AN: Good morning, afternoon, or evening! If you're coming here from the first installment of the series, Of Marauders and Monsters: I thank you for your endless dedication, congratulate you on finishing such a long fic, and reiterate how excited I am for you to read the second installment of the series. If you're new here: I thank you for your interest, beseech you to check out Of Marauders and Monsters if you want the full story, and assure you that you do not need to do so to (hopefully) enjoy Of Meditation and Revelations (though you might not get every single Marauder in-joke!).

Also for the newbies: my fic is very slice-of-life-esque rather than action-driven, and it will be a VERY long fic. Of Marauders and Monsters, which was a chronicle of Remus Lupin's first year alone, was nearly 380k, and I suspect this one's just about as long! Buckle in!

Now, if you didn't read Marauders and Monsters, let me summarize.

Remus Lupin, a book-loving poetry enthusiast with a pet toad named Bufo, was bitten by a werewolf at a young age, and he spent six and a half years quarantined in his home with only his parents for company. But lo and behold, Albus Dumbledore personally invites him to Hogwarts, where he meets friends, gets into trouble, and spends many days in the Hospital Wing with the wonderful Madam Pomfrey. It's a bit difficult to endure the prejudice—much of the Hogwarts staff are less than enthused about a werewolf at Hogwarts—but Remus is (in his own humble opinion) ridiculously mature about the whole thing.

First year is complicated further by a snarky child-hating former-Auror DADA professor (Professor John Questus), who starts off as an absolute git but (spoiler alert!) turns out to be Remus' biggest mentor. Remus, whose parents have treated the subject of his lycanthropy as taboo for years, realizes that he's actually relieved to be able to vent about werewolf-related things when he so desires. John Questus is uncomfortably curious about werewolves—which is awkward at first—but Remus ends up enjoying his company and spending hours talking about subjects Dark, philosophical, and academic, all while taking private duelling lessons twice a week.

There are a few more complications. Remus' friends come to the conclusion that Remus' mother is a werewolf, and they (especially James) won't let the matter rest. Remus has to visit the Werewolf Registry in the spring, and there's a blue moon in December. His parents think he's depressed, which is absolutely ridiculous, and Madam Pomfrey and Professor Questus are constantly at odds. That's not even mentioning Remus' constant nightmares, constant pain, uncomfortably heightened senses, developing social skills, and constant fear of the next impending transformation.

But he's nothing if not persistent. First year ends with a goodbye to Professor Questus (who was reinstated as an Auror), a chat with Professor Dumbledore about Remus' exam anxiety—sorry, determination, not anxiety—heartfelt goodbyes to Remus' new friends, and unadulterated joy over Remus' status as top of the form (after spending so much time doing schoolwork in the Hospital Wing, how could he be anything else?).

Now it is summer, and Remus Lupin is preparing for yet another year of hijinks, mischief, and probably a lot of really boring days in the Hospital Wing.

On that note, let Of Meditation and Revelations commence!

Summer, Remus decided, was boring.

It had only been a few weeks, and he'd already told his parents every single story he could think of about Hogwarts. Sometimes, over supper, he'd repeat stories on accident, and then his mother would shake her head lovingly and join in halfway through, and Remus would be embarrassed. He began starting all his stories with "did I tell you about the time that I", but his parents would always interrupt before he could get into the story.

"Did I tell you about the time Bufo escaped? Madam Pomfrey had him in..."

"Her pocket. Yes, you told us."

"Did I tell you about the time I defeated a Boggart?"

"The time you turned it into a plate, or the time Professor Questus used it to distract you during duelling lessons?"

"Never mind. Did I tell you about the Marauder scavenger hunt?"

"Yes, you did."

"And the rock Sirius got Peter for his birthday?"

"Yes."

"And the personalized Marauder knocks we have so that we know which one of us is at the door?"

"Yes."

"And the time Professor McGonagall came into the Hospital Wing as a cat?"

"Yes."

"And the time I nearly failed the Transfiguration exam?"

"Yes."

"And that time Madam Pomfrey accidentally gave me the wrong potion and I sprouted antennae?"

"...No, actually, we haven't heard that one."

"Makes sense," said Remus dully. "It didn't happen. Madam Pomfrey's way too careful for that. I just wanted to see if you were paying attention."

Things got boring very quickly. In fact, Remus couldn't even remember what he did before Hogwarts—how had he entertained himself when it was just the three of them? How had he functioned without his friends running around and being lovably stupid? How had he had any fun without feasts and classes and magic?

Remus' father had a pet Boggart named Garrison (he lived in the cupboard near the kitchen), and Remus entertained himself with that for a while. He was getting rather good at his nonverbal Riddikulus, which Professor Questus had drilled into him during their duelling sessions. When he got bored of that, he read all of his second-year textbooks (he didn't have the book lists yet, but he could predict some of them). He finished all of his summer assignments in one week, and then he rewrote them all in the second week with neater handwriting. He wrote to his friends constantly. He worked more on his novel (a fake autobiography he'd started last year to help him keep track of his lies). He memorized poetry (reciting memorized poetry often helped him calm down before a transformation). He colored pictures. He tried to learn how to do a handstand.

Sometimes Remus' parents would talk about him while they thought he was asleep, but Remus tried to ignore them. Heightened senses could be a curse, especially since Remus' parents were worrywarts and Remus was tired of being pitied. Usually, Remus was a shameless eavesdropper, but even eavesdropping got boring after a while. It was just the same thing every time: Remus looks tired, Remus hasn't had much energy lately, did you see how little he ate at dinner? It was enough to make Remus' head spin.

It felt like forever until the next full moon, which was July twenty-sixth. Remus could never sleep very well before the full moon, so he pattered downstairs at about four-thirty am, wrapped in a blanket. His mother woke up shortly after and followed him, where they sat on the couch in silence as Remus tried not to sweat all over his blanket.

"Madam Pomfrey wrote," Remus' mum finally said, and her voice seemed to cut through Remus' eardrums like a sword.

"What did she say?"

"She wondered if you were doing well."

"Tell her I'm fine."

"I told her you seemed down."

"Down?" Remus gave his mum an incredulous look. "I'm fine. I am just as I've always been."

"Yes..." Remus' mum's forehead was crinkled, and Remus wasn't sure what she was insinuating. "It's exactly as it's always been, even though everything's changed, hm?"

"Nothing's changed," said Remus, growing panicked. "Nothing at all. What are you getting at?"

"Dad and I are worried, that's all."

"Yeah? That's nothing new," said Remus, and his mum hit him playfully.

"All I'm saying is... it must be hard, isn't it? When your friends can all do things together and you have to stay here? Now that you know what other people have, isn't it boring here?"

"Nope," Remus lied. "I have you and Dad and Garrison. A pet Boggart, Mum. That isn't dull at all! And I like sitting around and reading textbooks and memorizing poetry and... and things..." He wasn't being very convincing.

"From the stories you've told me, you and your friends had some sort of adventure almost every day. Isn't it...well, depressing? When you're here all alone?"

"Mum!" said Remus. "I am not depressed!"

"I know, I know..."

"And I'm not alone!"

"I'm sorry, love..."

"And I'm not feeling down at all. It's just quieter now, and there's less to talk about. And... oh no, Dad's awake." Remus could hear his father's bedsprings creaking, and he groaned a bit. His parents were probably going to team up against him. That was how it usually seemed to happen.

Remus' father came down the stairs, yawning hugely, and plopped into a chair. "Good morning," he said. "What are you two shouting about?"

Remus blanched, worried that he'd lost his temper. Werewolves tended to have pretty bad tempers, and Remus sometimes forgot to do his breathing exercise (in through his nose, out through his mouth), which was really the only thing that helped. "I wasn't shouting," he said, panicked. "Was I shouting?"

"Nope," said Remus' mum. "But I might have been."

Remus started breathing—in through his nose, out through his mouth.

His mother watched him fondly and stroked his hair. "I was just telling Remus that we're worried about him..."

Remus' dad snorted. "Yeah, because he likes to hear that so much."

"I'm not depressed," repeated Remus. "I'm not. I'm fine."

"Remus, we've lived with you for twelve years..."

"Eleven and a half," said Remus stubbornly. "I was at Hogwarts for half a year, and I've changed. I'm allowed to be quiet sometimes."

"I don't care how many years. We know you. And you seem a little sad sometimes, like you're missing Hogwarts—which is completely normal!—but maybe we need some help from Madam Pomfrey in this particular case..."

"What is she going to do?" said Remus. "Because you know full well that I don't take mind-altering potions. A Calming Draught is completely out of the question."

"I think you need someone to talk to," said Remus' mum. "Someone who already knows, and who isn't us..."

"I had people to talk to for ten months! I talked to Madam Pomfrey, and Professor Questus, and Professor Dumbledore..."

"And it helped, didn't it?"

Oh, Remus would never admit that it did—not in a million years—even though it definitely did. "Not always," he protested. "Look, I miss Hogwarts like I missed home when I was there. I'm not depressed. I'm just not as talkative because I've already told you all my stories."

"The thing is," said Remus' father very carefully, as if he was afraid that Remus would break if he spoke too quickly, "you might have to leave someday—you know, permanently. Maybe even someday soon. If someone finds out, then you can't stay at Hogwarts, Remus. And we're worried about you when you leave for good."

"I'll adapt," Remus said crossly. "Isn't that what animals do?"

There was a long silence.

A statement like was completely out-of-character for Remus. His family never talked about werewolves—whenever the conversation turned to lycanthropy and full moons, Remus' father would look guilty and Remus' mother would cry. It was often a carefully-avoided subject, and Remus never spoke of it in such a flippant, self-pitying way. Not around his parents. Maybe around Madam Pomfrey and Professor Questus, but not here.

Remus wanted to feel sorry—after all, his parents were probably very worried about him now—but he couldn't. He physically could not regret the statement. He was tired of people telling him how he was supposed to feel. Why couldn't he just tell them that he was fine, and let that be that? Why couldn't they just accept what he said as truth? Why couldn't he deal with things on his own?

When Remus' father spoke, his voice was low and dangerous. "Please tell me you didn't actually mean that."

Remus suddenly realized that he had done a very bad job of convincing his parents of his sound mental state.

He waggled his head. "Nope. Didn't mean it. I just wanted to get your attention. Are you listening now?"

Remus' father and mother both nodded slowly, obviously in a state of shock. "I am not depressed," said Remus. "Not at all. And you should probably stop telling me how I'm supposed to feel, because frankly, I've been through much worse than coming back home for summer vacation, and I'm going to be fine."

"Are you... are you ill?" said Remus' mum, pressing the back of her hand to Remus' forehead. "Oh, gosh, you are ill. You're burning up."

"Tonight's the full moon!" said Remus.

"Ah, right." She pulled her hand away. "You're not usually so... open..."

"I had to talk about it a lot at school," said Remus, shrugging. "I'm really sorry if it bothers you."

"It doesn't bother us," said Remus' father, although he was already looking guilty again. "But if I hear you referring to yourself again like that, then you are going to be in a lot of trouble."

Remus nodded. He hadn't actually been in trouble in a long time. He did regret the statement a little now... a little. "I'm sorry," he said truthfully. "But those things don't bother me."

"Of course they do," said his father. "It would bother anyone to be called such awful names, Remus."

"There you go again! Stop trying to tell me how I feel!"

Remus' father fell silent for a moment. "I'm sorry."

"I've heard it all before. I'm desensitized," Remus explained.

Now Remus' mum looked horrified. "They've been saying things like that to you at school?"

"No, Mum! Of course not! Just... in books, and newspapers... and sometimes, maybe, the other kids talk. They don't know, of course, but I overhear things anyway."

"Like what?" said Remus' father quietly.

"It's going to bother you," Remus warned, thinking of Sirius' painfully oblivious insistence that werewolves shouldn't be allowed to live.

"I've heard it all too," Remus' father said, and he looked terribly ashamed. "I work in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, Remus. I've heard it all, too."

"Then I don't think I need to repeat it."

"Of course you don't, dear," said his mum. "Can you stomach some tea before the nausea sets in?"

Remus shook his head mournfully and pulled his blanket over his head. He was cold now, and the warm blanket felt good on his face. "I'm going to go to sleep now."

"All right, love. We're going outside to eat."

Remus always kicked his parents out of the house during mealtimes on the day of the full moon. The smell of any kind of food made him incredibly nauseous. "You do that. Have fun. I'll be here."

And he was. He stayed there on the couch until his father tapped him on the shoulder, waking him up from a weird fever dream about Peter turning into an owl, and told him that it was time to go down to the cellar.

Remus prowled around the dark room, hating how the stone floor felt on his paws. At least the other house had a wooden floor. That was easier to run on. And the other house was so much larger, with more to do... but this place was so cramped and cold. Remus wanted to murder the man with the brown hair who had put him in here.

Well, anyone would do, actually.

He sniffed the air, and it smelled just as it always had on all those other nights before the other house. He smelled the man, whom he knew to be his father. But it didn't matter at all—family was just another word for human. It wasn't truly his own flesh and blood, was it, when they were separate species? He also smelled the Muggle, who was his mother. But he didn't care. He didn't care at all. Everything itched.

He gnashed his teeth together, hoping to relieve some of the tension. The itching. He'd do anything to get rid of the itching in his teeth.

He walked around and around and around. He listened, but he couldn't hear anything at all. At least the house—the other place—had been near enough to the village that he could hear the humans walking around and talking to each other. That was sometimes entertaining, but there was nothing to do here.

He could smell soup coming from upstairs, but he didn't care for that. He could hear the people upstairs walking, but they didn't come down to the cellar. There was no escape—there was nothing—nothing but these walls.

And the itching.

Remus had been here many times before, yet he'd never escaped. He knew he wouldn't this time, either. Remus wasn't allowed to go outdoors in this form. The worst part was, he was allowed to go out in the other form (even though it was much weaker), and he had clear memories of being outside—the wind on his face—wrestling with his friends—yes, he'd like to do that again. Only it wouldn't end with brushing off and laughing; it would end with someone's throat torn out. The other boy, most likely. Sirius. He seemed to be the strongest. Or maybe his own, if Sirius was stronger than he was.

He snorted. Yeah, right.

Remus knew he would never escape, but he tried anyway. What else was there to do to relieve that horrible needing feeling in his teeth? It wasn't simply a want, a desire; it was a need. An instinct of the highest order.

Itching.

And until someone came to give him what he so desperately needed, his own flesh and blood would have to suffice.

Daytime. Sunrise. Ten fingers and a blessed lack of fur.

Remus shuddered, trying to forget the pain. He dragged himself into a sitting position, spat out some blood, and coughed. When Remus' mother and father entered the cellar, they didn't yell at him for sitting up (like Madam Pomfrey did). They didn't put on a no-nonsense Matron Voice (like Madam Pomfrey did). Everything was so different, and Remus grinned in spite of himself.

"I can walk," he said (he always insisted on walking back to the castle with Madam Pomfrey), but his father ignored him and scooped him up in his arms. Remus honestly didn't mind. It was different with his dad, somehow, and it was much better than being helplessly floated along with magic.

Suddenly, an owl flew through the window. Remus recognized it as his father's work owl. "Dad, there's—an—there's an—owl, I think," Remus slurred, and Remus' father's face went white.

"No, no, not now," he whispered. "Hope, open that for me." He laid Remus down on the couch and started healing him. The numbness that always accompanied the aftermath of a transformation began to wear off, and Remus clenched his teeth furiously.

"Dad, careful," he whimpered.

"Lyall, the owl says that you're expected at work," said Remus' mother, her fingers shaking. "Can't you... can't you tell..."

"Why am I needed? Does it say?"

"Werewolves," she whispered. "A werewolf attack in Peebleton. Someone's died. They need as many people on the case as possible; they're trying to stop the... them... before they get too far."

"Well, it's too late now," said Remus' father, rubbing Dittany and silver on the wound on Remus' arm. "Werewolves are quick and uninjured when they've had a meal." Remus squeezed his eyes shut and made a small noise, and it wasn't just from the pain. "Still... I have to go, Hope," Remus' dad continued desperately. "I... I really need to keep this job. It's the only source of income we've got."

"Okay." Remus' mum stood up and handed the letter to Remus' father. "All right. We'll be fine, won't we, Remus?"

Remus tried for a smile, but it didn't quite work out. "Mm-hmmmm," he mumbled. "B-Bye, Dad."

"He does not sound good," said Remus' father. "Oh, we shouldn't have bothered him yesterday. Dumbledore said that stress makes it worse, didn't he? Hope..."

"I can owl Poppy if I need to," Remus' mother said firmly. "Bye, Lyall."

She planted a kiss to his cheek, and then he grabbed his coat, dazed, and Vanished some blood off of his clothes. "Good luck," he said helplessly.

Then there was a sharp crack, and Remus was alone with his mum.

"So," she said, more to herself than Remus. "What would Lyall do?"

"Mum, I can d-do... do it myself."

"You most certainly cannot, Remus. Do you need any Pain-Relieving Potion, dear?"

"N-no, we can s-ssssave it."

"If you're sure." She studied the wound on his forearm and winced. "I'm so sorry, Remus..."

"Dunn-no why y-you're sss-sss-ss-sorry. Ac.. actually, I think... I think I w-w-was the one to... do that," he managed, trying to make a joke and failing miserably due to the incessant stuttering. His speech wasn't always so bad after a full moon, but he thought perhaps he'd bitten his tongue. Maybe he'd hit his head. He wasn't sure, but he hoped his speech would improve soon.

"It would be so much easier on you if I could use magic."

Well, that was just silly. He wanted to tell her so, but Remus was a little nervous to pronounce the soft S sound. Sometimes, he got stuck and ended up hissing for five seconds before he could get anything else out. "It w-would be much eas-s-sier if I wasn't a... w-werewolf... too..." he pointed out.

His mum was either ignoring him or could not understand his ridiculously slurred speech. "Hang on, now. I know how to use silver and Dittany and bandages, at least. We're going to be fine. Is anything broken?"

Remus gave a short cry of frustration. "I d-don't kn-now, Mum!"

"Okay... shhh. We'll figure this out. I feel so useless. All right, I've bandaged your arm and right leg the Muggle way, so hopefully that should be all right until your father comes home. Can you take a breath, honey? You haven't breathed in a while."

Remus took a breath. it hurt his chest.

"Good. Do you think you can go to sleep?"

"M... m-maybe," Remus murmured. "Would you m-maybe read?"

"Of course."

"There's a b... b-b-book. In my..." He did not want to say the B sound again; all of the sudden he had forgotten how to make it.

"Your bag?" she clarified, and Remus nodded fervently.

"There are lots of books in your bag, dear. Which one?"

"Don't care."

"Okay. Here's one. Er... I'm afraid I can't pronounce all these words. Quintessence: a Quest."

"Tha's a good one," Remus mumbled, eyes half-shut already.

"The four elements..." Remus' mum began, and Remus was nearly asleep before she even started on the second page. He heard her stop reading, mumble, "Thank goodness I don't have to read more," and then felt her brush the hair from his forehead. "You're so boring," she said affectionately. "I hardly know what quintessence means."

Remus woke up and winced. "Feeling better?" asked his mum hopefully.

"Yeah," he said. It was amazing, how much worse he was at enduring pain now after taking Madam Pomfrey's potions month after month. He'd gotten spoilt. Perhaps that was why his speech had been so bad—he'd have to work on that. "I'm fine now."

"Can you tell me if you've broken any bones?"

"I think some of my fingers," said Remus, trying to move them. "Oh, fiddlesticks, I have broken some of my fingers." A few on his right hand, and one on his left. He felt frustrated tears rise to his eyes. How was he supposed to do anything? He couldn't do anything with his hands until his father came home to put him right. He couldn't even read. "My ankle's broken, too," he admitted dully, swiping away some tears.

"It's all right, dear. We'll figure it out. Are you hungry?"

"I don't think I can stomach anything right now." He was lying. He was definitely hungry. But his fingers were broken, and he was not going to allow his mum to feed him. She'd had to do that plenty times before, of course, but he was twelve now. And he'd already had enough humiliation for one day, thank you very much. And again: he was twelve years old! That was practically a grown-up. He was more than two-thirds of the way there.

"If you're sure," she sighed, knowing by now that it was futile to try to make Remus eat when he didn't want to. "I wrote to Madam Pomfrey."

"Please tell me you didn't say I'm depressed," said Remus.

"Of course not. You know better than I am how you're feeling," she said, and Remus smiled gratefully. "But you do have to promise to tell us if you ever are, all right? We can help, you know. And you keep things to yourself far too much. So does your father."

Remus rolled his eyes and tried to nod, but his head was swimming too much. "Fine," he said. "But it's never going to happen."

"It might."

"It won't."

"It might," his mother insisted. "I only told Madam Pomfrey that I was on my own today, and she wants to come over to check on you."

"Mum!" said Remus, horrified. "She... you can't... I'm okay!"

"She'd like to come anyway."

"It's only been... she can't... we're..."

"Remus, you're being ridiculous."

"We got along just fine before Hogwarts!" he said. "Dad's left before, remember? When I was seven or eight? Or nine, I don't remember. And he usually leaves, anyway, after he finishes with the worst of it."

"He didn't have time to finish the worst of it this time, Remus. And last time he left, it was a much easier full moon on you."

"But we got along fine before Hogwarts!" he said again.

"Before Hogwarts, we had to take you to St. Mungo's and hire private Healers on rare occasions, remember? And we had to move twice, when the private Healers worked it out. Wouldn't you rather Madam Pomfrey than St. Mungo's?"

"But I don't need either," he said. "I'm okay. At least until Dad comes home."

"Your father wrote, too," his mum said stiffly. "They've found one of the supposed werewolves and took him to trial. Dad's expecting his shift will last throughout the night. I've heard all the details of your post-full-moon injuries—Madam Pomfrey and I are very good friends—and I know how dangerous they can be even with proper help. Apparently you had a highly-trained Auror heal you one day after the full moon and you still ended up getting a badly-infected arm?"

Remus was silent. He remembered that.

"I'd rather Madam Pomfrey visit then be attending to you for the rest of the month," said Remus' mother with a sort of finality, and Remus couldn't argue with that.

"If you think it's best," he said.

His mum kissed the top of his head. "You're such an agreeable child," she said. "You know, when I was your age, I was arguing about being able to leave the house in jeans, not allowing a witch to come over and do magic on me." She chuckled. "Times have changed."

Yes, times had changed. Everything had.

Remus had thought that, after his first year at Hogwarts, he'd just return home and everything would be back to normal. But it turned out that things were a lot more complicated than that indeed. Life, as it turned out, often was.

AN: Okay, so here's the thing. Marauders and Monsters updated every other day, but I do want to maintain a buffer. Trust me, you want me to maintain a buffer, too—otherwise, my writing style and continuity will be garbage.

So... I'm going to slow updates to twice a week for now. Sorry! I am taking requests for which days you want me to update, though (I'll do a vote!), and I'll still update every other day until I get the first five or so chapters out.

Thank you for your patience :( And thank you SO MUCH for reading! Here's to another year, hopefully even better than the last!