Chapter 26: Confidence and a Cursed Book

Days passed. Nights passed. Remus had nightmares nearly every night. James eventually stopped asking him about them, and would only mutter "It's only a dream, Remus," when he heard Remus wake up. Then Remus would let the slow breathing of his roommates wash away visions of wolves, and sleep usually came quickly. He fell into the routine of Hogwarts: classes, avoiding eye contact with the teachers, helping Peter with schoolwork, taking notes, trying not to talk to Evans too much in Defense Against the Dark Arts.

The smells of the Potions room and greenhouse still bothered him, but he became accustomed to them quickly. His broomstick-flying improved slightly, but he was still a bit shaky—James always told Remus that he was overthinking it, but Remus didn't know how to fly without thinking like James did. Remus learned a few more charms, and he was constantly getting better at learning to cast them. Defense Against the Dark Arts was awkward whenever Questus began talk of Dark creatures, but Remus was getting used to it... slowly.

Now it was the morning of the first of October, and Remus was beginning to feel the effects of the full moon once again.

"Get up, Remus. It's time for breakfast," urged James, jiggling his arm violently.

Remus moaned and covered his ears. "I'll just skip breakfast."

"You did that yesterday," said Peter, "and Dumbledore came by asking us where you were."

"He did?"

"Yeah. He must like you a lot, to notice that you're missing in a room with hundreds of students." Remus dearly hoped that Dumbledore's apparent fondness for him would not give his secret away. It didn't have anything to do with fondness, not really—it was all special treatment because Remus was a werewolf and the teachers pitied him, just as his parents had. Remus was ever so thankful, of course, but he was tired of special treatment.

He squeezed his eyes shut, praying that his friends would leave him alone to sleep a bit longer. His head felt like it was full of rocks. "Five more minutes."

Suddenly, the bed was moving and the covers slipped off. Remus yelped and flailed around in the air, clinging to his floating mattress for dear life, only to be dropped harshly on the floor. "Ow," he groaned, though it didn't hurt that badly.

"Come on, Mr. Fragile China Doll. Loopy. Wolf-man. Up." That was Sirius' voice.

"What... what was that last one?" Remus felt his blood run cold.

"Wolf-man. 'Cos of your name. Remus Lupin. You're stalling, get up."

A wave of relief rushed over him: Remus scrambled to his feet, took his robes up in his arms, and then went into the lavatory to change. "Don't call me that," he called through the closed door. "It's weird."

"It's not weirder than Loopy," said James fairly.

It was, actually, though Remus couldn't tell his friends why. "I prefer that one, actually."

"I don't care what you prefer. Hurry up in there. I reckon Dumbledore will murder us if we go to breakfast without you."

Remus pulled on his green jumper and ran a hand through his hair to comb it. "Right. Let's go, then."

"Not the green jumper," Sirius complained. "I hate that one."

"I'm sorry that my appearance doesn't please you, O Fashionable One," said Remus. His friends laughed, and suddenly, Remus felt a bit better.

"Are you all right, Remus?" asked Peter, watching Remus pick at his soup.

Remus' palms grew slightly sweaty. He couldn't let people notice that he was ill. They'd find out... "Fine. I'm just tired, because somebody Levitated my bed into the air at the crack of dawn. Which one of you was that? Sirius?"

"Guilty as charged."

"Ugh." Remus forced himself to take a few bites of soup and then drained his pumpkin juice with a slight grimace. He hated feeling so ill when the full moon was still so far off. He dearly hoped that the upcoming full moon wouldn't be a bad one, but these things were hard to predict. "We have a test in Transfiguration today, right?"

"Yes. On Reparo." James grabbed a sausage and took a noisy bite. "We can all cast that one, right? Easy."

"Thanks to Remus!" said Peter, nudging Remus in the shoulder.

"No problem, Peter," said Remus. "Remember who invented it?"

"Arabella Nuttley!"

"Orabella Nuttley. With an O. But that was close," said Remus.

Peter grinned. "It would get me some points, at least. That's better than the History of Magic test—I scored a 3%. Someone pass the bacon?"

The written part of the test went fantastically—Remus knew all of the answers (every single one!). Remus snuck a glance at Peter, who was smiling widely. If Remus knew Peter (which he did), then he'd wager that Peter knew a good portion of the answers, too.

Peter passed the practical part of the test, casting a near-perfect Mending Charm. So did Sirius and James, as expected. Evans did quite well, too, although a faint crack line was still visible. She complained to Snape, who was sitting next to her, and Snape patted her shoulder and told her that she was doing really well, for someone who had never even seen magic performed before.

"Your turn, Lupin," said Professor McGonagall from behind Remus. Remus felt his heart skip a beat, though he didn't know why he was nervous.

He lifted his wand, trying as hard as possible not to make any sudden movements. He was not comfortable one bit with McGonagall standing behind him. He didn't want to look at her, knowing that she would be scared if he did, but he hated the fact that someone who did not like werewolves one bit was standing behind him... and he could hear her heart; it was beating rather quickly... he hated this. He hated that someone was so afraid of him. He wasn't going to hurt her. He was eleven! He wasn't even that good at magic.

He tried not to imagine what McGonagall thought of when she looked at him: the same thing that he woke up to in the middle of the night, most likely—fangs and claws and fur and blood... broken glass... pain everywhere and the awful feeling in his shoulder... which turned to an agonizing burning... and the trip to St. Mungo's on the Knight Bus with his head on his mother's lap, his father panicking, the lady next to them telling them that they might as well put him down, because he didn't have a future anyway and he wasn't the same now that he was a werewolf. Remus looked at the ceiling.

"Today, if you please, Mr. Lupin."

"Right," Remus mumbled, biting his lip. "Reparo." Nothing happened, predictably. "I'm sorry, Professor."

"Try one more time."

Remus did. Nothing happened. Not even a spark. "I can't," he murmured. "Not today."

"What the heck, Remus?" James said loudly. "You're better at that charm than the lot of us. He really is, Professor. He improved a lot. He even taught Peter how to do it, and Peter's stupider than a Chocolate Frog!"

"Three points from Gryffindor, Potter," said McGonagall, frowning deeply. There was a pause, and then: "Would you like me to come back to you?" McGonagall asked Remus, and Remus shook his head.

"That's okay, Professor," he said. He hadn't been able to do it then. Why would he be able to do it now? Circumstances, after all, hadn't changed a bit. McGonagall was still standing behind him. Remus was still uncomfortable. He barely remembered the incantation. Remus wouldn't have been able to cast the charm if someone offered him seventeen Galleons to do so.

"No, it's not okay!" This time it was Sirius speaking. "You could do it yesterday, when your jumper started fraying. You could do it a week ago, when James fell into that table and the leg chipped. You could do it last night, when the cover of your book fell off! Why can't you do it now? You have, like, a one hundred percent accuracy rate now."

"Please stop," said Remus quietly. "It's fine."

"It's not fine! It's not okay, and it's not fine, and you need to try again!"

"I can't!"

"You can!"

"Mr. Lupin," said McGonagall clearly. "This is your choice. Would you like to try again?"

"No, Professor. Thank you."

"Very well. Your turn, Miss Miles..."

Remus looked down at his desk and did not talk for the rest of class.

"Why couldn't you do the charm, Remus?" asked Peter as they left for Defense. "Are you ill?"

"I don't think so," said Remus. "I just... couldn't. Transfiguration is hard. I get nervous."

"But you showed me!" said Peter. "If you can't do it, what hope do I have?"

Peter sounded a bit distraught now. Remus wanted to console him, but he didn't know how. Remus, after all, needed a bit of consoling himself. "You did fine, Peter. I just get really bad... nerves."

"It was stupid," Sirius scowled. "You're good at that charm. You are. Did McGonagall curse you or something?"

"I bet it was Snivellus," said James with narrowed eyes.

Sirius lifted his head sharply. "Was it?"

"No!" said Remus. "Of course not! No one cursed me, I just got nervous. See? Reparo." Remus pointed his wand at a scratch in the wall, and it mended instantly. "I'm not cursed." He was, actually, but it was something wildly different. "And furthermore, I'd appreciate it if you didn't call so much attention to me. It just makes me more nervous."

James held his hands up. "Fine, fine! Wow. You need to calm down, mate." Remus didn't think that he had taken an overly frustrated or angry tone, but perhaps he had.

"I'm perfectly calm, thank you." From the look on James' face, he didn't agree, and Remus felt awful once again. He breathed. In through his nose, out through his mouth... there, that felt a bit better.

They entered the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, and Questus tapped sharply on the board with his wand. "Practical lesson today. Sit down, settle down, wands out. A little faster, if you please. I wasn't aware that I was teaching a class comprised of sloths and turtles."

Remus left the Marauders and took his seat next to Evans. She gave him a tight-lipped smile, and he returned the gesture. "Evans."

"Lupin."

Questus tapped the board again, and Remus and Evans stopped talking. "Today, we'll be discussing cursed objects. If everybody would take out the books in your desks. Faster. Goodness, why is everyone so slow today? It's infuriating."

Remus started to reach into his desk to take out the book, but then he noticed something.

It wasn't the same book.

He drew his hand back and inhaled. It was definitely a different book. He glanced around the classroom, but they all seemed to have the standard textbook. This one smelt faintly of must and slugs. And why were they even using school-owned books? They usually used their own. Remus looked up at Questus and remembered his words from earlier. Practical lesson, he'd said. Why would they need books if it was a practical lesson?

He'd also said that this was a lesson on cursed objects. What if...?

Remus glanced over at Professor Questus, who was writing the date on the board, and then Levitated his book onto his desk as quickly and quietly as possible. He was very careful not to touch it; after all, he could never be too careful.

But Professor Questus wouldn't curse him, would he?

Questus turned around. Remus noticed that his eyes lingered on Remus a little more than any other student... then they dropped down to the book on Remus' desk for a fraction of a second and then back up to Remus himself... Remus wasn't sure what to think at all.

"One of you has a book from Borgin and Burkes'. I found it the other day; it has a very harmless hex placed upon it." Questus said, confirming Remus' fears. "Don't worry: it's not going to kill you. Walk around. Talk to each other. See if you can find out who has the cursed book. If you actually did the reading last night, then you'll remember the most common signs of curses and should be able to figure it out straightaway."

Well, if Remus' book had indeed been the cursed one, then this practical lesson was pointless. Remus decided to play along anyway. "Are you cursed?" he asked Evans, who shook her head.

"I don't think so. Are you?"

"Doubt it."

Remus conversed with a few other students, all of whom seemed perfectly normal. He racked up everything that he knew about harmless hexes and asked them a few diagnostic questions, but all of them passed the tests. Even though Remus was fairly certain that his book was meant to be the cursed one, he figured that he couldn't be too careful. Besides, there could have been multiple cursed books—that seemed like the sort of thing that Questus would do in order to trip them up.

Sirius, he noticed, was picking up some of the books and inspecting them: flipping through the pages, reading them... Remus wondered if he could get any more stupid.

After about half an hour, Questus had them all sit down. "Did any of you figure it out?" he asked.

Remus tentatively raised his hand. "I don't think that any of us are cursed, sir," he said, somewhat confident in his answer.

"Does anyone have a different answer?" No one contradicted Remus. "It's funny you should say that," continued Questus, "because yours was actually the cursed book, Lupin."

"I'm not cursed." Well, that was such a lie that it was almost laughable.

Questus' lips twitched, but Remus didn't know whether he was amused by the werewolf reference or by Remus' apparent stupidity. "You are if you touched it. This hex, in question, prevents you from saying any word with the letter B or P..."

Remus grinned widely and said every single word he could think of that contained the letters in questions. "Book. Balloon. Penguin. Apple. Baboon. Er... publicize, permeable, pulchritudinous..."

Questus held up a hand. "That's enough, Lupin, I think I've got the picture." Remus smiled again, very proud of himself. Oh, proud. That was another one. So was picture. "Seems I was wrong, then. It happens occasionally. If Lupin doesn't have it, then who does?"

Remus waited for a few seconds and listened to the other students whisper B and P words under their breaths. It was all very entertaining. "It might be mine, sir," said Remus (once he had been sufficiently entertained). "I didn't touch it."

"You didn't?"

"No. You said we were having a practical lesson... on cursed objects... and then you asked us to use the school textbooks instead of our own." Remus left the fact that his textbook had smelt funny out of his story. "So I... put the pieces together and used a Levitation Charm."

Questus smiled. "That was very clever, Lupin. Very clever indeed. Did anyone else do that?"

A few people raised their hands, including James. Remus felt a little less special now that he knew that he hadn't been the only one, but that was okay. He'd had his fill of being special over the past few weeks. Months. Years, really.

"No one in my Hufflepuff/Slytherin class did it," said Questus. "I'm very impressed. Ten points to anyone who used the Levitation Charm."

"Hufflepuffs and Slytherins are all a bunch of dunderheads, anyway," Remus heard Sirius whisper.

"And you'd think that Slytherins knew their cursed objects," James snickered, "seeing as they're basically all Dark wizards themselves."

Questus did not hear James and Sirius, which was good. Remus knew that his friends might have detention for a week if he'd overheard their comments. "Parchment out, please. Some curses have delayed severe reactions, so recognizing when a person is cursed could save his or her life. Some common side effects of powerful curses include..."

Remus could always count on Defense Against the Dark Arts to boost his confidence.

He liked Professor Questus.

"Sirius Black, if you would stay after class, please," said Questus after class let out. Remus was glad that it wasn't him, for once. He prepared to leave the classroom, but James grabbed his arm.

"I wanna wait for Sirius," he said. "Is that all right, Professor Questus?"

"I suppose. I just wanted to ask you, Black, why you were touching all of the textbooks. That's hands-down the most idiotic thing I've ever seen, so I'd like to know your reasoning," said Questus. Remus had been wondering the same thing.

"Well, sir," Sirius started, "the goal wasn't to avoid being cursed, was it? It was to find out who was cursed. So I touched as many books as possible and waited to see if I got cursed. Then I'd know."

"I noticed that you didn't touch Lupin's. Why is that?"

"Last time I touched Remus' book he nearly killed me."

That was nearly true. Sirius had picked up the Latin werewolf book that had been lying on Remus' bed and had started flipping through it. Remus, panicked and worried that Sirius would somehow find out his secret, had jinxed Sirius' fingers so that they'd lost feeling for exactly five seconds. He'd been very proud of himself for successfully casting that one.

Questus chuckled slightly. "Well. You weren't wrong. But next time, I would recommend trying not to get cursed. It's not particularly pleasant, let me tell you." Questus' eyes drifted to Remus, who squirmed.

"Have you ever been cursed, sir?" asked James excitedly.

"Once. I wasn't being very careful and picked up a can that I found on the ground. Nearly died. Very painful experience."

"That's awful," Peter said, looking very worried.

"Just don't touch anything out of the ordinary, Pettigrew, and you'll be fine. Now run along, you four."

James and Sirius took that literally: they sprinted down the corridor at breakneck speed and nearly crashed into a wall. Peter followed, though he couldn't quite catch up. Remus rolled his eyes, waved goodbye to Questus (who granted Remus a pleased little nod in return), and then followed his friends at a nice, comfortable, three-and-a-half-days-till-the-full-moon kind of pace.

A few days passed, and Remus woke up on Monday morning—October fourth—with a splitting headache. It was four-thirty in the morning, just like it usually was. He sat up and stretched: unfortunately, James heard the springs in Remus' bed squeak.

"It's only a dream, Remus," he whispered, and Remus waited until James' breathing slowed to proceed to the common room. He hoped that James wouldn't wake up again... but no such luck. Since when was Remus ever lucky? "Where are you going?" James mumbled, half-asleep.

"Common room. Can't sleep."

"Have fun," said James.

"Sure, I will." Remus grabbed his bag and Bufo. He hoped desperately that he would not faint on the way down.

He did not, but he did feel as though his head was going to split open. He placed Bufo on his shoulder and set his bag down on the couch, and then he paced back and forth around the common room, trying to rid himself of the fatigue and nausea.

He remembered from the last full moon that Madam Pomfrey had told him to come to the Hospital Wing the second that he woke up... but he didn't think that she wanted him to come knocking before five am. Besides, he was fine here. It wasn't as if she could do much to help him, although his every muscle ached for the Sleeping Draught that she had given him on the previous full.

He wasn't feeling too terribly, compared to last month. He wondered if he could go to class... no, that was stupid, and Madam Pomfrey would murder him. Perhaps he could ask her if it was all right, though. After all, sitting at a desk wasn't much different than sitting on a bed, was it? It wasn't as if he had Flying class today, and he doubted that he would have any practical lessons.

He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. If only he could just turn into a wolf every full moon and be done with it—he hated all this extra worrying about things that his classmates could do quite easily. And he really did feel awful.

He had a sudden, horrid thought. Peter, James, and Sirius had already asked him multiple times if he was ill during the last few days. It came with being a werewolf: the pallid expression and ill health a few days before the full. How would it look if he was ill a few days before the full moon... and then absent on the day of... and then gone a few days after?! And every single month? Someone would find out. He'd lose all the happiness of the past few months in only a few moments. And Peter, James, and Sirius would hate him for life.

He had to go to class today. He could handle it, right? If he could handle being bitten by Fenrir Greyback himself, and then transforming into a monster every full moon, then he could handle sitting through class with a bit of a headache.

Right?

"Right, Bufo?" Remus asked, wanting to hear it from somebody else.

Bufo croaked, and Remus took that as an affirmative answer. He could handle it. He was a werewolf. He could take it—easy!

Remus took out a bit of parchment from his bag and hastily wrote,

Dear Madam Pomfrey,

It's Remus Lupin. I know you told me to come to the Hospital Wing as soon as I woke up, but I really am feeling fine. I'm going to try to attend classes today, but I promise I'll come down if I'm feeling ill. I'll see you later today.

He rolled up the parchment, scribbled for your eyes only on the side, and then stuck it in his pocket to deliver before breakfast.

Remus had another thought. He couldn't go to breakfast, not with his stupidly enhanced senses. A sandwich that Sirius had left under his bed had nearly driven him to insanity last month. He could already smell the food being prepared in the Kitchens, though it was far enough away that he had to strain a bit to do so. Being around so much food, he was certain, would cause him to vomit.

"I'll just stay here until classes start," he whispered to Bufo. "Hopefully, my friends won't press the matter."

Bufo blinked.

Remus pulled out Horrible Hexes, Edition Three, and began reading to the best of his ability.

AN: I wanted to use the word photaesthesia when Remus was listing B and P words, but it has an F sound instead of a P sound. It's basically when people start to associate the phonetic sound of a word with its meaning, and it's probably my favorite word ever that begins with P. It's such an interesting phenomenon (that's another good P word!).