Lillian Smith requested this one a while back. This is for you! :)

Also, I've just fixed the previous chapter if you haven't read it yet. Thanks for letting me know!

Hope you don't mind the dots - lines seem too final for this one. Dunno why.

Please keep the requests rolling (not for Remus - I'm overloaded with ideas for him!).

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EXCUSES, EXCUSES

The first charm he learnt when he reached Hogwarts was the glamour charm, and restless nights were spent practising it over and over again.

The first lie he told his friends was that he had been attacked by his neighbour's dog, and that was where the scars were from. Hours and hours were spent reciting it before the mirror.

The first thing he did when he received his Hogwarts letter was cry and cry and cry.

Remus Lupin had a secret, and he wanted it to stay that way. He didn't want them to know about his monthly trips to the Shrieking Shack (accurately named and more dangerous than anyone thought), or his days in the hospital wing, bleeding from the scars he always hid behind glamours and long sleeves, or the real reason Professor Slughorn avoided his desk.

Lycanthropy.

.

His small fist knocked on the blue door, a grin plastered on his face, amber eyes alight with joy.

He'd been at the hospital for a month, and than that night happened, and he'd gone in again. Remus still didn't understand what was going on, but he knew that it had hurt a lot, and that he'd woken up alone in the dark. He knew Mummy had cried for a long time. Past that? He wasn't just confused. No-one had explained anything, just looked at him in a sad, or pitiful, or fearful way.

Why were they scared of him? They were four times his height!

The door still hadn't opened. Remus knocked again. "Artie?" he called.

No answer. The lights were on in the hallway, and he saw a shadow in the frosted glass of the door.

"Mrs Jones? It's Remus. I'm back!"

It was an unusually warm and cloudless day for north Wales, but Remus felt a chill nonetheless. Mrs Jones was in the hallway - he could see her curly hair and pregnant stomach.

"Mrs Jones? I came to speak to Artie. Please can I see him?"

The shadow moved inside and Mrs Jones opened the door a crack. The breeze brushed at Remus' hair, revealing the new scar that ran along his hairline. The four-year-old found himself a little scared. Arthur's mother had always been so kind and homely. Now…

"Mrs Jones?"

"Go away," she snapped, voice cold and face stony. Her eyes didn't glow with motherly love. Her smile was gone.

"But I just wanted to see-"

"Keep away from my son, you … you monster."

Remus found himself crying, something that had happened a lot lately. Why couldn't he see Arthur? Why was Mrs Jones so mean today? Why was everyone like this now? Why, why, why?

He tottered down the path, through the gate with its flaking green paint and into his own house next door, where he cried into his mother's lap and told her everything.

.

Again and again. Neighbours and friends and even family. Auntie had seemed angry, Uncle had seemed scared, and Grandma had taken one look at him before spitting at his feet. After Artie, Ben and Lisa and Gwen had left too, their parents growling at him or shutting the door in his face or throwing stones. They'd had to move house several times to get away from it all. Daddy was always at work. He was too scared to make more friends.

He had Mummy, but it wasn't the same.

.

A tall man with an impressive beard had knocked on the door that morning. Remus had been sent to his room while his parents whispered worriedly to each other. He'd come in (Remus heard all of this with his sensitive hearing), greeted Lyall, who he obviously knew, and introduced himself to Hope.

Albus Dumbledore.

Oh, Merlin.

Remus hadn't had any friends his own age since he was six, and at eleven, he spent his time alone. He read a lot, mostly muggle fiction, and played the little out-of-tune piano in the living room. School, ever since he was four and bitten by a werewolf, had been unthinkable.

Dumbledore had come to tell them he couldn't go.

Dumbledore had come to speak to his parents about something entirely different.

Dumbledore had come to inspect the cellar, where he transformed.

Dumbledore had come to kill him.

His imagination could think of nothing positive.

"Remus!" Came Mum's voice from downstairs.

Cautiously, he trod downstairs and stood in the doorway where his parents sat with Professor Dumbledore.

They were all looking at him. "Hello," he said.

Dumbledore smiled, blue eyes twinkling, "Hello Remus. I've come to speak to you about Hogwarts."

Well, at least this wasn't his execution.

"I know; I can't go."

"Ah," said the old man, "Well that is where you're wrong, my dear boy. It is entirely possible that you could attend just like any student."

"But I'm a…"

"We can make arrangements."

A joke. A sick joke. The governors wouldn't allow a dangerous beast at the school, even if the headmaster would. What would the students say? The teachers and the parents? He wouldn't last a day before they found a way to expel him. Dumbledore was playing a joke.

"You doubt," the Professor said. "I see it. The other students, and the governors, would have to be kept in the dark. The teachers would know so that they could excuse you from homework, and we would find a secure place nearby for you to transform."

"You don't understand," Remus said, ignoring the looks his parents were giving him for his rudeness. "I need days to recover sometimes, and proper medical care, and I'm always ill beforehand. It's too much of a hassle - someone will figure it out and I'll be back where I started."

"If that is the case, the teachers would excuse you both before and after the moons. We also have a qualified healer on site. And if someone finds out … don't you think it's better that we try?"

He'd miss lessons every month and miss important parts of his education. He'd have to hide a part of himself from the other boys in his dormitory. He'd have to prepare a hundred excuses.

Doubt lingered, but now hope was shining through. Better to try, Remus thought.

"Alright," he said, "I'll go."

.

Now Remus was going to Hogwarts and he thought: surely they'd hate him there too? The train was huge, the whistle loud, the people all too much for him after so many years of loneliness.

His joints already weak because of the waxing moon, he was pushed and shoved about as he tried to reach the train. Eyes fixed ahead, he fruitlessly tried to squeeze past the older students.

He'd already said his goodbyes, and it hurt too much to look back.

Upon reaching the train at last, he found an empty compartment near the back, and settled down to read the next eight hours away.

He thought of what his mother had said as they left the house: try to make some friends. Friends would always let him down in the end, though. Friendship, for a werewolf, only caused pain.

Remus had barely started his book when the carriage door opened. Two boys came in, looking thoroughly disgruntled. "Mind if we sit here?" said one boy, who had huge glasses over hazel eyes. "Bunch of seventh years just chucked us out of our compartment."

The werewolf nodded his consent warily.

The other boy, pale with longer black hair that framed aristocratic features and slate grey eyes, was silent as he sat, seeming just as hesitant as Remus.

"I'm James," said the first boy. His voice was a warm but his accent jumpy, as if he was posh but trying not to be. "James Potter. This here is Sirius Black."

"Remus. Remus Lupin."

James' eyes lit up, "Welsh?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Cool."

Remus didn't see how it was 'cool' at all, but he didn't say a thing. If friends were bad, enemies were worse, and there was something inside him that told him to be friends with this vibrant boy.

"What house do you want to be in? I want Gryffindor for sure. Pretty much all my family's been in Gryffindor."

"I don't mind," Remus said, "But Dad thinks I'll be a Ravenclaw."

He looked to Sirius, whose expression was one of … longing?

"My mother will kill me if I'm in anything but Slytherin." His accent was definitely posh, every syllable clipped and sharp, but there was bitterness in his tone. It was the first time Sirius had spoken, and Remus had the impression that he was jealous of James and Remus' freedom.

If only he knew.

James looked at Remus, "Where're the scars from?" He wasn't being rude purposefully, but Remus was affronted by this sudden question.

"I-" Already, his future was falling around him, any hope he had of normalcy crushed in an instant. "There was an incident with my neighbour's dog."

James seemed satisfied, but behind Sirius' masked expression, curiosity and suspicion burned in his eyes.

Another boy came in at that moment, sweets clutched in his hands. "Mind if I sit? I'm Peter Pettigrew, by the way."

The rest of the train ride went on without a hitch, and Remus had found some friends after all.

He only hoped they lasted longer than Artie had.

.

James and Peter were serving their very first detention, and Sirius sat with Remus in the dormitory.

"Did they do it?" Sirius asked.

"Who?"

"Your parents. Is that where the scars are from?"

Remus didn't answer. He saw something like understanding in the other boy's eyes and decided to let him think what he liked. Anything was better than the truth.

.

"Where're you going?"

Remus turned to see his friends - and dormmates - staring at him as he left.

"I'm ill," he said, "I have to go to the hospital." Seeing their worried faces, he added, "Don't worry. It happens all the time."

And he left, breathing harder than ever, muscles aching, bones cracking, the tug of the moon present everywhere. He hated lying.

.

Madam Pomfrey was surprisingly understanding. She was all soft smiles and bright eyes and a caring hand on his cheek.

Oh, how it made him miss Mum.

He was recovering very well - the Wolf had been too busy exploring the abandoned shack to hurt itself too much.

"Can I go now?" Remus asked quietly.

Madam Pomfrey frowned. "You're not well yet. Stay until supper, and you can join your friends then."

Remus didn't protest, but wished he could go now. His friends would be even more suspicious the longer he stayed, and discovery was - for the moment, at least - his greatest fear.

.

The cycle of excuses and escaping and the full moon and more excuses went on and on for at least another year.

Remus dreaded the day they found out, because yet again he would be scorned and hurt and end up crying in Mum's arms. Sirius' parents were governors and they'd expel him when they found out.

Then not only would he be a werewolf, but he'd be an uneducated werewolf. It would ruin whatever chances of getting a job and having a future he had left.

But it wasn't the future he was thinking about. It was the searing anticipation of the present. The conclusions his friends were surely coming to here and now. He was thinking about how James' hazel eyes would widen in hatred, how Sirius would turn cold again, how Peter would tremble with fear. He thought about how Dumbledore would be patronisingly apologetic, how Slughorn would say, phew, the dark creature's gone. Now I can breathe.

He shuddered at the picture forming in his mind - him, soaked to the skin, begging to be let through the huge doors of the castle, the entire school watching and laughing. Spitting at his feet like Grandma had. Everyone knowing and assuming everything about him from one word.

Werewolf.

If he was an artist, he'd paint his life in the darkest colours he could find. Red like the crusted blood that covered him every month. Blue like the stormy sea of misery he was lost in. Grey like the angry clouds when it rained. Black like Remus' death - sure to come soon. Amber - rich, dark, haunting amber - like the colour of a werewolf's eyes.

But he wasn't an artist. He couldn't express himself without despairing. Remus was left to drown in his own pain.

.

After his third moon of second year, he arrived to a grave dormitory. Each boy sat on their own bed grimly, looking directly at Remus as he pushed open the door.

"Something the matter?" He asked.

But he knew what was coming. They always had that look in their eyes.

"We need to talk to you, mate." That was James. He'd never been so serious.

"You already are."

Silence. Sarcasm didn't fit in this atmosphere.

Sirius looked nervous. Peter looked pained. Perhaps worse of all, James was utterly emotionless.

"You're a … you're a werewolf, aren't you?"

Remus shrugged. "Took you a while."

"You didn't make it easy."

Silence. Oh, that awful silence that burrowed deep into Remus' mind.

The other two boys still hadn't spoken.

"I'll go then," Remus said, "Don't make a big deal out of it. Please."

"What?" Sirius asked, standing.

"Exactly what I just said. Please don't tell the whole school my secrets. Just … forget this happened or something."

"No," Sirius said.

Sighing, Remus walked right up to him, "You can punch me if you'd like. I don't care. Do whatever - just don't tell. I won't bother you again."

"What he means to say," said James, "Is that we don't need to forget this happened. We don't care, Remus. We've had a discussion - all night, in fact - and we don't care an inch. Just … let us ask some questions about it, 'cause you understand we want to know-"

"What you're sharing your dormitory with?" He interjected bitterly.

"How to help you." James' voice was soft again, and he smiled. "You're still our Remus. It's just a … furry little problem."

"That doesn't quite cut it," Remus said. He couldn't help it, so soon after the moon - anger rising in the pit of his stomach. "Little?"

"To us, it's insignificant."

James had always been the smooth talker of the group. The reassuring one. The glue that kept them from running off. In four words, any anger he'd caused was gone, leaving relief and -most of all - love.

After all this, how could Remus not love his three best friends?

He wrapped James in a bone-crushing hug, burying his face in the shorter boy's shoulder. He didn't realise he was crying until he started to shake, but tears were soaking into James' robes.

"Oh good Lord," said James, actually worrying, "What do I do?" And Remus laughed at the familiarity of James - the resident worrier, and always completely oblivious.

Remus wasn't crying out of sadness or anger or pain or the hundreds of things that usually sparked his tears. He was crying from pure happiness.

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Wow. That was … happy? How is this possible?

I liked writing this one! It came to me so easily. Please put in requests for next time - either James or Peter, I think, but I need ideas for Sirius too.