allait pondre dans l'église
Pondait un petit coco
Que l'enfant mangeait tout chaud

Remus sniffled, recognising the song and humming along almost silently, his voice only managing every few notes. As nice as it admittedly was, he didn't want her hand on his back. He wanted her embrace, wanted to be held and surrounded by her warmth. He wanted to remember that he was her one and only and know that even if he was a monster that she would still love him anyway. That she would always be his mummy and he her petit prince.

"Are you feeling better?" she asked softly once the song was finished. She sounded tired, sleepy, almost sad, and suddenly Remus felt terribly guilty and alone. Once upon a time she would lie in bed with him, singing to him quietly until they both dozed off, or she would rock him in her arms, the pair falling asleep in that position. Now, ever since he had come back from that white place, she wouldn't even hug him for a second. Now, she just rubbed his back and sang one song. And Remus had the horrible feeling that it was somehow his fault.

Remus nodded and made what he thought was a sleepy sound, not really tired but wanting her to love him again. It was because he was a monster, he was sure of it, and so he was determined to do whatever he could to make her see past that, to make her remember what he had never forgotten. She was tired and sleepy and obviously didn't want to hug him, and while the selfish part of Remus wanted her to stay, an even more selfish part of him wondered if she would like him better if he let her do what she wanted.

"Good night," she murmured, her lips brushing against his forehead like a whisper before she tucked the sheets in around him, clicked off the light, and closed the door carefully behind her.

"Night," Remus muttered back into his pillow once she was gone, his voice sounding pitifully small in the vast emptiness left in her wake. Curling into himself, he sniffled again, still staring at the door and willing her to come back with all of his might.

Well, at least she was still coming every time he had a nightmare, he reminded himself with a small sigh. Daddy had stopped coming two days ago.

"Our Father, how's art in Heaven, Howard be thy name..."

"Remus, come here, please."

Remus looked up curiously from his bedside, twisting his body so that he might look outside his room and find the source of his mother's voice. Were his parents calling him? Did they want to play with him a little before bedtime, or maybe read him a story?

Scrambling up, he hurried to where he thought his parents might be: the kitchen. They were in there a lot these days, talking and arguing and making a lot of tea. Remus didn't know exactly what they were talking about, but every now and then snippets would float up to his room, and he'd grow worried. It just didn't sound like happy conversation. They yelled and hushed each other too much for that. But his mum didn't sound as tense as she usually did when she was mad, so Remus had hope. Maybe this was for something good.

"Remus?"

"Coming!" Starting in surprise, he scurried to the kitchen, hoping he was right about where they were; he didn't want to start another fight by making them wait. Luckily he had guessed correctly, and he breathed a sigh of relief that was hidden in his small gasps for air. Whatever they wanted him for, he hoped it wouldn't involve yelling.

There was a brief silence in which Remus waited at the entrance, unsure of where to go. He fidgeted uncomfortably as his parents merely stared at him, no books or toys in their hands, and he found himself looking down at his matching pyjamas. What did they want?

"Here," he finally said shyly, his hands playing nervously with the edge of his shirt.

"Remus, how are you feeling tonight?" his mother asked kindly, and Remus peeked up at her through his fringe. She looked a little tired, but not angry.

"Fine," he answered, unsure of what they were getting at. There was another pause, so Remus filled it with, "I was doing my prayers", hoping it'd be something else they'd want to hear.

"That's very good, Remus," his mother responded with a small nod, and while encouraging, Remus couldn't help but notice that his dad wasn't moving. He just kept staring at his cup of tea, which looked kind of cold from where Remus was standing; after all, there were no little cloud-things above it. How long had he been staring at it?

The pauses kept coming, and frankly they made Remus anxious; they used to never be a quiet family before. Before, they'd sing and laugh and tell stories at all hours of the day; now, his parents just nodded and smiled stiffly and looked weary and scared all the time.

"Have I been a good monster?" he finally muttered, dropping his gaze again. "I'm trying."

His father sighed strangely, like he was some sort of tired train, and Remus looked up curiously. He made those sounds himself sometimes when he was sad, but Remus had never heard his father make it before. Was his father sad? Why?

"Is it easy to breath, Remus?" his mother asked.

Remus blinked and shrugged, finding it a weird question but answering anyway. "Yes?"

"What about your leg, Remus?" she continued, peering at him. "You don't play in the backyard as much as you did before."

Remus looked back down, a little ashamed. "I'm scared," he admitted in a small voice, his bare foot tracing the lines on the ground. And it was true, he was; he hadn't left the house since he had come back, too afraid of the risk that came with big spaces to be willing. He had just stuck around his mum all day, following her like a duckling while he waited for the day to end. It was boring, but it was less scary that way. Nothing would happen so long as he was with his mum.

"I told you, Silvia," he heard his father mutter, and Remus jerked his head back up, drawn to the sound of his father's voice. "He's not ready."

"John, he- "

"Ready for what?" Remus piped up.

There was a ringing silence, and Remus wondered if they forgot he was there. Finally, his father sighed again, this time with much less shuddering, and responded, "Your mother wants to know if you want to go back to school."

"I wanna go back to school," Remus said quickly, straightening. School! He had missed school, with his friends and the crafts and the milk every morning. People were nice there, they would listen to him and play with him. That's what they were there for; they weren't doing the dishes or cooking all day, like his mum was. They were happy all the time, like home used to be.

"I think it would be good for him," his mother said quietly, her hands curling around her cup of tea, and Remus wondered how warm her hands were now. He missed holding them. "He needs to spend time with kids his own age, while he can."

His dad made another scoffing sound, and Remus once again got the distinct impression they had forgotten he was still there. "I wanna go," he repeated, energy running though his veins as he thought about the prospect. School! "We were adding and subtracking," he added, as though this might help his case. "I was just learning how. We were using apples and birds and things."

His father still looked unconvinced, and finally Remus felt the need to assure him that he would be a good monster there, too. Maybe that was the problem: they were afraid he would be mean and bad like every other monster once he left the house. "I won't eat the other kids," Remus promised. "I don't want to eat my friends, I want to play with them."

His mother made a sound of mingled amusement and sadness, and Remus wasn't sure if this was a good thing or not. Still, anything was better than just a sigh, and Remus looked to his dad, trying to figure out what he was thinking. Did he say what he needed to say to go back?

"You're not going to talk about what happened to you if you go, you understand?" his father finally said, turning to look at Remus with such a serious expression the boy stood up straighter. "You are not to tell any of the other children what you are or that you were bitten. If anyone asks anything, you were sick."

"I was sick," Remus repeated, nodding his head. He paused for a moment before asking, "So they don't know I'm a monster? A, um, a where – a where's wolf?"

His father expression, incredibly, grew even more serious, and Remus gulped. He didn't know it was possible for his father to look so stern. "You don't talk about it," the man repeated firmly. "You were sick. That's all. If your leg hurts and someone asks you about it, you say you hurt it while playing in the yard, but under no circumstances are you to say you were bitten by anything, is that understood?"

Remus nodded, his heart beating loudly in his ears. He could go to school, but only if he lied? "Do I have to lie?" he asked, wishing he could just go without having to remember any stories; what if he slipped up and forgot? "I don't want to lie."

"They won't let you go to school otherwise, petit," his mother sighed, her expression sad. "I'm afraid you'll have to remember."

"Is it because I'm a monster?" Remus asked with a sinking heart.

His father made an irritated noise, and Remus dropped his gaze back to his feet. "I don't like lying, lying's bad, you told me," he sniffed, upset that he would have to do something bad just to get back to school. Weren't monsters bad, and that's why no one liked them? Then why were they telling him to do bad things?

"Sometimes you have to lie, Remy," his mother said softly, kindly, her eyes as apologetic as her voice. "Sometimes it makes people feel better, like when someone gives you a present you don't like but you say you do anyway. Do you know what I mean, Remus?"

Remus nodded, lying already. He sort of knew what she meant, that sometimes people wanted to hear one thing and in order to make them happy you would say it, even though it wasn't true. Kind of like what he was doing right now.

People didn't like knowing he was a monster, he supposed later while he lay in bed and watched the shadows play on the ceiling. Maybe it made them sad, or scared, like it did his parents, so by saying he was sick, they wouldn't guess he was a monster, and then they would be happier for it.

He could do that. It didn't sound too hard, right? He had been sick, and he had hurt his leg playing in the yard. Two things to remember. He could do that.