Remus and Dumbledore did not find Fawkes the Phoenix, but the cool air was refreshing (according to Dumbledore). "I've been cooped up in a small office for the entire day," Dumbledore confessed. "The weather is simply too wonderful to miss out on."

Remus did not agree—the cold was digging into his bones to the point that it even hurt to walk. It was one of the hazards of being severely underweight, Remus' mother always said, and of having sensitive bones and joints that reformed every month. Dumbledore must have noticed Remus' shivering, because he said something about Fawkes being nearly impossible to find and led Remus back into the warmth of the castle.

"I'm afraid there's still half an hour left in your Potions class," said Dumbledore. "Would you like some tea? We could talk for a bit."

"I had a question, actually," said Remus. "What are those portraits on your wall? Why are they covered up?"

"A good question," said Dumbledore, handing Remus a cup of tea. Remus didn't question why he already had hot cups of tea in his office; he figured that it was probably magic. "Those are portraits of former Hogwarts headmasters. But you should know that portraits are not an accurate representation of the witch or wizard that they depict. They repeat a few odd phrases, yes, and they mimic thought processes and personalities, but they are not capable of changing their minds, growing, developing, and acting out-of-character... those are the very things that make people who they are. And since they cannot be reasoned with, I'm afraid that many of them do not often agree with my... recent decisions."

Remus couldn't think what Dumbledore could have done to merit anyone disagreeing with his decisions. He seemed to be absolutely perfect. Then again, Remus wasn't exactly sure what Dumbledore even did on a daily basis. Write letters? Watch students? What was the job of a headmaster?

Suddenly, Remus realized, with a horrible, sickening wave of shame and nausea, what controversial thing Dumbledore had done to merit such mistreatment from his own office portraits.

"It's me, isn't it?" Remus mumbled. "They don't want me here. It's my fault."

Dumbledore set down his cup. "It is not your fault," he said, "and you aren't the only thing with which they disagree. I do tend to keep them covered when you visit, however, simply for the reason that they are not very kind. Not at all accurate representations of who they were. Well, some of them, I'm afraid, were exactly like that. Very unpleasant."

"I'm sorry," said Remus. "You don't need to keep them covered up. I can handle it. It's nothing... nothing I haven't... heard before."

"I have no doubt that you can handle it. That doesn't mean that I wish to be interrupted every few seconds with insensitive chatter." Dumbledore smiled, and Remus tried to laugh. "I'd never get anything done. I keep them covered during most private conversations. They really aren't much use, anyway. They're supposed to give advice, but—forgive me for my arrogance—I often find that I don't need it."

Remus took a sip of tea. "And Fawkes isn't scared of me, sir? You don't suppose she left because I'm scaring her? Sometimes magical creatures... who can, er, sense... what I am... don't take well to me."

"Fawkes is not so cowardly to be afraid of an untransformed werewolf," Dumbledore said in a very amused tone of voice. "Especially since you're shivering from cold and wearing mismatched socks."

Remus looked down. He was, in fact, wearing mismatched socks—one black and one white. "I hadn't noticed," he murmured, incredibly embarrassed.

"No worries. I am wearing mismatched socks as well." Dumbledore pulled up the hem of his robes, and Remus caught a glimpse of one fluorescent orange sock on one foot and a bright pink one on the other. "It's so much more interesting to get dressed in the dark, isn't it? I like to surprise myself with my outfit."

Remus snickered a little. It certainly did seem like Dumbledore got dressed in the dark on occasion. "I have to sneak into the lavatory without being questioned when I change my clothes," Remus said without thinking. "I can't always see what I'm doing when I'm trying to be inconspicuous like that."

Dumbledore only nodded. "Sensible of you."

"Where were you, sir?" said Remus. "Last week? Professor Questus mentioned that you were gone, I think..."

"Ah," said Dumbledore. "I'm afraid I cannot tell you, Remus. I can tell you, however, that I am a very powerful wizard as well as your headmaster. With the upcoming threats, I thought it best to see to them myself."

"You were... fighting Dark wizards?"

"That makes it sound much more action-packed than it actually was." Dumbledore smiled. "But yes, to an extent—fighting Dark wizards sums it up nicely."

Remus did not like that word. Dark. It described what he was, a Dark creature, an animal of the Dark, not human, not normal... It was all too ironic, spending time with the biggest supporter of the Light that there was, when he was...

"There is a difference between being cursed and being a supporter of the type of magic that cursed you," said Dumbledore, pulling Remus out of his thoughts with a jolt. "You are a victim of Dark magic, not Dark magic manifested. And, being a victim, you have more reason to be on this side of wizarding history than anyone else. Think of it as a Muggle illness—just because a Muggle has the flu and spreads it around sometimes does not mean that that particular Muggle is the flu and should be chased away with pitchforks."

"Have you been using Legilimency again? I... didn't notice..."

"I have not. You are frighteningly predictable, Remus."

Remus smiled weakly, repositioned Bufo on his shoulder a bit, and thought about what Dumbledore had said. He'd been wrong, Remus conceded. Dumbledore didn't understand at all. Lycanthropy wasn't like the flu. The flu didn't make a Muggle into something else. The Muggle was still the same. Remus knew how germs worked; he'd had the flu himself a couple times (though not often; he was essentially quarantined all hours of the day before Hogwarts). The flu was only an illness, but Remus' lycanthropy changed him from the inside out... his thoughts, his feelings, his senses... his instincts... it wasn't the same at all.

Remus had lycanthropy, yes, but he was also a werewolf—not just a boy with an unfortunate illness. He had been cursed, he had been changed, and now he was a Dark creature by definition. Dumbledore knew a great many things, but he did not know what it was like—no one did. Well, no one that Remus knew personally and saw on a daily basis.

"I understand, sir," Remus said, but Dumbledore didn't look convinced. Thankfully, he did not press the matter.

"It's starting to get colder outside," said Dumbledore cheerfully. "Are your transformations worse in the cold?"

Remus paused. "No... I'm not sure. I use our cellar, usually. It's warm. You don't have to worry about me, sir. Wolves... don't really care."

"But boys do," Dumbledore pointed out. "Our goal is to make it as comfortable as possible. I'll put a Heating Charm on it during the winter months."

"It's not like it's ever going to be comfortable," said Remus under his breath, and then immediately felt very ungrateful. "Sorry, sir. I know you worked very hard on it. I didn't mean..."

Dumbledore only smiled, albeit a little sadly. "I know what you mean, Remus. But it can never hurt to try."

Remus arrived at Flying Class right on time. "Why were you talking to Dumbledore for so long?" whispered Peter. "Is everything okay?"

"It's not your... it's not your mum, is it?" whispered James. 'Do you really have to go again?"

"It's not my mum," Remus confirmed. "Well, not really. She's doing really well right now."

"That's good," said Sirius.

"Yeah. Dumbledore... he said that I could stay at Hogwarts. Over break."

Sure enough, Sirius looked absolutely green with envy. "Lucky you," he said sarcastically.

James hit him on the arm. "Sirius!" He turned to Remus and said, "I thought you wanted to go home and see them."

"They think... they think that I should stay at Hogwarts whenever she's well. So that I can enjoy it while I can. She might never be well during Christmas break again, and Dad wants me to stay here for at least one Christmas."

"I could never," said Peter. "I miss my mum and dad too much already."

James smirked. "Of course you would, Peter."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You're like a toddler," teased Sirius. "Like a two-year-old."

"No, he's not," said Remus, a little more loudly than intended. "I miss my parents too!"

"Boys! Potter, Black, Pettigrew! Quiet back there!" called Madam Hooch. Remus noticed that she did not call his own name, even though she had most definitely heard him. The teachers were so afraid of him that they could not bear to speak his name. Remus stuck his hands in his pockets.

"Of course, Rolanda!" said James, cheeky as ever.

Remus spent the rest of class hovering close to the ground with Peter while James showed off on his Comet, high above the ground, and Sirius tried to keep up. The other students were still trying to figure out how to turn properly, but James was doing full-on flips. Remus wondered whether he would have made the Quidditch team if he had not been so rude to the other players and so distracted by the attention and glory.

Class ended, and James finally descended. He ran his hand through his hair, which was even more windswept and ridiculously messy than usual. "I love this class," he said fervently.

"Only 'cos everyone was watching you show off and your ego is bigger than a Hungarian Horntail," laughed Sirius.

"Bigger than Gryffindor tower," said Remus.

"Bigger than the moon," said Peter.

"Bigger than Snape's nose," said Sirius, and James pretended to swoon.

"Oi, that is a low blow," he said. "My ego is not nearly that big."

"You're right," Sirius conceded. "I don't think anything is."

Remus was certain that Severus Snape was standing near enough to overhear, and he knew that James and Sirius probably knew this as well. He glanced at Snape—a shadowy figure lurking near the castle stones, waiting for Evans to finish class so that they could walk together to their next. Snape had definitely heard, and he was scowling. Remus wondered again about Snape's home life. What if his father insulted him like that? What if his father did even worse? Remus really should try to reign in his friends.

But if it were him, Remus wouldn't want special treatment or pity. He wouldn't want someone to step in and stop his bully, as if he could not do it himself. He would want to endure it on his own. He wouldn't want to be treated as weak.

Besides, his friends seemed as if they were done anyway. James was running his hand through his hair again, and Sirius was laughing about something else. Remus glanced towards Snape again, who was now walking away with Evans. Snape looked over his shoulders towards the Marauders and made eye contact with Remus—his eyes were narrowed, his lips were curled into a sneer, and his face was alight with anger. Remus looked down immediately and felt his cheeks heat up.

"Come on, let's get to Charms," he told his friends.

Remus wasn't Snape's keeper. Snape had tried to hex him, after all. Why should Remus risk losing his only friends in order to defend him?

There was another Quidditch game on Saturday: this one was Gryffindor against Ravenclaw. Remus considered skipping it when he awoke to the bitter cold seeping in through the cursed window by his bed, but he honestly didn't think that he could miss it for the world. He wore two jumpers—both red—underneath his coat and tried to cast a Warming Spell on his hands. It was not successful, and quite frankly, Remus was afraid to try again. The last thing he wanted was to end up in the Hospital Wing again.

James was wearing a jumper with a lion on it—and upon further inspection, Remus noticed that the lion was charmed to move around on his chest. James looked at Remus and started to laugh. "You look ridiculous. Are you wearing two jumpers? Are you really that cold?"

"Yes," said Remus stubbornly. "I am that cold. And you're one to talk; you're wearing a moving lion on your chest."

"It's cool!" said James. "Here, you can borrow my mittens. They're red and orange! Oh, and I just learned a color-changing spell for hair. Colovaria." James pointed his wand at his own hair, and it turned brilliant shades of red and gold. "I've already done Sirius and Peter. How about it, Remus?"

Remus shook his head. "I like my hair."

James groaned. "Fine. But I'm doing your coat, at least. Grey isn't Gryffindor colors at ALL—it's closer to Slytherin colors." James pointed his wand at Remus' coat and uttered the incantation; it immediately turned a vivid shade of red with gold trimming. "That's a fifth-year spell," James said proudly.

"That's amazing," said Peter dreamily. "I wish I could do fifth-year spells."

"You can't even do first-year spells," snorted Sirius.

"Of course he can," Remus protested. "He's very good at the spells that we've learned."

"The spells that you've helped him with," said Sirius. "You spend hours every week giving him extra lessons, Remus. Without you, he'd be expelled for stupidity."

Remus shook his head. "That's not fair! That's just how he learns! He's not stupid!"

Peter was silent, and Remus wasn't exactly sure what that entailed. But Sirius couldn't just insult Peter: they were friends, Peter was a better friend than Remus ever would be, and Peter was human—if a human was treated like that just for being a little thick, how would a dumb beast—by definition only; Remus knew that he wasn't really stupid—be treated? And Peter was brilliant! He didn't deserve this! How could Sirius be so cruel?

Remus wasn't Snape's keeper, no, but he felt indebted to Peter after the other boy had spent so much time with him. He could defend Peter, couldn't he? Peter deserved that, even if it meant that Remus' friends would be a bit angry with him.

"I'm joking!" laughed Sirius. "Stop getting so worked up! You really can't deny that Pettigrew is—"

Remus drew his wand and pointed it towards Sirius. "Melifors!" he said.

Sirius' head was promptly encased in a pumpkin.

Remus was pretty glad that it had worked, actually, and it definitely broke the tension. Peter started giggling, and James just looked stunned. Muffled laughter was coming from inside the pumpkin, and Sirius started scrabbling at his head. James started laughing now, too, and he pointed his wand at Sirius' head. "Bombarda!"

Remus, in a moment of horror, thought that Sirius' head was going to be blown up along with the pumpkin, but it didn't—the pumpkin exploded in a burst of seeds and stringy pulp, and Sirius was left slimy but unharmed. "That was brilliant, Remus!"

"Stop insulting Peter," was all that Remus could say. "Can't you see it bothers him?"

"It doesn't bother me, not much," said Peter in a small voice.

Remus suddenly felt as if he had overstepped his bounds, and he felt awful. "Well, Peter must just be a better person than me, then. It bothers me a lot."

Sirius held his hands up. "I was only joking, honest. I'll stop. Now, come on—let's go to the game!"

With that, Remus attended his second Quidditch match ever, and whatever worries he might have had faded away as he listened to James' excited chatter, the clicks of Sirius' camera, Peter's breathy laughter, and the cheering of the other Gryffindors. The cold was nothing compared to the exhilarating closeness of the other Marauders as they clumped together to get warm. Their cheeks were flushed, Remus' face hurt from smiling, and Gryffindor won (as expected).

Remus loved Quidditch.

There was a massive party in the Gryffindor common room that evening. The older students magicked confetti to float around the room perpetually. Banners hung from the walls. The Quidditch champions were being hoisted into the air and paraded around the place. Music was playing at full volume. Students were playing wild games, smoke hung in the air from Exploding Snap, the place reeked of Gobstones, there were plethoras of sweets from Honeydukes, and James and Sirius (along with half of the other students) had removed their shirts to better stand the hot room.

Remus didn't find it fun at all.

This was awful. This noise was nothing like Quidditch. It was loud, it was burning into Remus' eardrums, the smells of tens of students filled his nostrils, the smoke, the Gobstones, the food, the sweat... It was so hot from all the people in such close proximity in such a small room, and nobody was wearing long sleeves except for Remus. Even Peter had removed his jumper. Remus felt sticky and wet, but he couldn't even roll up his sleeves for fear of exposing the scars.

He walked over to Peter and tried to talk to him, but it was too loud. He considered going over to James, but James was in the middle of the party (pretty odd for a first-year, but that was James). Remus didn't want to talk to anybody new. He wanted to leave, but he felt like he should stay—after all, James loved this so much and Remus wanted to be there for his friend.

Remus plastered a smile onto his face and retreated to a corner. James came over to him and was saying something, and Remus nodded happily. He didn't know what James had said. James said it again and Remus realized that it had been a question.

It was too much. Remus mumbled something along the lines of "fresh air", and then he left for the Hogwarts grounds. He didn't even care that it was cold and that he had taken off his coat.

Relief washed over him as soon as he left the common room, and Remus could breathe again. He could still hear the music in the distance, but he kept walking until it became a dull roar; finally satisfied, he sat under a tree with Bufo, his bag, and a book. Now this was something that Remus enjoyed (even though it was freezing).

He was only a few pages in when he saw James' lanky form in the distance out of the corner of his eye. "Oi, Remus!" James called.

Remus stuck a finger in his book and looked up. "James? What are you doing here? Weren't you having fun?"

"Well, duh," said James, plopping on the ground next to Remus. He smelt of sweat, and Remus wrinkled his nose. He was still shirtless. "But you weren't. Why not?"

"I... don't like parties," said Remus stiffly. "Loud. Lots of people." Was that a human-like thing to say? Remus certainly hoped so.

"That's the best part, though!" cried James, flinging his arms out and accidentally hitting Remus in the left arm. "Oops."

Remus gritted his teeth and tried to ignore the shooting pain. "Not for me. I'd rather read."

"You're weird, mate. Really, really weird."

"Sorry." Remus flipped another page of his book. "You should go back. I don't need a babysitter."

"Well, I know that. You look really upset is all."

"I'm not upset."

"Merlin's beard. You're going to shiver yourself to death, mate. Come inside. You can kip in our dormitory; no one's there..."

"It's loud," Remus repeated. "I want to stay out here."

"At least let me take your toad inside. He'll get frostbite."

Oh, that was a good point. Remus didn't want to hurt Bufo. "Erm. Okay. Thank you, James."

"No problem." James scooped up Bufo and smiled at Remus encouragingly. "Sure you're okay? I can, I dunno, take you to the dorm if you want. I dunno what you need; I like parties, so I don't really understand. But my... mum... always panics around roaches. And I was wondering if maybe it was the same thing. She called it a... er... phoebe."

"Phobia?"

"Yeah, that."

That was a good cover story, actually, even though it wasn't exactly right. Remus wasn't afraid of crowds. He was simply uncomfortable because of his heightened senses... well, maybe Remus was afraid of crowds, now that he thought about it. But only a little. "Yeah, it's kind of like that," Remus admitted. "A phobia. Like an intense fear."

"Like crystal balls."

Remus snickered, remembering his fantastic lie. "Yeah, like crystal balls."

James patted Remus on the shoulder a bit, and Remus bit his lip to stop himself from crying out. "Well. See ya, Rem."

"Have fun," Remus half-squeaked, and looked down at his book, refusing to look up until James' scent had completely faded.

AN: Ι ξθστ γοτ α Γρεεκ κευβοαρδ.