Y1, C12: Mr. Fragile China Doll

Remus woke up at exactly twelve am the next morning in a cold sweat.

Stupid window.

Normally, Remus wasn't so sensitive to such things. It had been raining on the night that he'd been bitten, but he wasn't afraid of the rain. His mother had recited "The Walrus and the Carpenter" to Remus before bed (twice), but that was still one of Remus' favorite poems. They'd eaten mashed potatoes for supper that night, but Remus wasn't afraid of mashed potatoes.

But there was just something about sleeping next to a window that reminded Remus of that fateful February night.

After the bite, Remus had convinced his parents to move his bed to the other side of the room and block the window—not just once, but in every single house that they'd lived in since then. He just couldn't stand the window watching him as he slept. It was completely irrational, Remus knew. He was already a werewolf; it's not as if he could become one again. Besides, he was never sleeping in a bed on the full moon. In fact, he never slept on the full moon at all. But still—there was a certain something that Remus couldn't stand about the whole situation.

He tried very hard to be quiet, but it was too late. James' breathing changed rhythms, and Remus knew that he was waking. Bedsprings squealed and footsteps sounded. Not too long after, Remus' curtains swung open without so much as a verbal warning. "You really should knock," whispered Remus.

"Merlin's beard, mate. You look like death." Remus knew that James was probably right. He could feel sweat dripping into his eyes, which was mildly disgusting. He hastily wiped his forehead. "Nightmare?"

"Yes."

"About what?"

Remus wasn't exactly sure what to tell him. He couldn't tell the truth, obviously. "Er, my mum. I can't stop dreaming about what happen if... if she were to... well."

That seemed enough for James, who nodded sympathetically. "Can't even imagine what you're going through. Wanna talk about it? Sirius could sleep through a Banshee, and I'm pretty sure Peter died a long time ago."

Remus definitely didn't want to talk about it. "No, thank you."

"Too bad. I do. Now tell me, how'd your hand get hurt?"

Remus searched his mind frantically for any possible lie. He hadn't thought of that. "Erm... picking potions ingredients. For my mum. It was thorny, and I knew that asking Madam Pomfrey to heal it would only cause her to ask questions. I don't want to answer any." Remus prayed that James would take the hint. No questions. Please, James.

"Huh. So, what's she have? Muggle disease?" James had not taken the hint, and now Remus had no idea what to say.

"We... don't know. Doctors can't figure it out."

"Then how do you know it's fatal?"

Remus hated this. He hated James. He hated questions. He hated life. He just wanted to sleep. "We... don't. But it's really bad, James. It's very scary."

James nodded and pursed his lips. "Anything at all I can do?"

"Actually, yes," said Remus. James leaned forward eagerly. "You can go to sleep and stop interrogating me. I'm tired."

James rolled his eyes and blew an exasperated puff of air through his nostrils that tickled Remus' nose. "Yeah, okay. Just trying to help."

"I know!" said Remus, hoping that he hadn't offended him. "I know. But it's a sensitive topic. Please try not to bring it up."

"Will do." James shot him a bright smile and headed back to his bed. "But Remus, you can't keep it all bottled up like that. You'll explode, and that'd be a right bother to clean up."

Remus remembered saying something very similar about his father to Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey. "I'll try to do it outside," he deadpanned. "Wouldn't want to make a mess of the dorm."

"You do that. Night, Remus."

"Night, James."

Remus was a very good liar, and he had no room to feel guilty about being so anymore. He only hoped that it was enough.

Remus ate breakfast with James, Sirius, and Peter the next morning. With his enhanced senses, Remus could hear Snape talking about him a few tables down… but only if he really listened. It was loud in the Great Hall, and Remus was not used to loud noises. "…I knew that he would just go running off to his friends the second someone was mean to him... I don't know why you like him so much, Lily; he's really not worth your time."

"Earth to Remus?" joked Sirius, waving his hand in front of Remus' face. "Are you alive?"

"This early in the morning? Barely," said Remus. "What classes do we have today?"

"Charms," said James. "Charms is first. You missed a lot last time; first time using wands and all that. Although you're pretty well-versed in hexes, so I imagine you'll be fine."

"I'm much better with Charms than Transfiguration," said Remus, "but it still takes me a while to cast a successful spell."

"Well, we'll see about that," said Sirius. "Just try to beat James, will you? He got a handle on the spell so quickly that I thought Flitwick was going to have a fit."

Remus smiled. "Shouldn't be hard," he said, and James kicked Remus under the table in retaliation.

Ow. Remus clenched his teeth and could feel tears coming to his eyes. James hadn't kicked Remus very hard; he'd only been joking. But his kick had landed right on Remus' wound from the last full moon. Remus smiled and tried to laugh, but it didn't work.

"Did I hurt you?" asked James anxiously.

"Low pain tolerance," said Remus. "It's sort of embarrassing." Well, that wasn't true. Remus had a ridiculously high pain threshold, thanks to seventy-plus full moons.

"Ah, sorry," said James. "From now on, I'll treat you as if you were a fragile china doll."

"Shut up."

"All right, Mr. Fragile China Doll. I promise I won't hurt you."

"I'll hurt you if you call me that one more time... er." Remus heard familiar breathing from behind him and turned around. There was Albus Dumbledore, smiling calmly and looking at the ceiling as if he hadn't a care in the world. "Professor Dumbledore? Erm, I wasn't really going to hurt him..."

"I know," said Dumbledore serenely. "I came to ask you to see me in my office today after classes. The password is now Sugar Quill."

Remus nodded, and Dumbledore walked away without a word. James and Sirius were grinning devilishly; Peter was attempting to mimic them, but his grin only looked clownish. "Do you know what we could do with this information?" said Sirius.

"Pay Dumbledore a friendly visit?" asked Remus, not quite catching on.

"No, Mr. Fragile China Doll," said James, and Remus bristled. "We could... put itching powder in his clothes."

"Or... Transfigure all his quills to beetles." said Sirius.

"Or put toothpaste in his tea!" said Peter.

"And why, pray tell, would you do that?" said Remus. He very much did not want his friends to hurt Dumbledore, who had done so much for him.

"Same reason you hexed your trunk, old buddy," said James. "Fun."

Remus shook his head. "No. I hexed my trunk specifically to get back at those who were trying to snoop," he said. "These things are only fun when you're getting someone back for something… or preventing them from doing something wrong. Randomly pranking the Headmaster is a little... juvenile. We have to have a purpose."

Sirius gave a low whistle. "Don't you just know everything about pranks?"

Remus remembered the Sorting Hat's words. A penchant for chaos. "I suppose I do," he said, "so you'd better listen to me."

"Yes, sir!" said Peter, earning a snicker from Sirius and grinning broadly.

"All hail the King of Chaos," said Sirius. "So who do you propose we prank?"

"James." Remus didn't miss a beat.

"What?"

"He called me a fragile china doll. Twice. I want revenge."

James put his hand over his heart, pretending to be offended. "I don't think you have the guts, Fragile China Doll."

"Oh, it's on," said Remus, getting up to go to Charms class. "And Sirius: give me a day or two and I'll have a name for your owl; I promise."

Remus supposed that the Sorting Hat had been right, after all. He'd never felt more Gryffindor.

It was official: Professor Flitwick was Remus' favorite teacher by far. His explanations were concise, the wandwork that they had practiced earlier on was a great help, and Remus had Wingardium Leviosa perfected in only three tries. There was no indication whatsoever that Professor Flitwick knew of Remus' lycanthropy—the professor was so good at pretending like nothing was wrong with Remus that he even had Remus fooled at times.

He complimented Remus' precise wandwork, like Professor McGonagall had, but far more enthusiastically. His eyes did not linger on Remus any more or less than they did on the rest of the class. He did not give Remus a knowing glance when he walked into Charms (like some of Remus' other teachers had). He treated Remus just like he did Peter, James, and Sirius—no better, no worse. It was just the escape that Remus had needed, and the lack of stares and judgement meant that he could completely focus on the spell.

The class was relatively fun, even: since it was review for everybody but Remus, Professor Flitwick had devised a few games to allow his students to achieve maximum confidence with the charm in the most fun way possible. Remus paired up with Peter, and together they floated feathers through hoops, dangled them in each others' faces, and even tried to drop them down James' and Sirius' robes. Remus' second attempt was successful, and it earned him a very dirty look from Sirius and a feather in his face (which made him sneeze violently).

Even Snape looked like he was having fun—he and Lily were having an intense swordfight with feathers. He beat her mercilessly, and Lily was laughing so hard that her cheeks were flushed and her eyes looked watery. Even Snape was smiling—well, smirking? Remus didn't know exactly what that face was. It was kind of scary, actually.

Remus was disappointed when the class ended and it was time to go to Defense Against the Dark Arts. He felt he had a much better relationship with Questus than he did before, but he was a little worried that it wouldn't last long. Remus promptly resolved to stay away from the sarcastic comments until Defense Against the Dark Arts was over.

"Fun class, hm?" said James, spinning a quill between his fingers fervently. "I can't believe you got the charm on the third try, Remus—It took me four."

"Guess I did beat you, then," Remus said. "Although I don't know that I would have done it quite so quickly without Professor Flitwick helping me."

"That was so fun," said Peter, still a bit out of breath from laughing so hard. "Flitwick's brilliant, isn't he?"

"You're right for once in your life," said Sirius. "Reckon that was the best class we've had so far." If Peter had noticed the slight, he didn't look it. Remus wondered briefly if Peter's face was going to split in half from smiling so hard. Remus knew more than anyone that skin splitting and reforming hurt a lot, so he dearly hoped that Peter's face would stay intact.

They walked into Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Remus bid his friends farewell and took his seat next to Lily. "Is he Disillusioned again?" asked Lily, jerking her head towards the front of the room where Questus had been standing before.

"Well, I wouldn't know," said Remus, who knew full well that Questus was indeed Disillusioned again at the front of the class. "But if he is, he's not breathing quite so loudly this time." He directed this remark towards Questus, who blew an amused puff of air through his nostrils that Remus heard loud and clear.

Remus made conversation with Lily for a few minutes, painfully aware of where Questus was at all times. "Did you study those notes I gave you yet?" asked Lily.

"Of course."

"Quick: what's the spell hierarchy?"

"Jinx, hex, curse, from least to greatest." Remus rattled off. "And some count the Unforgivables in an even higher category, though that's debated. What's the difference between a charm and an enchantment?"

"Enchantments last longer," said Lily simply. "Difference between Dark magic and Black magic?"

"Black magic is restricted to voodoo and certain blood rituals," said Remus. "Which would you rather hit James and Sirius with: a Bat-Bogey Hex or a Knee-Reversal Hex?"

"Knee-reversal. Duh. They'd get an awfully big kick out of bat-shaped bogeys. Would you rather fight a vampire or a werewolf?"

Remus felt his blood run cold. He had already done that. Well, he hadn't fought much—he remembered trying to cover his head as the fangs sank into his shoulder. He hadn't had a chance, really. "Werewolf," he said as clearly as possible.

"What? Why?"

"Because I'd only have to stay alive for... what, nine hours? Ten? Then the werewolf would transform back, apologize, and invite me over for tea." Remus grinned and hoped with all his heart that she'd accept that as an answer.

"Silly; it's dangerous in human form, too," said Lily, and Remus' heart dropped. "I've heard stories."

"Well, maybe. Never met one. You know as much as I do." Well, that was a blatant lie. "I'll ask it for you if I ever do. What's your favorite jinx?" Please fall for it, please fall for it...

"Jelly-brain jinx. What's the difference between..." Her voice trailed off as Questus' disguise faded away right in front of them. Remus didn't even flinch. Questus had been there for five minutes now. "I don't think that eavesdropping is very polite," said Lily boldly.

The class went dead silent. Remus could have heard a pin drop—even without werewolf hearing, he was pretty sure.

"Detention, Evans," said Questus. "Tonight. Six pm. For questioning my authority."

Lily's face turned red, but she didn't back down. Remus was duly impressed… if not a little fearful for Lily's life. "I'm not questioning your authority, sir; only stating my opinion. You're allowed to do whatever you wish, of course… but I thought you might want to know how I feel about it."

The class got quieter, which Remus didn't think was possible.

Then Questus started laughing a little.

"I can respect that, Evans," he said. "See, this is what you will need when you go up against the Dark Arts. A boldness beyond anything that can be taught here, strong personal convictions… and a certain snarkiness. You'll do well, Lily Evans."

Lily beamed. "So is the detention off?"

"No."

Professor Questus was an odd one, that was for sure. But Remus rather liked it. He had a certain je ne sais quoi, in Remus' opinion, and it was nice not to know what to expect for once. He was starting to realize that his quiet homebound life hadn't been very much fun at all.

True to his word, Remus met Professor Dumbledore as soon as his classes were over. James had wanted to come. "We already know about your mum!" he had said. "And I want to see the inside of Dumbledore's office." Remus was very doubtful that the pending conversation concerned his ill mother, though, so he politely declined. James had only sulked for five minutes and thirty-seven seconds: Remus considered that an achievement.

"Sugar Quill," he said to the gargoyle, and it scraped aside to permit him entrance. Remus walked in, a little nervous. He hated discussing his lycanthropy, and the conversation with Lily had drained him of energy to discuss werewolves with anybody—even someone as kindly and understanding as Professor Dumbledore.

"Sir?" he said slowly, approaching Dumbledore's desk. "What do you need from me?"

"Remus," said Dumbledore. He seemed a bit tired, but Remus couldn't think why. "I'm afraid I must ask you to do something very uncomfortable."

Remus didn't know how to feel about that.

"Sit down," said Dumbledore. "I have a lot of explaining to do."

Remus felt extremely apprehensive. "I feel extremely apprehensive," he confessed.

"So do I," said Dumbledore, but Remus couldn't imagine Dumbledore (of all people) feeling apprehensive. "Remus, it has come to my attention that your experiences under the full moon are… horrific."

Remus wondered if this revelation had stemmed from the conversation with Madam Pomfrey that he'd overheard. "One can get used to just about anything," he said timidly.

"A commendable statement," said Dumbledore, "but I can't accept that. If you'll forgive me for saying so, I am a very accomplished and powerful wizard. I believe that, if you'll let me, I can find a way to help you..."

"No." said Remus, squeezing his eyes shut. "My parents and I have traveled all over the continent looking for a cure. None of them had particularly pleasant effects… and none of them even came close to working. Sir, false hope is far more painful than... informed acceptance."

Dumbledore nodded. "Of course. I do not seek to cure you, Remus. I am simply looking to relieve some pain. Just small things—removing things in your surroundings that agitate you, perhaps. Or putting some more charms on the building, if necessary. I am not content to watch, knowing that I have done nothing. That is not my way of doing things. It is an unfortunate habit of mine to stick my nose in places where it does not belong." Dumbledore smiled a little sadly and offered Remus a biscuit. Remus declined.

"So... how would you...? Please tell me you don't want to watch, because you'd die... I'd never risk anyone like that, especially for something so small. You wouldn't want to do that, would you?"

"No," said Dumbledore, "not in the way you're thinking. Remus, do you know how to use a Pensieve?"

Remus' mouth fell open. "Absolutely not. I mean yes, I do, but no. That's out of the question."

"I understand, but..."

"No. You don't understand," said Remus, desperate and trying to regain control. "It's... private. It's embarrassing. It's gruesome and graphic and not something I would wish on my worst enemy… even to spectate. Sir, I…."

"I have lived through war before. I am no stranger to gruesome scenes."

"I'm not some sort of creature at the zoo!" said Remus, forgetting to be polite. "I'm not..." He recognized this feeling, the anger in the back of his mind… temper was, unfortunately, another side effect of lycanthropy. Remus needed to take a break. "Give me a minute."

Dumbledore permitted it, and Remus stared at the floor and breathed in through his nose… out through his mouth. It was about two minutes before he felt like himself again. "I'm sorry. I can't do that, Professor."

"You will be spending seven years here, and I will not be satisfied to sit back and allow you to suffer. I certainly understand if you do not want to show me. That is perfectly all right; I only wanted to tell you that I was willing to help should you choose to allow me to do so. I realize that there is not much I can do, but if there is anything—anything!—then I must know. I must at least know that I have tried. Madam Pomfrey will not settle for anything less, herself."

Remus felt a stab of guilt as he recognized how much pain he was causing both Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey… and even his parents would be disappointed in him if he turned down the assistance of Albus Dumbledore. But he couldn't. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I can't. I told you: it's private."

"I understand. This would never be required of you, Remus. But I do want you to know that you can trust me should you ever need…."

Remus cut Dumbledore off. "Yes, it's just... I wouldn't even let my parents see that. I haven't... I haven't even re-watched a full moon memory myself. You're asking for a lot."

"I know."

"I don't even remember what I was doing, beforehand. I was probably doing something weird like mumbling to myself or something."

"I do the same thing, Remus. Professor McGonagall has told me that I am very annoying on many an occasion."

"I can't."

"If that's how you feel," said Professor Dumbledore sadly. "I shall not press the matter any further. But maybe sometime in the future...?"

"I doubt it."

"I see. Have a lovely evening, Remus." Dumbledore returned to his work, scratching his quill across the paper in a soothing sort of way.

Remus knew that he was free to go, but he couldn't. Guilt weighed on his heart like it never had before… and a curiosity of sorts. No, not quite; more like... hope.

Hope.

False hope. Or maybe not?

Even if it was false hope, Remus felt as if he owed Professor Dumbledore something. Dumbledore was curious as well as helpful, Remus knew. He probably wanted to see out of both pure curiosity and a willingness to help. Remus could give him that, couldn't he? If Dumbledore truly wanted to see what happened….

To gawk at Remus like a specimen. Or maybe not?

Perhaps it was just an academic curiosity? Perhaps he considered Remus' condition to be separate from Remus? Maybe Dumbledore was the type of person who could observe the effects without thinking of the person affected...

No, Remus wasn't making any sense. Or maybe he was?

The fact was, Remus did want somebody to see—in a twisted sort of way. There was such a large burden in being the only one to carry this secret. Perhaps it would help, for someone else to know what happened every full moon… for someone else to understand.

Maybe it would help. Or maybe not?

"Do you promise not to pity me?" he asked. Dumbledore looked up, his scratching quill coming to a stop. "I don't like pity."

"I promise."

"Okay." whispered Remus. "It's fine, then. I mean… I think. It's okay, I mean."

"You do not owe me anything, Remus. You don't have to do anything that you don't want to."

"But it might help?"

"It might."

"Or maybe not."

"Maybe not."

"Okay."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Where would you like the memory to start and end?"

"From when you entered the building to when you left it, if you please."

"Right. Okay. Fine."

"Remus..."

"No. I want to." Remus didn't want to do it, actually… but he wanted it to be done. That didn't make much sense, either, but Remus suspected that nothing made sense anymore.

Remus held his wand up to his temple and recalled the memory, as painful as it was. He felt his head immediately clear as he moved his wand away, as if a huge weight had left his shoulders. Remus loved Pensieves.

Here he was, entrusting all of his secrets to Professor Dumbledore, a man that he had known for less than a month. "Thank you, sir," he said. "And please make an effort not to pity me. I told you: one can get used to anything. It's not so bad as it looks." That was a lie, and by the looks of it, Dumbledore knew it.

"Thank you, Remus. I know that this takes a lot of trust, and I do not want you to worry. I can promise you that my perceptions of you will not change."

Remus wasn't sure that Dumbledore could promise that at all, but he hoped with all of his heart that sharing the pain would lessen it.

After all, carrying a burden this size all by himself was likely to give him some killer back pain when he got older.