Remus: 11 April, 1972

Griselda crawled atop Remus' bag and meowed importantly, begging for attention. Remus obliged, glad to have a reason to put off his packing. He couldn't put it off too long, he knew; he had a deadline, after all. One that was fast approaching. But a small break was a welcome idea. Griselda closed her eyes, purring contentedly, leaning into Remus' fingers as though they were the only thing in the world as he scratched her head. She was getting fat, Remus noticed. That wasn't surprising. James gave her treats almost constantly. He couldn't resist when she nosed at them. He doted on that cat. She didn't want for anything. Remus could only imagine what James would be like if he ever had children; they'd be spoiled rotten by the time they were three days old.

Griselda yowled in protest when Remus lifted her off his bag, setting her gently to the side so he could resume his packing. After a few moments of butting at the bag, and then at Remus' hand, she gave up and sauntered out of the room. Looking for James, no doubt.

Peter sat on Remus' bed, in constant chatter mode. Remus liked Peter like that, mostly because it meant Peter was happy, and Remus liked to see his friends happy. Especially Peter. It seemed he had little to be happy about these days. His mother had taken a turn for the worst, his grades were abysmal, and yesterday a bunch of Slytherins had figured out that if they waited until James and Sirius weren't around to defend him, they could hex Peter to their heart's content, and he wouldn't fight back. Remus tried to convince him to tell James and Sirius - they would never stand for anyone hexing their friend - or to tell McGonagall, who would undoubtedly have put a stop to it, but Peter refused on grounds that Sirius was always calling him a rat. Remus tried to explain that tattling on Slytherins didn't make a person a rat: only tattling on your friends did that, but Peter had decided to suffer in silence.

The other thing Remus liked about Peter's chatter mode was that it required very little energy on his part: just an occasional nod and "uh-huh" would do the trick. Peter would more or less take it from there. Now, however, Remus would have to interrupt him. It was time for him to go.

"Just let me finish my story," Peter ordered.

Annoyance rose in Remus' chest like a tidal wave. He didn't have time to wait. Didn't Peter understand that? No, Remus reminded himself. Peter thought Remus was going home to visit his sick mum; that was what everyone thought. Remus hated the lie. Even more than that, he hated that the lie was so necessary. Remus was in no mood to be ordered around today. He was exhausted, he was frustrated and, more than anything else, he was filled to the brim with anxiety. So much anxiety it settled in his stomach, twisting it painfully, and radiated outward, causing his fingers to tingle, his legs to quiver, and his eyelid to twitch.

"Peter... Peter... PETE!"

Peter stopped mid-sentence. "Remus, you know I don't like to be called Pete." Remus did know, but sometimes it was the only way to get Peter's attention. Well, that and calling him Worm Guts, which James and Sirius still did from time to time. Remus, however, refused to call him that.

"You'll like this story," Peter continued. "It'll make you laugh."

"Send it to me with your owl," Remus suggested. "I have to go. My dad will be waiting for me."

"Let him wait," Peter said with a shrug. "My dad's always making me wait for him."

"Well, my dad never makes me wait, and besides, he puts a lot of stock in punctuality." That wasn't entirely true, but it could have been true, for all Peter knew. Honestly, Remus wasn't sure about his father's views on had never really had reason to it. He was always on time for work; Remus knew that much.

Remus trudged down the stairs with his bag full of clothes and homework. He usually never actually got to the homework, but he liked to hope.

It seemed too soon to be time again, though he tried to remind himself that it was later than it had been last month. Remus' favorite season was Spring for this very reason. It was always heartening when the days began to grow longer and the nights shorter. Remus tried to focus on that. He always tried to focus on other things. His transformations were only one night a month, after all. Sure, it was a difficult night, but once it was over, he would have twenty-eight whole days before he had to worry about it again. He was a person far more often than he was a werewolf, and that was something to be glad about. He tried to think like that as often as he could, but sometimes, and today was shaping up to be one of those times, he just couldn't help feeling sorry for himself.

He shouldn't, he knew. There were worse things in life than being a werewolf. He could have been born a vampire or a hag. He could have caught spattergroit. He could have been a squib. He could be dead. He shouldn't feel sorry for himself, but he couldn't seem to snap himself out of it today.

It was a beautiful day, with little fluffy clouds in a perfectly blue sky. It almost looked like a painting as he stared at the horizon. If he'd had time, he might have tried to capture it on a canvas, but he didn't. He never would have been able to work quickly enough anyway; Spring days were ephemeral things. Maybe when he got back, he could recreate it from memory.

James and Sirius were in the common room, occupying a sofa. James was playing a harmonica. Remus had no idea where the harmonica had come from, and he was afraid to ask. When James and Sirius showed up with anything odd, the chances were good it had been nicked. The chances were even better it had been nicked from a Slytherin.

James wasn't very good at it... unless a harmonica was supposed to sound like a dying cat. He didn't seem overly perturbed by the feline death chant. Indeed, he seemed to be enjoying himself. Several of the students around him looked as though they were edging toward a mutiny, but James was oblivious. He pulled the thing away from his mouth long enough to say, "I think I'm getting the hang of this," and resume cheerfully.

It didn't seem fair; Remus wanted to be sitting down there making faces and groaning as James attempted to make music. He wanted to be carefree like the others. Remus rarely let himself think about things like fairness; it did little good, but today, he couldn't keep that thought out of his mind either. It wasn't fair.

Remus wasn't anything special, really. He wasn't the best at much of anything. He was bright; that much was true, and he had but a great deal of stock in that when he was younger, sure that it would save him from the exile most werewolves faced. It was possible, he supposed. He was at the top of his class, after all. Just beneath Sirius and barely above James. McGonagall said it was the first time in over a hundred years that none of the top three students were Ravenclaws. Unlike Sirius and James, however, Remus worked hard for his grades. No, he was nothing special. He was just an ordinary person: a person who liked school and friends and Spring days and chocolate cake, and who didn't deserve this. He had never deserved this. He stood at the bottom of the stairs for a long time, just watching them. James really was awful on that harmonica.

Peter brushed past him and charged across the room. He smacked at the others to tell them Remus was leaving. Remus almost wished he hadn't. He almost wished they had kept laughing and joking and trying to teach themselves to play the harmonica. Instead they looked in his direction, and their smiles slowly faded.

"We're sorry about your mum, Remus," Sirius said, coming over to him.

"Yeah, we hope she gets better soon," Peter added. "Having a sick mum is the worst."

Remus tried to push aside the guilt. He had been trained early to keep this secret, but he preferred keeping it through silence rather than lies. Telling everyone he was sick was one thing; saying it was his mother was something completely different. Especially since Peter's mother really was sick. He had tried to talk about it that morning, wanting to know what was wrong with her and if she'd get better. Remus had dodged the questions as best he could, and Peter, thankfully, had bought it.

Peter usually bought what he was told. Sirius and James would question it: digging deeper, putting puzzle pieces together, finding joy in the search; but Peter skimmed the surface. He was straightforward and assumed every one else was, too. There was something sort of comforting in that for Remus, in knowing that what he saw was what he got, in being able to rest assured that there were no mysteries with Peter.

James was unpredictable. Solid and dependable, but unpredictable. One never knew when he might up and decide to go explore the forest in the middle of the night or fly to Cornwall because he missed someone. James was a person you wanted on your side in a crisis, but, more often than not, he was the one who had caused the crisis to begin with. His favorite thing to do was rush off somewhere without a second thought to the consequences. Remus was always thinking about the consequences; he had to. A werewolf could not afford the luxury of impetuosity.

Sirius, on the other hand, was enigmatic. Remus always had the feeling that he was full of secrets. For all his showy confidence, Remus would catch him staring into space and frowning, deep in thought about something that he would never verbalize. Whenever Remus asked him what was wrong or what he was thinking about, he would snap out of it, plaster on a big smile, and say he was plotting something to do to the Slytherins.

James and Peter never seemed to notice, but Remus did. He did too much daydreaming not to be able to recognize it when someone else did it. Only thing was, Remus' daydreams were usually about happy things; stories or art or memories. Sirius' always seemed to make him sad. It had something to do with his family, Remus knew, and he was curious, but he knew he'd never ask. If Sirius wanted him to know his secret, Sirius would tell him.

"We'll see you in a few days, then?" James asked.

Remus nodded. "I have to go," he said softly. "See you."

"Do you want some company?" Sirius asked. "We can come with you to McGonagall's, if you like."

"No, that's okay. I'll be fine on my own. Bye."

"Bye. Tell your mum we hope she feels better," Peter said.

"I will," Remus replied with a small nod. Then he jerked his bag higher up on his shoulder and headed out the portrait hole.

Daniel was waiting for him in McGonagall's office.

"Have everything?" he asked. Remus gave a small nod, hesitating next to the floo.

He didn't want to go.

He didn't want to spend the night locked in a basement, ripping himself apart.

He wanted to be normal.

Suddenly Remus' sinuses burned; he didn't know what was the matter with him. It wasn't usually this hard. Maybe it was because he'd only had two days to enjoy with his friends. Maybe it was because he was just so tired of his life being dictated by the phases of the moon. Most kids his age probably wouldn't have known what a waxing moon was if it whacked them on the arse. Remus couldn't ever remember not knowing.

Remus scurried through the floo. In his own living room, Charlotte pounced, hugging him tightly.

"Bonsoir, maman," he whispered.

"Bonsoir, ma puce."

There was still some time before he would have to be locked away. Remus and his parents passed the time with gobstones, all of them pretending to smile through the anxiety on their faces. Daniel always affected a too-hearty, painfully fake laugh on transformation days. Charlotte fed Remus chocolate cake and milk, and he gulped it down dutifully, though it tasted like ash in his mouth. The sun moved to a corner of the sky, casting long shadows on the floor.

"C'est l'heure," Charlotte said with a sigh.

Remus nodded. He hadn't needed the reminder. He knew it was time. He always knew when it was time; he was full of jittery energy, like he was about to jump out of his skin. In a way, he supposed he was. Or be ripped out of it, more like.

Remus understood the need for the basement. He hadn't understood it the first time, and had screamed loudly, begging to be let out. He could still remember the sound of his mother crying on the other side of the door that first night. After he saw the destruction he had wrought, he understood. One night a month, he was a living, breathing nightmare. The basement was unusually empty tonight. Usually, it was full of things to destroy; the healers always hoped that, if Remus had things to occupy his werewolf mind, he wouldn't hurt himself too badly. Some months it worked, and some it didn't. There was one thing they had learned for certain, though; if the room was empty, Remus would ravage himself.

He sat on the top step, leaning against the door. It had been years since he had cried, locked in here alone, waiting for the moon to come out, but part of him still wanted to. His eyes stung with the unshed tears. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, trying not to think about what was coming. Trying only to enjoy this small moment of peace.

Charlotte had stuck two fingers beneath the door. Remus laid two fingers in her own, intertwining them. Through the door, he could hear her singing a lullaby: something she used to sing when he was young. It was still comforting to hear the familiar song. Suddenly a shudder went through Remus. The time had come. He jerked his fingers out of his mother's hand and rushed to the bottom of the stairs. He knew from experience that transforming at the top would only mean an eventual fall. By the time he reached the bottom, his mother's fingers had disappeared. By now, she would have put an imperturbable charm and a silencing charm on the door.

The silencing charm was Mr. Potter's idea. He told the Lupins there was nothing to be gained by listening to their son's distress; there was nothing they could do about it anyway. It wasn't as if they could go down and tend to him if he was hurt. Instead, he suggested they sleep so that they could better care for him when he came back to himself. Charlotte refused at first, insisting on spending the night outside the basement door, no matter how many times Mr. Potter and Daniel and the other healers told her she was only torturing herself needlessly. Eventually, Mr. Potter suggested Daniel slip her a sleeping potion, and he had. The next morning, she discovered that they had been right, and that her time was better spent resting up so that she could care for Remus' post-transformation injuries.

Now she always set a silencing charm on the door and took a sleeping potion willingly. Otherwise, she wouldn't have been able to sleep a wink.

Remus had only been transformed back a matter of minutes when Charlotte and Daniel opened the door the next morning. He felt like every bone in his body was broken, but discovered only two were: his right arm and his left leg. Charlotte brought him a pillow and a blanket while Daniel summoned a healer. Remus croaked for some water, and Charlotte lifted Remus' pounding head enough for him to have a few sips of it. Nothing was ever so refreshing as that first sip of water after he had transformed.

"Can I go to my bed?" Remus moaned.

"Not until a healer checks you," Charlotte reminded him gently. Remus nodded. He knew that; he wasn't sure why he had asked. Only the stone floor was so hard. He had been spoiled by the wooden floor in the shack. It had a little give in it, at least. He shifted, trying to change the pressure on his shoulders. He yelped as pain rushed through him.

"Shh. Lie still, " Charlotte whispered. "It won't be long now."

Remus was not surprised when it was Mr. Potter who came. He knelt beside Remus and checked him over as Remus' parents watched. "You were right about the arm and the leg, and I'm worried about this gash on your forehead," Mr. Potter informed him. That was one of the things Remus had always liked about Mr. Potter. He spoke to Remus instead of about him, and he didn't sugarcoat things for him as though he were a child. He said Remus was the one who was going to have to learn to manage his condition, so he may as well understand it early. "I'm going to put some dittany on it, and hopefully it won't scar, but I can't be sure. It looks like you must have done it early in the night."

Remus had been so focused on the pain in his leg and arm that he hadn't even felt the gash on his forehead. Now it seared itself into its consciousness. He winced at the fresh wave of pain. "I don't want a scar," he said, his voice sounding small and frightened in the underground room. He had always known it was only a matter of time before he disfigured his own face. He'd yet to see an adult werewolf without visible scars, but he hoped he'd be lucky.

"I'm going to do my best," Mr. Potter informed him as he went to work. Remus closed his eyes, fighting to stay awake.

"I had an owl from James last night," Mr. Potter said conversationally as he worked on Remus' leg. Remus groaned as he felt the dull ache of bones knitting. Still, it was better than the acute pain of bones separating. "He wanted me to come over here first thing this morning and heal your mother."

Remus gave a small smile. Good old James. "I lied to him," Remus admitted sheepishly.

Mr. Potter nodded. "You didn't have much choice. Sometimes it's okay to tell lies, but only when you have to."

"Do you think he'd still be my friend if he found out?" Remus asked, trying to keep the small waver out of his voice. Losing his friends was the worst thing he could possibly imagine.

Mr. Potter suddenly stilled. "Are you planning to tell him?"

"No," Remus assured him. "I just wondered."

"I'm sure he would still be your friend. Close your eyes."

The dittany was soothing on his cut. The pain almost immediately ceased. Now Remus was sure he was going to fall asleep right here on the stone floor.

"And if he weren't still your friend, I think I'd march into Hogwarts right in the middle of breakfast and take him over my knee."

Remus giggled a little, opening his eyes a slit. Mr. Potter's eyes were twinkling. "No, you wouldn't."

"You're right, I wouldn't. But I don't think you have anything to worry about. James is quite fond of you. I think you can go to your bed now. I know you're knackered."

Daniel grunted a little as he lifted Remus from the floor. Remus laid his head against his dad's shoulder. He was knackered - so knackered he was asleep before they even got to the top of the stairs.

When Remus awoke he was stiff, but not sore. Mostly, he was ravenous. "Maman!" he called. Charlotte appeared within seconds.

"Are you hungry?"

Remus nodded.

"I already have some chicken soup ready for you."

It was as though she could read his mind.

"How do you always know just what i want?"

Charlotte smiled at him, caressing his face. "I pay attention. Can you sit up? Do you need help?"

Remus shook his head, pushing himself up against the pillows. He was still exhausted, but the promise of food was already doing wonders for his mood. The chicken soup was perfect. Remus sometimes thought he could have eaten dirt just after a transformation and would have thought it delectable. He was glad he had his mother's cooking instead. She sat with him as he ate, telling stories that made him laugh. Then he told her a few stories he had made up. Just as he was finishing, an owl scratched at the window.

"That's Peter's owl," Remus exclaimed.

Charlotte rose to open the window, and the owl flew in with a soft hoot. She carried a veritable bundle of letters. Each of the Marauders had written to Remus, and each of them had made Charlotte a Get Well Soon card. "That was nice of them," Charlotte said, looking at the cards with a smile on her face. Charlotte liked his friends, Remus knew, because they made him happy, even if they had convinced him to fly off to Cornwall.

Charlotte returned to the bed, and Remus cuddled up next to her. He fell asleep with his head in her lap and his friends' letters clutched in his hand as she stroked his hair and told him the story of Cendrillon.

Remus rested the next day, and when he awoke the third morning, he felt much better. "May I go back to Hogwarts today?" he asked at breakfast.

"I don't know," Charlotte replied. "You're not eating much."

He wasn't eating much because the kippers were staring at him, and he had lost his appetite. He liked kippers well enough, but he never understood why Charlotte insisted on leaving heads on. He much preferred his food to be sanitized and completely unrecognizable as anything that had once been alive. He remembered going to the marché with her once when they were visiting her parents. He recalled little else about the trip except how disturbed he had been to see rabbits, skinned and lying in display cases without their innards.

"Why do they leave the heads on them?" Remus had asked, disgusted.

"So that we know they're really rabbits," Charlotte replied.

"What else would they be?" Remus asked incredulously. He immediately regretted it.

"Cats," was Charlotte's terse reply.

Remus had never much cared for rabbit after that.

He leaned to the left, trying to get out of the kippers' line of sight. Their eyes seemed to follow him everywhere he went, accusing him.

"I'm just not in the mood for kippers," he said, looking apologetically at Charlotte.

She rushed to the kitchen to make him some bangers instead. He ate them with gusto, and she agreed to let him go back to Hogwarts.

By the time he arrived in McGonagall's office, it was nearly time for him to be in Potions, so he rushed down to the dungeons, glad his Potions book was one of the ones he had decided to take home.

When he arrived in the classroom, Slughorn wasn't there yet. The Marauders were sitting in the back, spread casually over far too many chairs. James had learned to pay a blues riff on his harmonica some time during Remus' absence. Sometimes it made Remus a little sad to think of all the things he missed out on. He could imagine how proud James would have been when he learned it, and wished he had been there to share it with him. He stood next to the door watching as Sirius began to improvise songs about their classmates while James accompanied.

"Well, over there is Snape.
He's such a prat.
He thinks he's amazing.
But he looks like a bat.
Oh, I got the I got to put up with this arsehole Snape every day of my life blues."

A titter went through the Gryffindor side of the class. Even a few of the Slytherins were clearly hiding smiles. Remus let out a small laugh along with his housemates. Heartened by the laughter, Sirius continued on to Lily, who turned to glare at him.

"The ginger is Lily.
She's got the smarts.
My best mate thinks she's gorgeous.
And she's got a nice..."

"Don't you dare!" Lily growled.

"Farce," Sirius finished after the tiniest of pauses. The entire class laughed appreciatively at that. Sirius continued without missing a beat. "Oh, I got the Lily you're so perfect and you should go out with my best mate blues."

Lily turned her glare to James, who dropped his harmonica and grinned at her innocently.

"I would go out with you if you were the last man on earth, James Potter."

James' smile faded. "Oi! I didn't make up a song about your farce! I'm just the harmonica player," he protested.

"You would really rather condemn the entire human race to extinction than go out with James?" Sirius asked. "Just look at him, Evans. He's adorable." Sirius reached over to grab James' face. James shot her a toothy smile.

Lily hmphed and turned away, punctuating her displeasure with a toss of her hair. Remus sometimes wondered if there were some sort of secret school where girls learned the secret art of hair tossing. They all seemed to know how to do it. Though so did Sirius, now that Remus thought about it.

"Merlin's bony ankles, talk about a killjoy," Sirius muttered, loudly enough for the entire class to hear.

"What's a killjoy?" Slughorn asked, coming up behind Remus. "Take your seat, please, Mr. Lupin."

Remus slipped into a seat next to Peter as Sirius replied to Slughorn.

"Having to wait to brew potions. I've been looking forward to this class all week."

Slughorn beamed at Sirius while Snape made a kissy face at him. Sirius shot Snape a two-fingered salute the moment Slughorn's back was turned, tossing his hair in a perfect imitation of Lily.

"Glad you're back, Remus," James whispered. "Have we got something to tell you! We found a secret passage on the fourth floor, and we don't think Filch knows about it. We've been waiting for you to come back so we could check it out."

"Wicked," Remus whispered back, a smile on his face. It was good to be back. It got even better halfway through the class, when Snape's potion inexplicably exploded. Remus turned to gaze at Sirius, who wore a far-too-innocent expression on his face.

"What?" Sirius asked with mock defensiveness. "He deserved it. He was making fun of me."

"Doesn't seem to learn, does he?" Remus asked.

Sirius shook his head. "Hasn't got the brains God gave a dung beetle, that one."

"I will never understand what Lily sees in him," James mumbled, watching as Lily wiped destroyed potion gently off Snape's face. She turned to glare at the Marauders, and they all made themselves suddenly busy. Slughorn didn't suspect a thing. He never did. Yes, Remus decided. It was good to be back.