Y1: EEEEEEEEK

Remus marched down to Dumbledore's office the very second that curfew ended on Wednesday morning. "Sugar Quills," he said to the gargoyles, and they eagerly permitted him entry. Remus knocked on the wall a few times before entering.

"Come in," said Dumbledore, sounding very tired. Remus did.

"I'm sorry, sir, I've changed my mind—I was up all last night worrying about it; I'd really like my memory back or for you to destroy it or something..." Remus stopped talking when he noticed the expression on Dumbledore's face. "...Oh. You've already watched it, haven't you?"

"Yes. I'm afraid I was up all last night, as well."

"I'm sorry, sir!" Remus felt a little ill. He didn't know what he'd been thinking. It was private. "I shouldn't have given it to you; I was trying to remember what I was doing but I couldn't, and I can't stand someone else knowing what happens, and I know that you can't help..."

"Remus. Calm down."

"I... please tell me you... it wasn't very appropriate to show you, sir..."

"I do not see you any differently… except I now have a healthy respect for your repertoire of poetry."

Remus closed his eyes in embarrassment. "Maybe if you could Obliviate me, so that I didn't know that you knew. Or something."

"I don't think that will be necessary. Remus, do you hear me? You conducted yourself wonderfully."

"I didn't. I was nervous, sir. I always am, which is a little stupid considering it's been more than seventy."

"It's not stupid at all. This is not information that I often hand out, but I—like many other who survived the war—have been under the Cruciatus curse multiple times. I can tell you with certainty that pain like that does not generally get any easier."

"You... you have...? It's not the same at all. A… a full moon is so much easier than that."

Dumbledore's eyebrows moved upwards ever so slightly, and he leaned forward with his hands clasped. "And how would you know, Remus?"

Remus waited a long time before responding. "Er, I suppose... I don't. But from what I've read… it's designed to be the worst kind of physical pain possible without… killing a person."

"You've been under it before, haven't you?" asked Dumbledore: as good of a liar as Remus was, his hesitation was painfully obvious.

"Once. It was... it was a bunch of dumb teenage boys from Durmstrang—they lived in an adjacent neighborhood—who figured out what I am and… thought they were doing society a favor. It wasn't as bad as it could have been; they were only teenagers. Barely felt it. I don't think it counts, in all honesty."

"But it was still worse than the transformation?"

"Well, yeah. But there was... psychologically... the transformation is worse in some ways. I can... feel... my mind... that's the worst part. I really shouldn't be telling you this."

"Forgive me. I am only curious." Remus' face felt very pale, and he tried in vain to hide his twitching fingers. If Dumbledore noticed how jumpy Remus was, he didn't say anything. "Sit. We could be here a while."

"I'm going to miss breakfast."

"I just so happen to have some crumpets in a tin to your left. Jam's next to it, in the blue jar." Remus took a plain crumpet and sat down, embarrassed out of his wits.

"Sir. I'm sorry."

"So you've said," said Dumbledore, taking a sip of tea. "How much poetry do you know?"

Remus was embarrassed about that, too, but he was thankful for the change in topic. "I like to recite things when I'm nervous. The rhythm is calming, I think… and it wasn't like there was anything else to do; I was homebound for most of my life."

Dumbledore smiled. "Walt Whitman is my favorite—the one about the ship captain in particular. Do you know that one?"

Remus nodded, terrified. "Front, back, and inside out, sir."

"And I noticed you can play the piano?"

"Only the one piece. I thought it would be funny. Mum didn't think so."

"I think it is very funny. I know a bit of piano, myself, though I'm afraid I can only play obnoxious pop music." Remus tried to imagine Dumbledore playing obnoxious pop music on the piano and nearly spat out his crumpet. "As you can imagine, Professor McGonagall has banned me from providing music at staff parties."

"Sir... you don't..."

"I do not pity you. I have lived through another war. I have seen many great and terrible things alike. I daresay that a werewolf transformation is not the most brutal nor the most painful thing that I have ever witnessed. I think no less of you."

"Right."

"And I have a few suggestions."

"You do?" Remus couldn't believe it. Had Dumbledore had actually found a way to help? Not a cure, no, but perhaps showing him the memory had been worth it after all…?

"Yes. Nothing major, I'm afraid. Small things."

"Small things help a great deal."

"Indeed they do. First, though, I have a few questions. I apologize if they are uncomfortable."

Remus bit his lip. "Go ahead, sir. I shall do my best to remain calm."

"I am sure you will. The pain you experienced twice during the hour leading up to the transformation: does that happen every time, or is it rare? Do you know what, exactly, is happening?"

"It doesn't happen all the time, sir. Only... only on bad moons. Maybe twenty percent of the time. I'm not always that ill before, either, and sometimes the injuries afterwards are better. It all depends. I don't know why it happens, exactly. It feels—it feels like I can't breathe, mostly. Dad thinks that it's something to do with my lungs... since they change shape and all that on the full moon. Most it's happened in one night is three."

"I see. And how clear are your memories of the actual transformation itself?"

"Pretty... clear? I don't know what you mean. I remember it."

"And I take it you remember what goes on during the full moon?"

"Perfectly."

"So you remember your thought processes when the moon is up?"

"Yes, sir," said Remus, ashamed. He hated that part.

"Well, that is fortunate."

"...What?"

"I'm sure it is very unpleasant for you, of course. But now you can tell me if there was anything in the room that was agitating you further. The window, perhaps? I noticed you were rather drawn to it."

Remus' face, he was sure, was bright red. "It's not the window. Not really. It was just... there; otherwise it would have been the wall or something. And better the window than me."

"Indeed." Dumbledore seemed to be thinking. "Well, for right now, I have four suggestions. Not cures, but suggestions—suggestions that you may choose to take or to ignore. It is entirely your choice."

"Right."

"First: I noticed you were clenching your hands during the transformation. I would recommend you try to stop doing that."

"Why?"

"Claws."

"Ah." Remus glanced at his palms, which were still wrapped in gauze. "That... makes sense now." He'd never thought of that before. No wonder his hands were so injured afterwards.

"Second: I would recommend gritting your teeth instead of biting your lip. I understand that it hurts… but that way you won't bite your lip off. Your teeth tend to get rather sharp."

"Yes, I've noticed." Remus said dryly, and immediately regretted the sarcasm. "Sorry."

"Not at all. Third: I see why you wanted to get to the building early. But fretting isn't doing any good—I have a theory that the episodes beforehand are brought about by stress, and I see no reason why your mental state before the full moon wouldn't carry over to your mental state during the full moon as well. It seems to me that waiting is often one of the worst parts."

Dumbledore's theory made sense. All the days that Remus could remember having the episodes before the moon were very stressful. It was something to look into. It hadn't often been a problem at home; every day had been just the same as the last.

"I can't just stop fretting, sir. It's like you said: it's one of the worst parts. I don't know what else to do."

"Well, the poetry seemed to help," said Dumbledore. "Perhaps you would consider letting Madam Pomfrey wait with you, if only for an hour?"

"No."

"Or myself?"

"No."

"I see. Well then, I would recommend Duplicating a book to read, or maybe your notes. I'm sure Professor Flitwick would be more than happy to teach you the charm; he was quite impressed by your quick mastery of the Levitating Charm."

Remus smiled. Being able to read while he waited might be very pleasant. "That's a good idea," he said. "And Dad's already taught me that charm. Although I don't think it would help later on, when the shaking starts getting bad." Remus wondered how long he'd be able to focus on books or notes. He wondered how dark it would get in the building on cold nights. He wondered what would happen to the Duplicated book after he transformed. Then he realized that he was wondering aloud and definitely rambling in front of Dumbledore. He felt his face go red. "That would be very helpful, sir; thank you."

"You're very welcome, Remus. I have a few more theories, but some of them would veer dangerously into experimentation—which I assume you do not want?"

"Yes. I mean, no. I mean, you're right. I don't want that."

"I am going to fix up some of the furniture in the building after every full moon. Having other things to destroy—rather than yourself—seems like a good idea. My final suggestion is—and remember, this is your choice—to allow me to view some of your memories of future moons so that we can continue to improve."

Remus thought about it. Dumbledore was much calmer and more understanding about it than Remus could have even hoped to imagine… and he did have some excellent suggestions. But Remus was embarrassed that someone else knew every detail. He didn't know what he'd been thinking, letting Dumbledore see those memories. Now that Dumbledore already knew, Remus supposed that letting him see more would be much easier... but no. Even though someone else knew, the full moon was still an intensely private thing, and Dumbledore, kind as he was, was not the right person to share it with. Remus didn't know if he could go through another moon knowing that someone would be watching him later.

"Thank you, sir," Remus said, "but no. I couldn't do that. I need… privacy."

"Of course; I understand completely. I did not think you would agree, but I wanted to offer you the option. It is still open, should you ever like to take it. And Remus: thank you again. I know that this took an extraordinary amount of trust, and I do hope that I have helped in any small way possible."

"Yes," said Remus slowly. "It is... nice... that someone else knows. Less of a burden for me. And if I ever need to... talk, or something, the fact that you already know nearly everything is... helpful. Thank you so much."

"You're very welcome. And I would like to assure you, once again, that I have seen much worse. I do not think any differently of you—I only admire you for your bravery. Which I did before, anyway. Lemon lolly?"

"No, thank you," said Remus. "What time is it?"

"Time for Herbology, if I am not mistaken. You'll be a little late. Tell Professor Sprout that I was keeping you; I'm sure she'll understand. Off you go, then—and feel free to take another crumpet on your way out."

Remus gave Professor Dumbledore another grateful smile and promptly exited his office as fast as he could without noticeably running.

Remus walked in to Herbology late. Professor Sprout looked at him inquisitively but did not question it; Remus, however, felt the need to explain anyway. "Professor, I was with Professor Dumbledore discussing... some things," he said.

Professor Sprout actually smiled at him—looking him straight in the eyes!—and Remus nearly dropped dead with surprise. "Of course, dear. We were only practicing our fertilizing. Ask Mr. Potter what you missed; I'm sure he'll be happy to catch you up."

Remus found James, who indeed was excited to stop fertilizing and explain. "Right, so this pile right here is the Mooncalf dung; you're going to want to be very careful not to get it on your robes..."

"It's disgusting," sneered Sirius. "Absolutely gross. Reminds me of Snape's hair."

James chuckled, and Remus was horrified. That was much more straight-forward and mean than anything Snape had ever said to Remus. "Um, which trowel should I use?" he asked, trying to change the subject.

"One to your left," said James. "The big one."

Fertilizing was boring work, and definitely an instance in which enhanced senses were a curse rather than a blessing. James and Sirius joked around the entire time, trying to chuck fertilizer at each other and steal each other's trowels. Remus noticed that Lily was giving them dirty looks the entire time—even dirtier than the fertilizer, Remus would wager.

"Anything interesting happen while I was gone?" Remus asked Sirius, trying to distract his friends and stop them from throwing dung at each other like insane monkeys.

"Yeah, actually!" said Sirius. "James and I got a detention."

"What?!"

"A detention. Tonight. Six. Wanna come?"

"Er, no. What did you do?"

James grinned and shoved Sirius, who stuck his hand directly in some dung to steady himself. "Gross!" he complained.

"Oh, shut up, you're wearing gloves," said James. "Remember Sirius' owl's name?"

"The swear word or the high-pitched screech?"

"The screech. Well, Sirius and I were talking about his owl, and of course we said his name a few times. Apparently Professor Sprout doesn't appreciate screaming in her classroom."

"Dunno why," said Sirius. "According to Andromeda, they care for Mandrakes in second year."

"Well, she asked us to stop, and then Sirius said..."

Sirius cut in joyfully. "What, you want us to stop talking about EEEEEEEEK? But EEEEEEEEK is my favorite owl ever! Did you know that EEEEEEEEK ate my homework the other evening? I told him, 'EEEEEEEEK, don't do that,' but EEEEEEEEK did anyway, and then EEEEEEEE..."

"Mr. Black, that is enough!" said Sprout. "That's another detention tomorrow."

"Aw."

"Had it coming, mate," said James sympathetically. "I wonder what she'll have us do?"

Sirius shrugged. "Hey, Pete, hand me that trowel. James stole mine," said Sirius.

Peter didn't seem to be paying attention (he was fertilizing his plant with vigor), so Remus lent Sirius his own trowel. "What did you just call Peter?" he asked, thoroughly confused. Peter's name wasn't Pete; it was Peter. Remus knew that Sirius was clever—so his memory couldn't possibly be that bad.

"Pete...? It's called a nickname," said Sirius. Remus wasn't sure how to feel about that, and Sirius laughed at Remus' confused expression. "Peter is so long and stuffy."

"And Sirius isn't?"

"Touché, but there's no good alternative. 'James' can't really be shortened either. But Pete has a very nickname-able name. People give people nicknames all the time. Have you been living under a rock?"

Remus had had no idea that nicknames were so normal. He suddenly felt a need to explain himself, even though being a bit clueless when it came to normal peer activities couldn't possibly give him away as a werewolf. "Pretty much. Introverted, you know… never really got out much."

"That explains a lot," said James.

"What do you mean, 'that explains a lot'?" Remus said, feigning insult. "I'll have you know that I am quite adept at socializing."

"Better than Pete, here," said Sirius. "Hasn't said a word all class."

Peter looked up. "I've been focused. Fertilizing is hard."

"...Right. For you, maybe."

"Sirius, lay off the boy," said James. "It's not his fault that he's thicker than porridge."

Remus rolled his eyes. "He's not thicker than porridge. He's very intelligent… and his plant looks a lot better than yours does."

Sirius and James looked over at Peter's plant, which he had been immaculately fertilizing for the last hour. "Fair point," said James. "That is a mighty good plant, Peter."

Peter grinned. "Why, thank you. I think he needs a name. Hm, let's see… I'm going to call him EEEEEEEEK."

"Pettigrew!" Sprout scolded. "That's a detention for you, too!"

Peter's cheeks colored, but he brightened as soon as he saw James and Sirius laughing uncontrollably. Remus, himself, had to hide a snicker. Peter could be clever when he wanted to be, even though Sirius and James were often dismissive of him. He hoped that James' and Sirius' detention with Peter would help them to see what Remus did.

Remus had his meeting with Hagrid scheduled for that evening. He wasn't sure what to expect, but he hoped that Hagrid wouldn't be mentioning werewolves too much: Remus had already had an uncomfortable talk about lycanthropy with one of his teachers today. He briefly considered not going, but realized that it wasn't fair to Hagrid (who seemed to feel guilty about his earlier slip-up).

"Where are you going?" asked Peter, looking up from his dinner.

"Hagrid's heard of my dad, and he wanted to meet me."

"Mr. Lupin: the famous boggart-fighting superhero," said James wisely. "Can we come along?"

"Absolutely not. You've got a detention."

"It's not for another hour!"

"I don't know how long I'm staying, and it's not good manners to leave halfway through." In all honesty, Remus would have invited them along if he had not been certain that Hagrid wanted to discuss a certain secret. Remus couldn't wait until all of the teachers had reached an understanding and no longer needed to talk with him. Of course he wanted to help them feel comfortable… but it was so awkward.

"I don't think that Hagrid, of all people, cares about politeness," Sirius pointed out.

"Why would you say that?"

"Ah, come on, he's all dirty and unkempt. And that country accent!"

"You never know," said Remus, who knew a thing or two about unfair judgements. "Perhaps he's very posh and cares about manners very much. Perhaps he owns a poodle and wears fancy hats and uses far too many forks and spoons and tablecloths."

James laughed at the ridiculous image. "My mum's like that."

"Mine too," said Sirius sourly.

"Anyway, I'd better go alone. I believe the talk of Boggarts will bore you all to death."

"Actually, I do want to hear more about your pet Boggart," said Peter. "Gary, wasn't it?"

"Garrison. I'll tell you tonight. He's really rather sweet."

"I'm holding you to that," said James. "Best not be late to your dinner date, now. Hagrid will be terribly upset if you're late; he's probably staring wisely at a ticking pocket-watch and polishing his spoons."

Remus chuckled. "I'll tell you all about it," he said. "But before I go, Sirius—I have a new name for your owl."

"Finally! I can't keep calling it EEEEEEEEK," said Sirius. This, of course, earned him a dirty look from nearly all of the teachers—except Dumbledore, who merely looked amused.

"Remember how I said I wanted to get back at James?"

James yawned. "Of course, Mr. Fragile China Doll."

Remus rolled his eyes. "James."

"Yes?"

"No, James. Your owl. Name him James."

Sirius looked confused. "Why would I do that?"

"Well, think of the possibilities." Remus held up his head and cast his eyes downward in a somewhat pathetic impression of Sirius. "Where is James? Owlery, it's where he feels most at home. Or perhaps he's flying around. Not very good at it; always crashes into things."

James' mouth fell open.

"Did you hear?" Remus continued, still imitating Sirius. "James pooped all over my breakfast this morning. I'd expect that from someone who eats mice, though."

Sirius' eyes lit up. "James was going insane this morning, so I locked him in a cage," he added. "Hope he doesn't escape. And he really does need someone to trim his nails for him... goodness knows he can't do it himself."

"I do wish he'd stop pecking at your hair," said Remus. "He's really very badly-behaved."

"Remus!" said James. "Please don't, Sirius."

"Too late," crowed Sirius. "Brilliant idea, Remus. I shall call my owl James, and I can't even get in trouble for this one!"

"I'll give you trouble!" said James, kicking Sirius violently under the table. Remus left the Great Hall, feeling very clever.

Fragile china doll, indeed.

AN: When I was fourteen, I had a goldfish named "We the People of the United States, in Order to Form a More Perfect Union, Establish Justice, Insure Domestic Tranquility, Provide for the Common Defence, Promote the General Welfare, and Secure the Blessings of Liberty to Ourselves and Our Posterity, Do Ordain and Establish this Constitution for the United States of America". The rest of my family didn't find it nearly as funny as I did.